Anyways

hello rarepair nation… care for some conchell ?

On the brightest day of summer, Will Solace sings as he is born, turns the first breath he takes into screams of fear, confusion. Above in the sky, his father delights in seeing the divine shining within his son, the golden specks of his crimson blood marking him as a demigod, a child of the sun. 

His voice, enhanced by its godly nature, makes the world around him shriek in fear until he feels his mother’s arms cradle him, humming a kind melody that he mimics, as newborns and children do, softening his tone to match hers. 

“What do you see, Apollo ?” His mother asks, gazing lovingly at her son, waiting for what the god will foresee. 

Peering into his soul, Phoebus sees one crafter for music, with a voice strong enough to bend the world to its will, nimble fingers made to sway crowds with a touch of an instrument. He has many sons and daughters, all falling under the mantle of his domains, destined to be skilled hunters, prodigious healers, charming musicians. His new son is the latter, meant to inspire people with his music. 

“A poet.” Apollo answers, forging from his sunlight a lyre shaped after his own, a present befitting the skills the boy holds within himself, one he’ll learn to use as he grows into a young man with each passing summer, as he blooms like flowers in spring into an artist known by all, desired by many throughout Greece. “A creator, blessed by the Muses.” 

As he bestows upon his son his gift, he sees far more than what he tells Naomi. As all mortals, especially godlings, clouds loom on his son’s life, dark and ominous, carrying somber omens for what is to come. What it is, he cannot tell for even he is not all-knowing, shackled by the Fates’ design and their ever-shifting tapestry of life and death. 

“He will be remembered.” He says, certain. What the Crone, the Mother and the Maid have woven will come to pass, and it will bring his son kleos, eternal glory. “For his great deeds.” 

“Good.” Naomi smiles, nursing her sleeping child in her tired arms, still humming a lullaby. “I want him to be happy.” 

Her wish comes true as, year after year, in a meadow of yellow and green hues, Will sits by a century-old oak, and sings for the dryads and nature spirits, playing his lyre masterfully, plucking its strings with practiced ease. His music is a tale of joy, making satyrs dance with nymphs around him, so compelling that even the trees sway with the rhythm, animals edge closer, ears raised high to listen. 

His voice, laced with divinity, goes higher than the canopy of woods, charming even wind spirits, curious creatures, always shifting and whispering their secrets, spreading their knowledge to listening ears when they whistle past villages, telling of a musician who is favored by the gods. 

He is not homebound, has buried his mother after she lived a good life, so he travels throughout of all Greece with nothing more than his lyre, finding shelter in kind souls who gladly trade food for his music, a warm bed for his songs. Many try to make him settle, bringing forth sons and daughters that Will politely rejects. He has yet to find a soul that captivates him like his does on the people he met. 

At the edge of the Underworld lives a boy of both worlds, son of Hades and a mortal, a demigod named Nico Di Angelo who has never heard a more alluring sound that the one the wind carried into his home. 

It is with haste that he follows it through mountains and forests, crossing rivers and villages until- 

In a clearing, surrounded by white columns of a forgotten temple, Will is playing his lyre with lazy yet agile fingers, humming a lively melody that make the bird sings and the nymphs dance when a boy comes out of the wood. 

He is beautiful, and radiating, but more importantly, he is his kin -half-mortal, half-god, though Will cannot yet tell which god he is the child of. Aphrodite, perhaps. Within him, something unfolds. A new source of inspiration blooms in his chest, one akin to what his mother had been, but even stronger, more passionate. 

Love. At first sight, blazing and real, taking deep root into his heart who now belongs to the stranger walking towards him, light-footed like a nymph, soundless like a wind spirit. 

“You’re the singer.” The boy whispers, stopping right in front of him, at eye-level. Dark, brown, eyes that look at him with reverence, awe. “I’ve been looking for you.” 

In a way, Will has been looking for the boy too. He has not stopped playing, but the lively and common music has softened into something deeper, a reflection on his feelings. 

“I am Will, son of Apollo.” He says, waiting for the stranger to give his name, to taste it on his lips, roll it out with his tongue. “Who are you ?” 

“I am Nico, son of Hades.” Nico answers, wavering as he expects Will to fear him upon learning of his parentage. 

A foolish thought, when his very soul thrums at being this close to Nico, has found its muse in the mortal world.