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Chapter Text

ARCHE

01

Few are able to see the beauty beneath the fetid mask of death.

At times, he even questioned whether this was true. He couldn't see with his grandfather's eyes, who told him: “Kid, the grotesque has a grace of its own. Fascinating even, if you look closely. Underneath the deformity, there are all the possibilities thought and unthought by Moiras”.

He understood, over time, that beholding such beauty was not an innate skill, but coexistence. Gods live for an absurd amount of time, after all; and there are few things skilled enough to make one of the ancient divines falter.

He did not expect, however, that the previous humanity that inhabited his body would take so long to leave him. The commotions that operated within him were like natural disasters, destroying whatever threads of confidence he had woven into his mask – on the outside, the perfect successor; inside, the frightened child who discovered divine and chthonic parentage by a fateful coup. The other heroes didn't talk about uncertainties, about the disquieting feeling that settles in the back of the mind; he does not know, until today, if the reason for such silence is given by the ego or if they, in fact, only felt the sublime glory invade them by the transition. He doesn't know if experiencing darkness and negativity is something inherent to Hades' descendants or if this is the fate he carries in his blood, but he believes so.

In the end, it didn't matter that the mortal remnants were slow to leave his system: they were gone anyway, banished from the makeup of his being. There is no room for mortal thoughts in agreeing to transition; the eternal reminder that gods are not mortal, they are ethereal entities of their own, who must observe the ephemeral and enjoy it, but never compromise.

Now, he understands the beauty commented on by his grandfather.

Sitting on the edge of the Acheron, he watches the ghostly figures wandering lost in eternal, turbulent sleep, just disposed of by the boatman. If the truth were simple, he would admit that he had felt this way, lost in some kind of madness, countless times. But she's not simple, not for him, so all he can do is swallow the feeling, delegate the blame to the callous atmosphere of the Underworld, and continue with the work imposed on him.

He waits until all wandering souls have entered the dark waters of the river and abandoned any momentary thrills of the final moments in the Mortal World. The toil must continue when the last specter reaches the shore, spiritually awash. In slow steps, he approaches the group, all of them united like a kind of herd, confused and shaken, and prepares to continue with his endless tour.

His wrist movement is precise and fast; a silent plea for a brief ending. His sword's sharp, serpentine point strikes the damp ground on the banks of the Acheron with an unnatural clatter. The attention of the dying is now focused on him.

An involuntary sigh leaves his lips before uttering with imposing:

"I am the god of the dead, ghosts, and shadows, heir to Hades, the feared Kylo Ren. Your lives ended in mortal lands; I will bring you to the right judgment, so that you may face what the Fates weave".

Few are able to see the true face of God.

But she can't pin blame on those who can't see it or those who wouldn't even try. She herself wouldn't know which plot to enter: while the facet of an orphan child was her greatest characteristic, she practiced religiosity with the greatest tenacity in the world. Believing in the gods was not mere spirituality, but the possibility of a palpable desire. If she wooed them right, if she gave them all the hard work she'd earned, they would answer her prayers every day.

Six years later, she has kept her faith intact. Following the gods was as natural to him as a bee gathering pollen from flowers. Whispered prayers, claimed blessings, and planned and engineered rituals. Practices were carved into his bones, spirituality a tool into his very being. But the fruits did not come.

Little by little, the credulity she had in divine strength began to crumble. Was not the work of the gods auxiliary in mortal life? How, then, could they leave an orphan, a child sold so early into forced labor, with no apparent solution?

Then she stopped. She took away all the religiosity carefully cultivated for years. The prayers, the blessings, and the rituals were made exclusively for her, for the hard work she would face. If the gods would not release her, then she would become her goddess. And so she did.

The five years she continued to work for Unkar Plutt passed in a strange time: slow for all the pains she had to endure, fast for the goal in her mind. Images and days blended in a mental mess. She could be saner than ever or crazier than ever; she wasn't sure at all. When the day finally came for her to be freed, she didn't hesitate to move to command and forge her own path. Almost like a vengeful deity, she left Plutt's cabin burning, the smoke visible two miles away, but she knew she had done him no harm-part of her wished she had.

During all that time, she didn't dare pray, ask, think, or claim any kind of thought to the gods. She focused solely on acclaiming her image.

But her life and its consequences are comic and tragic. She believed she had been discarded at Unkar Plutt's hands by her mortal parents, a menial payment for irresponsible debts. That's what she's been told her whole life, after all, including her own clouded memory. Now, she is face to face with the part of herself – that innocent, gullible part – that she extinguished years ago.

She doesn't dare look away or lower her gun as she states, half breathless, half euphoric:
"No, you are mistaken! My name is Rey, I'm an orphan and I won the freedom that was rightfully mine to spend it my way". Her voice comes out angrier than expected. "I am not the daughter of any god".

Chapter Text

EROS

02

Miramir was born defying her own family.

It was not uncommon for parents to want a boy: they needed help handling the menial farming tasks and an heir to carry on the family legacy. The father was already able to see himself working alongside his son while teaching him about philosophical thoughts, or seeing himself debating, when he was older, about political topics. He longed to transmit to the new part of himself, now living and thinking, all the knowledge acquired from his own father and his experiences.

Lying down, with his face pressed against his wife's bulging belly, he said:

"My son, you are already my greatest pride. He will be as great as Zeus, as cunning as Menestheus, but courageous and strong as Theseus. Together, we will explore the most dangerous adventures, challenge the most tyrants, enrich our souls with knowledge and mark our family's name in history."

The promises of a promising future were more intimate than any other moment between the parents: there, sitting so close, they felt almost like the Fates, creating a future as solid as the rocks that supported the house. Each week, a new quality was whispered into the belly; the foresight of the son's great acts opening up to them as a divine gift.

On hot summer nights, Miramir's mother dreamed of running after a mischievous and smiling little boy, exactly as they fantasize about on calmer days. For both parents, what was happening to them was a taste of paradise, despite all the difficulties.

However, one of the nights, something happened. The wife's dreams, previously fulfilled by an ideal boy, now took her to a kind of room never seen before. Large and spacious, the room smelled of lilies and was decorated with greenish fabrics and red amaranth; it was cozy and cool. In the center of it, there was a chair padded with sheets and pillows, and it seemed to call to her.

Still uncertain, the mother walked the path slowly and unsteadily. Her dreams were vivid, but never to this extent.

From behind her, a voice emerged from the silence:

"Don’t be afraid, mitéra", the figure of a woman wrapped in fine cloths showed her teeth in a friendly smile. In one hand, she carried a tray with a small silver jug. For a moment, the mother stopped breathing. She had not, in her entire existence, come across an experience close to this, but she knew that whoever was in front of her was not a mere illusion. "Sit on the chair, rest".

The shock made her move automatically. Her heart pounding in her chest was the only thing she could focus on. She couldn't say what was happening, but she understood that it wasn't a mere event; no, what she was witnessing was a visit from a deity.

She felt her heart tighten. There were few times when mortals were visited by gods and received good news. Her mind flew to the child she was carrying in her womb. Would everything be ok with the baby?

"You don't need to be nervous".

She placed the tray with the jug on a nearby table before picking it up and pouring the contents into a cup. The vapor of a hot, fragrant liquid filled the space between them. "Do you know who I am?"

She dared to look deeply into the woman's eyes. Olive glowed in amusement back at her and the mother had no more doubts. Gently, she nodded in the affirmative.

"Artemis", she said in a breath. "You are Artemis, the goddess of hunting and the night."

Red reflexes took over when the goddess imitated the other woman's previous gesture. She held the cup and walked to the chair, offering the drink.

"You must drink the tea; it will do you good". She sat on the floor, crossing her legs in a childish posture, and continued: "You know, I'm not just the goddess of hunting and the night. A long time ago, while my mother was suffering from labor pains, I had to help her through the process... I was the one who brought my twin into the world".

The mortal listened to the words with curiosity as she drank the tea given to her. She had heard rumors saying that in other places pregnant women prayed to Artemis, but she did not delve into the content, believing it was confusion on the part of people.

"I thought, in my ignorance, that only Zeus's wife, Hera, and the goddess Illythia were responsible for taking care of mothers during births".

"You're not completely wrong", the amused smile returned to his delicate features. "Ilítia and Hera are patronesses of mothers in labor, yes. As for me... I am responsible for the child that will be born".

Without waiting for any response from the mother in front of her, the goddess continues:

"Nothing is wrong with the child if that's what you're worried about. It's healthy".

Despite the calm, the mother managed to notice when the deity took on a different tone for the next words.

"However, we must warn you: what you want so much will not come the way you expect".

Sweat ran down the woman's back. The words spoken left her confused: what did the goddess mean by the warning?

"Sorry, but I do not understand. What we hope so much is to have a child, to continue the family".

"Yes, mitéra, and you will have that". Artemis held the woman's hands. "What your husband asks for... a child as great as my father, who is healthy, cunning, courageous, and hungry for knowledge... I will give it to you. I will make it all that".

Unable to hold back her emotion, the mother let out crystal clear, sparkling tears. If before she felt only fear of the dream she was having, now, she was able to feel gratitude.

Artemis squeezed her hands a little tighter.

"But you must remember: the Fates rarely give in to our desires so easily". When wiping the tears that ran down the mortal's cheek, she reaffirmed: "What you are wishing for... will not come as you expect. It doesn't mean it's a bad thing; it just means that the Fates see beyond what we can understand".

Before she could respond to the goddess's words, the mother returned to reality with a thud. The only thing she could feel, besides the pain that made her scream with all the strength she had, was the feeling of wetness between her legs.

She understood, in a second, what was happening.

The older women had told her – scared, even – about the effort of childbirth, how the process could take hours and hours, and the mother would have to endure extreme suffering. When going through the experience, she may disagree with many of the words spoken to her: the pain existed for a moment, but everything else passed by like a blur. At times, she felt numb enough to push harder and harder, until she heard, in the distance, a loud cry that didn't belong to her and knew she had done it. She wanted to hold her son in her arms, and see him with the greatest love in the world, but she knew she wouldn't be able to. Her eyes were heavy, tired.

The last thing she managed to catch before falling into a deep sleep was her husband's surprised voice, exclaiming:

"It's a girl!"

Hours later, she woke up. Lying in constant tiredness, not being able to move, she was able to breathe properly for the first time and to reflect on the dream she previously had, on what Artemis had told her, and recognized the truth.

She had not given birth to the son she and her husband so desperately wanted.

His father's enraged screams were left behind as Miramir ran down the road. Later, she would regret leaving during one of their fights, because she knew it worsened the family's mood, but she couldn't sit around while her parent yelled at her about a job she had done.

She couldn't understand her father's mood. And worse: she couldn't stand the passivity with which her mother treated everything.

It was common to hear the man grumbling, commenting on his unfulfilled desire to have a son who would help him, who would have the best characteristics a man could have. And it was common, too, for her to get confused when she was called names and lectured for being exactly what they asked for. If she was curious and wanted to know more about the world, politics and economics, she was reprimanded – “you shouldn't meddle in men's work”. If she tried to learn and train battle moves, she was censored – “fighting is not for Athenian women!”. If she put her body into careful work on the family land, she was criticized – “you should just focus on domestic tasks”.

Truth be told: Miramar, for a long time, hated being the way she was and being at odds with what society expected of her. She tried her best to be less than she really was, but it never worked, her true face took control of her actions more easily than she would have liked. She could not deny her nature, especially when it was forged and blessed by the gods.

Little by little, she understood that she would never change, just as her father's mentality would not change too. These were characteristics that she would have to live with, and so she tried to follow. By not hiding behind a forged personality, the fights with her father and her own mother began to increase; each side daring the other to yield. Nobody gave in, of course. The heated discussions ended with the departure of one of them, usually from Miramar, in a warlike atmosphere that even the divine would be envious of.

That day was no different. They argued about changes to the plantations: Miramar had created a tool to make the work easier, a single watering can to soak everything that was planted at that point. To her father, it was nonsense, not innovation. “Why change, if the old one works perfectly well?”. Like a melody composed by Euterpe, the discussion began to increase – both in tone and proportion –, and with each word spoken, a new psychological wound opened. Until he said what he always kept to himself.

"I wish you had never been born. The Gods, high in their divinity, made a mistake with your birth".

As soon as she took in the words, she was already running away. She ran until her lungs hurt and the landscape was no longer important. When she stopped, she had her feet stuck in the beach sand, following the noise of the waves with her crying.

She blamed the gods for making her this way. Without thinking of any consequences, she rejected them, cursed them for having disgraced her family and her own destiny. To the winds that ravaged her hair, she shouted:

"I loathe all of you! I loathe all the gods who gave me this destiny!"

She fell under her weight, with a tired, disappointed thud. Tears ran freely down her face, shining with the sun's reflections.

She just wanted...

She heard laughter behind her. She turned away as quickly as she could, uncomfortable at being interrupted in a personal and introspective moment.

"You know that your destiny is not chosen by the gods, right? The Moiras are the ones who take care of this type of work".

"And do you know that interrupting strangers at delicate moments is not kind?"

The boy raises his hands in surrender, the white smile still presents on his features.

"I just didn't want you to have problems with the gods. Talking about them like this... can cause irreparable consequences".

"With the gods, specifically those who knew about my future, I will deal; not you".

An affirmative sound escapes the young man; the ironic smile still present on his lips. Miramir turns all her attention to him, trying to remember where she could know him, but nothing comes to mind. She considers, then, that he could be a merchant, it is common for them to go on trips at this time of year.

"Who are you, anyway?"

He sits on the sand, arms thrown back, supporting his body weight in a comfortable position. He raises an eyebrow at Miramir as he responds:

"What do you want to call me?" She rolls her eyes, impatient with the game. "Got it, got it. You can call me Taleu".

"That's a different name", she responds, despite feeling like she already knew the name from another time.

"A little. It means “solar,” in case you were wondering".

Miramir nods. She looks at the vacant seat next to the young man and decides there is no harm in sitting down. She had already run away from home; now, it was time to wait for the dust to settle before returning.

"I wasn't, but it's interesting knowledge", she plays with the sand between her fingers. "My name is Miramir".

"A suitable name for a young girl".

She can't help the ironic laugh that comes out.

"I highly doubt it is. My parents planned to have a son, not a daughter. The pre-chosen name just followed me along with all their other shattered desires".

"Let me rephrase, then: a fitting name for a young and innovative girl".

Miramir raises her eyebrow. She was never good at talking to young people her age, but she knew when they were flirting with her. Truth be told: she scared away the two suitors that his father tried to find for herself without thinking twice. However, for some unexpected reason, she didn't want to interrupt the conversation; Within her, the flame of curiosity increased, and she wanted to know how far the traveler would reach.

"How can you know that? Do not know me".

"You're right", confirms Taleu. He opens a new smile. "I will stay in Athens for another week and a half. Will it be enough time to get to know you?"

Miramir looks out to sea as a slow smile spreads. The fight with her parents was forgotten.

"You can try."

A week later, Miramir was already terribly in love. So in love that she offered fervent prayers to Aphrodite; so in love that she thought of nothing else but Taleu's strong arms and convincing smiles; so in love that, together, they fled to Crete, in the dead of night. She was so passionate that, two months later, she defied Hera and went ahead with the unexpected pregnancy, even though she knew that Taleu would no longer return. In the end, she fell in love with the beautiful girl she gave birth to - little Rey -, and knew she would do everything she could to keep her safe, even if it meant going against the Fates' wishes.