*ba dum tss*

You never liked the dark. 

Despite the expanse of this place, walking through the avenues without another soul in sight is, in your humble opinion, the hardest part of being a Citykeeper. It serves as a reminder that through it all, you will walk this path alone. Normally, you’d rush through your patrol then scamper away to your abode, praying for a wink of sleep as you hold yourself close, waiting for the break of dawn. This time, however, is different.

More and more people have left the city in search of new opportunities. You can’t blame them; the city has been rather stuck in time. The wonder of its mannerisms can only go so far in hiding the fact it has naught else to offer. Surprisingly, you never expected someone to look at that horizon, at that new world of discoveries, and offer their hand to yours.

(“Have you ever thought of leaving?”

You look at your friend with wide eyes. A cackle almost slips past your mouth, but that seriousness in their gaze makes you falter. You opt for a shrug and a half-hearted smile. “I don’t know man, I mean-I don’t really think I can leave. You know, Citykeeper, all that jazz.”

“Okay, fine, but do you want to?”

Thrum. A nervous laugh escapes your throat. “C’mon man. You know why I have to be here. I owe it to my parents. It’s the least I can do—”

“You—” Your friend scoffs. “Gods, you’re doing it again. You’re beating around the bush—”

Thrum. The sound grows louder and you wring your hands, glistening with sweat. “I don’t—what on earth you want me to say—” Arms clasp your shoulders and rebuttal dies down as you lock eyes and see that under your friend’s frustration lies a tinge of concern.

“Is…past your reasoning of how you’ve always been told that this is what you should do…is this really how you want to spend your life?”

The thrum quietens down…What do you say to that?

How can you tell your friend that it’s not a want, but a need? That being ordained a role ever since  your birth was daunting but shamefully relieving, because what are you without all this? If you don’t do well, if you fail to weave another thread in this tapestry of legacy, if you can’t become another blasted screw in this great machine, then what is your purpose? What is your worth?

Instead, all that you muster to say is, “Take care out there.”)

That moment repeats in your head. You steel your nerves.

The land around you acts. Roots and sod snakes around your lower body. The buildings close in around you, a silent commandment to back down. Thrum. Thrum. In any other time, you would’ve shrinked away, cursing yourself for thinking such a thing.

This time, however, is different.

Thrum—the city seems to flinch as—

You turn, and you run towards that one constant of this ever-changing land. You search for the source of the city’s thrum.

○ ⸻⸻ ☆ ⸻⸻ ○

In hindsight this should’ve been obvious, but in your defense your world is currently tilted on its axis both literally and figuratively and you can’t really afford to care. As you get closer to your destination, the thrumming nearly deafens you. Your phantom companions chant a wild rhythm as if to say, ‘no, no, no’... then the thrumming grows faint. You stop in your tracks, gasping for air. As you steady yourself, you raise your head to shrivel inside for the umpteenth time. Oh. You’re in front of your parents’ house.

Welp. You’ve gone this far, so you grit your teeth and go to a place you never dared step foot in, and as soon as you enter your knees buckle to the ground.

You can’t really fathom what you’re looking at. You’re not even sure if it’s there. It’s like…witnessing something you’re not supposed to, like the death of an angel or the inner workings of the universe, and yet you know. You know what this is. You understand now, why this city has been so foreign yet so familiar this whole time.

This city is a collective consciousness of your ancestors, of all the Citykeepers that ever was, and now they beckon you to join. By the gods, you want to. It offers a reasonable conclusion, a perfect decision for this marvelous cycle to go on. You should want this, and yet you falter.

“Is this really how you want to spend your life?”

“...No.”

You back away. “I…”

Just as you did many times before, you hold the ground.

“I…don’t know what I’m doing, but I do know that…this isn’t what I want. Even though I don’t know what I should be, I know I have—I know that I have a role, I’m worth something out there. I just have to search for it.”

You clench the heaving earth.

“Please.”

The earth lies still, as if considering your words.

Then, like a final intake of fresh air, the thrumming stops.

The city is still. The city is quiet.

The city is gone.

Luminous white sclera peered through the foliage, dead-set on the naive doe. Earnest, the sprawling figure prowled around the domain.

While some predators are feared for their menacing canines and sharp claws, this one was daunting for a whole other reason. It was an unintelligible writhing mass of murkiness, undefined in features like a painting yet to be finished. Well, more akin to art in progress, for its form was constantly shifting.

In an eerily fluid motion, its body took on minute alterations in the span of a second, the only constant being that eerie gaze. It was this uncanniness, this beholding of the unknown that made it the most dreadful entity indeed.

The grass crinkled softly under the predator’s form as it passed. It creeped ever so slightly, waiting for the right time to strike. Then, just as the fawn halted in her movements, stiffening at the slightest rustle of sound…

WHOOSH!

The predator lunged and tackled the young, effectively holding her in place as she let out a cry. The fawn blindly fought against the sudden threat, only to hesitate once caught in the gaze of the abstract creature. For all its incomprehensibility, its vacant eyes were clear, the window of the creature’s soul. In this instance, the predator’s stare conveyed a specific intensity, that of a twisted hilarity. It was a sight that you could never forget.

The fawn would know. She had already seen this stare a thousand times over.

It was this exact reasoning that made the doe manage to get ahold of her bearings. With newfound confidence, she let out an annoyed bleat and headbutted the entity. Nature waited with bated breath as the predator twitched, eyes narrowed to slits. Then, it reared its form back and let out a raucous laugh, finally letting its friend go. The doe huffed, nudging at the predator as if to say, ‘Pick on someone your own size.’

So the predator obliged. Its form convulsed violently, shirking this way and that, only to form elongated ears and two slender pairs of legs. It swayed as stubs of velvety antlers sprang their head and an almond coat covered their form. Lo and behold, there stood a passable depiction of a deer.

The fawn bumped her head softly against her friend’s cervid form. ‘Silly Thera.’

○ ⸻⸻ ☆ ⸻⸻ ○

Thera had shifted into the likeness of many creatures. They donned the form of fearless lions, shaking their wild mane to those who dare approach. They transformed into creatures of flight and spread their feathery appendages to soar through azure skies. They changed conduits on a whim, refusing to shackle their ever-changing sense of self to a final state. Such is the dilemma of everything alive, and more so for shapeshifters.

Fey the fawn had raised concerns, of course. How would they maintain their character in constant chaos?

Thera had cackled at that absurd notion. After all, only the outward appearance changes, not the shapeshifter’s soul. No matter what, Thera would be Thera. Fortunately this statement carried true all throughout for they were still as stubborn as ever, as others would recount in fondness. There was a certain way in which they held themselves, in which you knew it was unmistakably them.

For instance, they had the temperament of a thunderstorm, never keen on staying in one place for too long. If needed, one would find that they fidgeted. A lot. However, the most indicative tell had always been the spark in their eyes. No matter what sheen it took, it was always filled with such vivacity, like the first strike of lightning.

Perhaps it was this lively gaze that got them in trouble in the first place.

‘You see human again?’

Thera stopped in their tracks. They looked at the young doe who spoke. Well, if you could call it that. Animals don’t have a distinct dialect or vocabulary like humans. Communication relied on emotion and body language. Right now, their friend exuded disdain.

'Human not bad,’ Thera gestured, only to be met with an exasperated snout.

'Human dangerous,’ Fey grunted through a mouthful of grass. ‘He find out. What you are.’

‘My fault. Not careful.'

'So you go to dangerous again?’

'Mhm.’ Thera grinned toothily. ‘I know. Very wise.’

'Thera!'

The shapeshifter snorted, noting how their friend tried (and failed) to hide their own amused puff. ‘Fey, I be careful. He good human.’

Fey made a noise. '‘I know. But...’ she trailed off at Thera’s stubborn stance. She settled to huff for the umpteenth time. ‘Caution, Thera.'

The doe turned to the distance, a faraway look in her eye. 'Human travel in packs now. Might not be your human, but…you and I know. What they've done. What they can do.’

Fey’s words echoed in Thera’s mind as they travelled towards the outskirts of the great wood. Perhaps in a different time they wouldn’t have been so reckless. Perhaps in another world, they would have heeded this advice with more weight. Unfortunately that time was not now as they quickly morphed to a more human-like creature. Their fur modified to seem as a ‘cloak’ that draped over their body, and their face was covered with an outer that could pass for a deer-like mask.

To be honest they never liked this form. They felt like a mismatched patchwork of odds and ends whenever they donned this body. However, they didn’t know enough about humans to encapsulate their visage, and the boy didn’t take kindly to their other forms. This should’ve been a sign for the polymorph as well but alas, that was the least of their worries and so when Thera spotted the messy dark locks of hair at a distance, they were filled with an unbridled glee.

With enthusiasm, Thera greeted her friend, “Orm!”

The boy turned back with a smile. “It’s Norman,” he laughed.

“Norma?” “Nor-man.”

Thera narrowed their eyes. Suddenly, a twinkle appeared. Ah, they’ve got it all wrong, silly them! With total sureness, Thera stated the boy’s name— “Normal!”

"Close enough,” Norman sighed dramatically.

Thera jokingly shoved the boy and they fell into a familiar routine of casual banter. After a while the pair decided to sit on the ground and stare at the afternoon sky. The blues intermingled with golden hues as the sun began its descent, and for a moment all was well and was content.

Then Norman stood up, donning a strange expression. “What are you, exactly?”

Thera blinked at the sudden question. “I'm a Thera.”

“No, as in what species. We know you’re not human, so where do you match? Are you a fae? A wraith? A daemon, by any chance?”

“Thera is Thera.”

Norman frowned. Thera frowned back, unwavering. The human was the first to break away as he looked out into the distance and shifted his weight from side to side. Huh. Did Thera say something wrong? They mulled over their conversation only to be sweeped away from their thoughts at the boy’s next utterance.

“…Father’s leading a hunt for monsters.”

Thera stared, then let out a snort. “I am not a monster, Norman.”

“So what are you, then?”

“Why are you even asking me this? It never mattered before when we first met. Does it matter now?”

“Does it mat—of course it matters!” Norman snapped, looking at Thera with a foreign tinge of exasperation. “My father would kill me if he found out if he found out I was friends with a—”

"A what?”

The boy trailed off.

Hurt graced the shifter’s features, and when they spoke their voice was quiet. “Is that really what you’ve seen me as this whole time? A cause of fear?”

Norman’s pupils widened. “Wait—” He moved towards Thera but the shifter backed away.

Flinching, he opened his mouth to say something, anything, but it seemed that fate wasn’t on his side this time as something else stole the attention of the duo.

They smelt the smoke before anything else. Thera discerned notes of cinders and ash that penetrated the crisp cool breeze, before the sharp intake of breath of their friend and the chorus of frenzied shouts that followed after. Entranced, their sight followed billowing whiffs of foggy smoke that wisped to the air, danger trailing its wake. It was foolish of Thera to be distracted by such a phenomena, but they had only seen fire this close to the woodlands once before. It was when a pack of humans came for a hunt.

Thera snapped back to focus with the purest sense of dread. Like the ones in front of me right now.

From there, they were stuck in a sickening mix of humanoid and true form, barely able to alter themselves back together or shift into something more useful with the chaos that ensued. They hissed at the torches of fire shoved to their face. They winced at the long metal weapons that roughly scratched their physique with jagged ends. Struggling through the mob, Thera barely wrenched out their hand and reached out for their friend as they had many times before, pleading for help, only to fall short at his staggered gaze and tense form.

The leader of the pack—Norman’s father, for they both possessed the same unkempt mane and donned the same bronze skin—scowled at this scene. He pivoted to the boy. “Do you know this freak, son?”

The boy clenched his jaw and turned away. “No, father.”

Ah.

Thera stopped fighting as strangers bound. They waited for rage to course through their veins, but a numbness permeated their core. Instead, all they could do was chuckle wryly, as Fey’s words fled to their mind once again. You and I both know what they've done.

Of course the boy would never come to Thera’s aid.

After all, who would defend something they could not comprehend?

○ ⸻⸻ ☆ ⸻⸻ ○

“I swear I had nothing to do with any of it.”

Norman paced back and forth, words stumbling out of his mouth. “I knew the old man was getting paranoid these days, but I never expected him to send a whole group to follow me,” He let out a shaky sigh. “And I didn’t mean to just stand there. I…I got nervous.”

He carefully sat down on the ground across from where the deemed predator was held captive. The boy waited for a response, a remark, anything. It never came. Then again, the shapeshifter hadn’t said a word to him after he snuck in.

“Say something. Please.”

Nothing again.

The boy ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “Gods, why couldn’t you just fit in? Or even try to seem normal?”

"...You're a terrible archer."

Norman paused. In the depths of the night, he could just make out the eyes of the shapeshifter staring right through him. “What?”

“You never practise. You barely graze the edge of the target. You can hardly fend in the forest on your own, too curious for your own good, and get hung up on self-righteousness—”

“I—well, you can be the unpleasant sort too, Thera—”

“—And yet I would not change a single thing about you.” That effectively shut the boy up. “Though you may need guidance, in the end these things make up who you are. I would never dare make you go against your nature.” Thera leaned closer to Norman. For once, their pearly eyes softened so. ”Why then, do you force me to be something I’m not?”

That seemed to strike a chord in Norman’s heart. For a while, none dared disturb the moment between the shapeshifter and the boy, friends estranged due to circumstances out of their control. Somehow, both were innocent and guilty of things foreign to them. How could a human care for a monster? How could something monstrous harbour a gaze so humane? Who decided that both things were so unforgivable that they would never know true peace as long as they walked on the same path?

The clockwork of fate wound up again. Without much hesitance and more of a resignation, as if he knew that this was always how it was meant to be...

The human let the Thera go.

○ ⸻⸻ ☆ ⸻⸻ ○

Years later in the forest, underneath the verdurous canopy and through the wooden thickets, one may find two people walking across a small, tranquil field. They were father and son, for the child bore the likeness of the man. Hand in hand, they explored their surroundings like travellers on the brink of an adventure. Hopeful and keen. Oblivious of the tribulations that lay ahead, until they were standing face-to- face to the most dreadful things.

That is, if the father wasn't already aware of the perilous being that shadowed their movements.

The man set his hand on the child’s shoulder. “Wait a sec, Byron.” He then glanced around. “I know you’re there.”

Nothing.

Then something.

The pair backed away as a writhing, intangible mass approached. It jerked turbulently, starting to shift so, but the man held his palm out, urging it to stop. The unknown creature ceased movement altogether. Nature waited with bated breath as they stared at each other…then in fortuitous fate, the little child in tow broke the silence.

Moving forward, the young lad tilted his head. “What are you?”

Both man and behemoth turned to look at the boy. Once upon a time, things would have gone differently. Perhaps another witch hunt would have ensued. However, that time was not now and so like a river dam bursting through after being blocked for so long, like a purging of that burden you’ve carried, made of what-ifs and unfinished journeys, the man mustered up enough courage to finally say, “Thera is Thera.”

…WHOOSH!

Thera lunged and tackled the man, almost toppling him over. The child let out a cry only to see that the man was teary-eyed not of terror, but of catharsis and a laugh with the most wondrous pealing of bells. Seeing this, Thera jolted and morphed to a more humanoid form until at last the old friends were able to seal their reunion with a warm embrace. It was at this scene that the boy gasped.

“Oh! You’re the person in Dad’s stories! You’re The—T—” Byron scrunched his nose. Then his eyes lightened up. “Them! You’re Them!”

give them the one thing they've yearned for with undertones of gilded control, make them trust you, boom scot-free story. no this is not a longer tantalizing version of exile, he gets to keep a chest — xd 20XX

○ ⸻⸻ ☆ the fates

chat sure has their favourites, especially those who can hear them and what better way to show your favour by following a person around whilst donning different versions of their what-was and what-could-have-beens ??? :D

i.e., in songbird/when the chips are down, tommy haunted by visions l'man!tom, exile!tom, golden!tom

tommy is the first one to see them given how he is real and therefore the most 'fleshed out' in the threshold

however as time goes on, the Facets who have interacted with tommy start to branch away from their supposed stereotypes and get a glimpse of their own ghosts too.

i.e., orpheus (wilbur) getting followed by l'manbur, then pogbur, then ghostbur. quite the hit at wait for me (reprise) and doubt comes in trust,,, i've been haunted by scenes ill prolly never get to write

○ ⸻⸻ ☆ and older song

more exploration on xd's backstory !!!

if i were to ever make us (abbreviated version, cue ba dun tss) an actual fic, the following would probably be grazed in epic iii then elaborated in a prequel lol spoilers for the non-existent spinoff (•́⁠ ⁠ ⁠‿⁠ ⁠,⁠•̀)

xd is a young and powerful god, and quite cocky in result. not a lot of friends boohoo

one day, while traveling in the mortal realm, he meets two lads named george and sapnap. he pretends to be human for funsies, then actually get attached to them, a sort of camaraderie.

however, as all do, they eventually grow apart, and before the deity could realise, they had succumbed to their mortality.

so like. xd is the god of time (spoilers) and so, you know, finding out too late that the only people you ever considered your equals were gone was heart wrenching.

it was an inevitability the truant god couldn't—no, wouldn't handle.

he traveled far and wide. he went to the primordial ones he knew of: Lady Death, Blood God, even her, and yet.

"It was their time, little one. Let your scholar rest easy in my domain. He will find peace among the fields that my beloved hath sowed."

"The blaze born died a valiant death. Dare not sully his name with your foolish cries, for he is now one of many that guides my warrior."

"Tell me, goddess, why must you make me want for something that does not last—"

"..."

"..."

"I shouldn't have expected anything from you," the truant god spat. "Spare me your patronizing. You are the reason and antithesis for my legend: you give just enough to feign stability, and yet it is always cut short."

but what was he to do? No one would lend either hand or ear...no one...wait where was he oh by the gods what were those voices—

oh. oh.....oh.

he makes a deal with the Voices, an eldritch amalgamation of void and infinity, vastness and hunger, only there for one thing: stories.

practically breaking all the divine laws and irreversible sacrifices to create the Tales of the Essempi, where he can be reunited with his family once more.

Ofc there's the whole Chat being fickle to the stories they crave and divine interference but ehhhhhhhhhhhhh shhhhhhh

and yes! In a way there's multiple kinda Hermes people in this world! From emerald!duo spreading the tale of their family, Karl frantically recording every single story he goes by to honor their memory, and now with xd creating an endless cycle of adventures,

○ ☆ ○ hadestown ↬ the threshold

"I shouldn't be here. That much I know for certain. At first, I thought it was just another period of time, with many eerily similar to those back home.

Even then, those places usually had logic. This place...realm... should've seen sooner. Too familiar. Knew who I was?

But, after my continued exposure to such a place, and his demeanor...

I don't have a lot of time left. I'm pretty sure making this entry will be in vain—he'll find a way to erase it, given his control.

But I owe it to them. I made a promise to try.

I mean—who can say no to the freaking ὰ̸̛̛̙̮̗̻̥̳̓͛̃̈̕͠͝ͷ̴̠̻̘̘̟̼̠̗͔̠̬͖͒̍̀̅̾̽̍̓̏̚ģ̶̻̼̾̎ͅε̸̨̼̹̱̈́̉̈͒̀̋͘̚ĺ̶̢̢̛̹̱̪̞͉̙͆̈̒́̾͑͂͌͘͜͜͝ ̸̲̗̦̬̭̲̍σ̷̡̛̜̳̪̗͕̟̒͌̃̈́̋͠f̶̡̗͇̌͑͝ ̴̧͉̰͕̩̻͕̺̬̺̻͉͘͝d̷͓̦͛̆̈́̋̀̀̑́̈͘ε̷̢͇͉̲̮̲̤͖̙̭̥̞͕̻̆̒̕α̸̡̻̯͗̓̓̂̉̆̈́̾̚̕̚͜͠t̵̯̜̬̝̦̣̼̖̲͚͍̫̦̩̘̐̀͝h̵͓̀́̐͛͜ and b̴̛̻̹̱̮̟͋̍͒̀̀l̷̛͎͖̳͈̦͛̓̈́͗͂̕ơ̶̧̧̲͈̟͖̼̺͉̣̖̰̮̜̤͋͋͋̏͗̾͒̉̔ȯ̴̡̙̞̜͚͙̦͙̦͇̪̯̖͉̀͆͛͝͠d̸͖̜͖̩̘̠̳͊͌̅͐̃̇̀̈́̐͜͝ ̶̖̠͙͍̤̠͚͈͕͇̲̱͌͜g̶̬͖̳̳͗̅͐͐̉̃̋͛͗͜ȍ̴̡̩̦̯̙͚̪͚̰̘̹̲̊d̵̜̈́̓͊̚͘͝ͅ'̴͖̈́̍̌͗̇́̀̌͠͝s̴̡͈̱̬͓̺̠͍̳͓͚̺̫̈̐̀̀̚͜ ̸̧̦̹̝̎̽̈́̅̍̽̆͜ẅ̷̢̨̛̠̜̖͖̹̖͖̥͓̞̘͍̓͑̋́͋͂̇͊̈́͝ͅa̷̟̗̯̰̯̻͈̓r̷̦̗̬̳͈̠͕̤̲̹͈̺̠̈́̀̿͋̀́r̵̫̦͍͈̹̊ḯ̵̬͖̇͒͗̆̌̌̏̿̔́̕͜͝͠o̸͕̗̺̥̒̾͊͠ŗ̸̧̢͚̜̪̮̠̖͚̿̈̇̆̍̌͝ ?

Funny, now I think about it. It's less of a tale, and more an unfinished symphony from way back then..."

kind of limbo. kind of underworld.

the ghosts that lurk here are the stuff of legends. literally. culminations of certain identities and beliefs of a person that became larger than life but were abandoned for a new chapter. let's call them Facets.

☆ for instance, c!foolish :

─ formerly -> "Totem of Death", war-like and temperamental

─ now -> "pretty chill builder", pacifist and amicable

often you may find a wizened god of thunder and desert wander these domains.

every once in a while however, he disappears. when those who run amok hear the absence of thunder, they sigh in something bittersweet, knowing that such a god has been called back to take his role.

so uh yeah when the alive version of the Facets 'reclaim' the role, even for a little while, the Facet disappears. May be important to lore, but also just a silly tidbit because Facets make it a guessing game on what's happening in the real world lol

Facets don't really know everything that they went through, only the gist, definitely no clue of what happened AFTER they were dropped, so when a Facet is reclaimed for a short bit you best beliece they flock to the guy like "BRO WHAT HAPPENED WHAT DID YOU SEE─DID YOU SEE ME ??? DID I LOOK COOL OR DID I FALL OFF─"

Try as they might though, unless it was a really integral part of who they are, the best they can hold on to is lingering feelings. Funny...it's almost as if there's something that forces them to become stagnant, unable to change and so fixed in their identities (or someone *wink wink*)

anyways CAST

○ ⸻⸻ ☆ characters

○ ☆ ○ orpheus ↬ c!wilbur soot

pre-l'manburg to l'manburg, a gentler time. may have bouts of hubris like every man...yet possesses bright eyes and a voice that could spark a kindling hope in the coldest parts of these desecrated lands, inspiring them to take arms and fight for something larger than themselves, for the way the world could be—okay i'll stop.

an unusual emptiness stirring within, mournful for something he could never fathom.

○ ☆ ○ hermes ↬ c!philza and c!technoblade

Angel of Death and Blood God's Warrior. foreboding powerful personas that come and go, for even in retirement, the call for vengeance and wrath shall ebb and flow. sure there'll come a time where they'll prolly no longer be reclaimed but that ain't happening any time soon lol

look i wanted sbi. it doesn't make much sense if you look at it too closely but SHHH

☆ leeway/side track: orpheus and hermes

yeah yeah Facets don't remember much but guess what apparently fatherhood (and forced uncle/estranged-guy-your-father-knows-and-you-kinda-leaned-on-hood) is a core memory and also they come and go, so they recognised wilbur.

at the first meeting there were definitely some mixed reactions, like "seriously...THIS guy was the reason why we gave up glory? This doe-eyed fool (derogatory)" but smth smth the same old tale, sense of familiarity, a bond that transcends, boom now doe eyed-fool (somewhat affectionate)

but something was still missing...

"Huh. Guess it was just a matter of time before that brat got here—hey Wil what's with that yearnful look"

○ ☆ ○ eurydice ↬ c!tommy

lost all 3 lives—woah. uh. he should not be here. that's not a Facet that's the whole Package™ recently deceased. it's pretty obvious because there's a more tangible dread on his form or smth. pretty sure he's supposed to be in a different limbo

even then, tommy never had a facet. at all. don't look too hard into that...

(Facets may come off as stereotypical because they were never given any leeway to grow from their 'base' personalities. tommy is a direct threat to this custom.)

the Threshold ran amok with the remnants of what legends used to be, latched onto and ingrained into the minds of the masses before eventually left forgotten and to rot.

b̶̬͊u̵͈͝t̶͙͂t̵͎͌ḧ̷̢e̴̘͝ǹ̷̲ç̷̛a̶̼͘ḿ̶͇e̴̙͌t̷̫̄ẖ̵̈e̷̥͘o̷̞̒n̶̯͑ē̵͓ and then the entity that maintains the Threshold's clockwork. w̶̡̆i̴̮̕t̴̛͙h̴̘̊a̴̟͛c̷̮̀r̴̞̋ȯ̶̰s̷̞̊s̴̮̊e̷̪͑d̷̢͊-̴̥̀o̸͓̓u̶̡̕t̸̗͂s̸̤̆m̵͍͆į̵̈́l̵̫͑e̵̹͂

○ ☆ ○ hades ↬ c!dream xd

Truant god.

Also what's the difference between Dream XD and Prime—

There's legends of those larger than life, and then there's gods who are legends themselves, legends that continue to live on.

Legends that fester and writhe in perpetuity, not unlike the red that seeps into the ruins and the earth of Essempi.

Once upon a time, there was a god. One of power and control, constantly rewriting as he sees fit, meddling with forces beyond ⟦⟧, abandoning his duties in the process.

There was a god that was powerful. There was a god that was alone.

Can you then blame this lonesome god, who at the promise of genuine companionship, would craft a realm of legends at the mercy of his hands?

yes. yes you can.

○ ☆ ○ persephone ↬ c!george lore

"XD when I said I'd hang out with you more if you made me King of my own Essempi I did not mean you making a new reality in my dreams—"

Could not care less. The power compels him but like, even he's weirded out and he literally slept through wars. Might honestly prefer his old dreams.

(Also who on earth is GeorgeHD no like seriously it's me asking who is that)

○ ☆ ○ fates ↬ chat

Always there in the back of your mind <3

Totes the eldritch force that took one look at the god who was lowkey desperate, then thought 'i have a wondrous idea for entertainment'

○ ☆ ○ workers ↬ ???

those who would have followed you anywhere. those left alone. sparks now desolate, eyes lifeless.

Looming over him was a terror to behold, striking fear to anyone looking at it. Large and shadowy in nature, undecipherable except for its luminous white eyes. There stood Deimos itshis true form, growling in its his monstrous immensity.

     As the viewers backed away from the new contender clenching Helena with its shadowy guise, worry and confusion ensued. Why was the beloved Fear Patho's familiar doing this?

     Slowly, Achlys turned to her sister, a cry of anger creeping out her throat— 

     The seat was empty.

     A new kind of darkness consumed the sky, further concealing the stage from view. Another one of Theoi's magicks. 

A loud screech of a moving throne echoed, but she dared not look back as she heard her father order his soldiers in a quiet hush. 

     "Patrol the area...Do not let anyone out for now…Find Theoi...lock her in her quarters…

     make sure that child dies at all costs." 

     Her heart stopped. Cursing a wildfire, she joined the crowd a group of soldiers immediately following her beck and call. Alchys shoved past patho from patho, searching and getting more impatient and desperate by the second...

     Then she spotted them. A person clad in a black cloak, holding a quivering form. They turned, looking around, and as fierce blue eyes met frightened violet, she lunged towards her sisters— 

     BANG! A person rammed into her. 

     She was quick to shove them away. Just then, another pushed against her, with the same glint in their eyes.

She looked around, blinking rapidly with a frown. It seemed that some people filled with this maddening change in mindset, turning against the other with vicious cries. 

     She struggled to go through them unscathed. Another almost shoved her down before soldiers held the patho back, along with other people as they begged the person to see reason.

     How dare they cause a ruckus now of all times! She thought, gritting her teeth in anger. What would ever drive them to be influenced by such wrath— 

...Wrath. 

     "Told you she would be the better person between us." A voice quipped. 

    She turned to see her brother, smiling ruefully.

     In a flash, she stretched out her own heart wrenching despair throughout the crowd, directed to all those idiots, and most especially her brother, who took it in with open arms. Instantly, the chaos stopped. The people froze, some people sobbing, a state of confusion through tears. 

     But even as the situation was handled, she knew better. They failed.

     Theoi and Helena were nowhere to be found. 

     She clenched his shirt with her fists and stared him down. His pathetic heaves of sadness were nothing compared to what she felt. “What have you done.”

     Marcus lurched back, surprising her. Despite being consumed with emotion, he answered in a cool, even tone, "What we should've been doing the whole time." 

     She had tried to do the right thing. She had tried to avoid her. She had tried to forget all the times they spent in the library, as she scoffed at her youngest sister's taste of literature, the times they snuck into the kitchen, or the time she proudly wore a sloppily made flower crown before it was taken away by her rightfully cautious maids. 

     Theoi had sneered at Helena. Bullied her and called her a monster and such horrid things. She had tried to spark a dark flame in her heart, and hate her and make her sister feel the same— 

     Yet her sister refused. She kept on smiling, even as tears started to form. She said that it was fine, that she understood, and despite everything...she would continue to love her, for Theoi was family. 

     She couldn't find it in herself to continue the act.

     And so she visited her dear sister for the sole purpose to help and bring her comfort the best that she could the rare times that she was able to sneak out. Usually she would sneak in food and tell her about what happened the past few days and complain about her siblings while Helena told her the simple, quirky stories that she made to pass the time, or they would just sit in silence, finding comfort in one another's presence. 

     But it seems that fate had other plans tonight. 

"It's named Arcadia, right?" 

      Theoi freezed. Deimos looked up to her with curious hollow eyes, tilting his shadowy head. "Whatever do you mean, melilla?" She whispered back. 

     "Arcadia," She said the name wistfully, as if it were a forbidden word (and it was, in a way). "That's the name of the other kingdom, right? Where the Light Pathos come from...Where I come from." 

     Theoi looked down, suddenly interested in rubbing Deimos' head. "I suppose so." 

     "If it's okay with you, Thi, can you tell me more about it?" 

     She shoved Deimos. 

     Wincing at his growl. she tried to calm him down, as she tried to calm herself down as well, with the sudden question. 

     Arcadia...that wasn't something you hear everyday. The pathos in the empire treated the name like a curse. 

     "I just thought since you're smart and read a lot of books, maybe you'd be able to tell me how it differs...from...here."  Helena trailed off, looking at her sister nervously. 

     Judging from Helena's flinch, she hadn't covered up her shock very well. She cursed internally as her sister started to panic. 

     "I mean, if it's okay with you, y'know? It's just— Well, I overheard some guards talking about it, how I might be sent there after something— Of course, it's up to you— Never mind, it's nothi—" 

     "They say that it was like Elysium for Pathos." 

     As her sister's rambling came to a stop, Theoi closed her eyes, trying to imagine the place. 

     "In the morning, the skies were always alight with rays from the sun, basking the lands with a golden glow. Even at night time, they were blessed with a far more heavenly sight to behold.."

     A place filled with light. A true opposite to the Alastorian Empire, where the sky was bleak and gray, sparing little to no of the sun's rays. Yes, the lamps and wisps helped, and the stars were beautiful, but always in a dark and gloomy way. Not as happy or as friendly.

     "But that wasn't the only thing. Their houses are also said to be laden with jewels and gold. The trees danced gracefully in the wind, along with the many colorful flowers and plants scattered in the meadows and gardens. There would always be children's laughter echoing throughout as they...played." 

     Played. Another foreign concept in the Alastor Empire. They did have ‘activities’, but they were practical in nature. Being a negative pathos, it was required for them to know the rules of society by heart.

     She put up a smile for her dear sister. "The people who live there are truly different. They wore beautiful clothing with such bright colors and lived each day filled with abundant bliss and joy. No doubt, you would be happier there, melilla." 

"...But would you be there?" 

"I— 

"Would be there with me, Thi? Would we be in that place together?" 

"No."

"...Then I won't go." She looked up, heart still, as Helena continued with a newfound confidence. "Even if that place was the Isles of the Blest, if you won't be there, then I'll never go." 

Helena looked back at her and smiled softly. "I wouldn't trade you for anything in the Boundless Realms, Sister."