#yoimythologyweek2018

Viktor looked over at Yakov tinkering with the plans he was making for their escape, and was infinitesimally curious. It really did suit his aesthetic for one, though he supposed Yakov wouldn’t take too kindly to the statement if he ever made it.  He did wonder why they had to suffer for being impartial, but questioning always seemed to lead to downfall, and so he kept his mouth sealed this time.

The wings, their primary (and only, if you asked Viktor in his opinion) part of their escape, were magnificent even when laid on the worktable, partially incomplete. Viktor had to hand it to Yakov, the one thing that was exceptional about him was his mind, which was probably why his temple had no hair to it for need to contain it within its vessel. Hand raised to feel his own hair, Viktor hoped that the same wouldn’t occur to him. He also knew the hope was almost futile, but they were nothing if not dreamers making their minds creations come to fruition.

The wax dripped steadily from their candles, the only source of light within the confines of the tower. Yakov continued to weave through the feathers with his string, and Viktor yawned. He was tempted to try Yakov’s pair of wings, but knowing that any delay caused by an accident would only lead to their deaths he restrained himself, and instead gave in to the beckons of sleep brought about by ennui.

*************

“Hold still boy!”

The harshness in Yakov’s voice rings in Viktor’s ears as he complies, wishing that there was less fussing involved. However, their lives were at stake, and these fragile things were now at the mercy of four pairs of an assortment of feathers held together by wax and string. Yakov really did know how to gamble with their lives.

Giving Viktor’s chest a final ‘thump’, Yakov stood back to admire his handiwork before raising fiery eyes to meet Viktor’s solemn own.  “Now, before we fly off, you need to remember this. Make sure you do not fly too close to the sun, the heat it emits will melt your foundations and send you spiraling to your death. You must also make sure to not fly too close to the sea, for the foam will drag you down on each and every feather, and will capture you in its depths. Do you understand, Vitya?”

Grimly, Viktor nodded. This situation did not call for jabs under any circumstances.

Gripping his own pair of wings, Yakov stood wide and flapped them lightly, experimentally. “They seem to work alright. Let’s go.”

With a hop, slight shake and subsequent jump, Yakov and Viktor beat their wings for the first time to the tune of the escape plan from Crete.

*************

How Viktor had spent any part of his life not flying, he had no idea.

Whooping in delight, he felt the breeze simultaneously caress his hair and rush against his body, and he tilted his wings to enable a smooth glide on the current. Flapping his wings again, he twirls and flips, enough to make Yakov who is a few feet in front of him turn back in annoyance. Luckily, they had decided to not talk to each other during the flight for fear of distraction, so Viktor carried on undeterred.

City after city passed underneath, and with each one Viktor’s elation exponentially grew. After the third, Viktor tired of just flying on a straight route, a route so characteristically Yakov – the best route, but also terribly predictable. In other words, plain boring too. Lilia didn’t seem to be following (not that she could anyway, but it was a precaution Yakov had in mind) so Viktor let loose. He allowed the wind to collect under his wings and soon he was lifted higher, flying along side the clouds. From his vantage point, he could see the entirety of Yakov’s wings (and Yakov himself) and it filled Viktor with a feeling akin to power. Despite being taller, Yakov still towered over him in both reputation and mind, and it was hard for Viktor to make his mark on the world in a way that would truly make him Yakov’s successor. He let this feeling guide him, and soon he found himself looking down on the clouds themselves.

The surreal sensation of being able to gaze down on uncontrollable, untamable forces made Viktor so giddy that he failed to realize that a few feathers had fluttered off. Too caught up in the dancing wind and the momentary cooling sensation it brought, he failed to notice the rising heat of his surroundings and allowed his feelings to beat against the pull of the earth, the allure of the sky above too great to resist.  Higher and higher he went, and he forget everything but the vast blue ahead of him, surrounding him, below him. His heart pounded with the beat of his wings and for the first time in a while, his world sparkled.

An unnatural squelching sound pulled Viktor out of the depths of his feelings and he noticed the wax on his wings was melting, a great deal of it already lost to the world below. Horror pooled in his stomach as he realized that he had failed to follow Yakov’s most important instruction yet, and all he could do was watch as, all of a sudden, the feathers on his wings flew off - strings still attached. Body tilting backward, Viktor let go as he realized that there was no way he could salvage anything out of this situation, and he let the earth pull him back home.

As he passed the layer of clouds he noticed that he was above the sea, and extremely off of the planned course. Yakov might not have even realized that Viktor had gone astray, and Viktor wished that he could have seen him one last time. As the sea got closer, Viktor closed his eyes and prepared himself for the impact.

Just before the sea claimed him, Viktor felt a harsh tug in his chest. It caught him off guard, thus making the pain of hitting the sea feel worse than the piercing of a thousand needles.    

*************

Yuuri’s tail involuntarily flicks as he feels a harsh tug in his chest, and his mouth opens with a warm huff, scattering bubbles everywhere.

The currents change direction, and he curls his claws in slightly. He had been feeling better than usual all day, and he took this as an omen. Whether it was a good one or not he had yet to determine. Regardless, he let himself spread wider, further even going as far as sending scales along to waters he’s never dared to venture before. The change in currents was another omen, Yuuri felt, so he pulled on their invisible trail and opened his mind, letting the sensations of a thousand pools crash into him. Had this been a regular day, he would have been unable to bear the burden, but on a day such as this he could not only contain, but also control all coursing within him. It is because of this that he feels the crash of a body that occurs seas away, and without even thinking through it, guided by the tug in his heart, he pulls.

He pulls at the fragments floating above the body, he pulls at the currents to carry the body to him, he pulls at the tendrils of the soul accompanying the body to morph and follow it. He pulls and pulls and pulls, and he is lucky that his father and sister had arrangements to make in the world above, because he was so invested in seeing what this strange thing was that he had forgotten his own surroundings.

After an age, the body comes into view, and from this distance Yuuri can tell that it is human. He lets go of all connections but the one to the current bringing the human in, and only then does he allow his form to change, enjoying the swirl of his scales around him as he borrows their residual energy. Kicking his newly made legs, he closes the distance between them, and his breath instantly gets stolen by how the hue of this human’s hair resembles the glint of the pearls when stray rays of sunlight strike. The angles of the human’s face and body are worth admiring, and are definitely more defined than the human Mari got promised to. Yuuri gets a strange urge to see what the human’s eyes are like. Thinking about it though, Yuuri figures the urge is not as strange as he thinks it is. Amongst all the creatures that dwell on this planet, the most constant, and immediate determinant of the soul within the vessel is always through the eyes. It’s not the best method, filled with inaccuracies and inapplicable to all life forms, but it’s the fastest. And Yuuri wants to know more about his captivating find as soon as is possible.

Unfortunately, he has to wait for six moons before the human adapts to the waters of the middle ocean. It takes another three more for the humans body to implement its adaptations, and finally, after four more moons, does Yuuri see the blue of the surface in the depths of his waters, the slight residual twinkle in them sparkling with a shine brighter than the moon. Only when they briefly disappear does Yuuri realise he’s staring at the soul that’s driven his curiosity to the brink of obsession.

The human blinks multiple times, as if shocked by how finely he can control his movement at this depth. Yuuri watches on amusedly, and as the human grapples at his throat he realizes that the latter is more befuddled by his survival.

Swimming forward, he places himself directly in front of the human, finally capturing his attention. Yuuri quite likes the way his eyes widen, but decides to put the human at ease before indulging in his own fascinations. They have a lifetime to do so after all.

“You must be surprised, but don’t worry. I found you oceans away and I couldn’t help but bring you here.” Sensing the human’s own curiosity build, Yuuri continues, “I’m Yuuri, but this is not my only form.”

When the fourth traveler stumbled across the waterfall with a fiddle in his hand, Emil resigned himself to the fact that he would forever be known as the fiddle player. He sighed, cherishing the final few moments he had to himself before he heard what the man would ultimately play for him. He supposed it was human custom to assign a common trait to folks like him, however, the reason for such a custom always baffled Emil, and he could never really understand why humans were not happy with versatility.

Years became decades became centuries and, with the flow of time, Emil’s reputation grew. Travelers from exotic lands would hear of him and seek his audience, and Emil was always grateful for the company for the waterfall, while beautiful, was no companion. The fiddle rumor never lost its path, and Emil found himself not only embracing it with open arms, but also indulging in its benefits and carrying it further. There was only so long he could go by feeding on elk as a main source of protein, and even they were hard to find sometimes. Emil was nothing if not an opportunist, and so he demanded a price - as payment for obtaining knowledge. Even though he had never made any specific mentions, by the time the rumor returned to his ears he found out that he primarily gave information on fiddles and their music form, and that he mainly accepted food as a payment. He understood why his general statement had been twisted into something so precise, but he still found it amusing how humans picked up the right implications but applied it in hilariously inappropriate situations. And so, Emil, now popularly labelled the Fossegrimen by the locals, waited for company and pleasantries, always willing to exchange such for a price.

 ****

 A low, resonating hum broke through the barriers of the waterfall, and Emil lifted his head, curious. The humming grew louder, and as the volume increased so did Emil’s curiosity. However, one of his favourite quotes that he learned from travelers was ‘Curiosity killed the cat’ and so he held his patience. Soon, the humming gave way to a melodious song, whose words Emil barely registered as French. Despite the change, the volume inched higher and after a moment, it seemed that the source of the melody had situated itself on the rocks at the base of the waterfall. Even then, Emil waited, for he was sure that the source was a traveler who was trying to lure him out of his abode. He fingered the pages of the book he had abandoned but couldn’t bring himself to appear nonchalant as the waterfall parted to allow the source through.

As Emil noted that the traveler carried on his shoulders a bag big enough to carry all his belongings in it, the traveler himself shook droplets off his body, flipped his gold hair back and lifted a hand to scratch the brown strands underneath. With a perfectly crafted sheepish smile, the traveler said, “I suppose you are the Fossegrimen. I’m, um, quite lost, and was hoping if you could help guide me back?”

Emil’s eyes narrowed. “I could. And your name would be?”

The traveler’s smile relaxed. “Chris.”

Emil leans back on his armchair, “Christophe. I highly doubt you’ve lost your route but if you’ve lost your path then maybe I can help.”

The smile transformed into a smirk, “Ah. I should have realized how knowledgeable you are. And extremely intuitive too. I was certain I would only find a fiddle player of a caliber exceeding the Almighty’s.”

“Well. If you’ve heard of me you must know, I demand payment.”

“I have enough thaler for your needs.”

“What use would that be for me in here?” Emil gestured towards the waterfall. He thought long and hard. What would be the equivalent for his information? Oh, and he had to consider his hospitality too.

“I only need something that equals the value of what you receive. In that case,” Emil let his face slack and beamed at Chris, “I’ll take that beautiful roll of cheese and a lock of your hair!”

Chris took a step back, unable to restrain the shock from the request. “How did you know of the cheese? And why my hair?”

Ignoring his queries, Emil continues, “The only thing I can tell you for now would be to sharpen your senses. Not all is as seems in this world. Now now, stay the night! I would love to hear about your journey all over that block of cheese! And that wine! I have the perfect grapes to accompany them too.”

“Hey, Seung-il!”

Seung-il squeezes his eyes shut for a minute before exhaling and turning around. “JJ.”

The God of the Sky claps his back, and lets out a hearty laugh, which booms in Seung-il’s ears as he winces. Not noticing, or perhaps not caring, JJ continues, “Heard that this is your second trip to the surface?”

“It is.” He would have glared at JJ, but not finding the energy to do so, Seung-il settles for his standard vacant expression, knowing that it would irk him.

JJ seemed to be in too great of a mood, for he did not even notice Seung-il trying to get to his nerves. “Do you know what would make your visit even greater?”

Narrowing his eyes, Seung-il suspects that he’s going to be dragged into something ridiculous. He tries to discreetly wiggle out of the arm JJ had slung across his shoulder during their short exchange, but JJ tightens his grip and pulls Seung-il in closer. “You should pay Nature a visit.”

“Why would I want to pay that insufferable woman a visit?”

JJ chuckles, and it’s low and quiet enough to raise Seung-il’s hairs on end. “No no, not her. You’ve not met her son Phichit have you.”

The gears turn, and when they click in his mind, Seung-il shoves JJ away. “No. What are you even thinking? Have you gone senile?”

“Now.” JJ’s voice has regained its loud boisterous timbre, but it doesn’t reassure Seung-il in the slightest. “Why deny something when you don’t even know what you’re denying?”

 -*-

A few hours later, in JJ’s private chambers, Seung-il nods once.

JJ laces his hands together, elbows resting on their respective armrests. “I’m glad. But there is the matter of preparation.”

 -*-

Phichit, along with Guang Hong and Leo, scampers down one field of many, laughing into the atmosphere. It had been a while since he had seen either of the two, and it was good to get away from work every now and then. To be able to let go of his inhibitions, of his duties, just to run freely under the wide, blue sky was something he loved to do. To have company was even better, and all Phichit feels is his heart bursting with raw joy as he watches the two nymphs run around with him.

A slight sway of grass just at the periphery of his vision catches his attention, and on turning, takes in a spread of one of the cutest flowers he has ever seen. Yellow at the middle, very much akin to a crown, nestles at the center of innocent, child like petals, white as the flare of light. And a whole sea of them too! Phichit couldn’t help himself, couldn’t help drifting toward them and collecting them, whispering prayers of thanks to forces greater than him for creating these treasures. So engrossed is he in them that he doesn’t notice the growing distance between his friends and his position, and is still unaware of his surroundings as the earth beneath him slowly gives way. It is as he is plucking the four and sixtieth flower in his impressive bouquet does he feel the ground under his feet to be unnaturally thin, and when it does give way seconds later, he can barely let out a cry of distress. The last thing he sees of the world above are the innocent flowers watching his fall, his friends nowhere in sight.

 -*-

Seung-il stares at his newly wedded spouse and wonders where exactly did he go wrong.

He had followed JJ’s plan to the T, being reassured that this was the way most people on the surface preferred to be courted nowadays. Yet here he was, just married and already feeling as if they had spent a wary eternity together.

Maybe pulling in an unsuspecting field frolicker was a bit too much, but that had not dampened Phichit’s spirit. In fact, he had seemed incensed, and had had no problem marching up to spit bitter, angry words directly at Seung-il’s face. Too caught up in the awe of being in his presence, Seung-il had not paid attention to what his love was saying. He felt a little guilty for that now, as a subdued Phichit pokes at the rug by his feet, clearly devastated about his predicament.

Just as he felt ready to address Phichit, a loud bark resonated through the chamber. Perking his head up, Phichit turns to the sound and Seung-il watches his every move as Cerberus bounds his way to the latter’s feet. Seung-il can’t help the rush of affection that courses through him every time Cerberus is close and doesn’t hesitate to reach down and loop his arms around Cerberus’ middle head.

It feels like seconds have passed before he hears the sound of a pointedly cleared throat, but when he turns his head, Seung-il sees that Phichit has moved so far forward that if he just lifted his arm, he would be just shy of stroking Cerberus’ fur. Time must have gone by faster than he had realized, Seung-il thinks with shame while Phichit, with his eyes locked on the hell hound, says, “I didn’t realize that something so terrifying could be this adorable.”

Seung-il doesn’t blame him for finding his one and only friend terrifying, it was an unspoken requirement in his job description after all. However, Seung-il was glad to find that he wasn’t the only one who found the sight of three heads trying to nuzzle him stupidly adorable.

Then Phichit turns to meet his gaze, and there is a glow in them that sparks something inside Seung-il’s ashen heart.