#multiple gods

It was a small place to live, but quite often, when Taemin was not busy with his religious lessons in the Temple, he and his friends would run freely in the forest, wild with the knowledge that they were the only people for miles. They would mark the rough bark of the trees and pretend that they were the God of the Forest, or they would run along the shore of the river and pretend that they were responsible for the bend in the waves.

Occasionally, Taemin would see markings on the trees that indicated that the real God of the Forest had blessed a particular area and it was always these places that Taemin loved to keep secret for himself. His fingers would run along the carvings in the trees or rocks, wondering at the warmth that flooded into his flesh from the escaping magic and he would curl his body closer, hoping to catch even a wisp of the god’s blessing between his palms. It was only when he could hear his mother calling for him and the sunlight began to fade that he could manage to tear himself away.

Taemin had always been a rambunctious and adventurous child, but when night descended upon the small village, he became quiet and docile. All of the children in the village were taught to stay away from the forest at nighttime as that was when spirits liked to roam, but Taemin often found himself clambering up the tall trees, instead, and nestling his small frame against the wide trunks. With his head swimming with his daily lessons at the Temple, his eyes would inevitably turn to the splatter of stars painted across the night sky and wonder what it must be like to be a god. To be all powerful and to have millions pray to you for safety and guidance. To leave slivers of magic within the depths of the forest for village children to find.

He fancied that if he were a god, he would be kind. Benevolent. He would never ignore a prayer or answer it with trickery. He would feed the hungry. Clothe the poor. He would do everything that a god was supposed to do in order to be loved. His sleepy thoughts were often ridden with imaginings of himself fastened with clothing dripping golden light and perched upon a throne of his own making, a crown of pure starlight slipped upon his midnight hair.

When his mother’s irritation urged him back to the ground, he would hurry away from the trees and back to his tiny cottage where his mother would sing him to sleep with wonderful tales of adventure and magnificence. Fill his ears with stories of the God of Light’s kindness or the God of the Stars’ strength. Taemin used to look up at the sky and wish that the gods would notice him, all the way in his tiny cottage. That maybe, if he studied enough, prayed enough, or was kind enough, he would one day be capable of such greatness. That they would craft constellations that would tell <i>his</i> story.

Sometimes, he imagined that he could see a shadowy figure playing at the edges of the tree line that dotted the perimeter of his cottage. Would puff up his chest and smile nice and big for whoever was out there, hoping that it was the God of the Stars or the God of Justice. A prayer would play at the edges of his mouth, but just before he could speak the sacred words, he would blink and the figure would be gone.

---

When Taemin was a child, he enjoyed climbing. So much so, that he would dig his little feet into the rough bark of the tallest tree in his village, the one dotted with blue flowers, and pull himself up the trunk until he felt as though he could reach the gods. His mother, always aghast at his lack of care for his own safety, always ran from their tiny cottage, a mess of skirts and worry reddened cheeks, and would beg him to come down. He hardly ever listened, preferring to stretch his body even further upwards, fingers straining, until his legs grew tired and his arms quivered with the effort and he had no choice but to descend upon the world below him.

He, like all the other children in the village, had been raised to fear the gods as the mighty forces they were. They lived high up in the sky, a kingdom tucked away in the clouds, and they were so old and so powerful that sometimes, when the boredom became too much, they would prey on the humans below. Taemin, however much he often quivered at the thought of the great God of Light coming to him, was oddly fascinated. Eyes wide with curiosity and amazement. The gods, though all powerful, were good. Maintained the balance of the world. Taemin loved the gods.

Now, at eighteen years old, Taemin was less wide eyed and ignorant. Over the years, he had witnessed the arrival of a few gods to his village. Had seen some of the girls and boys spirited away with them, only to never be heard of again. Just one year ago, his best friend, Jongin, had been snatched up by the God of the Stars and transfigured into a constellation. It was hardly a regular occurrence, but it was enough for Taemin to realize that while the gods were sworn to protect their human charges, the mortals who buzzed about below them were little more than playthings to distract from the boredom of eternity. Thinking back on his childhood wish to be whisked away by the gods, Taemin scoffed. How naive he had once been.  

With winter teasing at the air, biting into Taemin’s flesh with gentle teeth, he shivered. The last harvest of the year had just finished and with all of their crops freed from the earth, Taemin anticipated the chill that the God of the Underworld would breathe into the air around them. As the sun slowly began to sink into the edge of the horizon, Taemin ignored his mother’s calls. He didn’t want to go inside, just yet. The sunset was too lovely. He had never been a obedient child and he could hardly bring himself to obey in his adulthood, either.

He traced his eyes carefully over the stars that began to prickle in the sky, searching for Jongin among the various clusters that appeared. Was his friend happy up there in the sky? Did he ever think about all the people he had left behind in their village? Did he miss Taemin? The thoughts put a heavy feeling in his chest, so he banished them from his mind with a firm shake of the head, dark hair flittering around his skull. It was useless to think such things. No matter what he wished, Jongin’s home was in the stars, now. It would serve him no good to conjure up their familiar bond.

“Taemin!” His mother’s voice was a desperate screech and he whipped his eyes around to see her standing in the doorway of their cottage, clutching her skirts in desperate fists. “Taemin, please!”

Failing to understand her urgency, Taemin sighed in frustration and stood from where he sat on the cooling ground. His heartbeat was sticky and slow in his chest, but beyond that steady pulse, he could hear a crackling noise behind him. He swung around quickly in surprise, taking a step back as his mother continued to cry for him from the doorstep.

There, before him, was a dark mass, ghosting toward him calmly. Every step that the creature took left a trail of ice in its wake, water crackling below it and curling into icicles. Taemin shivered involuntarily though he was still quite a few paces away and though the ice was safely out of reach, he was frozen where he stood.

“Taemin!” His mother sobbed, sinking to the ground. “Just come inside, please! I’m begging you!”

Before Taemin could even think to follow her direction, the mass before him began to shift, quivering as it took on new form. A deep, gritty voice echoed menacingly from the form. “That wouldn’t be very clever, boy.” The voice was a mean hiss, and Taemin quivered before the sound could even swim in his ears.

Suddenly, there was a weight on his shoulders, and he found himself sinking to his knees, head tilted back to stare up at the creature who finally stood before him. Shocked into obedience, Taemin did not fight though his mother’s cries were desperately begging him to do just that. Instead, Taemin watched up close as the quivering mass finally settled in the shape of a man. His face was pale white, dark scales teasing at the edges of his icy skin and his body was still swallowed in shadows. The man seemed to almost smile though the effort to do so sent hairline cracks running up the corners of his lips.

“Yes…” The creature hissed, reaching out a long and gnarled hand to caress Taemin’s cheek. “You are perfect.” Intellectually, he knew what was happening to him. That these were his final moments with his mother, but he didn’t dare look away.

His mother’s sobs faded into mere background noise as Taemin felt himself become consumed by the stare of the man who stood before him. He radiated power and dominance and though Taemin desperately wanted nothing more than to stand on fawn legs and scramble away from the man, instead he remained a prisoner to his gaze. His skin burned with chill beneath the man’s palm but he did not flinch.

The man ducked his long hand away from Taemin’s face and into the darkness of his own torso, searching for something. The air that puffed from Taemin’s lips was visible and his heartbeat was a thundering roar and drew his concern for only a single, hysterical moment. Finally, the man drew forth the object that he had been searching for. Taemin imagined it was a weapon with which to bludgeon him to death. He closed his eyes, not eager to look death in the face, and took a single calming breath.

“Open your eyes, boy.”

Taemin winced and cracked his eyes open to see the man’s hand before him, holding half of a ripe red fruit nearly overrun with seeds. A pomegranate. He was sure that it meant something and a rogue thought ran wild in the back of his head that escaped him before even taking form. He fought to remember what he had learned in his lessons as a child. What could a pomegranate mean?

“Eat, boy.”

The command left no alternative and though Taemin’s hand was quivering and uncertain, he reached shaky fingers forward to grasp the fruit, bringing it to his mouth. He hesitated before he dug his fingers in, withdrew a single seed and placed it unwillingly on his tongue, the flavor akin to acid.

“More.” The single command stilled his chewing and he swallowed with some effort before diving back in, scooping up a generous amount this time, paying no attention to the juice that stained his fingers. Tracing his gaze upwards to the monster before him, he wondered if the fruit were poisoned. Was it the fruit of death? Was that the memory that he failed to recall? Were these his final moments? He wished he could say goodbye to his mother.

“I said eat, boy.”

The tone was impatient and Taemin quivered one final time before allowing his teeth to pierce the seeds of the fruit, wincing at the juice that ran down his chin. The monster was back to smiling, lifting a heavy hand to run through Taemin’s hair. Every strand he touched fell heavily back to Taemin’s head, tipped in ice. Only when Taemin had managed to swallow his burden did the creature speak, once more.

“Now, you are mine.” The monster’s voice was a hiss of victory.

His? How could that be? Wasn’t Taemin supposed to be dead? A chill settled on his shoulders and he let his gaze fall from the monster’s triumphant stare to the half eaten fruit held between his quivering hands, and suddenly he remembered.

The pomegranate. The fruit of the Underworld.

His mother’s broken sobs returned to the forefront of his attention and he whipped his head around to see his mother crumpled to the ground, bound to the house and away from the god who stood before Taemin. His fingers quivered as they reached out for her, sticky juice clinging to once clean skin. The pomegranate slid from numb fingers, rolling away into the darkness.

“M-Mother?” He called uselessly.

His knees suddenly became even more chilled than before and he darted terrified eyes down to see that the same darkness that swallowed the God of the Underworld’s body was beginning to swallow him, as well. His cry rang out in the empty field and he attempted to drag his body away, fingers sinking into frozen ground and pulling with all his strength. The pomegranate juice on his fingers made the dirt cling to his sweaty skin, making his grip weak and powerless.

“Mother, no!” He cried. “Mother, I don’t want to! I don’t want to go!” He thought of Jongin up in the sky. The other children who had once been his friends and who were now the property of the gods. “Mother!”

The god before him did not speak, a silent pillar, and before him, Taemin was merely a broken-winged bird, plucked from the nest. His begging became increasingly desperate as the darkness crawled up his body, eventually pouring itself down his throat and silencing his calls and tugging him down. He choked and blinked away tears but before long, those too were gone.

~

Taemin hardly had the breath in him to scream as his body was dragged through the crust of the earth and down down down to what he assumed was the Underworld. Along the way, though Taemin could not clearly distinguish shapes through the darkness that warped his vision, he could occasionally feel feathers brushing his skin. Ice chilling on his shoulders. For a single, hysterical moment, he wondered if the burning sensation he felt rippling along his body was frostbite.

He was only aware that they had stopped moving when his knees were settled on cold stone. His vision was still masked by the darkness and his thoughts were tumbling around in his head as though he were still spinning, but slowly, his sense of touch was coming back to him. He took a few breaths to steady himself and fought down the hysterics that teased at the edges of his lungs.

“H-Hello?” He dared to ask if only because the silence in combination with the darkness rattled him to the marrow. “Is anyone there? Mother?”

There was the press of something to his forehead. Lips? Fingers? A moment later, he blinked and suddenly he could see, again. He blinked around the headache that formed at the base of his skull and took in his surroundings. The cool stone he was resting on. The walls made of a similar material, broken only by a decorative tapestry or two. The piles of ice sequestered in the corner of the room. The god who stood before him, more man than monster.

Taemin turned searching eyes upwards and met the gaze of the man who had called him his. He knew of the stories. He knew perfectly well that this was Jinki, God of the Underworld. Chaser of spring and bringer of ice. The ruler of Hell. Unwillingly, Taemin’s bottom lip quivered in an odd mix of fear and intimidation. He knew who this creature was, and yet he still asked. “A-Are you Jinki?” He paused to let his gaze trail away, no longer able to bear looking the fierce man in the eye. “Is this H-Hell…?”

“It is.” He answered simply without precedent or stutter. His voice was cold as the air around them.

“And am I meant to stay here?” Taemin swallowed around his despair. “For forever?”

“You are.”

Taemin shivered under his stare. He was suddenly cold. So cold that he shivered and shivered until his body bowed under the weight and collapsed forward to the stone floor. It was only when he felt moisture at the corners of his eyes that he recognized his shock for what it was. He lifted his hands to his face, swiping at traitorous tears, only to groan in agonized realization at the red juice that still stained his skin.

Jinki, for the most part, ignored him, sweeping past him with a flourish of dark silken robes blacker than night and lined with even darker feathers. “My servants will show you to your rooms.”

And with that, he was gone.

It was silent for some time save for the quivering breaths that tumbled from Taemin’s lips, rushed and uncertain. His shoulders still quaked around him and his skin was chilled with both grief and exposure to the icy floors.

He would never see his mother again. He didn’t even get to say goodbye. Bid her a final farewell. If only he hadn’t been so foolish. If only he had listened when she begged him to come home. If only he had listened. Taemin had never been an obedient child but if only for once.

How would she make it without him there to help her tend to the fields? How would she prepare for the harsh winter months that would be quickly approaching? How would she survive?

His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of a pair of pointed boots before him. He sent his shaky gaze upward. He hoped beyond hope that it would be a human. That perhaps Jinki was in the habit of kidnapping humans to act as his servants.

His hopes were brought to a crashing halt when his eyes took in the sharp features, too sharp to be human, the flat nose, nostrils bared, and pointed ears. The skin that crackled like broken ice just like Jinki’s. The red eyes. Red like pomegranate juice. Taemin’s fingers burned where the fruit had stained him. Marked him as property of Hell. Jinki’s property.

“Up.” The servant simply commanded, offering no hand in assistance.

Taemin’s arms were shaky, but he managed to bring himself back to his knees and then to his feet. His legs quivered occasionally but he ignored it. He knew better than to disobey. He had no power to speak of in the presence of the god before him.

The servant nodded curtly and turned, leaving Taemin with only silence to reassure him that he was meant to follow. The room they were in, an entry of sorts, was smooth stone, not a door in sight. He tilted his head in curiousity as the servant walked toward the blank wall, wondering how they could possibly leave the room. He hadn’t seen Jinki leave, but he guessed that there was some hidden door that he could not see with his mortal eyes.

He paused before the wall while the servant seemed to do the complete opposite, not even flinching as he approached the wall and then--

And then just kept walking.

Taemin blinked and flinched away, pressing uncertain fingers to the smooth stone. A moment later, the servant poked his head back into the room, irritation clear on his features. “Come.” He simply order and Taemin nodded uncertainly as he pressed his fingers more firmly against the wall, watching at the stone simply made way for him as though it were made of air. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he pressed forward.

And then he was in a hallway.

He had little time for surprise as the servant took off at a brisk pace, leaving Taemin no choice but to follow closely behind, questions clinging to the tip of his tongue. The walls were similar to the entryway, smooth stone broken only by occasional tapestries. There were a few portraits scattered on the walls, but the servant gave Taemin no time to examine them.

The silence, overbearing as it was, only gave Taemin leave to dwell on the unfamiliar swell of emotions bubbling just beneath the surface of his skin, so he dared to break it. “Are you a god?” His voice was uncertain. Scared.

The servant tossed a withering glance behind his shoulder. “Of course.”

Taemin rubbed red hands up and down his arms, tempting warmth back into his chilled skin. “May I ask of what?” He paused, realizing he had no idea how to speak to a god. “That is, over what you hold domain?” He winced at the lack of confidence in his tone.

“I am the God of Calamity.” The servant answered simply, tone bored.

Taemin felt a smile twitching at the corner of his lips though he felt wrong for feeling anything other than crippling despair. He would have banished his childlike incredibility to the deepest pit of Hell, but he was already there. “You’re Kibum?”

The god tossed another irritated look over his shoulder though he seemed surprised at the recognition. “Of course, you dimwit.”

Taemin nodded and silence returned. He couldn’t help but feel proud that he had managed to surprise Kibum. The God of Calamity was not a loved god, but Taemin had always prided himself in his ability to recite the true name of nearly every god, even the lesser ones. Before long, they were standing before a door, the only one he had spotted in the impossibly long hallway. He wanted to ask why that was, but he had a feeling that Kibum was only interested in completing the bare minimum of the tasks assigned to him by Jinki, so he bit them back. Besides, he knew better than to ask anything of the God of Calamity.

With a firm nod, Kibum gestured to the door. “These are your chambers.”

And with that, he was gone, the tap tap tap of his hurried steps ringing back to Taemin from where he stood before the closed door. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and begged whatever benevolent god would listen for strength as he let his hand rest tentatively on the polished brass of the doorknob.

With a steadying breath, he pushed the door open and let himself into the room that was to be his for the duration of his stay in Hell. For the most part, it was barren. There was a narrow armoire pushed against a wall that was otherwise bare. A black rug over the stone floors that only served to remind Taemin of the darkness that had swallowed him on his journey here. A large four poster bed covered in plush red bedding. He could have cried at the sight of the bed, grateful, if for nothing else, that he would at least be able to sleep. He ignored the offensive color, the color of that damned fruit, and rushed to the bed, letting his weary body fall to the soft mattress. It was the only thing of comfort that he had found so far in his prison.

Without hesitation, he burrowed his body beneath the sheets and pulled the blanket up high to cover his face, breathing in the smell of goosefeathers and sleep. As a child, he had always believed that a thick blanket could ward off even the most malevolent spirits. He wasn’t sure if it was due to an enchantment or if he was truly exhausted, but sleep did not evade him for long.

~

When he woke, it was to a blistering headache pounding behind his eyes and a stuffy quality to his breathing. Wincing, he carefully peeled the covers back and sat up, taking in the room with bleary eyes. It hadn’t been a dream, after all. He was really in hell.

“Good, you’re awake.” A gentle voice broke his musings and Taemin whipped his head in the direction of the speaker only to be met with wide eyes. One blue and one hazel.  

“W-Who are you?” Taemin clutched his blankets to his chest, a feeble protection. The person before him had hair as white as snow and skin a soft golden color only broken by the hairline cracks that ran on either side of their cheeks and across their forehead. Laugh lines, almost. Their ears were pointed like Kibum’s though their features were much softer, a curious balance between feminine and masculine.

The figure chuckled. “I am the God of Easy Death and Sleep.” The god’s eyes, dual colored for their dual nature, twinkled at Taemin and he felt himself relaxing. This god was known for their kind nature, though they resided in the Underworld.

“Jonghyun?” His voice was uncertain, not eager to be incorrect and risk the company of a much more intolerable god.

“The very one.” Jonghyun tutted as they flitted nimble fingers across Taemin’s temple and torso. “I sense a mass of unease...Hm…” A moment later, Jonghyun’s blue eye began to pulse an even more vibrant blue color and Taemin felt himself relaxing even more than he had before, his headache disappearing.

Taemin gasped and lifted a surprised hand to his mouth. “How did you do that?”

Jonghyun lifted their pointer finger to their lips. “Trade secret. Can’t tell you.” Suddenly, his gaze grew heavy and Taemin bowed under the weight of it. “Now. Tell me, child. What have you done to find yourself here?”

Taemin turned his eyes away from Jonghyun, unable to stomach the analytical look in their eyes. His fingers worried at the edge of the blanket before Taemin realized that they were still stained bright red and tucked them away, too. “Nothing…” A pause. A reconsideration. “Nothing that I know of.”

Jonghyun tapped a finger against their chin, humming. “Well, alright.”

Silence descended, thick and heavy, once more, before a question occurred to Taemin. “What are you doing here, anyways? Shouldn’t you be…” Taemin’s brows furrowed momentarily as he tried to recall whatever it was the God of Easy Death and Sleep did, anyway. “Doing whatever it is you do?”

Jonghyun smiled and patted his head. “Who do you think made you drift to sleep so easily?” They smiled at the comical, wide eyed stare that Taemin gave him. “But yes, I suppose I could be guiding some souls to their place in the River, but I had to come see for myself what sort of trouble Jinki has gotten himself into.” Jonghyun leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially in Taemin’s ear. “He’s never stolen away a human before.”

Taemin swallowed around the complex emotions that made a home in his throat. Knowing that he was an anomaly was no comfort to him. Instead, he forced his attention to something else that Jonghyun had said.

“So, it’s true then? The River? That you guide souls there and toss them in?” His face was pale, blood cowered in his body.

Jonghyun’s grin was near feral with its mischief and Taemin flinched away at the sight. “And if it were true? That I gathered souls up and tossed them away into a bottomless river?” they softened their gaze. “As long as you reside here in Hell, no one can harm you. Even Jinki, king of the Underworld, cannot touch you without great cause.” Jonghyun drew his hidden fingers from the bedding. “This is more than just the stain from a fruit. This is a symbol of the protection that Jinki has offered you.”

Taemin let his gaze fall to his red fingers, lifting one to his mouth to rub at the corner of his lips. Were they stained, as well? “But why me?”

Jonghyun shrugged and leaned back, the picture of ease. “Now that, I do not know.” The matter effectively dropped, Jonghyun tugged the hand that they had in their grasp, urging Taemin from the bed. “Now come, Jinki is anticipating an audience with you.”

Taemin stood on fawn’s legs, limbs still heavy with shock, but he forced his knees to still and his hands to clench into fists by his sides rather than tremble at the thought of spending time with the God of the Underworld. Jonghyun dragged him over to the armoire, pulling clothes from it. They were red. Blood red. A reminder that Taemin had partaken of a forbidden fruit. Would forever be marked as taken. In Taemin’s village, red had been a forbidden color.

He shivered under the weight of the highnecked scarlet shirt, lace peeking at the edges of the fabric, and the heavy crimson velvet jacket, maroon trousers tucked into a nearly black pair of boots.

The lace around his throat looked like someone had ripped it from his insides, leaving the rest of his clothing a bloody mess in its wake. In the mirror, he lifted stained fingers to his reddened lips and shivered. He wished that he could wash the stain away. When Jonghyun was satisfied, they smoothed Taemin’s black hair back and pressed two fingers against his forehead, an instant calm flooding him from the enchantment. He shot a grateful look in Jonghyun’s direction. The tapping of knuckles against the heavy oak drew both of their attention and Taemin groaned, sudden terror gripping his heart.

Jonghyun went to answer the intruder, swinging the door wide open when they saw who it was. “Taemin, this is Kibum’s cupbearer, Minho. He was once a human like you.” Taemin’s eyes widened considerably in the man’s direction, taking in the severe cut of his knee length coat, midnight blue but piped with bright crimson. He was claimed, as well, protected by a god though not as entirely as Taemin was. “Now, be careful of what you say or do around him. He is the God of Calamity’s manservant, after all.” Taemin blinked at the way Jonghyun talked about Minho, like he wasn’t present, but nodded anyway.

Minho took off at a brisk pace, not at all dissimilar from the one his master had used when ushering Taemin down the hallway earlier. This time, when they walked through the door, the hallway had changed, somehow. Instead of an endless stretch of lengthy stone in a linear path, this time, the hallway was full of twists and turns, many oddly sized doors lining the way. Taemin stuck close to Minho’s side, not eager to find himself lost in the labyrinth that the hallway had become while he had slept.

The walls this time were bare, dark onyx colored and smoothed, darkness bleeding into the similarly colored floor so that after so many twists and turns, Taemin was not quite sure which way was up.

It was only when Taemin nearly ran into Minho’s back that he was even aware that they had stopped. He blinked, confusion clear on his face, but he dared not ask where the entryway was. Sure enough, after a beat or two, Minho reached up and seemed to go immediately for a hidden panel amidst the dark walls, sliding long fingers inbetween the panel and the wall and sliding it out of the way to reveal a new room.

This new chamber was bathed in muted grays and soft reds. Not atypical from what he had already seen of the palace but a shock in comparison to the hallway Taemin was standing in. He had to fight the urge to shield his eyes.

“My Lord.” Minho announced without preamble, placing a firm hand at the small of Taemin’s back and shoving him forward. His knees, which had been stiff with terror at the thought of confronting the God of the Underworld, once more, nearly buckled at the last second but he caught himself, stumbling to a halt just inside the entryway. “I have brought you your human.”

“Excellent.” A voice replied, the hissing of rattlesnakes echoing in the tense air. The sound drew Taemin’s attention to the throne at the end of the red rug that ran up the room. There was a dark figure perched there, features masked by the shadowy beak that sprouted forth from its face. With a wave of what Taemin assumed was a hand, Minho was gone and the panel was sliding shut, leaving Taemin with his captor.

“Come closer, boy.” The figure ordered when Taemin remained where he stood. It took great amounts of inner strength, but he eventually made himself move forward, shaking fists clenched at his side.

When he was standing before the figure, a shadowy hand lifted and ran over the dark beak, leaving humanesque features in its wake, ice melting on snowy skin. “You look lovely.”

Taemin wasn’t sure how to reply. Thanks would not spill from his lips. He refused to thank his kidnapper for anything, not even careless syllables. Instead he simply nodded curtly, jaw clenched. Now that the initial shock was beginning to fade, he could feel other emotions bubbling in his belly.

“Now, now.” The voice tutted. “We can’t have that.” Another wave of a hand and Taemin felt his body relax, fingers releasing the skin of his palms and jaw slackening. “You may speak freely.”

Taemin gulped down a breath of air and allowed his first thought to escape his lips. “Why have you brought me here?”

Muted laughter hugged Jinki’s lips and a loose fist rose to rest gently against his chin, supporting it. “Surely you have companions who have been taken? You must at least know that yours are not unique circumstances?”

Taemin nodded hesitantly. “My best friend. Jongin. He was taken by the God of the Stars.” A pause. “But why me? I am pious. Ordinary. There isn’t anything about me that would attract the attention of a god.” A shiver and averted gaze. “Especially not the God of the Underworld.”

Jinki’s stare was sympathetic. “You miss your companion.” Taemin noticed that Jinki did not answer his question but he knew better than to press his luck. It was gift enough that he was even given liberty to speak, in the first place.

“Yes. Very much so.” A thought occurred to him. “There aren’t any stars in the Underworld. I won’t be able to see him again, will I?” With the admission in the open air, Taemin felt despair, raw and unstoppable, clench around his heart.

“I’m afraid there are limitations to even a god’s abilities.”

Taemin summoned courage to speak once more. “And my mother? Will I see her again?”

Jinki sighed, a heavy, war weary sigh. “Hell has many messengers. I will not stop you from hearing of her.”

A lump settled in Taemin’s throat but he managed to force words out from around it, tears prickling his eyes. “But will I ever see her? She needs me!” He moaned, as though in pain, and sunk to the floor. “Oh, Gods.”

“If it would please you, I would place an enchantment on her cottage. No being will harm her.” Jinki’s voice was tinged with desperation beneath the bravado, though Taemin didn’t understand it. Jinki was an all powerful god. Why should he care about pleasing a human?

“If you were concerned with pleasing me, you would not have stolen me.” Taemin muttered, regretting the words almost as soon as they had escaped.

Jinki chuckled condescendingly. “I was not aware that adult humans had such need for their mothers.”

“Will you guard our fields? Will you chop wood for her? Will you care for her when she is ill? I don’t need my mother, she needs me. The forests are harsh and the land unforgiving.” Taemin’s stare was fierce, rage burning away the fear that had been his ever-present shadow in this place.

Jinki did not respond and Taemin tore his eyes away in anger.

He forced himself to his feet, once more. “May I return to my chambers?”

Jinki nodded reluctantly, sweeping an arm out in permission. A moment later, the panel from before slid open and Minho was waiting, face carefully blank.

With a curt nod and a forced bow, Taemin swept out of the room, a flurry of crimson silks and sinking despair.

~

When he woke, he had no perception of time. The walls in his chambers were windowless and there was no change in the shadows that danced along the ceiling. His eyes, which had simply slid open rather than blinking into wakefulness, did not ache with tiredness though the exhaustion that he felt creeping up his throat threatened to strangle the air from him.

His gaze slid across the room, noticing Jonghyun in a velvet armchair that had not been there before. Neither spoke though both were aware of the other. Eventually, Taemin turned his attentions to the ceiling, needing what little privacy that he could get.

He wished more than anything that the ceiling would melt away to reveal the night sky. It was on occasions such as this that Taemin most desperately missed Jongin. They had grown up together attached at the hip and when the God of the Stars had apparated in the center of the village and demanded that the most beautiful child be presented before him, Jongin had shoved Taemin behind his mother’s skirts and stepped forward.

Taemin often thought back on that horrible moment and wondered why Jongin had pushed him away. Why he had offered himself when so many of the villagers that the two had grown up around often remarked that the two boys were of equal beauty. Nearly twins.

Either way, that was the last time Taemin saw Jongin as the boy he was. Now, he glistened in the stars, a constant presence in the night sky.

He wondered if Jongin had felt this awful when he had been stolen away. If he had looked down from his perch in the sky and mourned the life he had lost. He wondered if it had been harder for Jongin who could so clearly see the village carrying on as though he had never lived, at all.

Numbness seeped into Taemin’s veins and though he still longed for the sky, the blue black melt of nighttime or the warmth of rosy fingered dawn signalling the coming of a new day, he couldn’t find it within himself to feel anything else, at all. His eyes slid lazily from the ceiling and back to Jonghyun, meeting the god’s gaze with slight reluctance.

“Are you finished battling yourself, dear?” Jonghyun’s voice was warm neutrality. They would not fault Taemin whatever moment he needed to process.

Taemin nodded, pulling his torso upright. He still felt odd. Off, somehow, and he knew not what to do with the confusing knot of feelings nestled just behind his ribcage. There were many questions clinging to the tip of his tongue, but instead, he asked. “May I bathe?”

Jonghyun’s brow rose with curiosity. “There is no need for such things here.”

“Oh.” Taemin let his body fall back to the mattress, suddenly defeated.

Jonghyun sighed and rose from their chair, gesturing for Taemin to follow them. “I suppose we cannot expect for your every human tendency to have vanished in a day. Follow me, I will conjure a room for you.”

Taemin made quick work of rising from the bed, long crimson nightshirt nearly tangling in his legs in his haste. He did not want to risk the slight possibility that Jonghyun would change their mind. He needed to bathe. He needed to do something that would make him feel normal. Like he wasn’t so impossibly far away from home.

Jonghyun lifted a finger to Taemin’s forehead, pressing gently against the skin. “Picture the room that you want to appear.”

Taemin hesitantly imagined the small wooden tub in his mother’s cottage. It was too small for him to stretch his legs comfortably, it did poor work of keeping the water warm, and Taemin and complained about it his entire life, but in that moment, he wanted nothing more.

Jonghyun slowly began to remove their finger, hand clenched tightly into a fist before they suddenly turned towards a blank wall in Taemin’s room and tossed their fist in that direction, palm exposed and fingers splayed. A moment later, a tiny wooden door appeared, steam billowing underneath.

Taemin gasped and met Jonghyun’s gaze with uncertainty. “I-Is that?”

Jonghyun nodded. “It is just a copy, but I plucked the details from your day dreams. It should be close enough to the real thing.” They gestured towards the door. “Go ahead.”

Taemin nodded and took one step forward. Another. One more. And then he was flying, bare feet slapping against stone in his hurry to get to the door, terrified that it would disappear before he ever got there. He need not have worried, for his hand wrapped around the cool metal of the doorknob and threw open the door to reveal the tiny room and the tiny wooden tub in his mother’s tiny cottage.

His strength seemed to leave him all at once and it was all he could do to stumble forward, hands gripping the edge of the tub, before sinking to his knees. The water was that same murky green that indicated that it had been drawn from the well behind the cottage and filled with the various herbs his mother harvested. The air smelled of chamomile and rosemary and Taemin desperately sucked the scent in. His nightshirt was discard seconds later as he plunged his body into the water, caring not if it burned his skin.

Anticipation bubbled just beneath the surface of his skin and without willing them to do so, his limbs stilled, daring not to disturb the murky water that flowed around them. Without realizing what he was doing, he had unconsciously been waiting to hear the banging of pots and pans in the other room. The booming laughter that his mother had never been able to keep contained. He had fooled himself into believing the farce that had simply been plucked from his dreams. None of it was real.

Unconsciously, he began to curl into himself, desperate to make himself as small as possible. To disappear.