𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓

“Humans are foolish til the very end”, She paused looking through the city’s night view from the rooftop.

“They succumb to their desires, falling onto their self-judgment, and causing a demise on their own.”

The lady, who was not quite a ghost but was in a form of a Ghost, looked through her companion who held the same solemn face ー that sometimes she wondered if that seriousness masked their solitude, pity, or even sadness for the so-called Humans.

But then, she was one herself.

One of the foolish ones.

One who bore the idiocracies in life.

One who succumbed to their desire and caused her current state.

She was stuck between the gate of Acheron and the living. Unable to cross anywhere, she lived through the sanity and insanity of it.

Her story, one day, she hoped she could tell. Until then, she will be one of the listeners, together with her companion.

“Well then, what kind of scary story will we hear tonight?”

ー ft. @sunsadored​

Once coated in his hunger for physical touch and affection, of the fleeting adoration and admiration of his mortal companions, of the desire to hold them close and to consume them  —  to possess. Yet now, he was so far removed from his past yearnings, that the thought of it didn’t even cross his mind.

Now, he no longer sought for companionship the way he had before. Now, he’s more content with his pack of wolves, always around him, curling at his feet and laying on their backs at the sight of him. And perhaps, things that could no longer be touched by death. Things that have decayed from this world, and could no longer let this soul taint them. Things such as the young woman in front of here. Neither alive or dead, trapped between the two doors of the worlds.

'It depends, does it not? Which stories would you like to tell me tonight?’ He had heard of stories from the young woman, heart-wrenching thought all of them were, and reminded him only of the wretched sides of human beings. Yet he, who had experienced the highs and lows of both, was still keen on holding on to both ends, perhaps as stubbornly as she to both worlds, so that she might not be exiled yet to the underworld, where the boatman would greet her none too warmly and the world would embraced her all too coldly.

The man’s word continued on like riddles dancing in his mouth one after the other, of memories and of regrets. The more he spoke, the more confused Shin got but it did make him reflect briefly, for a moment, what memory meant to him. He was about to open his mouth to speak but said no words, letting Apollo’s statement hang in the air like a silent covenant between them.

He looked ahead, Apollo’s back in his view as he followed him out. Shin’s expression shifted to a look of betrayal, shocked, and even more confusion with his brows furrowed again. It was as though the universe would not allow him to take a short breather.

“1989..” he repeated. “And Washington?! You’re not kidding me, are you?” The God did not have any reason to! His time-travelling abilities only seemed to automatically trigger itself in the sight of blood, or whenever he faced cases and had to track important people. A pretty convenient but dangerous ability. It was the first time he had stepped into the United States out of the blue yet it didn’t feel like the first time either.

Memories fooled him like Time did, perhaps he was one of the chosen fortunate ones played around by Fate itself.

“Damn it.” A man, an acquaintance, a comrade? came to mind and he heaved a loud sigh while checking out his broken watch wrapped on his left wrist. It was the time-travelling kit that was still in its early stages produced by his friend, Isaac. Shin could only suspect some sort of malfunction that had transported him to this place.  

Shin searched himself from the suit he wore to the pocket of his pants at the mention of ID. Of course, of course he had it. Except it would only work in South Korea. The yellow-orange orb afloat the vast blue didn’t hide itself today, it made him feel its intense heat that he could only take off his suit yet still looking all formal with the white long-sleeved polo underneath. “You’re right. There’s no way they could.” Shin responded, shaking his head.

His gaze lingered and took refuge at the peaceful sight and sound he rarely sees and hear on the city he lived in - where crimes, high buildings, and the gloomy atmosphere were the norm. He took the moment to indulge himself of the nature’s scent and the warm air that touched his skin. It spelled out that he was very much alive this very moment.

“Looks like I have no choice then.”, he smiled, a comfortable one that seemed out-of-character from the detective. “but to lower my guard. I’ll be in your care for now.” A shrug followed. “Are you sure it’s close by? This seems like a long way ahead and I must ask what your plans are, especially to take in a stranger like myself?”

A stranger like myself. Shin had said, and the Sun God did his best to try and hide his rueful smile. It had been eons since the days he frolicked casually with mortals, when war still walked amongst the living and death clung to them like an old friend. A time when he would love in the arms that would decay and rot within days and he was left only to weep for another lost soul.

Aphrodite had lamented the distance he had put between his hearts and the world  —  for he used to love as deeply as hell and as intensely as she would will it on mortals. She had liked the way he loved, Apollo remembered her saying upon one of her visits ( it was always a surprise, her visits, and yet her scent lingered for months on end, a sweet headache for all that would come and visit him after ). 

Yet despite all this, Apollo had allowed Shin to crawl in from the tiny corner space of his heart, worming his way into him. He had not realised it at first, of course. But their circumstances had been most unusual and Apollo couldn’t help but entertain his curiosities and interests, unaware that it would slowly become a soft affection and the need to offer protection  —  salvation.

‘For one, no one would’ve believed your birth year,’ he added, his voice sounded deeper yet softer as if the trees around them wrapped around it, transforming it. ‘Amongst many other reasons, that would be the first one they’d realised,’ he commented with a slight laughter. His fingers parted a foliage around them and it was as if he was opening a door to another world, another dimension for the house that appeared in front of them seemed out of place, not belonging with the soil beneath their feet and the leaves and vines that hung from the trees.

‘I’d assume you would know I’m no ordinary human since I know you. I have my tricks and this is only one of many.’

❝ no! ❞ dionysos screamed before his mind could warn him of caution, instinct giving way to reach forward and take hold of the other god’s hand into his own. he interlaced their fingers together and gripped firmly, further establishing his intention of not letting apollo leave so prematurely before he got more answers. t’was the cruelty of fate that kept him from basking in the sweetness of affection pressed onto his forehead, and instead the fear of his brother so far gone.

there it was once more, the riotous chorus that sung beneath the music god’s skin and found its way again into the wine god’s very essence, oh how if only he could allow himself the luxury to indulge in their festivity—

restraint was a foreign concept to him and yet he now had to welcome it into his ranks and heed its advice as though it were a close friend. it suggested retreat—you are too ambitious and think to soar too high, psilas, how could you so coldly ignore the cries of your brethren and not answer their call for your attendance? to be in apollo’s presence now and to share such intimate skinship was to beckon for danger, and closer still did dionysos toe the line of what was expected of him; he was frenzy, he was chaos, he was exhilarating madness. however in some way his iron grip on apollo grounded him into the here and now—he would have to save his riotous fun for later, much much later. whether it was also successful in pulling his dearest brother out of the illusion of empty dreams and back into the cold of reality had yet to be seen.

❝ surely, you could spare me some time to— ❞ to what? yet again had he spoken without careful consideration, his lips moving before the gears in his head received the command to turn and come up with some excuse to keep the other god where he was.

in due time, his mind offered a proposal. it was now up to his mastery of the theatrical arts to execute it in perfection and lucky for him, acting was one of his areas of expertise. ❝ oh! right! ❞

he released his hold of apollo’s hand and delicately caressed the inside of his wrist with a finger. he pushed back the growing madness within him and summoned forth what little tenderness he could muster. fortunately for him, it was at least enough for the likes of a man who had so clearly lost his mind.  ❝ let us not be hasty, brother. surely you would like to first prepare some sort of a gift you could present to your beloved? ❞

he tugged apollo down gently and coaxed him back into position beside him, an affectionate smile on his lips. ❝ let me help you in that endeavour, sweet aegletes, i am sure i can be of assistance! let us take the time to ponder on what would best please this naiad that has captivated you so. am i wrong to say that she deserves to receive the joy of your generosity and affection? ❞

in truth, dionysos had no patience to linger on this topic any longer; he needed to know the answer to the question that had nagged at the back of his mind ever since apollo’s uncharacteristic display of lunacy and irrationality. he took to nonchalance and whimsy. ❝ also, pray tell, brother. when have you last spoken to eros? i have been meaning to invite him to another of my orgies—which you are always welcome to attend, by the way, as you should know from the copious invites i have sent your way—but it seems as though i am always missing him. surely one of us has heard from him in recent time? ❞

Eros’s arrow had struck him straight tin the heart, rendered him nothing but a simple fool with nothing but love in his mind  — but he was not a fool, never was, even if  his judgement had been clouded and his vision no longer clear. The moment Dionysos’s hand shot out to him, he knew what the other had intended to do. His pointless ramblings, going on and on, only further confirmed his suspicions. His amber eyes, golden like the setting sun in the horizon, seemingly darkened as a golden aura enveloped him ever so slightly, like a thinly veiled threat. 

'Brother, what are you doing?’ His question was only rhetorical of course, but he had felt that Dionysos deserved the benefit of a doubt and he was willing to be wrong in his judgement of the other’s action.

Yet still, his body language gave him away: the slight retreat of his physique from the his dear Bakkhos and the furrowing of his brow that did not belie his cautious expression.

Then he spoke and he spoke and spoke, but he said nothing and Apollo finally pulled his arm away from the other, liberating the other from the warmth of his touches, of the fire beneath his skin. ‘Brother, tell me you are not doing what I think you are? Tell me right now that you are not preventing my rendezvous with the fair Daphne?’

There was silence between them, and Apollo let it be. Uncaring about how it might had made the other feel. This was unusual of him. The Apollo that everyone knew would never consciously do that. But here he was, seething in a fervid anger that had started to bubbled up deep inside him. However, before long, he sighed and tore his eyes away from his brother, willing to entertain him once more.

‘Very well, tell me what it is you’re thinking of,’ he had thought that his mere presence would be a gift enough for her. For she, in her glory, in all her wholeness was more than anything the world could offer to him. Would it not be the very same to her? Though his thoughts had been briefly deviated to that of his brother, the mere ring of her name in his head had set it back to its course. With the fair, cold Daphne as its anchor, and he was drowning deeper and deeper and yet he was aware of it not.

There was a dull pain in his head that spread from his heart and he held his temple idly before shaking his head, as if to chase it away. 

‘Eros?’ he questioned, distracted. ‘Yes, yes I believe I had, but it had been some time ago and I didn’t even remember what he had said to me then. Why have you asked this?’ His answer was hurried, he had little to no patience left for his brother anymore and his feet were itching to leap out of the window, where his chariot awaited. His arms had tingled to feel the soft skin of his beloved nymph, and his eyes wished nothing more but to feast in the glorious sight of her.

As it did before. The man before him spoke with a tone of certainty and in a poetic manner he couldn’t seem to grasp. Shin glanced at him and met his gaze that expressed sadness? Though only briefly.

“I’m sorry, ” he muttered and he meant it.

It was not in his nature to simply offend another. The detective took his hand and got up, only for him to be brought back to the reality that he was once again in a different timeline, the question of “where” hanged heavy in the air. “I can’t explain it right now, ” he continued to speak as he straightened himself and finally faced the other properly. His voice and tone that identified him to be a formal and professional person was eventually back to its usual state as he composed himself at the unfamiliar place.

“But if it is just as you said, it may come back sometime soon. After all, there’s a saying that memories does not completely die, though it does leave my overcrowded head at times.” He explained, without knowing he was talking to a God, of all things. But if he were to know, would it have changed anythingーperhaps, perhaps. To him who was left alone, he had those concept of Higher Being that was once instilled to him as a child by his own home or the society simply gravitate to resentment, nullifying its very own existence in his heart.

“Well, enough of that for now. Can I know what time is it or where is this? I think I’m lost.”

The Sun God knew exactly how short a mortal’s life could be, and how painful it was to watch them die before his very own eyes, again and again, like a repeated nightmare he was force to live in. But this was something new, to be forgotten, over and over again. It was a different kind of pain, though the ache it brought to his heart was just as severe, and he could only hide it as he turned away from the man and closed his eyes.

'Memories never die  —  it’s cruel isn’t it?’ his response came after a short pause, and like the soft lull of a dreary autumn day. One would expect him to continue on, the way he ended that sentence, but instead, he spoke no more of the matter, and changed the subject as his eyes finally met Shin’s once again, ‘You do not need to explain. I know of your malaise, what afflicts you —   with my deepest regret i have to inform you that I’ve found no means to rid you of it.’

He walked out of the alleyway and let the sun greeted him, kissed him most joyously as if welcoming his return to their embrace, and perhaps that’s exactly what happened. Apollo smiled in return, the soft caresses felt like an old lover  —  a lover that only existed in his mind, in all its perfection, one that he could never find or hope to find in the cruel hands of reality. The, without turning to look at the mortal, said, ‘Do you mean to ask for the time or the date? It is June 15th, 1989. We’re in Washington, United States.’

‘I don’t suppose you have your ID card with you?’ as he began to walk, faint noises began to fill his ears, the signs of life  —  the sound of cicada crying earnestly, and the soft breeze rustling the leaves of the red cedar trees that lined the roads. There were no murmurs of conversations or footsteps in their vicinity. It was a quiet suburban area and they distance away from the neighborhood. ‘Though I doubt anyone from this timeline would accept whatever you carry with you. I am just a stranger to you for now, but maybe it is in your best interest to trust me. Come now, my place is close by.’

dionysos truly felt it now, stronger than ever before. it surged into the one venerated as liberator, thick and with the aim to impact; like a great tidal wave, it overwhelmed his spirt and dared to try swallowing him whole. his heart, it roared into life! fast and loud against his ribcage from the strength of his adrenaline, it leapt for joy—yes and no, not quite, not like this, the battle between salvation and contamination would rage on.

this was not the sort of catharsis he loved to partake in, the kind that he devoured and allowed to pigment his divinity. it took all of his best efforts to keep from nails dug sharp into equally tanned skin. instead the pads of his fingertips pressed hard—the mania, it buzzed deep beneath his skin again—and he contained the start of a low growl. his brother was unwell, a great ailment had come upon him that mimicked the frenzy that dionysos was sovereign over. and the young wine god, in this very rare instance, had to play the part of reason and sanity.

oh, the horrors of the reality he was now made to face. his normally tongue-in-cheek companion now took on the role of a sweet and adoring brother. the fates were cruel indeed; once on a whim he expressed his wish for this and they have indeed now given him a taste of it, but granted him not the luxury to indulge in it in its entirety.

❝ let us not talk about love, brother. ❞ he hid his plea beneath a cloak of jest and met apollo’s gaze, ignoring the glint of madness that glared back at him. the young god’s eyes were glimmering amethysts and so was the flicker of his aura, telltale signs of his element growing in presence. though dionysos thought it a miracle if the other god noticed as much despite his current state.

❝ please, spare me a few moments, let me have this with you, ❞ dionysos said airily in a sing-song voice; he knew his brother appreciated a fine tune. ❝ forget about that naiad girl of yours, forget about her for just one moment. let us focus on the now, of our everlasting affection for one another! hmm? could you grant me this pleasure, my dearest phoebus? ❞

softly, dionysos pressed his lips to apollo’s cheek and with it, his earnest invocation. please, oh please, let this not be the work of eros for if it were, then his brother was lost to him and the pain of which would be unbearable.

he needed to distract apollo, enough so that he could— if he could just— absorb it, dispel it, whatever that may be! whatever action to berid his brother of the false mania that cursed him so and, pray, left remain the purity of love, the cadence of a sweet romance. (he knew deep in himself that he could not do anything and yet he had hope that this would soon come to pass.)

this unsightly, foul thing had no place in the embrace of the sun.

How very odd, how very peculiar. That The Harbringer of Plagues himself should be plagued with an incurable disease  — one that goes by the melodious name of love. Oh, how sweet thy sound, how comely thy name, yet how deadly, how dangerous. Venomous like the snake he’s so oftenly associated with, only now, death came to his neck, and how dreadful, that he should welcome it with open hands. 

But if it’s death on the name of love, then he would so readily die for it. If only he could die in her arms, embraced in her winter hues.

Take me! he seemed to say, to shout at this figure in his head, who had grabbed his hands and danced him to madness, to a point of decrepit, where monsters laid and ate away at every last bits of his reasonings and rationale. 

Oh, my dear God, my dear Phoebus, slayer of monsters, who will slay you monsters for you.

The Illustrious. The Divine. He who could ruin great kingdoms with just a flick of his fingers, commanding great armies of plague and diseases. Yet now his mind was crippled and devoured by darkness itself. His was now the ramblings of a fool, of a simple man so saturated with madness and lunacy that he could no longer tell right from wrong, up from down, and could no longer see beyond the alluring enchantment of his beloved naiad nymph. Her voice a siren’s call that melted his brain until there was nothing more inside him but the burning desire to posses. 

‘I wish I could, Dionysos,’ he spoke softly through a smile  —  as tender as the moonlight above them   —  and his eyes were staring at the Commander of pandemonium himself, but he was not with them. His heart and his soul remained still in the green expanse near the riverbeds, where he had spent his hours chasing after love, yearning for it. ‘I wish I could, but I could not. Is it your spell that I am under? Or is it the bewitchment of my dear Nymph? Oh her countenance most lovely her voice most hypnotizing. I daresay  — !! Oh I dare it, not even the songs of the Mousai rivaled how sweetly she had spoken to me, how her voice evoked a melody inside me, driving me to madness.’

‘How could you ask me to speak of anything but love at this moment, Dear Brother? When I am riddled to sickness by one? ‘Tis, the sickness of the mind, I assure you, and of the heart as well...My heart, the absence of her pains me. I do not think I could stand not being with her any longer. I must go, Brother. I must go to her now.’

He started to move, pushing his palm into the cold surface of the marble bench, and instantly he was enamored again, for the cool stone reminded her of her skin against his, the soft brushes of her fingertips against him as they danced the frenzied game of chase. 

Never again will they be parted, he swore in his heart as he hoisted himself up into the windowsill and beckoned for his chariot to come. Turning, he cupped Dionysos’s face in his head and left only a small, tender kiss on his forehead. 

worries plagued dionysos not in the same way that it did most. worry was made for those chained by absurdly intangible concepts that had no place in the realm of the living, let alone in the realm of the divine. it was not something made for them, those with ichor running through their veins and colouring their essences. dionysos was not chained to anything—he was the great liberator, the great Briseus who prevailed over the ailments that shackled mere mortals, the twice-born who could not be contained even by the spirt of death itself. t'was not worry that brought dionysos over to apollo’s home, he would make that distinction clear, it was /concern/ and nothing more.

the air whispered of a familiarity that tugged dionysos closer and closer to the sun god—your beloved freedom would be found here, liberation prevails once more. but such was not typically found within the radius of his radiant kin; apollo was the order to his chaos, the rationality to his penchant for the lack thereof, the logical mind to his instinctual body.

and dionysos was hit with the vague inkling that such contrasts would be lost to them today.

the wine god was sharply aware of the endearing address thrown his way—his brother was rarely this sweet with him, his words like honey and his voice a choir, not like this. it did little to dissuade the persistent nag deep in his gut that something was amiss. the curtains would soon unveil themselves to reveal the stage all prepped and ready, but for now the god of theatre must play the intellect and investigate who was to be the playwright, and who the actor.

❝ dearest phoebus, ❞ dionysos began with the epithet that so rightfully adorned his radiant brother, affection brimming in every syllable and no ounce of falseness to be found. let it be known that dionysos’ praises more often than not carried with it a high degree of integrity. ❝ oh, how you glow and bring colour to us all. but surely, you are mistaking me for another? if it is affairs of the heart and talks of love that you wish to spin into intricate poems, then surely aphrodite would be a better companion than i. ❞

aphrodite’s name was a sour fruit on his tongue. he thought what he nurtured within himself for her was love, he decorated it with flowers and harvested the sweetness of their nectar. he grew strawberries for her and plucked them ripe and fresh—she crushed them with her feet and made them into jam for her war god lover. dionysos thought he could write epic poems about the curve of her hips or the bow of her lips but no, the sentiment that he nursed for the goddess of beauty was not love. not if love was what always plagued apollo silly and rendered him a simpleton.

dionysos took a seat beside apollo and straddled the bench, his arms finding home around the other deity’s torso and his chest pressed flush against apollo’s back. hands on bare flesh, dionysos instantly felt the hum of what could be and it thrummed underneath his own skin—it tickled and it buzzed and it cried for its master. the makings of what his cult would so reverently indulge themselves in were making themselves comfortable within his typically sane brother; though that may be cause for alarm, dionysos took to detachment and composure.

❝ however, i am curious to hear more of this nymph that has enchanted you so. you seem so adamant on rejecting my advances, as enrapturing as i am, and you so easily cast me aside! ❞ dramatics were a specialty of the theatrical god’s and it did well to mask the concern that had yet to be persuaded into retreating to the shadows. he’d play the part of a jealous lover pining for their beloved if it coaxed out what he needed to hear.

dionysos rested his cheek onto apollo’s shoulder, his head angled so that his lips were a breath away from the silk threads of gold that weaved down and pressed against his bare chest. quietly, gently, he murmured. ❝ tell me more, beloved sol, i wish to understand what it is that now ails— no, i want to see what it is that you see, feel what it is that you feel. ❞

there was no deity that welcomed unbounded expression more than him; dionysos was the ritous god, the god of freedom, the god of reticence dispeling. but this was a different sort not under his charge, never under his charge.

love was a shackle to the heart, a chain to the soul. love was not liberating.

Aphrodite. Had he been in his right mind, he would’ve questioned the mention of her name by Dionysos. T’was a sour history shared between the two of them  —    as sour as bad wine; and what greater insult would it be to the God of winemaking himself? But he was not in his right mind. He hadn’t been in his right mind for quiet a while now. Something had taken hold of him, something wicked, something bewitching. 

Dionysos had fell for Aphrodite but for Apollo it had been Hekate. He had always loved those women shrouded in mystery and witchcraft. Their beguiling dark eyes, their peculiar charm. How funny that the God of prophecy should fall in love time and again for those inexplicable things, for those he couldn’t make sense of. They ticked his curiosity, they invoked inside him something that made him feel alive, challenged him intellectually, and OH did he loved it so.

Aphrodite. Not even the mention of the Goddess of beauty and love, and all that Apollo seemed to found himself entrapped in could shake himself out of the dream-like state he had fallen into. His face was painted with ten shades of love, each a deeper than the color before it, and his heart  — oh his heart. It was in an ever dreadful state, he felt as if there were flowers blooming inside him, its vines puncturing into his flesh and taking roots inside him. Each passing second, it grew stronger, stemmed itself deeper, until he could feel it in his very core. This ardent adoration that turned him into nothing but a simple agent of love, only capable of acting on it, as if a puppet on a string.

Well, should he be a puppet, then let him be one ! Let him be played around, as long as he’d get his happy end, as long as he could profess his affections and press his whispers of tenderness into the the naiad.

She was a shade of blue, he remembered, with skin as cool as dewdrops just as he was hot as the scorching sun. He years to touch her, to feel her chill on his skin — oh love let her invigorate him, let her revive once again the love that had once been stomped over and over again

With her, he was sure that it would work. With her, he was sure that he would once again let the seeds of love be planted inside him and conquer him. For he was a slave for love, and always had been.

He felt Dionysos’s chest against him and leaned back, resting his head on the other’s shoulder. He was WARM just as Apollo was. He frowned then, ever so slightly, as he was reminded of her absence. The beautiful Daphne was not a warm being, she was cold, looked at him with eyes so gentle, they looked as if they were about to melt. Eyes so wet his parched soul screamed for her the moment his eyes fell upon her willowy figure.

A sigh yet escaped his lips, but this time, it was through a smile. The same lovesick smile as always, the ones he’d always worn whenever love had captured him, held his neck tightly in its leash. When he spoke again his voice was thick with affection, ‘Oh, but I do love you, dear Bakkhos. I love you most fervently —  it pains me that you should question that. Though I hold you most differently than I do my lovers, I still do hold you very closely and dearly to my heart. Don’t you hear it tumbling? Thundering, even now?’ 

He casted his eyes towards the Liber Pater, then smiled at him as he guided his hand towards his chest, where his heart jumped in palpitations, and his blood rushing seemingly without rest ‘Hear that, the beating of this heart of mine — part of it is always yours.’  Every cell of his being was roaring out, the intensity almost dizzying that he couldn’t see straight, or think straight.

‘Beloved brother, let me tell you, I have never loved,’ he said softly after a while with the young nymp in his mind, and though his mien took a gentler approach, his soul was still rumbling, in a state of unrest. ‘I tell you now! I have never known love before this, for everything pales in comparison. I couldn’t think straight, nor could I hear my own voice my head. It’s her !! Everything’s filled with her. I couldn’t utter a word without her dancing in my mind, whispering her voice into my ears. Every second, she imprints herself on me  —  over and over again, until there’s nothing left in my head that didn’t know of her, didn’t yearn for her. ‘Tis not desires of the flesh I want from her, Bakkhos. It’s  —  ’ he halted most suddenly, his lungs were on fire and was his sin, just thinking about her. ‘ —  it’s most peculiar. I want only her. I want only to say that I love her, I want only to press my words upon her skin, telling her the points of insanity she had driven me into. Beyond that .... I do not know. Beyond that ... I’ve not the faintest idea. I simply want her.’ 

‘Have you felt like that, hm? Tell me. To want nothing but to love, even if you know not what you want of her for the future.‘ And in that moment, his eyes locked with Dionysos. The frailty in which those ambers held. Apollo loved many a times before, but it was very plain to him what he wanted from the others, and it was always with great clarity that he took his actions, made his decisions. He stood for order, after all, and sided with rationality and logic. Were these not what he was known for?

Remember.

Remembering.

Those words always felt like a burning steel against the skin whenever this happened. The pain on his chest, too, felt as if his rib cage would flung open and his tightening heart would burst any time. He knew then that Time may not be on his side. That the ability he carried for god knows who bestowed it upon him was nothing more than a curse.

Each time he landed on a strange timeline in search of the Truth, It seemed to him that his memories were slipping away from him.

More missing pieces to the bigger picture. How many more times would he be facing another stranger from another timeline, and for how long, there were just endless question that didn't seem to have any answers.

"Please, try to remember as much as you can." The stranger before him had said as he crouched holding his pained head in on one hand.

"You're telling me that we have met beforeーthat I know of you?" Shin closed his eyes briefly and fumbled with the fragments of his memory, and there was nothing. It was blank. The other was more of a stranger, alien to his memories, foreign to his sight. "I don't .. That's odd. I don't remember.. who are you?"

The young mortal before him was afflicted with something most unnatural. It was a gift, he knew of it, but exactly which Immortal bestowed it upon him, he could not be sure. Some might wondered if it’s a blessing or a curse, but the God knew. He’s witnessed far too much. Was gift not a curse as well? A curse indeed! To Shin for sure, as evident in his pain, as evident in his struggle to control it.

Apollo watched him, head tilted very slightly so that he could watch the other’s expression contorting in pain, trying to grab at the fragments of memory that was escaping him. He said nothing for a while, then, as if not being able to bear anymore, open his mouth with great excruciating pain, but his tone betrayed.

‘That’s right,’ a soft confirmation in a listless voice, ‘We have met before, and even if we haven’t, you know me in your soul  —  as we’ve met before in times past.’ 

One did not simply kill a God. But when they did, it took another Immortal. A life for a life, an era for an era, a new God to replace the old Ones. Just as the Olympians had replaced the Gods before them, now comes a new wave of religion, of Immortals, and of young Gods to replace them. But still, in their hearts of hearts and in the deepest subconscious of every mortal being, they knew a God. They felt it in their bones and in every cell of their being  —  the yearning inside their very being and the fear their ancestors instilled in them of their WRATH that flowed for millennium to come in their veins.

The time traveler need not to have met Apollo to know him. This, he knew for sure. But matter of remembrance was of a different thing, a separate matter altogether. As Apollo rarely did connect with mortals in the recent years, it drew from him, a bitter smile as he recognized the pang of pain in his heart. Oh to be forgotten, all over again.

Plumes of light and the softest of sunrays filled the room as the God of Music materialized into the room. And the muses whispered as he entered, and whispered even more when he acknowledged them not, and instead, as if in a daze, moved towards the window sill where the bench greeted him and stared out the window towards the river. 

There was a certain look in his eyes  —  tender yet stroking the thin lines of madness at the same time. When even Euterpe and Thalia failed to get him to speak, the eldest of the muses ushered them out, leaving the last entity in the room in his silence.

Time consumed him, as love did. How many hours had passed since his arrival? Yet  —  what is mere hours to an immortal? The concept of time never did make any sense to Apollo and left on heartaches and wounds inside him   —  one that bled and bled, one that he never seemed to bother to stitch up.

He was in love. Once and again, as he often did. But this time it was different. This time it was he had no control over his heart, his mind, his body. Like a frenzied being propelled forwards only by love. Oh   —  ! How wonderful it was.

‘Dear Bakkhos, how long have you paced by the doors and how much more do you plan on lingering?’ He called out to the figure, shrouded in the dark embrace of the night, lighted only by the soft silvers of the moon above them. Apollo need not to turn around to know who had come to him. He could tell without having to see him, without having to hear him. He knew the other intimately, knew him since his childhood, knew him all through his adulthood. 

‘Come closer,’ he called out yet his eyes bothered not to grace the other with their warmth. ‘Come closer and talk of love with me. This manic feeling in my heart, it never seems to stop, not even for a second. The drumming of tenderness, the obsession to posses, the desire to love. Is this how you usually feel, dear brother? I want the young  nymph to feel my deep affections for her ! ’ he exclaimed and his voice was shaking and raw with emotion. 

Apollo had been in love before. He had been in love many a times before. But never like this. Yes, he knelt to love. Yes, he slaved for love. But all those, he did very consciously. But through all, he never lost his head over love.

dionysos was all cheer once more, not in any way upset by the blatant taunting against him and simply far too elated that they were about to step (back) into nature.

the young god truly did have his pup-like moments. when he bounced up onto his feet and his eyes glimmered expectantly at apollo, surely one could almost visualise a tail wagging ecstatically behind him and his ears all perked up. no one would have thought him to be the feline he truly was at his very core.

❝ i’m up, i’m up! ❞ innocent as an infant, pure as an angel. oh, how the god of madness and insanity so deceived the naïve.

it was always peculiar whenever he was addressed by his name in full. most would deem it too far a chore, given that it was already a chore in and of itself at times to exist within the same vicinity as dionysos or be subjected to serve as his source of entertainment for the day. they would thus opt to go with the unoriginal and by no means creative nickname that many others before them have addressed him by, and truth be told it was not in the slightest an unpleasant arrangement for the wine god. if anything it stuck out like a sore thumb, hearing his own name murmured by someone other than himself or by any of the lovers, short-lived or otherwise, that he’s accumulated over the many years. yes, the full stretch of his name was normally reserved for them to whisper in loving reverence or to sigh out in ecstasy underneath him.

there was no doubt that apollo had on a number of occasions in the past called dionysos by his name. yet each time, the younger god would soften at the edges and turn docile, a shiver running across his entire being and the sensation taking a firm hold of him. he would confine it all within his internal world, however; on the outside, he would keep to his signature grins and bountiful energy. anything to mask the embarrassing truth of how much he loved being called by his own name.

meek was never and would never be a word used to describe dionysos. it would shred him into pieces and turn him unrecognisable.

❝ i’ll behave! ❞ dionysos announced with a hand raised and a wide smile in place, his heart thumping against his chest and his cheeks a rosy pink. this time around it was not alcohol that caused his skin to flush, though rarely did he come across anyone who was able to tell the difference. ❝ if i say i’ll behave, can i stay after our hike? ❞

dionysos hated being alone, which wouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone that knew him to any extent. he kept his schedules packed and then some with meetings with friends or nights out with nothing planned in particular. he could have easily chosen to do the latter once the sun had set later on and his current companion would call it a day, but the truth of the matter was that he wanted to spend time with apollo. it was really as simple as that.

In the end, no matter what happened between them and no matter how exhausted Dionysos made him feel, Apollo would always looked upon him kindly  —   how could he not? The boy was a mere child in his eyes, would always be a child in his eyes; and his behaviour did not deny that, not once. He let the softest and faintest of smile graced his countenance as he saw happiness lighting up the youngest olympian’s face. He always did look better happy, not imbued and saturated in inebriation nor madness. Just, a pure and simple happiness.

He then wondered if he ever looked upon any of his own children with the same eyes. He did love them, but in the end it’s always better now knowing who they were or what they did. In the end, everyone died before him, and one killed by his own sister. That was a tragedy he couldn’t let go, not even after all the millennia that has gone by. Forgiven yet not forgotten.

A hand flew to give Dionysos’s hair a careless ruffle before he pulled him close and rested his arm around the other’s shoulder as he finally gave way to a smile. Apollo rarely ever truly smiled, but when he did, it was as if the sun’s shining through just for you. ‘I might regret saying this but I’ll leave myself to you for the day. You’re not going to disappoint, I hope?’

But he knew Dionysos wouldn’t disappoint, even as the sentence formed in his head. It might not be how Apollo would typically designed for his day, but objectively speaking, it wouldn’t be a bore. The word was so far removed from the God of winemaking that he wouldn’t even know how to color of it, least of all the taste of it, the essence of it. He was the wild thumping in your heart and the way your blood raptured inside you. It could be exhausting, it could consumed you if you let it, if you didn’t control it. But it wouldn’t be a bore. And it never did disappoint.

‘We’ll see—’ Apollo replied in the same airy manner he always did: not promising anything, not even declaring or stating anything. To try to capture him and fathom him and his words would be the same as trying to bottle up the air around you  —   you knew you had to have captured something, but you could never see, never feel, never truly grasping at anything.

It was almost a bewilderment to Apollo how Dionysos seemed to thirst for company, how the other couldn’t be left in his own lonesome. He was a lot and he was loud. One would’ve surmised that he could be his own company. but perhaps the voices were too much and it drove himself towards insanity. Perhaps he needed the voice of others to drown them and keep them at bay. He wouldn’t know. He wasn’t Dionysos and the other never did spoke about the matter : and so Apollo never pressed for it.

as much as dionysos took delight in expressing his fondness through physical means, oh how he did so love being on the receiving end as well. it was instinct, really, when apollo’s hand found its way into dionysos’ hair and the younger god unconsciously nuzzled into the familiar touch. the warmth that pooled from apollo’s palm seemed to trickle down from the top of the wine god’s head to the slump of his shoulders, further amplified soon enough by the soothing motions of apollo’s thumb between his eyebrows.

dionysos loved the sun, loved basking in it, loved taking leisure under it. if he hadn’t spent enough time as a child (guised as the opposite sex) with the sun shining above head and the cheers of his fellow playmates surrounding him, then it was the later half of his formative years on mount nysa that qualified him in professing his affinity for it. perhaps it was for these reasons that dionysos loved being in apollo’s presence, his complaints of boredom notwithstanding. akin to how his grapevines would thrive in and seek for his brother’s domain, though dionysos preferred not to admit that aloud—he’s confessed many an embarrassing statement as is.

the sun god’s words barely registered in dionysos’ mind and all he could expel out was a noncommittal hum in response. not exactly alluding to complete agreement yet at the same time not downright rejection, either. truth be told, he’d respond in whatever which way would grant him more of apollo’s touch, however soon enough apollo retracted his hand and dionysos was back to having full (or as much) control of his mental capacity.

apollo’s admission of defeat caused dionysos to immediately shoot up, energy surging back into him like a broken dam and gushing out in a smile so bright, so full of life. he sat on his heels right beside apollo with eyes sparkling like precious jewels, amethyst meeting amber as dionysos met apollo’s eyes straight on. what had been said after that, however, turned dionysos in a snap from animated youth to sheepish adolescent; he had never been big on detailed plans, and today was no exception.

❝ i… hadn’t thought that far. ❞ dionysos was a temple of honesty and shame was for those beneath them. or at least, it wasn’t shame that averted his gaze down to apollo’s lap; if anything, it leaned closer towards a fleeting wave of embarrassment that would come to pass soon enough.

he reached out and his index finger began making light pokes at apollo’s stomach before the motion transitioned into drawing vague shapes and barely recognisable letters. it was possible that he was slightly abashed by what he was about to say. ❝ i just wanted to spend some time with you… outdoors, i don’t want to stay all cooped up in here. it feels constricting. ❞

truthfully, dionysos did like the abode that apollo settled for himself. if the wine god utilised his home as much as apollo did his own, then surely dionysos would have chosen or built a residence that was an almost direct replica of apollo’s. however, for a god who thrived in nature and spent his early years surrounded in it, he was born to stretch as wide as he could and to look beyond as far as the eye could see; a cage was still a cage, no matter how spacious it was or all the bells and whistles attached to it.

❝ i do not ask for any strenuous activity! we could simply hike up to the tippity top of the nearest mountain, maybe have a little picnic—my treat! and then we could come back down and do whatever you want. ❞ dionysos quickly realised the dangers of a blanket promise and immediately corrected himself, glancing up at apollo with a sheepish smile. ❝ okay, perhaps not anything you want but we can discuss that now! i am willing to bargain for your time, surely we can come to some arrangement, do you not know me to be generous? ❞

for all his frivolity and flippancy, dionysos could be trusted to be a god of his word and he had a bounty of graces to give, just as much as he overflowed with affection aplenty for those that mattered most to him. he may be childish and borderline immature, but he was not selfish.

‘I know you to be obstinate,’  Apollo shot back without a second’s pause, his gaze sharpening but his smile’s still not quite there, already dreading the day ahead of him. There were ways to repel Dionysos, of course. He was child-like and easily distracted, Apollo need not to borrow Hypnos’s powers nor curry favors with him to lead Dionysos to a deep slumber and pull him away from his plans. However, that still required his time, his attention, and Apollo simply wished to be left alone with his books at the moment. ‘Such an oddity that your associated animal should be a panther and not a bull,’ he joked and the light returned to his eyed.

Either way, if he couldn’t have his way, perhaps it’s better to make Dionysos happy. Apollo was kind, far too kind and too giving to anyone who might have the courage to ask it of him. (How many times had he given and given and be taken advantage of? He closed his eyes to chased the memories away). It might be from guilt; from the numerous times Apollo had abandoned his brothers and sisters and all around him when love got the better of him, clouded his vision and entrapped his heart. He knew he’s shut out others before because of love, and he knew he’d do it again in a heartbeat, whether it be a mortal who caught his eyes or a nymph somewhere. 

Perhaps he’s not kind, perhaps he’s just making up for whatever heartache he might cause in the future. Either way, he had resigned himself to this fate. 

‘Well? Strenuous activities or not hiking, you have to choose one, brother, surely?’  Apollo teased the other as he stood up suddenly, evoking a whine from his canine (both his canines, perhaps, he should say. One an adult and one a pup.). He was the quiet one of the trio, but he had his moments of mischief, even if it’s slightly more wicked than the playful pranks the other two liked to play. He liked to make them squawk like a bird, perhaps, he always liked the sounds of birds  — the pretty ones and the ugly ones. Perhaps sometimes he liked the latter just a little bit better. Morbid, he knew, so he never bothered telling anyone about it.

An elastic band in his hand, he gathered his long waves of hair into a sloppy queue and couldn’t help yet another sigh as he turned to look at Dionysos. ‘You are going to have to stand up on your feet if you want to go hiking you know? I do believe it is the first step that precedes walking,’ He had always planned to indulge Dionysos, but it was fun to dangle the carrot in front of him and watch him excitedly going for it like a little puppy. Dionysos was child-like and it was as if his time was in suspended animation, frozen in time  —  the boy never did seem to grow up from the times when he was just a wee baby, smiling unassumingly at the world, at the sun above him.

apollo had always been the bore of the trio (which consisted of the two of them and their other half brother, Hermes). however, it could be argued that he was such out of necessity; there was only so much chaos and mischief the universe could allow with the god of trickery banned together with their eternally adolescent brother, who for all their years of existence still retained a youthful mien to envy.

this eternally youthful deity, typically found with a smile on his face that curled up from end to end, now fashioned a child-like pout that told plain as day of his disappointment at his brother’s response. he had expected as much, it always took a while to nudge the sun god into some semblance of agreement, yet that was not to say that dionysos had no hopes of an easy convincing this time around.

despite that, dionysos wasn’t entirely demotivated. he had never been known for his patience, however patience made his rewards sweeter still and dionysos was always weak to the sweetest of nectar; he’d play the long game if it got him what he wanted in the end.

much to no one’s surprised, he got bored of the present situation (or at least, the current position he was in) and chose to get himself as comfortable as apollo now was while he waited for his brother to give in (confidence was without a doubt a word prominently found in his dictionary). he wordlessly pressed apollo’s propped leg down—not too forcefully, lest he agitate his brother—so that it stretched out just as his other did, and then with a strangled whine dionysos positioned himself so that he could lay down with his head on apollo’s lap and the rest of his body stretched out perpendicular to apollo’s legs.

dionysos glanced up at the older deity from his position on his lap and his pout resurfaced. ❝ riding a chariot all the way up is no fun, where’s the excitement in that? has the magnificent apollo been this much of a bore? you shouldn’t subject yourself to such self-deprecation, brother, it’s beneath you. ❞ nevermind the tiny detail that it was now dionysos himself accusing his brother of the less than positive quality (details, details, who needed them?).

the brunet reached up and poked the bottom of apollo’s jaw repeatedly, more slow and light taps than vigorous and sharp jabs; he always had an itch for physical touch and he would more often than not be content with whatever subtleties the other party would allow of him. his hand then soon enough grew tired of apollo’s jaw and took interest in the flowing waves of gold that framed apollo’s face, going out of his way to reach up further still and twirl a few of the closest strands round his finger. passively, gently, affectionately.

he threaded the gold strands through his fingers as he spoke. ❝ i’ve already spent plenty of time with artemis last week. ❞ or at least, artemis deemed it plenty of time enough and she told dionysos as much directly to his face without any room for misconception. ❝ i wouldn’t want to make you jealous, ❞ dionysos continued on, his eyes suddenly subdued from the enthusiasm of earlier on and replaced with something much softer. ❝ it would pain me to hear that you thought i loved you any less than i do artemis. ❞

perhaps it was an exaggeration; the god of theatre had a flair for dramatics, after all. yet everyone who knew dionysos knew him to be one who was beyond concealing honest sentiments and sincere feelings. he always made it known however it was that he felt, whether it be internally or directed towards another. an admirable quality that at times did him more harm than good, though dionysos refused to change that aspect of himself.

Dionysus’s personality was like that of a puppy’s. The two children of Leto were quick to understand this from their early interactions with the young God, not that Dionysos himself would claim it. He likened himself to a cat, and perhaps some parts of it were true (some, Apollo had to emphasize in his head), but was he not claiming Apollo’s lap right now? Like an overgrown dog who still thought themselves a lap dog?

Well. The God of Music had always been fond of dogs, well, wolves. Though his pack was incomparably more well-behaved than his own brother. It was funny, was it not? Here he was, comparing his own brother who had been a God to many some long years ago, to an animal. In his defense, their family had always had a penchant for turning themselves into animals.

His eyes, the color of the sun, followed Dionysos as he laid on his lap and his hand came down to ruffle the short cropped curls on Dionysos’s head without much of a thought, as it had the blanche wolf just moments ago. ‘It’s very much fun, thank you very much. To feel the air in your wind and the sun on your skin as you flew high in the sky. The velocity of which one could not replicate with hiking. What’s a mere climb got to offer to you, me, us?’ He could not comprehend and try as he might, it had seemed impossible to him to understand the appeal of the activity that his brother had proposed. 

His thumb stroked the space between Dionysos’s eyebrows, in a slow and repetitive manner, like he would a pup to send them to slumber. ‘I am not a jealous God nor am I one with a fiery temper, unlike my sister,’ funny, as it was he who became the keeper of the sun and his sister the moon  –  the associations mortals had given to their respective imageries and the cold distance it held with the truth.

Artemis inherited their father’s anger, his flared up temper. But his pride flowed in both their veins; Apollo could not deny that.

‘You are not to worry too much about trivial matters like this. Nor are you to make me an excuse for your whims,’ his words were said in a cutting manner, terse as he usually was. Severe and harsh as the sun. but the gentle expression on his face and his softened eyes were enough to tell Dionysos that he was not scolding the other. ‘You should love her more. She doesn’t often let others love her and you’re one of the very few.’

He sighed and pulled his hand away. His head was hurting, as it often was around this one brother of his: the one who loved to bother him so, the one who claimed to love him so. And Apollo believed that he did, of course. Of course. But he had oftentimes found himself wishing that Dionysos could love him less. He was the God of ecstasy, insanity – and his love too was maddening.

There was no getting out of this, Apollo knew even before he tried to talk his way out of it. But he liked a challenge, and the off chance that he could dissuade Dionysos. It happened. 

dionysos was not by any stretch of the imagination repulsed by canines, however he did show some disinclination towards anything and anyone that would jump at the opportunity to pounce onto him in a less than affectionate manner. and so he couldn’t help but flinch ever so slightly at the dissatisfied grumble from the wolf in their vicinity, which wasn’t all too uncharacteristic a reaction from him as he’d always been the expressive type. despite his initial recoil, he didn’t let the animal steer him away; dionysos figured that the canine would behave so long as he himself did. or at least, whatever it was that dionysos considered behaving to be.

unfazed by the attempt at a jibe, dionysos smiled brightly and gleamed in reflection of the very same sun his brother was so well acquainted with. ❝ all because i know my ever so kind brother would be delighted to see me pleased. ❞ this time around there was a tinge of exaggeration in his tone, yet once again it was not a far cry from his usual demeanour.

as he plopped himself down to take the position on the floor some distance in front of apollo (he still had some reservations that his brother’s companion wouldn’t play friendly), he eyed apollo quizzically and his eyebrows furrowed, clearly expressing his present bewilderment.

❝ stay? ❞ he repeated the word, tested in his mouth and for the briefest of moments pondered upon the proposal presented to him. or at the very least, he allowed the sun god some time to retract his statement and realise the foolishness of his assumption.

❝ no, brother, i’m here to pick you up! ❞ dionysos was all cheers and merriment, already reliving the excitement he would surely feel later on and barely considering the possibility of a rejection. purple eyes twinkled in childlike wonderment; the countless years of existence under his belt did little to dampen his youthful vigour. ❝ let’s go hiking! you like nature too, no? ❞

Ares would be furious.

Or at least, he would be more outright with his displeasure in having his day interrupted by Dionysos’s whims. Apollo, however, only let a long sigh and hoped that the look in his eyes would be enough to let the young Olympian knew that he was not having it. (It didn’t work, of course). ‘Yes, I would be ever so pleased should you be happy, as well, Dio, however must it be at my expense?’ he asked, tentatively closing his book and putting it to the side.

He knew that there was no way he’d be able to go back to reading it. Dionysos was full with energy and he would not be content with just lounging round as Apollo did.

Sometimes he wished that his little brother was more afraid of his wolves. It would be easier them, to ward his invitations off.

He did not miss the disinclination his brother showed towards his companion, even if he tried not to show it. How long had they all been together? How long had he known Dionysos? To miss it would mean one was a fool, or thick as brick. Apollo was neither of those.

A loud groan came out of his lips when Dionysos spke again as he threw his head back on the great white wolf, which had slowly descended back to its slumber. The Sun God had hoped that letting the other played around him would be enough, that he would be placated with just being around him, and he would be left to his own devices.

But of course. When had the fates ever been on his side when it came to this? He had begun to believe that they held a grudge against him for making them drunk in order to Admetus escape his death.

his obnoxious nature was not lost to him, and yet dionysos showed little signs of correcting his faults. frankly, most that were acquainted with the wine god have ceased hope of such a miracle occurring and have accepted him for his at times immature ways, though that was not to say that they were entirely dissatisfied with the arrangement. none could deny the charms and endearing qualities that the youngest of the olympians so wittily exhibited, and most if not all were drawn close to his magnetic personality.

unfortunately for them, there was only so much of himself that he could give to everyone at uniform amounts. and fortunately for the one he was about to barge in on, dionysos would for that day devote the entirety of his time and attention to him and only him. dionysos materialised within the vicinity of his brother’s living room, surprisingly considerate in case his brother were to be watching television at that present moment and preferring not to be a hindrance in that regard. though one could argue that his little act of kindness was futile, given his reason for visiting.

❝ my dearest, beloved brother! ❞ dionysos announced to the entire expanse of the abode, in case his brother was unable to detect the arrival of his presence without him alluding to it aloud. the sincerity of his next words may have been questionable to some, to those who only knew him on a superficial level and labelled him as no more than a foolish party animal. however, he was certain that apollo was not a part of that majority, and that the sun god knew full well the authenticity of his bountiful affection. ❝ oh, how i have missed you! please, do me the honour of basking in your company! ❞ // @sunsadored

Men used to worship them. Not so much now. What used to be a thunderous cry towards the heaven had slowly turned into a hushed whisper, as soft as the breeze that caressed his skin. The old Gods have died, and another have taken their place – Apollo would argue that their time too, had reached its end. However unlike the end of their times, a new God had yet to take their place. So they lingered, painfully, awaiting their impending ends.

He rested against his companion, golden tresses around him like a halo, as his finger softly flicked the pages of his book  – softly, like one would a lover.

Apollo didn’t mind that their temples had crumbled down, and their followers pruned down to almost nothing in comparison to their glory days. Try to think of it this way : they’ve worked so hard (played hard too, perhaps too hard for some), it’s their retirement. Now, just as he had taken Helios’s job, another had taken his, and he could finally rest.

Although, it appeared as if he had spoken too soon. 

The youngest Olympian didn’t need to open his mouth, he was loud in everything that he did, even in his whispers and in his movements. And he had foreseen that his plans for the day would once again be disturbed. No, there was no need for him to prophesized this, he had simply spent too many millenniums with Dionysos. 

‘Dear brother,’ a cheap imitation of the way the other had called upon him so fondly  –  yet without the rich affection. ‘You speak as though I have a choice in this. You’d just do what you want regardless of what I say, wouldn’t you?’ Lowering his book so that he might scowl at his brother, he watched as the young god traipsed towards him. His loud voice eliciting a low grunt from his wolf and his hand moved to gently pet his head.