we are born into chaos.

"Beings of myth..."

Almost reluctantly, Kratos stands, putting his other books away in his pack. The tea is simply taken with him.

(Making paper cups and canteens in this era... very convenient. That's a particular invention he'll not take for granted again.)

"This way."

Nonchalant as he is, the seraph is assessing the other carefully.

"Kratos."

Simple answer.

“You could consider me a newer arrival. But I am curious about this place. There are many things here that I had never considered possible.” 

Things that disturb him, primarily; the more he learns about this realm, the more derelict his situation begins to seem. He glances expectantly at Kratos, a small smile still in place.

               “  oh! i found this book about the local fauna online---  ” he immediately sets to work leafing through the closest shelf, tracing every spine with a light touch as he scans the titles, “  ---and it talks about all the animals at that reserve in the city of glass!  ”

       he plucks a book from among the many, cracking it open gently to offer one of its pages to flapjack, who perches at his shoulder. it isn't the one he's looking for, but it illustrated a pretty strange looking creature called a “ squid ”.

               “  haha! weird.  ”

               “  a lot of the animals at the unnatural wildlife reserve look like they could be from the boiling isles.  ” numerous eyes and mouths, elongated limbs, amorphous bodies, some literally on fire--- these were textbook, “  maybe i'll find wolves in there too!  ”

       the prospect of finally seeing one in the wild spurs his search, and after returning the book to its place, hunter moves further into the store. systematically he inspects each shelf, and after a few moments, he excitedly pulls out a thick book, bound in old black hide, the title embossed in silver upon its cover. flipping through its pages, he takes note of every stain, every withered edge--- it's seen a few decades at least. after checking the price, he's satisfied, and brings it to the counter.

       with the book now in his possession, he clutches it tightly to his chest, and steps back out onto the street.

               you seem happy, the palisman remarks with a twitter.

       it gives hunter pause, and his smile fades, something thoughtful in its stead.

               “  i... think i know who i am now, flap. or... at least who i wanna be.  ” he parses through his feelings carefully. they're... complicated, and a lot, but... he thinks he understands them now. with that glimmer of hope, a smile cautiously returns to his features, “  ... huh. i guess... i am happy.  ”

In the bookshop’s window, for the briefest of seconds, his own reflection is all he sees. Then his eyes adjust to the transparency of the glass, and his double gives way to his brother’s. He’s just standing there, looking through the books and smiling. And then Philip finds himself smiling, too. It is funny that this one has forgotten so thoroughly where he comes from (dirt, gold, calculations, things stolen and harvested).

He would have to have forgotten, to smile with such little care after what he's done.

The unmissable red of that false animal flutters around his wayward creation again and his smile flickers, dies, for a moment. It would be so easy to grab it and kill her, before either of them realize he’s right here. His breathing remains steady as he turns this fact over in his mind, and his steady breathing evens the turning of his stomach from having to look at the rotten thing. 

Patience is oft rewarded.

His hands reach up to loosen his hair from its tie.

By the time the sound of the bell marking the grimwalker’s exit rings its delicate chime, a cold surety has settled over Belos. Relief and concern wash over his expression as if he feels them.

“Hunter.”

     Excitement and anger do a two-step dance in the belly of The Collector as they see a familiar silhouette paint the walls of an empty alleyway, and though their eyes flash a brilliant glow at the prospect of having some semblance of familiarity in this world, they fall dull almost instantly — and back alight, this time with annoyance.

     His form melts seamlessly into the walls as he takes on a more familiar appearance ( at least to the traitor ) and The Collector becomes one with the shadows. In this two-dimensional state, he knows that the false Emperor cannot hurt him, and without the disc to be trapped within…

     He appears from beneath Philip’s heel, slowly looming as he takes place of his shadow on the wall in the dim, flickering lights.

“Collector.”

By the time Belos is at the last syllable of their name, an appeasing smile has taken over his initial reaction ( tight brows, mouth too downward. ) He’s quite certain The Collector knows he’s annoyed with the sudden arrival, to say nothing of the impromptu song about his ethics; they don’t need to see that annoyance on his face. And already a clinging aspiration has started to grow alongside it. Despite what the Collector's appearance means, if navigated correctly, this reunion could be auspicious.

She’s gotten used to this world. In many ways, it is less hostile than the Boiling Isles, barring a few temporary incidents. What she hasn’t gotten used to is the suspense. The not knowing... and the knowing, that at any moment her everyday life could be interrupted as she’s plunged back into the chaos which had been made of her home.

Eclipses are a regular occurrence here: so frequent, and so without warning, as to be astronomically impossible. And still, with each one Lilith feels a stab of profound terror. As if this time, it really could be the end.

And then she shrugs it off and carries on with her business.

She is no stranger to terror, after all.

It follows her wherever she goes. A dark, haunting presence—repulsive, but welcoming in its familiarity. Even when she’s alone, she can’t shake the feeling of being watched. Of being judged. Isn’t that what she asked for? And isn’t it what she deserves?

She thinks it might be her imagination: a hallucination brought on by a lack of sleep. Her half-curse acting up, not for the first time, straining against her connection to reality.

But then he turns around.

The false prophet, red-handed. The most important man in the world. She has thrown his name around so freely in the past, but now under his freezing gaze she cannot even think to utter it.

For the longest time, she kept asking herself: what if he was telling the truth? What if she’s the one who’s wrong, like she always was? What if it was not only him, but the Titan who would punish her betrayal? The fear sits, rotting in her stomach. It’s been there longer than she’s been aware of it.

But there is also an anger. Her lip curls in a snarl, as she holds her staff out in front of her. It may only be good as a blunt weapon, but he should know well enough to recognize that as a threat.

“You.” She has one advantage, in the form of the gaping pit at the Emperor’s back. The void is hungry. She advances, a bold step forward, looks him in the eyes and prays to whoever’s listening that she doesn’t lose her nerve.

She seems, for a moment, as appalled to see him as he is her, and this gives him a sort of buoyancy against the apprehension of her simply being here.

“Lilith,” he says in turn, a frozen smile forming around her name.

She is a traitor by the abysmal nature of her birth and by the rules of fate; yet not so many days ago, a smile like this would have brought the witch to her knees in eager subservience.

Here and now, she advances on him, staff held forward like a physical threat. He brings his own staff into view; the wood under his hands is not yet familiar to him, an assigned toy rather than an object crafted by his own standards, but he knows well that in the end these things don’t come down to the material of the tool. They come down to the hand that wields. 

And while Lilith’s hand is capable enough ( he sees the work of it in every one of his true reflections ), his is the hand of that which hunts her.

Belos keeps his eyes on the witch as he begins to take a few steady steps sideways rather than forward, as if to edge himself out from between her and the seemingly bottomless hole behind him. He hopes in some small way she gets closer still and he can send her plummeting, before she can do the same to him.