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Chapter Text

The House of Hades had changed since the great reconciliation. Persephone's garden brought life to corners once shrouded in darkness, and Olympian messengers now freely traversed the halls that had once been sealed in secrecy. It was into this transformed realm that Safron suddenly materialized, his mortal presence an anomaly in the divine palace.

At twenty-nine, Safron had spent countless hours immersed in the tales of this place, following every detail of Zagreus's journey to find his mother and unite the realms. His lean frame trembled slightly as he took in the reality of the grand hall, brown eyes wide beneath his matching brown hair. Safron wasn’t tall at all, always the smallest guy in the group or class, with his 170 cm he felt distinctly small among the godly architecture, his skinny figure almost delicate in comparison to the robust statues of deities that lined the walls.

Queen Persephone's influence was evident everywhere - fresh pomegranate trees grew in corners, their fruit shining like jewels. The pool of Styx bubbled with its characteristic crimson sheen, but even it seemed less foreboding now that peace had been established between the realms.

The sound of familiar laughter drew his attention to the west hall - Zagreus's voice, accompanied by the deeper tones of Thanatos. Safron's heart clenched. He knew of their relationship, had witnessed their growing closeness through the game, but seeing them in person would be something else entirely.

They emerged together: Zagreus, the Prince of the Underworld, his mismatched eyes bright with mirth, and beside him, Death Incarnate himself, Thanatos's golden eyes softening as he gazed at his partner. The sight of them made Safron's breath catch - both in admiration and with a sharp pang of longing he tried to suppress.

"Well," Zagreus said, noticing Safron first. His hand instinctively moved to Stygius, though his posture remained relaxed. "This is certainly new. Than, are you expecting any mortal arrivals today?"

Thanatos floated forward, studying Safron with professional interest. "No... he's not due for collection. In fact, I sense no death about him at all. He shouldn't be here."

Before Safron could speak, a warm voice interrupted: "Now this is interesting." Queen Persephone herself emerged from her garden, her presence bringing the scent of spring flowers. "A living mortal in our halls, bearing a mark I haven't seen in centuries."

Safron looked down to find his chest glowing with a strange sigil - a combination of pomegranate and laurel wreath, pulsing with divine light.

"Mother," Zagreus said, moving closer to examine the mark. "You recognize this?"

"From the old times," Persephone confirmed, her green eyes twinkling with interest. "Before the separation of realms, when gods and mortals were more... intertwined. But that was long ago."

Safron finally found his voice, though it shook slightly. "I know this place," he said. "All of you. The escape attempts, the reconciliation, everything." His eyes darted briefly to Thanatos and Zagreus, then away. "Where I come from, your story is... legendary."

Thanatos moved protectively closer to Zagreus, but there was curiosity in his golden gaze. "And yet you speak of private matters. Things no mortal should know."

"Indeed," came the deep voice of Lord Hades as he materialized before his throne, Persephone moving to stand beside him. The Lord of the Dead was still imposing, but his presence seemed less oppressive than in the days before reconciliation. "Explain yourself, mortal."

Safron squared his shoulders. "I know of your family's reunion, Lord Hades. Of how Zagreus's persistence brought Queen Persephone home, how the truth reached Olympus, how peace was finally achieved." He glanced at Thanatos and Zagreus. "I know of bonds forged in darkness that bloomed in light."

The hall fell silent. Even the shades seemed to pause in their eternal wandering.

"The Fates," Persephone mused, "rarely send mortals to our realm without purpose. Especially not now, when balance has finally been restored."

"Unless," Thanatos added, "that very balance requires... adjustment."

Zagreus studied Safron with increasing interest. "You say you know our story. Then you know we've learned not to dismiss unusual circumstances." He turned to his parents. "Perhaps we should hear him out."

Hades exchanged a look with Persephone, their silent communication a testament to their rekindled relationship. "Very well," he proclaimed. "But know this, mortal - our realm has only recently found peace. Disturb that peace, and there are places in Tartarus where even my son has never ventured."

As the Lord and Queen of the Underworld departed, Safron found himself alone with Zagreus and Thanatos. The prince's burning feet had left scorch marks on the marble, and Thanatos hovered slightly closer to him than strictly necessary.

"Well then," Zagreus said with a hint of his characteristic grin, "seems we have quite a lot to discuss. Though I must warn you - my schedule is rather full these days, between administrative duties and..." he glanced affectionately at Thanatos, "other commitments."

The look they shared made Safron's heart ache with both appreciation and longing. He knew their story, had celebrated their happiness, but standing before them now, was something else.

What none of them yet realized was that Safron's arrival marked the beginning of a new chapter - not of escape or reunion this time, but of something equally transformative. The Fates, it seemed, weren't quite finished weaving their tapestry of divine and mortal lives.

Chapter Text

The west hall of the House felt different at night, if night truly existed in the eternal twilight of the Underworld. Safron wandered the quieter corridors, his mind still reeling from the day's events. Back in the mortal realm, he had been a game developer, creating virtual worlds to escape his own lonely reality. His family apartment in the city had been filled with artwork of the Underworld and its inhabitants, his screens always displaying some part of the game he'd played countless times.

"Can't sleep?" a melodious voice asked, and Safron turned to find Hypnos floating nearby, his sleep mask pushed up into his white curls. "Though I suppose suddenly appearing in the Underworld would give anyone insomnia!"

"Hypnos," Safron said, unable to hide his smile. The Sleep God was exactly as he'd imagined - carefree yet surprisingly observant. "I guess I'm still adjusting."

"Oh, you know my name!" Hypnos brightened. "Though you seem to know everyone's name, don't you? Must be nice, skipping all those awkward introductions!" He consulted his list. "Let's see... 'Safron, mortal, arrived via mysterious circumstances.' Not my usual kind of entry!"

Their conversation was interrupted by the approaching sound of a lyre. Orpheus emerged from the lounge, Eurydice at his side. They'd been spending more time together since their reunion, their songs filling the House with renewed joy.

"Ah, our mysterious visitor," Orpheus said warmly. "Your arrival has caused quite a stir. Even the shades are gossiping about it."

"Sugar, you look like you could use a drink," Eurydice added kindly. "Come sit with us in the lounge. Dusa's been stress-cleaning the same corner for hours waiting to meet you properly."

As if summoned, Dusa poked her serpentine head around the corner. "Oh! I wasn't-- I mean, I was just-- The dust really builds up in these corners, you know?"

Safron felt warmth spread through his chest. All of them had been his comfort during lonely nights, and now here they were, offering him the same kindness in reality.

In the lounge, Megaera was sharing a drink with her sisters. She fixed Safron with an appraising look as he entered. "So you're the mortal who knows all our secrets," she said, her whip coiled casually at her side. "Including, I assume, certain... private matters?"

"I respect your privacy," Safron assured her quickly. "Just because I know things doesn't mean I'll share them."

"Wise answer," Alecto grinned, showing too many teeth. "I was hoping we'd get to make you bleed, but maybe you're not completely useless."

"Sisters, please," Tisiphone hissed. "Murderrrrr..." Though her vocabulary had expanded since working with Zagreus, some habits diyng hard.

The evening unfolded in a surreal blur of conversations. Achilles and Patroclus joined them later, their hands clasped together, their peaceful reunion a testament to Zagreus's efforts. They shared stories of the surface world, both ancient and recent.

Through it all, Safron couldn't help noticing how everyone's stories intertwined with Zagreus's journey. The prince had changed all their lives, brought healing to ancient wounds, reunited lost loves. Watching from the corner, Safron saw Zagreus and Thanatos on the balcony, sharing a quiet moment. The tenderness between them was beautiful yet bittersweet to witness.

"It's not easy, is it?" came a gentle voice. Queen Persephone had appeared beside him, her presence bringing the scent of spring flowers. "Loving from afar."

Safron startled. "I don't-- I mean--"

"Peace," she smiled. "I've seen how you look at them. Not with jealousy, but with genuine joy for their happiness, even as it pains you." She touched the glowing mark on his chest. "Perhaps that's why you're here. The Fates rarely send us those who cannot understand both love and sacrifice."

Before Safron could respond, a commotion arose from the administration chamber. Hades' voice boomed: "What do you mean, 'anomalies in the records'?"

The House's peaceful rhythm had been disrupted. Something was wrong with the very fabric of the Underworld itself, and somehow, Safron suspected his arrival was connected to it all.

He looked around the lounge at his newfound companions - the Fury sisters trading barbed comments, Orpheus and Eurydice singing softly together, Dusa frantically polishing already spotless goblets, Hypnos dozing in his corner. On the balcony, Zagreus kissed Thanatos softly before heading toward the administration chamber to deal with whatever crisis had arisen.

Safron squared his shoulders. He might be a mortal in a divine realm, but these beings had become his family long before he'd actually met them. Whatever was coming, he would face it with them.

Little did he know, the Fates had placed him here not just as an observer, but as a key player in events that would test the very foundations of love, loyalty, and the bonds between gods and mortals.

Chapter Text

The guest chamber that Queen Persephone had assigned to Safron was located in a quieter wing of the House, not far from the administrative offices. Like everything in the Underworld, it balanced grandeur with a strange, comfortable intimacy.

Safron stood before the full-length mirror, still adjusting to seeing himself in this otherworldly setting. At 170cm, he was shorter than most of the House's divine inhabitants, his build lean but skinny from years of regular running - a hobby he'd maintained to combat long hours at his computer. His brown hair fell in gentle waves just past his ears, with a persistent strand that always seemed to drop over his right eye. The warm brown of his eyes held flecks of gold in the Underworld's ethereal lighting, and a light dusting of freckles crossed his nose and cheeks - a reminder of the sun he'd left behind in the mortal realm.

He'd arrived wearing his typical developer attire - fitted dark jeans and a soft gray hoddie- but found his closet now stocked with clothes that somehow blended his modern style with Underworld aesthetics. He ran his fingers over a chiton reimagined as a flowing jacket, its fabric shimmering with subtle patterns that resembled code when viewed closely.

The room itself was a fascinating mix of ancient and contemporary elements. A large bed dominated one wall, its frame made of polished Stygian wood that seemed to absorb and emit shadows. The sheets were silk in deep crimson, complemented by pillows in various shades of purple and black. Near the bed, a desk held various scrolls and parchments, but also seemed perfectly suited for the laptop he no longer had.

On the walls, living crystals provided warm lighting that could be adjusted by touch. A balcony opened onto a view of Tartarus in the distance, though somehow the sight was more breathtaking than terrifying. Persephone's influence was evident in the potted pomegranate tree in one corner, its fruits gleaming like jewels in the eternal twilight.

The bathroom - because even the Underworld had amenities - featured a sunken tub filled with heated water from the Phlegethon, carefully filtered and regulated to soothe rather than scald. Black marble counters held various oils and bath salts, some with labels in ancient Greek that he was surprised to find he could read.

Safron's few personal effects had somehow arrived with him - his favorite books, now sitting on shelves alongside ancient texts; his collection of small gaming figurines, including a particularly detailed one of Zagreus that now felt almost embarrassingly nude; and his sketchbook filled with fan art of the very beings he now lived among.

Running a hand through his hair, Safron changed into one of his new outfits - fitted black trousers and a deep purple tunic that draped perfectly across his shoulders, detailed with subtle silver that caught the light as he moved. The fabric was unlike anything he'd felt before, light as air but somehow warming.

A knock at his door startled him from his self-inspection. "Come in?"

Dusa poked her head through - literally through - the door. "Oh! You look nice! I mean-- I brought some ambrosia, since you might be missing mortal food? Not that our food isn't good! But Queen Persephone suggested... I'm rambling again, aren't I?"

Safron smiled warmly. "Thank you, Dusa. Would you like to join me? I could use some company."

"Oh! I shouldn't-- I mean, I have duties-- but maybe just for a minute?" Her snakes writhed nervously as she fully entered the room, carrying a tray with a decanter of ambrosia and two glasses.

As they settled into the comfortable chairs, Safron caught his reflection again in a decorative mirror. The glow of his mysterious mark was visible through his tunic, casting a soft light that seemed to make his brown eyes shine gold. "It's strange," he said softly, accepting a glass from Dusa, "I used to dream about this place. About all of you. But I never imagined..."

"That you'd be here?" Dusa finished, her nervousness fading into understanding. "I know what it's like to feel... out of place. But the House has a way of becoming home to strays." She blushed. "Not that you're a stray! I just meant--"

Safron laughed, the sound warming the room. "I know what you meant, Dusa. Thank you."

As they talked, the eternal night of the Underworld stretched on, and somewhere in the House, the Fates continued weaving their mysterious design - one that had brought a mortal gamer into the very world he'd loved from afar, for purposes yet to be revealed.

Chapter Text

Safron's first proper morning in the House started with him oversleeping and nearly missing breakfast. After years of setting his own developer hours, adjusting to the House's schedule wouldn't be easy. He rushed to make himself presentable, fumbling with the clasps of his new clothing and cursing under his breath.

The dining hall was already busy when he arrived. Megaera glanced up from her meal and rolled her eyes. "Look who finally decided to join the living. Though I suppose punctuality might be a mortal weakness."

"Be nice, Meg," Zagreus said from his place between his parents, though he was clearly amused. "Not everyone's used to our schedules."

Safron felt his face heat as he tried to find a place to sit. The long table was intimidating - Hades and Persephone at one end, various House residents scattered along its length. He spotted an empty seat between Hypnos and Cerberus, which seemed safe enough until he remembered his allergies.

"Oh no," he muttered as his nose began to itch. Several sneezes later, he had to relocate, much to Cerberus's apparent offense. All three heads looked wounded.

"Allergic to the fearsome hound of the Underworld?" Alecto cackled from her spot. "Some fan you are!"

"I didn't exactly choose to be allergic," Safron muttered, finally finding a spot near the end of the table. He reached for some fruit, then hesitated, remembering the myths about eating Underworld food.

"The food won't trap you here," Persephone said kindly. "Those rules don't apply to invited guests."

The breakfast spread was extraordinary - ambrosia-glazed fruits, breads that seemed to glow with divine energy, and dishes he couldn't even name. Safron's stomach growled embarrassingly loud.

"Mortals and their constant need for sustenance," Hades grumbled from behind his scrolls. "Inefficient design."

"Father," Zagreus protested, but Safron noticed the prince hiding a smile.

Thanatos materialized in his usual spot beside Zagreus, nodding briefly at Safron before turning his attention to his partner. Their quiet intimacy made Safron's chest ache, and he quickly looked away, only to catch Meg watching him with narrowed eyes.

"So," she said, her voice carrying clearly down the table, "exactly how much do you know about everyone's private affairs?"

The table fell uncomfortably quiet. Safron set down his fork, choosing his words carefully. "I know what was shown in the... stories. But knowing facts isn't the same as knowing people. I'd rather learn who you all really are than rely on what I think I know."

"Diplomatic answer," Achilles commented from his place beside Patroclus. "Though it doesn't quite answer the question, lad."

Safron fidgeted with his napkin. "I try not to think about private matters that aren't my business. Just because you can't help learning things doesn't mean you have to dwell on them."

"A wise perspective," Nyx said, appearing suddenly at the table. "Though wisdom rarely prevents curiosity."

"Or gossip," Dusa added nervously from where she hovered near a column, then squeaked when everyone looked at her. "I mean-- not that you'd gossip! Or that there's gossip! I should go clean something!"

She zoomed away, nearly colliding with a shade carrying fresh bread. Safron felt bad - he hadn't meant to make her uncomfortable.

The rest of breakfast passed in a blur of awkward attempts at conversation and trying not to stare too obviously when Zagreus casually fed Thanatos a piece of ambrosia-glazed fig. Safron managed to knock over his drink twice, earned another eye roll from Megaera, and discovered he was apparently allergic to some kind of Underworld spice that made him hiccup sparkles for ten minutes.

"Well," Hypnos said cheerfully as people began to disperse, "that wasn't a complete disaster! I mean, nobody died, which is pretty good for the Underworld, right?"

"Thanks, I think," Safron replied, still hiccuping small sparks.

As he helped clear his dishes (despite protests from the shades that it wasn't necessary), Safron caught fragments of conversation:

"--don't trust it, a mortal knowing so much--" (Alecto to her sisters) "--quite amusing actually--" (Zagreus to Thanatos) "--reminds me of myself, before--" (Eurydice to Orpheus) "--keep an eye on him--" (Hades to Nyx)

Making his way back to his room, Safron felt the weight of being an outsider. He wasn't just a fan anymore, living through a screen. He was here, real, making real impressions - good and bad - on beings he'd admired for so long.

A small shade tugged at his sleeve, offering a handkerchief for his still-sparking hiccups. Safron smiled his thanks, and the shade seemed to blush before floating away.

Maybe he wasn't winning everyone over, but at least he hadn't completely embarrassed himself. Well, not too completely. Though he should probably figure out what that sparkly spice was and avoid it in the future.

Running a hand through his perpetually unruly hair, Safron headed back to his room to regroup. He had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.

Chapter Text

After the breakfast debacle, Safron retreated to his room to change his sparkle-stained tunic. He caught his reflection again - his face still slightly flushed from embarrassment, that stubborn strand of hair more rebellious than ever.

"Get it together," he muttered to himself. "You're living your dream. Sort of. Even if you're allergic to half of it."

A knock interrupted his self-pep talk. Opening the door revealed Zagreus, and Safron's heart did its usual flip before he reminded himself firmly about boundaries.

"Thought you might want to see the library," Zagreus offered. "Mother reorganized it recently, and since you're interested in our stories..."

"I'd love to," Safron said too quickly, then tried to calm his obvious enthusiasm. "I mean, if you're not too busy."

Zagreus grinned. "Than's handling soul procurement, Father's doing whatever it is he does with those scrolls, and I've got a break from my duties. Come on."

The library was magnificent - shelves stretching impossibly high, filled with scrolls, books, and tablets in languages both ancient and modern. Persephone's touch was evident in the comfortable reading nooks scattered throughout.

"It's incredible," Safron breathed, trailing his fingers along the shelves. "Though I'm surprised you spend much time here, given your..." he caught himself before mentioning Zagreus's canonical reading struggles.

"My dyslexia?" Zagreus finished, raising an eyebrow. "That's one of those things you know, then? It's fine - Mother's been helping me with different techniques. Though I admit, I'm better with the practical aspects of my job."

"Sorry," Safron said quickly. "I shouldn't assume..."

"It's strange, isn't it?" Zagreus settled into one of the reading chairs. "You knowing so much about us, but us knowing almost nothing about you. Even things we might prefer to keep private." There was no accusation in his tone, but Safron felt the weight of it.

"I never meant to invade anyone's privacy," Safron said quietly, choosing his own chair carefully - close enough to talk, far enough to maintain appropriate distance. "Where I come from, your stories helped a lot of people. Seeing you overcome challenges, find love, reconcile with family... it gave hope to those who needed it."

"Including you?"

Safron looked away. "I spent a lot of time alone. Games were my escape. Creating them, playing them... it was easier than dealing with real relationships." He laughed softly. "Pretty pathetic, right?"

"I don't think so," Zagreus said. "We all find comfort where we can. Though I'm curious - if you could create these games, whatever this is, why were ours so important?"

Before Safron could answer, a familiar chill announced Thanatos's arrival. "There you are," Death Incarnate said to Zagreus, then nodded to Safron. "Library duty?"

"Just showing our guest around," Zagreus stood, stretching. "Care to join us?"

"Actually," Thanatos said, "your father's requesting you. Something about misplaced paperwork?"

Zagreus groaned. "Again? I swear those forms multiply on their own." He turned to Safron. "Feel free to stay and explore. Just don't touch anything that glows, hisses, or tries to read itself to you."

After they left, Safron wandered the shelves, eventually finding a section of modernized texts. He selected a book about recent Underworld history and settled into a comfortable corner.

Hours passed. He was so absorbed in reading about the actual administrative structure of the House that he didn't notice someone approaching until a shadow fell across his page.

"Ah, the mortal learns our bureaucracy," Megaera's voice made him jump. "Thrilling choice."

"Oh, Lady Megaera, It's fascinating actually," Safron said before he could stop himself. "The way souls are processed, the different departments, how everything adapted after the reconciliation..."

"You really are a strange one," Meg said, but there was less edge to her voice. "Most mortals who end up here - invited or not - are more interested in the glamorous aspects. Gods, powers, romance..." her eyes glittered. "Violence."

"Don't get me wrong, that's all amazing," Safron marked his place carefully. "But the real wonder is how it all works together. How everyone found their place, their purpose."

"And what of your purpose, mortal?" Her whip coiled slightly. "Other than being our resident expert on private matters?"

Safron met her gaze steadily. "I don't know yet. But I'd rather earn my place than have it handed to me because of what I know."

Megaera studied him for a long moment. "Well," she finally said, "at least you're not completely naive." She turned to leave, then added, "The administrative office could use help organizing the new filing system. Since you find it so fascinating."

It wasn't quite approval, but it was something.

Safron spent the rest of the afternoon reading, making notes about the House's structure. He barely noticed when the light changed, signalling evening approaching. His stomach growled, reminding him that mortals still needed regular meals.

Standing and stretching, he reshelved his books carefully. Maybe he couldn't fight like Zagreus or handle souls like Thanatos, but perhaps understanding the House's workings was a start. Even if it meant dealing with whatever filing system had Zagreus so frustrated.

Besides, he thought with a small smile, at least paperwork was unlikely to make him sneeze sparkles again.

Chapter Text

Before heading to the administrative office, Safron took time to freshen up. He'd discovered the bathroom's collection included Underworld colognes - one particular blend of smoky wood and pomegranate had caught his attention. He applied it carefully, adjusted his newest outfit (a fitted black chiton with subtle red threading that made his skinny frame look particularly good), and ran a hand through his chaotic brown hair.

"Not bad for someone who spent the morning sneezing sparkles," he muttered to his reflection, smirking slightly.

In the administrative chamber, he found Hypnos floating near a mountain of scrolls. "Oh hey! Coming to help with the eternal paperwork? Though I guess for you it's just regular paperwork, since you're not eternal... yet? Is that insensitive to ask?"

"Less sensitive than asking if I'm dead yet," Safron quipped, earning a surprised laugh from the usually sleepy god.

"Oh, you're funny! And you smell nice. Is that Chthonic Cedar? Good choice!" Hypnos gestured to the chaos of papers. "Want to help me sort these? Fair warning - some of them bite."

"Literal papercuts, huh?" .

They worked companionably for a while, Hypnos actually staying awake as they traded increasingly ridiculous jokes about bureaucracy. Safron was in the middle of a particularly one about soul processing when a familiar chill entered the room.

"I see you're corrupting Hypnos," Thanatos observed dryly.

"Bold of you to assume he wasn't already corrupt," Safron replied without thinking, then tensed - but Thanatos actually smiled slightly.

"True enough. Though perhaps save the more colorful jokes for after hours. Lord Hades approaches."

Sure enough, the imposing figure of the Lord of the Dead appeared, Zagreus trailing behind him with an armful of scrolls.

"Ah, the mortal seeks to assist?" Hades raised an eyebrow at Safron's presence. "Very well. There are contracts requiring mortal attention regardless." He deposited another stack of papers on the desk. "Do try not to bleed on them. The forms for mortal blood contamination are... extensive."

"Speaking from experience, Father?" Zagreus grinned, setting down his own stack more carefully.

"You would know, boy," Hades rumbled, but there was an undercurrent of affection in his voice.

As they worked, Safron found himself relaxing. Yes, he was surrounded by divine beings, but paperwork was paperwork. He'd organized enough game development documentation to handle this.

"So," Zagreus said during a break, perching on the edge of a desk, "that cologne... Chthonic Cedar?"

"Good nose," Safron smiled. "Though I guess when your feet are perpetually on fire, you develop a sensitivity to scents."

"Among other things," Thanatos murmured, causing Zagreus to flush slightly.

"Now who's being inappropriate in the workplace?" Safron teased, then immediately worried he'd overstepped. But both god and prince laughed.

"He's got you there, Than," Zagreus grinned. "Though if we're talking inappropriate, wait until you hear some of Dionysus's stories from up top."

The afternoon passed surprisingly quickly. Safron proved adept at organizing the chaos, making only a few minor mistakes - like the time he accidentally approved a soul transfer to Elysium that was meant for Asphodel. Thankfully, Nyx caught it before the soul could start enjoying unearned paradise.

"Not bad," Megaera commented, stopping by to drop off more forms. "Though your filing system is almost as chaotic as your hair."

"It's called style, Meg," Safron shot back. "You should see me when I actually try."

Her whip twitched, but her lips curved slightly. "Careful, mortal. I might take that as a challenge."

As evening approached, Safron stretched, his hands pleasantly sore from reaching high shelves. His cologne had mellowed to a warm, woody scent that mixed well with the Underworld's eternal atmosphere.

"Drink?" Zagreus offered as they finished up. "You've earned it. Though maybe avoid the sparkly ones this time."

"And miss out on being a human light show?" Safron smiled. "But yes, I'd like that. As long as there's no celestial spices involved."

They headed to the lounge, where Orpheus was singing something new - a song that made Safron raise his eyebrows at its surprisingly suggestive lyrics about pomegranates.

"And you thought my jokes were bad," he muttered to Hypnos, who giggled sleepily.

Finding a comfortable spot, Safron accepted a glass of something that shimmered but didn't sparkle. He'd earned this moment of relaxation, even if tomorrow would bring new challenges. At least he'd face them smelling good and looking sharp - and maybe with a few more inappropriate jokes about supernatural bureaucracy up his sleeve.

Chapter Text

After the administrative work, Safron retreated to his quarters, the woody scent of his cologne now mingled with parchment and ink. The Phlegethon-heated bath attracted, steam rising invitingly from the dark marble pool.

He shed his fitted chiton and slipped into the warm water, letting it ease his mortal muscles. The bath oils shimmered on the surface, creating patterns like constellation maps.

Lost in thought, he didn't hear the knock at first. Then Zagreus's voice: "Safron? Those contracts need - oh, sorry."

"It's fine," Safron said, the water clouded enough with oils to preserve modesty. "Though don't your feet boil normal water?"

"These baths are Phlegethon-touched," Zagreus grinned. "Mind if I join? Been a long day of paperwork."

Safron's heart skipped, but he kept his voice casual. "Sure, plenty of room."

Zagreus reached for the pin at his shoulder, unfastening his chiton with practiced ease. The battle-worn fabric slipped away, revealing a form shaped by endless combat through the depths of Tartarus. Prince's skin held the marks of countless battles - scars from Meg's whip, a faded reminder of Asterius's axe - yet each mark only added to his divine presence.

Though immortal, there was something wonderfully delicate in his bearing, a warmth that defied his father's cold realm. Each movement was graceful yet powerful, a reminder that the prince carried himself with a warrior's poise even in ease. His laurel crown caught the light as he moved, casting deep shadows across the planes of his face and the strong line of his jaw. Small embers occasionally drifted from his feet, dissipating in the water with soft hisses.

Safron tried to keep his gaze respectful, but his eyes betrayed him with a quick, flustered glance at the prince's forms. Heat rose to his cheeks as he noticed how the water traced tasteful lines down Zagreus's divine figure. The mortal's heart thundered in his chest, and he quickly (or not) averted his eyes, though the image of the prince's silhouette was already burned into his memory. Safron's imagination had conjured this scene in daydreams a thousand times before, but reality struck him with an intensity he wasn't prepared for. Steam curled around them both as Safron tried desperately to focus on anything else - the crystalline walls, the rippling water, the soft glow of the chamber's lights - yet his gaze kept betraying him with stolen glances.

Zagreus seemed either clueless or graciously ignored his mortal mate's flustered state, moving through the water with that characteristic divine confidence that made Safron's breath catch in his throat. They kept a respectful distance, though Safron couldn't help noticing how the steam made the prince's laurels glisten.

"Than won't mind?" Safron asked carefully.

"A bath between colleagues?" Zagreus laughed. "Than's not the jealous type. Besides, he prefers the cold springs in Elysium."

They talked about nothing in particular - administrative chaos, Cerberus's latest escapades, Hypnos's increasingly creative sleep-talking. The awkwardness melted away into comfortable friendship, though Safron remained aware of maintaining appropriate boundaries.

"You're adjusting well," Zagreus observed. "Most mortals would be more... overwhelmed."

"Trust me, I'm plenty overwhelmed," Safron admitted. "I'm just better at hiding it now."

They shared a laugh, and Safron realized that perhaps this was what he'd needed all along - not just admiring from afar, but finding genuine friendship among them.

After their bath, Safron wrapped himself in one of the House's luxurious towels and retreated behind a column, his heart racing. He knew he should return to his room, but curiosity got the better of him. Just one last glance, he told himself.

He peeked carefully around the marble, watching as Zagreus emerged from the bath. Steam rose around the prince's ass as he reached for a towel. Safron held his breath, trying to be as quiet as possible, but he'd forgotten about the puddle of water at his feet.

One slip was all it took.

"Enjoying the view?" Zagreus's amused voice made him freeze mid-stumble.

Caught. Safron's face burned hotter than Zagreus's feet. "I was just... I mean... I dropped something?"

"Behind a column? After a bath? Maybe your sense of boundaries" Zagreus raised an eyebrow, thankfully (or not) now wrapped in his towel. "You're not very good at stealth, for someone who claims to have played the game."

"I usually went for ranged builds," Safron mumbled, mortified but unable to help a small laugh at his own ridiculousness.

"Better stick to administrative work," Zagreus grinned. "Leave the sneaking to Than. You a maybe a guest here but don't forget that only Fates invited you to our realm, not me or neither my father."

Safron nodded and fled to his room as fast as Hermers could do it, equal parts embarrassed, sorrowed and amused at his failed attempt at stealth, he felt guilty but at the same time wouldn't change a thing about the past moments, mortals are really strange ones.

Chapter Text

Still feeling introverted about his failed stealth attempt, Safron decided to get some air on one of the House's many balconies. The eternal twilight of the Underworld had its own beauty, especially when you weren't preoccupied with sneaking glances at bathing princes.

"Well, well! You must be the mortal everyone's buzzing about!"

The voice came so suddenly that Safron nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to find Hermes hovering at balcony level, his winged sandals fluttering.

"Cousin Zagreus mentioned you, but he didn't say you were so jumpy!" Hermes grinned, speaking at his usual rapid pace. "Or that you'd be out here looking like you just got caught with your hand in Zeus's lightning jar!"

"News travels fast," Safron groaned, running a hand through his still-damp hair.

"'Course it does, pal, that's literally my job!" Hermes zipped around him in a circle. "Though I've got to say, trying to sneak a peek at our resident prince? Bold move for a mortal! Lucky for you Than's got a sense of humor about these things. Usually. Sometimes. Actually, maybe don't make a habit of it?"

Safron slumped against the railing. "You know about that already?"

"Professional messenger, remember? Plus, you're a hot topic up on Olympus right now. A mortal who knows all our secrets, suddenly appearing in the House? The gossip practically delivers itself!"

Despite his embarrassment, Safron found himself warming to Hermes's energetic presence. The god's rapid-fire speech and quick movements were exactly as he remembered from the game, but in person, there was an underlying warmth to his playful nature.

"So," Hermes continued, producing a bottle of something that sparkled suspiciously, "want to hear about some real Olympian scandals? Trust me, your little bath incident is nothing compared to what Uncle Poseidon got up to last spring festival."

"I probably shouldn't..." Safron began, then remembered he was trying to be less of a careful observer and more of an active participant in this world. "Actually, yes. Yes, I would."

Hermes's grin widened. "Now that's what I like to hear! Come on, I know a quiet spot where the shades don't eavesdrop. Plus, you can tell me what other embarrassing moments you've had since arriving. For professional messenger purposes only, of course!"

As they found a secluded corner of the House's gardens, Safron realized this might be exactly what he needed - someone who treated godly drama with the same light-hearted appreciation he'd always had for it. Hermes didn't seem to care that Safron was mortal, or that he knew things he shouldn't. He just wanted to share good stories and better wine.

"So there I was, delivering messages to Dionysus, when suddenly - " Hermes launched into another tale, his wings twitching with excitement.

Safron settled in, accepting a glass of the suspicious sparkly drink. Maybe this was how he'd find his place here - not through perfect behavior or careful distance, but through genuine connections, occasional embarrassments, and the willingness to laugh at himself.

"Oh, and by the way," Hermes added with a wink, "if you're going to try sneaking around the House again, I might have some professional tips. For a reasonable exchange of future gossip, of course!"

Safron laughed, raising his glass. "Deal. Though maybe we should wait until the evidence of my last attempt fades from the rumor mill?"

"Mate, in this family? There'll be three new scandals by breakfast. Trust me, I deliver the memos!"

As they shared stories and drinks, Safron felt himself relaxing truly for the first time since his arrival. Sometimes, he realized, the best divine connections weren't about marvel or perfection, but about finding someone who could appreciate both the sublime and the ridiculous aspects of immortal life.

And if he happened to pick up some actual stealth tips along the way? Well, that was just an added bonus.

Halfway through another of Hermes's animated stories, Safron noticed something - the messenger god kept glancing at a sealed letter in his satchel.

"So," Safron ventured during a rare pause, "what really brings Lord Hermes to the House today? Besides sharing scandalous Olympian gossip with wayward mortals?"

Hermes's perpetual grin took on an appreciative edge. "Sharp eye! And here I was, trying to be subtle." He produced the letter with a flourish. "Official business from Olympus, actually. Lord Zeus is... let's say 'curious' about our new mortal resident who knows all the family secrets."

Safron's amusement faded slightly. "Ah."

"Hey now, don't look so worried! If they were really concerned, they'd have sent Athena. Or worse - Hera." Hermes shuddered dramatically. "No, this is more of a formal 'checking in' situation. Though..." he twirled the letter between his fingers, "it doesn't technically need to be delivered until tomorrow morning."

"And you decided to do some personal reconnaissance first?"

"Professional thoroughness!" Hermes winked. "Plus, it's not every day we get someone who appreciates a good bit of divine drama. Most mortals are all 'oh great lords and ladies' this and 'please don't smite me' that. Boring!"

"I've played your family's story too many times to be starstruck," Safron admitted. "Though I probably should be more careful about sneaking around divine bathing chambers."

"Nah, that's exactly the kind of thing that makes you interesting! Though maybe next time wait for an invitation?" Hermes waggled his eyebrows suggestively. "Just saying, some of us appreciate a mortal with initiative!"

Safron choked slightly on his drink. "I'll... keep that in mind."

"But seriously," Hermes's tone shifted ever so slightly, though his smile remained, "you might want to be careful. Not everyone up there is as laid-back about mortals knowing their business. Especially after that whole prophecy incident with Apollo last century..."

"Is that why you really came early? To warn me?"

Hermes shrugged, his wings fluttering. "Maybe I just wanted first crack at meeting the mortal who made dear cousin Zagreus blush. Do you know how rare that is? Usually it's Than who gets him all flustered!"

But there was something in his quick eyes that suggested more - a hint of genuine concern beneath the playful exterior. For all his speed and jokes, Hermes was still the god who helped guide souls safely through realms. Perhaps he felt some of that responsibility extended to living mortals as well.

"Well," Safron said carefully, "I appreciate the advance notice. And the company. Even if it's just professional thoroughness."

"Speaking of professional..." Hermes glanced at the garden entrance where Thanatos had just materialized, "I should probably deliver this letter to its actual recipients. But hey - if you ever need swift travel or swifter gossip, just give a shout. Or try to sneak another peek at someone bathing. That works too!"

Before Safron could protest, Hermes zipped away, leaving behind only the faint scent of ozone and the rest of the suspicious sparkly drink. Through the garden archway, he could see the messenger god now speaking animatedly with Thanatos, official letter in hand.

Well, Safron thought, at least now he knew Olympus was aware of him. And somehow, having Hermes as an ally - even one who seemed to delight in his embarrassing moments - made that knowledge less daunting.

Though he should probably learn those stealth tips sooner rather than later, just in case.

Chapter Text

Safron was sorting contracts when the temperature in the administrative chamber suddenly rose. Not the familiar warmth of Zagreus's burning feet, but something more deliberate - like sunlight through a magnifying glass.

"Oh my, what do we have here? A mortal doing paperwork? How... quaint."

The voice was musical, almost too perfect. Safron turned to find a figure lounging against one of the marble columns - completely nude save for strategically draped silk that seemed to exist more as an art piece than actual clothing. Golden skin glowed as if lit from within, dark curls artfully tousled, and a face that even gods might envy.

"Adonis*," Megaera's voice cut through the chamber, her tone suggesting this wasn't an unexpected but certainly an unwelcome arrival. "Persephone's not here."

"Can't I simply visit?" Adonis stretched, the silk shifting just enough to maintain the barest modesty. "Though I must say, the House's newest addition is... intriguing." His eyes swept over Safron with the practiced assessment of someone used to judging beauty. "Not quite divine standard, but... charming, in a mortal way."

Safron straightened his chiton, suddenly very aware of that stubborn strand of hair that never stayed in place. "I wasn't aware the House had a dress code. Or lack thereof."

"When you're a masterpiece, everything is appropriate attire," Adonis smiled, moving with deliberate grace. "Though some of us actually earned our place among the divine through beauty and devotion, rather than... what was it? Playing games?"

The slight was deliberate, wrapped in perfect charm. Safron felt his face warm but kept his voice steady. "Some of us prefer substance over style."

"Says the one in last season's chiton," Adonis smirked. "Though I suppose mortal fashion moves... slowly."

Before Safron could respond, a familiar rush of wind announced Hermes's arrival. "Adonis! Didn't expect to see you until the next surface rotation. Missing the Underworld's charms already?"

"Hermes, darling." Adonis's smile turned sultry. "I was just meeting your new... project."

"Not a project," Safron and Hermes said simultaneously, causing Adonis's perfect eyebrows to rise.

"How sweet. The messenger and the mortal, defending each other." He moved closer to Safron, ostensibly to examine a contract but clearly enjoying the discomfort his near-nakedness caused. "Though I wonder what our dear prince thinks of all this. He always did have a weakness for... strays."

"Zagreus has better things to do than gossip," Megaera cut in. "As do we all."

"Of course, of course." Adonis waved an idle hand. "I simply wanted to see what all the Olympian whispers were about. A mortal who knows our secrets... how potentially dangerous." His smile was sharp as a knife. "Or potentially useful."

Safron met his gaze steadily. "I'm not here to be either."

"Everyone's here to be something, darling." Adonis trailed a finger along the edge of Safron's desk. "The question is... what exactly are you here to be? Besides an admirer of divine bathing sessions, of course."

Safron's blush deepened. How did he...?

"Word travels fast," Adonis winked. "Especially delicious word. Though really, if you wanted to admire divine beauty..." He struck a pose that would have made classical sculptors weep.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Hermes asked pointedly. "Perhaps anywhere else?"

"For now." Adonis practically floated toward the exit, every movement calculated for maximum effect. "But I'll be around. After all, someone needs to maintain proper divine standards in this place." He cast one last perfect smile over his shoulder. "Do try to keep up, darling. If you can."

After he left, Safron slumped in his chair. "So that's Adonis."

"In all his naked glory," Hermes confirmed. "Don't let him get to you. He's just upset because Persephone turned down his latest attempt to redecorate the House with statues of himself."

"All of them nude, I assume?"

"Natural state of divine beauty, according to him." Hermes rolled his eyes. "Though between you and me? He's got nothing on Than when it comes to actual aesthetic appeal."

Safron couldn't help but laugh, though something in Adonis's words stuck with him. What was he here to be? And more importantly, how much trouble was this beautiful immortal going to cause trying to figure it out?

The next morning, Safron found the administrative chamber already occupied. Adonis was "helping" by reaching for high shelves, his minimal silk wrap leaving little to imagination. Several shades had mysteriously found urgent filing needs in that particular corner.

"Ah, good morning," Adonis purred, stretching unnecessarily. His impressive physique cast a rather distracting shadow. "I thought I'd assist. Being... well-equipped for the task."

Even Megaera raised an eyebrow at that one. "Some of us are trying to work."

"I am working," Adonis smiled, adjusting his wrap with deliberate slowness. "I'm bringing divine beauty to this dreary bureaucracy. Though some might say I'm... overdressed for the job."

"Is that possible?" Safron muttered, trying to focus on his scrolls.

"Oh darling, everything's possible with the right... proportions." Adonis leaned over Safron's desk, his presence impossible to ignore. "Would you like a demonstration?"

Thanatos chose that moment to materialize. "Some of us prefer professional behavior in the workplace."

"Professional can be so boring," Adonis sighed, though he did straighten up. "But I suppose not everyone appreciates classical beauty the way the surface dwellers do. Their temples to me are quite... generous."

Safron buried himself in paperwork, though he couldn't help noticing how even the Fury sister seemed distracted. "It's going to be a very long day."

"Oh, these wraps are so constraining," Adonis declared, finally abandoning all pretense of modesty. "The divine form should be free, don't you agree, little mortal?"

Safron kept his eyes firmly on his paperwork, though his peripheral vision betrayed him. Adonis's divine proportions were, well, genuinely divine. Several shades floated into walls.

"Some of us," Safron managed, his voice only slightly strained, "believe in professional attire."

"Professional? When blessed with such gifts?" Adonis stretched deliberately. "Though I suppose mortals are more... modest in their endowments."

Safron shifted uncomfortably in his chair, fighting both attraction and annoyance. Yes, Adonis was incredibly beautiful, and yes, he was impressively equipped, but he was also clearly enjoying making everyone uncomfortable.

"Don't you have somewhere else to be?" Safron tried.

"And deprive you of this view?" Adonis smirked, noting Safron's flustered state. "Consider it an education in divine perfection."

Thanatos materialized again, took one look at the situation, and immediately dematerialized. Even Death Incarnate had limits.

Safron was beginning to wish he could dematerialize too, especially given his body's increasingly obvious appreciation of the view. Divine beauty was one thing, but Adonis was practically weaponizing it.

"Having trouble concentrating?" Adonis leaned closer, knowing exactly what effect he was having.

This was going to be the longest work day in Underworld history.

"Having trouble focusing on those contracts?" Adonis positioned himself directly in front of Safron's desk, his divine proportions at eye level. "Sometimes the view from below is most... impressive."

Safron tried to lean back, his face burning. "Don't you have duties somewhere? Anywhere?"

"Oh, I'm performing my duties," Adonis smirked. "Spreading divine beauty. Though you seem a bit... tense. Perhaps you need a closer appreciation of perfection?"

"I prefer keeping professional distance," Safron managed, though his eyes betrayed him with a quick glance.

"Professional? When faced with such magnificence?" Adonis leaned forward over the desk. "Come now, even mortals can appreciate divine gifts. And mine are particularly... generous."

Safron was saved by Hermes's timely arrival. "Oh look, important messages need delivering! Immediately! Somewhere else!"

He practically fled the office, leaving Adonis's knowing laughter behind him.

Chapter Text

After escaping the administrative chamber, Safron found himself in the gardens where, to his surprise, he discovered Adonis actually dressed (minimally) and in serious conversation with Persephone.

"The surface harvests are struggling," he was saying, all playful seduction gone from his voice. "The mortals' prayers grow desperate. Even Aphrodite is concerned."

"That's why you're really here," Safron realized aloud, making both turn.

"Ah, our flustered friend." The teasing tone returned to Adonis's voice but didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yes, contrary to popular belief, I do more than display divine perfection. Though I do that exceptionally well."

Persephone nodded. "Adonis splits his time between realms, helping maintain the balance of growth and abundance. Recent changes in mortal farming practices have... complicated things."

"The old ways are being forgotten," Adonis ran a hand through his perfect curls, genuine worry showing. "New machines, new methods... they're efficient, yes, but they've lost touch with the divine connection. The land needs more than just seeds and water."

Safron found himself intrigued by this other side of Adonis. "You really care about this."

"I am a god of fertility and renewal," Adonis straightened, his divine presence intensifying. "Everything that grows, lives, desires... it's all connected. Even my... physical attributes serve a purpose. Life force, virility, the drive to create and reproduce - these aren't just for show."

"Though you do enjoy showing them," Safron couldn't help adding.

Adonis's laugh was surprisingly genuine. "Of course! Why have divine gifts if not to appreciate them? But there's purpose behind the beauty. Everything in nature displays itself to attract, to propagate, to continue the cycle of life."

"That's why he visits regularly," Persephone explained. "Checking on the Underworld's influence on surface growth, ensuring the cycle of seasons remains balanced. Especially now that I split my time between realms."

"Plus," Adonis added with a wink at Safron, "the view here has improved recently. Even if some refuse to fully appreciate it."

Safron felt his face warm again but noticed something different in Adonis's teasing - less malice, more genuine playfulness. "So beneath all the display..."

"I contain multitudes, darling." Adonis stretched, "Beauty, fertility, renewal, divine connection - and yes, a healthy appreciation for mortal admiration. We are what we are."

"Speaking of which," Persephone interjected with gentle amusement, "perhaps we could continue our discussion about crop yields with slightly more coverage?"

"If we must," Adonis sighed dramatically, though he did conjure a slightly more substantial wrap. "Though I maintain nature intended us to be free."

"Nature also intended balance," Safron found himself saying. "Between display and dignity, growth and restraint."

Adonis's perfect eyebrows rose with genuine interest. "Well, well. Our little mortal does have thoughts beyond admiring divine forms. Perhaps we should discuss philosophy sometime... though I maintain clothing is optional for intellectual discourse."

As they continued their discussion about surface problems and possible solutions, Safron realized Adonis was indeed more complex than he'd assumed. Yes, he was deliberately provocative and thoroughly enjoyed causing discomfort, but there was real intelligence and purpose behind the perfect exterior.

Still, as Adonis bent to examine a particularly struggling plant, causing his wrap to ride dangerously high, Safron had to admit - some divine gifts were very difficult to ignore, no matter how intellectual the conversation.

"Your face is red again, darling," Adonis noted without looking up. "Thinking deep thoughts about... agriculture?"

Definitely more complex, Safron decided. But still absolutely infuriating.

The next day, after Adonis left the palace, Safron found Zagreus in the lounge, sharing a drink with Than. Gathering his courage, he approached them. After that infamous situation between them, no words were spoken and Safron was too scared to look into Zagreu's eyes.

"So," he started casually, but his heart inside had a race with Hermes "apparently all of Olympus knows about our... bathroom encounter?"

Zagreus nearly choked on his drink. "Ah, about that... I might have mentioned it to Hermes, but only in passing. I didn't expect..."

"That he's literally the messenger of the gods?" Thanatos supplied dryly. "Though I suspect Adonis's dramatic retelling didn't help matters."

"Adonis?" Safron groaned. "Of course, he's involved."

"He may have... embellished the story during his last visit to Olympus," Zagreus admitted. "Something about a mortal so overcome by divine beauty that he risked eternal punishment just for a glimpse."

"That's not what - I wasn't - " Safron sputtered.

"We know," Than reassured him. "Though Adonis's version apparently had Zeus himself quite amused. Something about it reminding him of his own youth."

"Wonderful," Safron slumped onto a nearby chair. The pressure he was so afraid of didn't even exist between them, maybe Zagreus was angry at him that evening, but not anymore. "So not only does everyone know, they think I'm some divine beauty-crazed mortal?"

"If it helps," Zagreus offered, "most of them found it charming. Even Father seemed more amused than angry. Though he did mutter something about installing privacy screens."

"And now Adonis won't stop... displaying himself at every opportunity," Safron sighed. "As if trying to prove he's more worth sneaking glances at."

"Ah, so that's why he was doing that interpretive dance in the administrative chamber," Zagreus grinned. "Very... educational."

"Educational isn't the word I'd use," Than muttered.

"He's just trying to get under your skin," Zagreus said. "Adonis has always been competitive about being the most admired. Having a mortal pay attention to someone else probably wounded his pride."

"Great. So now I'm caught between divine pride and divine... proportions."

"Could be worse," Zagreus shrugged. "Remember when Apollo and Dionysus had that contest about who could inspire more mortal artists? We're still finding random poems and paintings in odd corners."

"Speaking of findings," Than added with a slight smile, "Hypnos mentioned something about Adonis planning a special 'presentation' of classical poses tomorrow. For administrative morale, apparently."

Safron buried his face in his hands. "I don't suppose the House has any openings in Tartarus? Preferably somewhere very deep?"

"Come on," Zagreus clapped him on the shoulder. "At least you've made an impression! Though maybe next time you want to admire divine beauty, just ask? Less chance of becoming immortal gossip that way."

"Unless Hermes is involved," Than added.

"Or Adonis," Zagreus grinned.

"Or literally anyone in this House," Safron concluded, but he was smiling too. Maybe being the subject of divine gossip wasn't the worst thing. Though he would definitely be more careful about his timing in the future. And maybe invest in some blindfolds for when Adonis decided to improve administrative morale.

Late in the evening, after the Adonis drama had finally subsided, Safron was organizing reports of Zagreus's latest security rounds when his chest began to glow. The mark - that strange combination of pomegranate and laurel - pulsed with a warm light whenever Zagreus was fighting somewhere in the Underworld's depths.

Safron pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the warmth through his tunic. He'd gotten used to being a sort of unofficial monitor of Zagreus's progress. Each pulse seemed to correspond with different encounters - faster for combat, slower for conversations, stuttering when health was low.

"Interesting," Nyx's voice came from the shadows. "The mark responds to him."

Safron jumped slightly. "Lady Nyx! I... yes. It's been happening more frequently."

"Such bonds between mortal and divine are rare now," she observed. "Though once, in older times..."

The mark flared suddenly - Zagreus must have encountered something significant. Safron could almost feel the heat of battle, though he knew it was just an echo.

"Does it... tell you things?" Nyx asked carefully.

"Not exactly. It's more like... awareness. I can sense when he's in combat, or resting, or..." Safron hesitated. "Sometimes I think I can tell when he's found something new. The mark feels different then, almost excited."

Nyx moved closer, her eternal night contrasting with the warm glow from his chest. "You were brought here for a purpose, young one. Perhaps this connection is part of it."

Before Safron could respond, the mark pulsed rapidly - combat again, intense this time. He found himself holding his breath until the rhythm steadied.

"He's fine," he said, more to himself than Nyx. "Just a tough chamber."

Nyx's slight smile held secrets. "Indeed. Though perhaps you should rest. Tomorrow's duties await, and I suspect your monitoring will continue."

After she left, Safron sat in the quiet chamber, watching the soft glow through his clothes. He'd been so distracted by Adonis and House drama that he'd almost forgotten the mystery of his arrival. Why was he really here? What did this connection to Zagreus mean?

The mark pulsed again, gentle this time. Somewhere in the Underworld, a prince was doing his rounds, unaware that his progress was being tracked by a mortal's glowing chest.

Safron smiled slightly. At least monitoring divine security was less complicated than dealing with divine nudity. Usually.

Chapter Text

Safron was reviewing ledgers when he noticed an interesting pattern in the House's resources:

"Darkness accumulation in the west wing... gemstones from security breaches... nectar distributions..." he muttered, making notes.

"Interested in our economy?" A well-dressed shade materialized nearby - the House Contractor, known for their impeccable taste in renovations and their love of precious gems.

"Just trying to understand how everything works," Safron admitted. "In ga - I mean, from what I've observed, these resources all serve specific purposes."

"Indeed," the Contractor nodded, their ghostly clipboard materializing. "Darkness powers our essential functions, gems finance improvements, nectar motivates the staff... Would you like to see our current renovation plans?"

Before Safron could answer, familiar voices approached.

"The mirror in the east wing needs realignment," Achilles was saying to Patroclus. "The darkness isn't flowing properly."

"Again?" Patroclus sighed fondly. "Perhaps if someone didn't use it for combat practice..."

"Training is essential, Pat," Achilles smiled, then noticed Safron. "Ah, the mortal who knows our ways. Tell me, lad, in your... knowledge, did you ever learn about the mirror's properties?"

Safron carefully considered his answer. "I know it channels darkness for various enhancements. Though seeing it in person is different from theoretical knowledge."

"Theory and practice often differ," Achilles nodded. "Perhaps you'd like to observe a proper demonstration? Pat and I were about to check the mirror's combat applications."

The Contractor cleared their throat. "After the renovations are approved, of course. The gems have already been allocated..."

"Of course," Patroclus smiled. "Though I notice our young friend here has been keeping impressively detailed records." He glanced at Safron's notes. "Including the fishing quotas?"

"The chef demands variety," the Contractor shrugged. "And Lord Poseidon's bounties are not to be ignored."

Safron thought about all the resources he'd tracked in the game - darkness, gems, nectar, ambrosia, titan blood... Each had seemed like simple currency then. Now he saw how they truly kept the House functioning, from power sources to renovation materials to diplomatic gifts.

"I could help organize the resource allocation," he offered. "I have experience with similar systems."

"Excellent!" The Contractor brightened, literally. "Perhaps you could start with the gemstone inventory? Someone keeps rearranging the lounge furniture, and our reserves are running low..."

"That would be Zagreus," all four said simultaneously, then laughed.

"Some things never change," Achilles smiled. "Though speaking of change, Pat and I could use an extra set of eyes for the mirror maintenance. If you're interested in learning more about darkness manipulation..."

"And if the Contractor approves the budget," Patroclus added diplomatically.

Safron looked at his growing task list: resource tracking, renovation planning, mirror mechanics, fishing quotas... Being an administrator in the actual House of Hades was proving far more complex than managing resources in a game.

The mark on his chest warmed slightly, as if approving of his deeper understanding of the House's workings. Some knowledge, it seemed, transcended the barrier between gaming and reality.

"Well," he said, "shall we start with the mirror or the gemstone inventory?"

"First," the Contractor held up their clipboard, "let's discuss the proper filing system for supernatural resource management..."

During a quiet work break moment in the garden, Persephone found Safron absently touching the small cross he wore beneath his chiton.

"Your beliefs followed you here," she observed gently. "That must be complex."

"I never expected to find myself in the Underworld," Safron admitted. "It's strange - knowing these realms are real, while still holding my own faith."

"The divine takes many forms across time," Persephone said thoughtfully. "We've seen civilizations rise and fall, beliefs change and evolve. Your modern faith coexists with older truths - neither invalidating the other."

Safron appreciated her diplomatic approach. "It's easier to understand now why ancient peoples saw the divine in everything. Being here, seeing how realms interact..."

"Each age finds its own way to understand the greater mysteries," she smiled. "Though I notice you still pray sometimes, in your own way."

"Old habits," he smiled back. "Though I'm never quite sure who's listening now."

"Perhaps that's wisdom in itself - knowing there are many ways to reach for higher truths."

After a deep moment with Persephone, Safron found Achilles and Patroclus in the courtyard, sharing one of their quiet moments. He almost turned back, not wanting to intrude, but Achilles noticed him.

"Join us, lad," the warrior called. "Pat was just telling me you've been organizing the House records."

Approaching, Safron tried not to show how surreal it felt sitting with these legendary figures. His heart still raced whenever he saw them together, remembering how many attempts it took in the game to reunite them.

"Your eyes get distant sometimes," Patroclus observed, shifting to make room. "As if you're seeing memories rather than what's before you."

"Sorry," Safron flushed. "It's just... I know your story. How hard it was to get here. To find each other again."

The lovers exchanged a look that spoke volumes. "And that matters to you," Achilles said softly. "Not just as tales, but personally."

Safron's gaze drifted to where Zagreus was visible through a doorway, deep in conversation with Thanatos. The familiar ache in his chest had nothing to do with his mysterious mark.

"Ah," Patroclus's voice held understanding. "You know something of loving what seems unreachable."

"Is it that obvious?" Safron groaned.

"Only to those who've known similar feelings," Achilles smiled gently. "Though your situation is unique."

"You mean because I'm a mortal who played their story as a game and now has to watch their happiness in person while trying not to make it weird?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them.

To his surprise, both warriors laughed warmly. "I was going to say because you carry knowledge you cannot share," Achilles said, "but yes, that too."

"At least you're self-aware," Patroclus added dryly. "Some of us spent centuries being stubborn about our feelings."

"You were worth the wait," Achilles said softly, and Safron had to look away from their tender exchange.

His eyes found Zagreus again, now laughing at something Than had said. The prince's smile still made Safron's heart flutter, even knowing it would never be for him the way it was for Death Incarnate.

"It gets easier," Patroclus said quietly. "Learning to love without expecting return. To find joy in their happiness."

"Though sometimes," Achilles added with a knowing look, "the Fates have plans we cannot foresee. Your mark suggests you're here for a purpose, even if that purpose isn't what your heart might wish."

Safron touched his chest where the mark pulsed gently. "I just hope whatever brought me here doesn't require me to watch them suffer. I've seen enough versions of their story to last several lifetimes."

"Then perhaps that's why you're here," Patroclus suggested. "To ensure some stories don't need retelling."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the House's eternal twilight shift. Safron found himself grateful for their understanding - they knew both the pain of separation and the joy of reunion, the weight of knowledge and the price of patience.

"You know," Achilles said eventually, "if you need somewhere quiet to think, our courtyard is always open to fellow romantics. Even ones who learned our tale through rather unconventional means."

As if drawn by the sound, Zagreus glanced their way. His smile included Safron, friendly and warm, but nothing more. And that was okay, Safron decided. Sometimes loving meant being content with friendship, with being part of their story without trying to change its course.

Chapter Text

It started with a simple question from Hermes during one of his message deliveries.

"So mate, Zag's been wondering - what exactly is this 'video game' you know us from?"

The question drew attention from others in the lounge. Even Thanatos materialized nearby, trying to appear only mildly interested.

"It's like..." Safron paused, considering how to explain digital entertainment to immortal beings. "Think of it as interactive theater. Where the audience can make choices that affect the outcome."

"Mortals can change the stories?" Meg raised an eyebrow from her corner.

"Not the real ones," Safron clarified quickly. "Just representations. Through a device called a computer, we can experience versions of stories and make choices within them."

"And you played our story?" Zagreus asked, genuinely curious. "Multiple times?"

"Thousands of attempts," Safron admitted, blushing slightly. "Each time learning more about the House, about all of you..."

"Wait," Hermes zipped closer. "You mean you watched cousin Zag die repeatedly? For entertainment?"

"And paid for the privilege," Safron mumbled.

"Mortals are strange," Than declared, though he seemed amused.

Persephone, tending her garden nearby, joined the conversation. "I rather like it. The idea that our story helped other people find hope and connection. Even if through this strange mortal technology."

"But how did mortals know our stories to make this... entertainment?" Hades demanded from his desk.

"I... actually don't know," Safron realized. "The mark appeared while I was playing, and then suddenly I was here. Maybe the game itself was some kind of connection?"

"Though some details must have been wrong," Zagreus said. "Right?"

"Actually," Safron looked embarrassed, "it was surprisingly accurate. Down to Than's difficulty expressing feelings and your father's hidden softness."

Both mentioned gods made identical noises of protest.

"Perhaps," Nyx appeared from shadow, "the accuracy of this 'game' is itself part of the mystery of why you're here."

Safron's mark pulsed warmly, as if in agreement.

"Well," Hermes grinned, "at least tell me they got my speed right!"

The group laughed, though Safron noticed some still looked confused by the concept. How do you explain pixels to beings who predate written language? Or respawning to immortals?

"Just be grateful they haven't discovered streaming yet," he muttered to himself.

"What's streaming?" Hermes asked eagerly.

"That's... probably a conversation for another time."

He caught Zagreus and Than exchanging glances, clearly trying to imagine their story as entertainment. Meg looked like she was deciding whether to be amused or offended that mortals had witnessed her defeats.

"Though I must ask," Nyx added softly, "how does one perform thousands of attempts without going mad?"

"Oh, that's easy," Safron smiled. "You just get really, really invested in seeing how the story ends."

His mark pulsed again, and he wondered (not for the first time) if maybe that investment was exactly why he was here.

After the earlier discussion about video games, Safron found himself cornered in the lounge by curious immortals. Zagreus and Than had settled on the chair, while Meg leaned against a column, all three clearly interested in learning more about their digital representations.

"So in this game," Zagreus began, "you helped me escape? Over and over?"

"Thousands of times," Safron nodded, getting comfortable on a nearby chair. "Learning patterns, collecting boons, building relationships..."

"What kind of relationships?" Meg's voice held dangerous curiosity.

"Well, um..." Safron shifted uncomfortably. "The game showed various connections. Family reconciliation, friendships, and some... closer bonds."

"How close?" Than's golden eyes fixed on him.

"There was a whole system," Safron explained, warming to the familiar topic. "You could give nectar, have conversations, develop relationships over time. With Than, with Meg, and in the sequel with Mel-"

He stopped abruptly, horror dawning. His mark burned hot against his chest, like a warning.

"Sequel?" Than straightened, interest sharpening.

"Just... theoretical possibilities!" Safron backpedaled desperately. "You know how mortals are, always imagining new stories hehe"

"So you've seen all these possibilities?" Zagreus looked both amused and intrigued. "With different outcomes?"

"I may have explored various storylines... for completionist purposes!" Safron's face burned. His mark pulsed rapidly, almost like it was warning him to be careful.

Hermes, who had been delivering messages, zipped over with interest. "Oh? Do tell more about these romantic options, mate!"

"Perhaps," Nyx materialized from shadow, "some knowledge of possible paths is best left unexplored."

"Agreed," Thanatos said firmly, though he was looking at Safron with new consideration.

"I should really check on those contracts," Safron stood quickly. "Very important paperwork. Probably on fire. Should go deal with that."

"Running away?" Meg's smile was dangerous. "How mortal of you."

"Not running! Strategic retreat. For paperwork purposes." The mark on his chest was practically dancing with warmth now, matching his embarrassment. In his rush, he nearly collided with Achilles in the hallway.

"Careful, lad," the warrior steadied him. "Though judging by your face, you've been discussing something interesting in there."

"Just... game mechanics," Safron managed. "And possibly some things I shouldn't know about divine relationships."

"Ah," Achilles smiled knowingly. "Perhaps next time stick to discussing combat techniques? Less dangerous territory."

"Than's never going to let me live this down, is he?"

"Probably not," Patroclus appeared beside his lover. "Though I imagine Megaera will have questions first."

Safron groaned. "I don't suppose you know any good hiding spots in Elysium?"

"Several," Achilles laughed. "Though I doubt they'd help against Death Incarnate himself."

The mark had settled to a gentle warmth now, like it was amused by his predicament. At least he'd caught himself before revealing anything about future events. Though that brief slip about the sequel...

"Going somewhere?" Meg's voice came from behind him.

Safron decided strategic retreat was definitely the better part of valor. He had contracts to file. Somewhere. Anywhere but here.

"Don't worry," he heard Achilles tell Meg as he fled, "he was just explaining some mortal entertainment. Nothing too scandalous."

"Really?" Meg's voice held dangerous amusement. "Then why is he running?"

Safron made a mental note: next time stick to explaining respawn mechanics. Much safer than divine romance options.

Chapter Text

After his hasty retreat from the romance options discussion, Safron found refuge in one of the House's quieter corners. Or at least, it was quiet until a familiar sound of nervous cleaning caught his attention.

"O-oh! Sorry!" Dusa nearly dropped her cleaning supplies. "I didn't know anyone was- I mean, I was just- This corner really needed dusting!"

"It's fine, Dusa," Safron smiled, genuinely happy to see her. "Actually, could use some friendly company right now."

"Really?" Her snakes perked up before she caught herself. "I mean, I should be working, but... maybe a small break wouldn't hurt? Unless it would! Oh gods, what if Lord Hades-"

"Is busy with contracts," Safron assured her. "Besides, you're the hardest working gorgon I know."

"I'm the only gorgon you know!" She giggled, then looked mortified at her own boldness.

"True. Though even in the game, you were always my favorite NPC to talk to."

"NPC?" Her snakes tilted curiously.

"Non-Player Character. Though that feels weird to say now that you're... you know, real."

Dusa settled nearby, her cleaning cloth still moving absently. "It must be strange, knowing all our stories beforehand. Like even about my crush on Prince Zagreus?"

"And how maturely you both handled it," Safron nodded. "Actually, that storyline helped a lot of players deal with their own unrequited feelings."

"Really?" Dusa brightened. "I mean, it was pretty embarrassing at the time, but... it's nice knowing something good came from it. Even if it was just in your game." She studied him carefully. "Maybe that's why you understand"

"Understand what?"

"How to care about someone while accepting they belong with someone else?" Her snakes gave him a knowing look.

Safron felt his face warm. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who's been there," she smiled gently. "Though at least you haven't tried stress-cleaning the entire House yet!"

"No, I just organize contracts obsessively and sneak peaking Much more dignified."

They shared a laugh, and Safron realized how much he'd missed this - just talking with a friend, who understood both the pain and humor in loving from afar.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "I always wondered why Lord Chaos made some of us look... different. But maybe it's so we can see past appearances to find real friendship?"

"Dusa, you're beautiful," Safron said firmly. "Snakes and all."

"And you're sweet," she blushed. "Even if you do know way too many embarrassing things about all of us."

"Speaking of embarrassing," he grimaced, "I may have accidentally mentioned romance options to Than and Meg earlier..."

"Oh no," her snakes all winced sympathetically. "Need me to accidentally spill cleaning solution near them if they come looking for you?"

"My hero," he grinned. "Though maybe save that for emergencies. I hear Than's pretty protective of his cloak."

"I should get back to work," Dusa finally said, though she seemed hesitant. "These corners won't dust themselves! Though maybe we could do this again? Sometimes it's nice talking to someone who... understands."

"Anytime," Safron smiled. "Just look for the mortal hiding from vengeful gods in random corners."

"Or you could come help me clean!" She brightened. "I mean, if you want to! No pressure! Unless you're busy! Or allergic to dust! Oh gods, are mortals allergic to Underworld dust?"

"I'm already allergic to Cerberus and whatever that sparkly spice was. What's one more thing?"

Her laughter echoed through the halls as she went back to work, and Safron felt genuinely relaxed for the first time since his romance options slip-up.

Until he heard Meg's voice from somewhere nearby: "Has anyone seen our resident game expert?"

"Third floor, east wing!" Dusa called out cheerfully, then turned back to Safron with a wink. "Better run!"

Some things, Safron decided as he made another strategic retreat, were universal - like the value of friends who'd sell you out with a smile, just to keep things interesting.

The next day, somewhere in the west corner of the palace corridors, violent sneezing bounced off the ornate walls, causing several shades to pause in their eternal wandering.

"You know," Zagreus said, watching Safron sneeze for the fifth time in as many minutes, "for someone who claims to love Cerberus, you're not handling this well."

They were in the west hall, where all three of Cerberus's heads were giving Safron the most pitiful looks imaginable. The middle head whined softly, while the left one laid its ears back in concern. The right head just looked offended.

"It's not personal!" Safron managed between sneezes. "In the game, I always gave him- achoo! -treats first! He was my favorite- achoo! -character."

"Interesting priority system," Zagreus grinned, scratching behind Cerberus's middle ears. "Giving treats to the guardian of the Underworld before talking to actual gods."

"He's a good boy," Safron said defensively, his eyes watering. "The best boy. All three of him."

Cerberus's tail began to wag hopefully.

"No," Zagreus warned the hound. "Remember what happened last time you tried to get pets? Poor Safron couldn't stop sneezing for an hour."

All three heads drooped dramatically.

"Maybe if I just" Safron took a careful step forward, only to stumble back with another explosive sneeze.

"You mortals and your allergies," Zagreus shook his head fondly. "Though I suppose it's better than being allergic to me. Given the whole burning feet thing."

"Small mercies," Safron agreed, then noticed Cerberus's increasingly theatrical display of dejection. "Oh come on, don't look at me like that. All six of those eyes being sad is just unfair."

"He's gotten very good at emotional manipulation," Zagreus noted proudly. "Father says he learned it from me."

"Wonder why," Safron muttered, remembering how many runs it took to max out Zagreus's relationships in the game. Then, to Cerberus: "Look, I brought you something!"

From a safe distance, he pulled out a large bone he'd convinced the kitchen to part with. All three heads perked up immediately.

"See? I can show appreciation from over here! Where I can breathe!"

Cerberus's tail was now wagging so hard it was creating a breeze.

"Careful," Zagreus warned, but too late. The enormous hound bounded forward, knocked Safron over in his excitement, and proceeded to shower him with appreciation from all three heads.

"Worth it!" Safron wheezed between sneezes, even as Cerberus's enthusiastic thank-you threatened to drown him in hellhound affection. "Totally worth- achoo! -it!"

"You're ridiculous," Zagreus laughed, finally pulling Cerberus back. "Both of you. All four of you, actually."

Safron sat up, his hair a mess and his eyes puffy, but grinning. "Hey, you try playing a game where you can pet the goodest boy in the Underworld hundreds of times, then tell me you wouldn't risk a few sneezes for the real thing."

"A few? Your eyes are practically swollen shut."

"Details," Safron waved dismissively, then sneezed again.

Cerberus, now happily gnawing his bone, kept shooting hopeful glances at Safron. All three heads had mastered the art of puppy eyes, which was frankly excessive in Safron's opinion.

"No more pets today," Zagreus told the hound firmly. "We need our mortal functional. Father's still expecting those contracts sorted."

All three heads gave identical sighs of disappointment.

"Tomorrow," Safron promised, already regretting what his sinuses would do to him. "Maybe we can work up to it. Build some immunity."

"Is that how mortal allergies work?"

"Probably not. But he's worth trying for."

Cerberus's tail started wagging again.

"Don't you dare," both Safron and Zagreus said simultaneously.

The hound settled for giving them his best triple sad-eyes routine instead.

"Come on," Zagreus steered Safron away before the hound could get any ideas. "Let's get you some nectar for those allergies. Father won't accept 'death by excessive dog love' as a valid excuse for unfinished paperwork."

"Worth it though," Safron called back to Cerberus, who gave a triple-headed bark of agreement.

Chapter Text

The realization came during a casual conversation in the lounge. Safron was describing a particularly difficult escape attempt.

"-so after using your special attack with the shield, I barely managed to dodge Asterius's charge, and then with the Dionysus boon on the attack-" Safron stopped abruptly, noticing Zagreus's expression.

"Wait," the prince said slowly. "You mean... you played as me? Not just watching my story, but actually being me?"

Safron's face flushed. "I... yes. That's how the game worked. Players experienced your journey firsthand. Every escape attempt, every conversation."

"So when you say you tried thousands of times..." Zagreus leaned forward, mismatched eyes intense. "You were me thousands of times?"

"It's why I sometimes know exactly what you're thinking during fights," Safron admitted softly. "Why I understand your frustrations with certain chambers, your joy at reaching new areas, your determination to keep trying..."

Than, who had been listening silently, materialized closer. "That explains your reaction when we first met. You didn't just know about us – you'd experienced everything from Zag's perspective."

"Is that why you...?" Zagreus trailed off, but his glance at Safron held new understanding.

Safron's mark pulsed warmly, almost like embarrassment. "Yes," he admitted quietly. "Playing as you, feeling what you felt, making your choices, it's hard not to develop certain... attachments."

"Even knowing they weren't really your choices to make?" Than's voice held no judgment, only curiosity.

"Maybe especially then," Safron smiled sadly. "Knowing the right choices for your happiness, even if they weren't what I might have wished for personally."

A moment of silence fell, broken only by the gentle bubbling of the Styx.

"Show me," Zagreus suddenly said.

"What?"

"Show me how you played as me. In the training room. I want to see how a mortal interpreted my fighting style."

"Zag, I can't actually do your moves in reality-"

"But you know them. All of them. Show me what you remember."

As they headed to the training room, Safron caught Than's thoughtful expression. Something had shifted in their dynamic – not better or worse, just... different. More understood.

The mark on his chest continued its steady, warm pulse. Like a reminder that some perspectives, once shared, couldn't be unknown.

"Boyo! Is that the mortal everyone's talking about? The one who played as our princeling?" Skelly's voice echoed through the training room as they entered.

"Oh god, you're actually real," Safron breathed, then quickly added, "I mean, of course you're real, I just... wow."

"What, never seen a talking skeleton before?" Skelly grinned. "Though I hear you've seen plenty of me getting smashed to pieces, eh?"

"Only about a thousand times," Safron admitted. "Sorry about that?"

"Ha! That's what I'm here for, boyo!"

Zagreus was already moving toward the weapon rack. "So, which one did you prefer using as... well, as me?"

Safron eyed the actual divine weapons with trepidation. They looked a lot heavier than their digital versions. "Uh, shield of Chaos, mostly. Sometimes the bow..."

"Excellent!" Zagreus lifted Aegis. "Let's start there."

The moment the shield was placed in Safron's hands, he nearly dropped it. "This is... significantly heavier than pressing a button."

"Come on," Zagreus encouraged. "Show me how you used to play. That special attack you mentioned?"

Safron attempted to lift the shield into position. His noodle arms trembled with effort. "Okay, so theoretically, you would charge it like this and then-"

He spun awkwardly, lost his balance, and face-planted spectacularly.

"Ten outta ten for enthusiasm, boyo!" Skelly called out. "Maybe a three for execution!"

"Perhaps something lighter?" Zagreus suggested diplomatically, helping Safron up.

"Coronacht?" Safron eyed the bow hopefully. In the game, it had been his second favorite.

Three attempts and several tangled fingers later, it became clear that divine archery required more upper body strength than coding had prepared him for.

"Hey, at least you didn't shoot yourself!" Skelly offered encouragingly after Safron's arrow somehow went backwards.

They tried Malphon next. Safron's punch was so weak it made Skelly laugh so hard he actually fell apart without being hit.

Varatha? Too long. Stygius? Too heavy. Exagryph? The kickback sent him stumbling into a wall.

"I swear I was better at this digitally," Safron groaned from his new position on the floor. "I even got a 32-heat clear once!"

"A what now?" Zagreus asked, helping him up for approximately the fifteenth time.

"It's... never mind. Let's just say I was very good at being you when it only required button pressing."

"Well," Zagreus tried to hide his amusement, "maybe we could start with some basic training? Than and I could teach you-"

"Actually," Safron interrupted, spotting something familiar, "what about those?" He pointed to the keepsakes display.

"Ah, the symbolic tokens of our bonds," Zagreus nodded. "Much lighter than weapons. Which one did you-"

"Lucky Tooth!" Safron said immediately, then blushed at his enthusiasm. "I mean, Cerberus's keepsake was always reliable..."

"For someone allergic to dogs, you really do favor Cerberus," Zagreus grinned.

"The Butterfly was good too," Safron added quickly. "Though I guess Than's probably not giving me one of those anytime soon..."

"Not after that romance options discussion, no," Zagreus agreed cheerfully.

They spent the next hour with Safron excitedly examining each keepsake in person, explaining their game effects while Zagreus compared them to reality.

"So in the game, Meg's earring would give you extra damage...like power if you are gonna die soon," Safron explained, carefully holding the actual artifact.

"Interesting," Zagreus mused. "In reality, it mostly just makes her slightly less likely to stab me."

"Still useful!"

"And you say Skelly's tooth was your favorite?" Zagreus raised an eyebrow.

"Extra life is extra life," Safron shrugged. "Plus, he was always nice to me. You. To you."

"Aw, making me blush over here, boyo!" Skelly called out. "Though maybe stick to the trinkets. No offense, but your combat skills make the princeling's first attempts look graceful!"

"None taken," Safron agreed, still rubbing his elbow from the shield incident. "I think I'll stick to administrative work. Less chance of accidentally impaling myself."

"Probably safer for everyone," Zagreus agreed. "Though... maybe we could still train sometimes? Start with something basic, like not falling over while holding a weapon?"

"Hey, I'll have you know I'm excellent at not falling over! Usually. When not holding divine artifacts or dealing with hellhound allergies or trying to avoid Meg after accidentally revealing romance options..."

"Speaking of which," came Meg's voice from the doorway, "I believe we had an unfinished conversation about those options?"

Safron looked at the weapon rack desperately. "Maybe we could return to combat training?"

"Oh no," Meg smiled dangerously. "I think it's time for a different kind of education."

"Skelly?" Safron pleaded. "Little help?"

"Sorry, boyo! I'm just a training dummy. A very entertained training dummy, but still!"

As Meg advanced, Safron decided that maybe facing her questions was still better than another attempt with Coronacht. Though it was a close call.

Chapter Text

What started as Meg's interrogation quickly evolved into an impromptu gathering in the training room. Dusa peeked in curiously, then stayed to hover nearby. Hypnos drifted in, somehow awake for once. Even Achilles and Patroclus appeared, drawn by the commotion.

"So let me understand this," Hypnos yawned. "You could just give nectar and get hearts?"

"Hearts were more of a visual representation," Safron explained, now resigned to his fate. "Each one showed relationship progress. Like how Than would gradually open up about his feelings, or how Meg's perspective on duty would evolve..."

"I did not 'gradually open up,'" Than protested.

"Mate, it took you about forty nectar gifts to admit you cared," Zagreus pointed out.

"The game was surprisingly accurate," Safron nodded, then caught Than's glare. "Though possibly slightly exaggerated for dramatic effect!"

"And these... hearts... worked the same for everyone?" Meg pressed, still nursing her nectar.

"Well, no. Some relationships needed specific actions. Like helping Achilles and Patroclus reunite, or supporting Dusa through her professional growth..."

"But how did it work, mechanically?" Hypnos leaned forward. "Like, was there a formula? 'X' amount of nectar equals 'Y' amount of affection?"

"It wasn't that simple," Safron explained. "You needed the right conversations. Like how Than needed validation about his work ethic, or how Meg needed respect for her position..."

"I did not need-" both started simultaneously, then stopped to glare at each other.

"See? The game really was accurate," Safron grinned, then immediately regretted his boldness when both turned their glares on him.

"And you experienced all these developments personally?" Achilles asked thoughtfully.

"As Zagreus, yes. Which made it... complicated when actually meeting everyone." Safron's mark pulsed warmly. "Knowing your stories, your fears, your growth..."

"That explains some of your initial reactions," Patroclus noted. "Particularly around certain pairs."

"I may have spent an embarrassing amount of time helping specific couples reunite," Safron admitted, carefully not looking at Achilles and Patroclus.

"And testing all possible romantic outcomes?" Meg's smile was dangerous again.

"For research purposes!"

"Tell me more about this research," Than's voice was deceptively casual. "Particularly regarding certain options."

"Would anyone like to see me fail at weapon training again?" Safron offered desperately. "I'm sure I could provide some entertainment by dropping Stygius on my foot!"

"Oh no," Meg purred. "This is much more entertaining."

"There were gameplay achievements involved!" Safron protested. "Completionist goals! Steam trophies!"

"Whatever those are, they sound like excuses," Hypnos grinned.

"They're legitimate gaming objectives! Like how you need specific boon combinations for prophecies, or certain keepsake upgrades for-" He stopped, noticing everyone's increasingly amused expressions. "I'm just digging myself deeper, aren't I?"

"Keep going," Zagreus encouraged, clearly enjoying himself. "Tell them about the relationship spreadsheets."

"You kept RECORDS?" Meg's eyebrows shot up.

"I hate you," Safron told Zagreus sincerely. "I hope you know that."

"No you don't," several voices chorused, making Safron's face burn.

"The game mechanics required detailed tracking!" he tried explaining. "For optimal relationship development and-"

"Optimal relationship development?" Than repeated slowly.

"I'm just going to go hit myself with Aegis now."

"After you explain these spreadsheets," Meg insisted.

"Perhaps," Achilles intervened mercifully, "we should let the lad breathe?"

"Thank you!" Safron said fervently.

"After he explains exactly how many attempts it took to reunite certain couples," Patroclus added, because apparently everyone was a traitor.

"Chaos?" Safron pleaded to the air. "A little reality-bending help here?"

The mark on his chest just pulsed with what felt distinctly like laughter.

"Start with the nectar gifting strategies," Meg commanded. "We have all night."

"Don't forget the romance side quests!" Hypnos added helpfully.

"Or the relationship achievement statistics," Than suggested.

Safron looked at his eager audience and sighed. At least in the game, he'd had the option to leave rooms.

"Well," he surrendered to his fate, "it usually started with identifying the right dialogue triggers..."

Chapter Text

The invitation to observe Chaos's realm came from Nyx herself. At first, Safron was excited - in the game, Chaos's chambers had been fascinating, if abstract.

Reality was different.

"The mortal mind was not meant to comprehend such depths," Nyx warned as they descended. "What you saw in your game was a simplified representation."

The moment they passed certain boundaries, Safron understood. The darkness here wasn't just absence of light - it was primordial, alive. Colors that shouldn't exist twisted into shapes that hurt to look at. The very air seemed to pulse with ancient consciousness.

His mark burned hot against his chest, not with its usual warmth but with something older. Primal.

"I... I can't..." Safron struggled to form words as reality seemed to bend around him. Voices echoed in impossible directions. Time felt wrong. He saw glimpses of things his mind couldn't - shouldn't - process. The mark on his chest pulsed in patterns that made him nauseous.

"INTERESTING," came a voice that wasn't a voice. "THE MORTAL BEARS OUR SIGNATURE, NYX."

Chaos. But not the somewhat playful entity, this was the true primordial force of creation and destruction.

Safron's knees buckled. Blood trickled from his nose. The mark burned like a brand.

"Enough," Nyx commanded, pulling him back. "He is not ready."

As they retreated, Safron caught one last glimpse of something vast and incomprehensible. His mind recoiled instinctively.

Back in the relative safety of the House proper, Safron trembled, wiping blood from his face. "That was..."

"The realms you experienced in play were filtered through mortal understanding," Nyx explained gently. "Reality is less accommodating."

"Is that what's really under everything? All the time?"

"Now you understand why we maintain such strict boundaries. Why certain rules exist." Nyx's voice was kind but firm. "This is not just a story or game, Safron. The Underworld exists to protect order from chaos, death from undeath, reality from other things."

His mark still burned, reminder of whatever Chaos had seen in him. Whatever signature he apparently bore.

"I think," Safron said carefully, "I understand now why Zagreus's escape attempts were about more than just family drama."

Nyx nodded approvingly. "There are worse things than death, child. That is why we exist. Why all of this," she gestured to the House's formal structures, its rules and hierarchies, "is necessary."

Safron looked around with new eyes. The administrative work, the formal protocols, even the seemingly arbitrary rules - they weren't just game mechanics or story elements. They were barriers keeping existence ordered, keeping chaos contained.

"I need to sit down," he managed.

"Take time to recover," Nyx advised. "But remember what you've seen. The next time you find our methods strict or our rules excessive..."

"I'll remember what's underneath," Safron promised, his mark finally cooling to its usual warmth.

As he made his way back to his room, he passed Hypnos napping at his post, Meg reviewing security protocols, Thanatos consulting his list. Simple, everyday tasks that now seemed like vital threads holding reality together.

Three days after the Chaos incident, Safron's nosebleeds hadn't stopped. He was in the administrative chamber, trying to focus on contracts when the familiar metallic taste returned.

"Again?" Zagreus appeared with a cloth, already knowing the routine. He'd been surprisingly attentive since finding Safron passed out in the hallway the first night, blood trailing from his nose.

"It's fine," Safron tried to wave him off, but another surge of dizziness hit. His mark pulsed erratically, still unsettled from the exposure to Chaos.

"Clearly not fine," Zagreus caught him before he could slide off his chair. "You're burning up. And not in my usual way."

It was true - Safron had developed a fever that seemed to spike with each nosebleed. More concerning were the dreams: twisted visions of impossible geometries, colors that shouldn't exist, and always that voice that wasn't a voice.

"Your mark," Zagreus noticed, "it's... different."

The usually steady glow now pulsed in irregular patterns, sometimes matching Safron's nosebleeds. But more interesting was how it seemed to resonate when Zagreus was near, like it recognized something in him.

"Must be the chaos exposure," Safron managed, then frowned as more blood dripped onto his chiton. "Sorry, I'm getting blood everywhere."

"Please, have you seen how many times I've bled all over father's rugs?" Zagreus tried to joke, but his concern was evident. "Though usually I just die and resurface in the Styx. You don't have that luxury."

"No respawning for mortals," Safron attempted a smile, but another wave of dizziness hit. His mark flared hot.

"That's it," Zagreus decided, pulling Safron to his feet. "You're coming with me."

"Where-?"

"My chambers. The Mirror of Night might help understand what's happening to you. Plus, it's closer than your room if you pass out again."

Safron would have been more excited about finally seeing Zagreus's famous bedroom if he wasn't so focused on not bleeding on everything. "Won't Than mind?"

"Than's the one who suggested it, actually. He's worried too, even if he won't admit it."

The prince's chambers were exactly as the game portrayed, but Safron was in no state to appreciate the details. His vision was swimming with those impossible colors again.

"Here," Zagreus helped him sit on the bed (the actual bed, his inner fan noted dimly before another wave of nausea hit). "Let me see your mark."

As Zagreus examined the glowing sigil, something strange happened. The erratic pulses began to steady, matching rhythm with Zagreus's own divine energy.

"That's... interesting," Zagreus murmured. "It's like it's trying to harmonize..."

"Probably because I played as you so many times," Safron joked weakly, then immediately regretted speaking as more blood trickled down.

"No, it's something else. Something older." Zagreus pressed his hand directly over the mark. Both gasped as energy surged between them.

For a moment, Safron saw double - the prince before him and thousands of gameplay memories overlapping, all those attempts and deaths and triumphs merging with reality. His mark burned hot but not painfully.

When the moment passed, the nosebleed had stopped. The fever felt cooler.

"What did you do?" Safron asked, his head finally clearing.

"I'm not sure," Zagreus admitted. "It just felt... right. Like the mark knew something I didn't."

They sat in silence for a moment, both processing what had happened. The mark continued pulsing, but now in a steady rhythm that matched Zagreus's divine essence.

"Well," Safron finally said, "this is definitely not a game mechanic I remember."

Zagreus laughed, but his eyes remained thoughtful. "Rest here for now," Zagreus stood. "I need to talk to Mother about this. She might understand more about mortal-divine connections."

As the prince left, Safron found himself alone in the famous bedroom. Under other circumstances, he'd be ecstatic. Now he just felt... changed. Like the chaos exposure had shifted something fundamental.

His mark pulsed steadily, no longer erratic but definitely different than before. Whatever had happened with Zagreus had altered its nature somehow.

"I really hope this doesn't unlock some horrible prophecy," he muttered to himself, then winced as his nose threatened to start bleeding again.

At least he was finally in Zagreus's bedroom. Even if it took a chaos-induced medical emergency to get there.

Safron had nearly drifted off when the door opened. Zagreus returned from his duties, covered in the day's administrative dust and looking unfairly divine even in dishevelment.

Half-asleep and still fever-warm, Safron kept his eyes barely open, watching through his lashes as Zagreus began changing. The prince unselfconsciously shed his battle-worn chiton, divine form glowing softly in the mirror's light. His burning feet cast dancing shadows as he moved.

Safron's mark pulsed rapidly, and he tried to keep his breathing steady.Divine musculature shifted as Zagreus pulled on a fresh silk chiton, the fabric flowing like liquid shadow.

"Still awake?" Zagreus asked suddenly, making Safron jump.

"I... no? I mean yes? I mean... sorry," Safron stammered, caught between embarrassment and appreciation.

Zagreus just grinned, apparently unbothered. "Feeling better at least?"

"Getting there," Safron managed, trying to keep his eyes at an appropriate level while his mark betrayed his racing pulse.

"Good. Try to rest," Zagreus stretched, the silk shifting in interesting ways. "I'll take the chaise."

Safron's last coherent thought before sleep took him was that some divine sights were definitely worth a chaos-induced fever.

Morning in the Underworld found Safron waking to find Zagreus already up and, once again, casually changing clothes with complete nonchalance.

"Oh good, you're awake," Zagreus said cheerfully, not bothering to cover up as he selected a fresh chiton. "The fever seems better."

Safron's face burned for entirely different reasons now as he tried to look anywhere else. "I should... um... give you privacy?"

Zagreus paused, then understanding dawned with amusement. "Ah, mortal modesty. Sometimes I forget your modern customs are different. Here in Greece, particularly among gods, the body is celebrated, not hidden."

"Right. Yes. Cultural differences," Safron managed, his mark pulsing rapidly. "Like the gymnasium traditions and... everything."

"Exactly! Though..." Zagreus grinned, "you didn't seem to mind watching last night."

"I was feverish!" Safron protested. "And mostly asleep! And... oh gods, was I that obvious?"

"Obvious enough that Than owes me a bottle of ambrosia. He didn't think you'd actually peek."

"I hate everything," Safron groaned into his pillow.

"Don't be dramatic," Zagreus laughed, finally wrapping his chiton. "It's perfectly natural to admire divine form. Why do you think there are so many statues?"

"Pretty sure those statues don't blush and get nosebleeds."

"No, but they're much worse conversationalists." Zagreus sat on the bed's edge. "Look, you need to relax about these things. You're in Greece now - ancient Greece at that. Different rules."

"Says the god who can actually pull off casual nudity," Safron muttered.

"I've seen you change too, you know," Zagreus mentioned casually. "Last night when you thought I wasn't watching. You shouldn't be so self-conscious."

Now Safron really did have another nosebleed, though this time probably not from chaos exposure.

"Mortals," Zagreus shook his head fondly, handing him a cloth. "So complicated about simple things. No wonder Than finds you all confusing."

"Speaking of Than..." Safron started nervously.

"Oh, he knows all about mortal modesty quirks. And about you watching me change. Actually, I think he finds it amusing."

"I'm going to die. Again. From embarrassment this time."

"Save the dramatics for mother's garden plays," Zagreus stood, stretching deliberately. "Now, are you well enough to work? Father's been complaining about the unsigned contracts."

"Can we pretend this whole conversation never happened?"

"What, and miss out on teasing you about it forever? Not a chance." Zagreus's grin was wicked. "Welcome to Greek culture, mortal. You might want to get used to it."

Safron's mark pulsed with what felt distinctly like laughter. Even his divine connection was amused by his modern prudishness.

"At least tell me Meg doesn't know about this," he pleaded.

"Of course she does. Who do you think started the betting pool?"

Safron pulled the pillow over his face. "I'm going back to chaos. It was less embarrassing there."

Chapter Text

Still recovering from his mortifying morning, Safron sought refuge in the lounge. He found Orpheus and Eurydice sharing a quiet moment, their voices blending in perfect harmony.

"Well, if it isn't our flustered modern friend," Eurydice called out warmly. "Heard you got quite the cultural education this morning!"

"Does everyone know?" Safron groaned, slumping into a nearby chair.

"Sugar, this is the Underworld. Gossip travels faster than Hermes," she laughed. "Besides, your face is still red."

"You mortals and your modern sensibilities," Orpheus mused. "In my day, we celebrated the form through art, music, dance..."

"In your day," Eurydice teased, "you walked into three trees because you were too busy composing to watch where you were going."

"The trees provided excellent acoustic inspiration," Orpheus defended with dignity.

"Remember when we were alive," Eurydice turned to Safron, "and this one here would perform completely nude because 'the muse demanded it'?"

"My art required freedom of expression"

"Your 'art' required me to keep extra chitons handy because you kept forgetting to dress after bathing."

Safron couldn't help but laugh. It was strangely comforting to hear from others who had once been mortal themselves.

"How did you adjust?" he asked them. "To all of... this?" He gestured vaguely at a passing shade who was definitely not wearing anything.

"Oh honey," Eurydice smiled, "you should have seen me when I first arrived. All proper and scandalized. Now look!" She gestured to her own fairly revealing shade form.

"Death has a way of changing your perspective on modesty," Orpheus added. "Though I maintain I was always an artist first."

"You were always something, alright," Eurydice nudged him fondly. "But seriously, sugar, don't overthink it. So you appreciated a divine view - who hasn't? I once walked in on Apollo during his 'sun chariot maintenance' and let me tell you..."

"Please don't finish that sentence," Safron begged.

"The point is," she continued, "we've all been there. Well, those of us who started mortal anyway. These gods just have different ideas about everything."

"Like how Than apparently won't wear a proper shirt," Safron muttered, then clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Now that's what I'm talking about!" Eurydice cackled. "See? You're adjusting already!"

"Though perhaps with more nosebleeds than strictly necessary," Orpheus observed.

"Those are from chaos exposure!" Safron protested.

"Sure they are, sugar. Just like my 'cooking' was what kept Orpheus coming back to my cottage."

"Your cooking was divine!" Orpheus insisted.

"So was something else," she winked. "But we're corrupting our modern friend."

"I'm beginning to think everyone here is corrupting me," Safron sighed, but he was smiling.

"That's the spirit!" Eurydice beamed. "Now, want to hear about the time Zeus decided to 'inspect the mortal vineyards' and Dionysus had to explain to Hera why there were suddenly so many divine grapevines?"

"Actually," Safron found himself saying, "yes. Yes I do."

His mark pulsed warmly as he settled in to listen. Sometimes the best way to adjust was through shared stories - especially from those who'd walked the mortal path before him.

Though he could have done without Orpheus's spontaneous musical composition about "divine appreciation." Especially when Meg walked by at exactly the wrong moment.

The betting pool, apparently, had just doubled.

"So," Eurydice leaned in with a knowing smile, "now that we've established you're not as innocent as you pretend to be, tell us what you really think about our residents."

Safron took a long drink of nectar. The chaos exposure had changed something in him - maybe it was time to be more honest. "Well, Than's whole death incarnate aesthetic is definitely working for him."

"Now we're talking!" Eurydice grinned. "And here I thought you only had eyes for our prince."

"I notice things," Safron admitted. "It's hard not to when Meg does her training routines, or when Than materializes in that dramatic way of his."

"Oh sugar, you should see some of our regular visitors," Eurydice fanned herself. "Though I suppose you already have, in your game?"

"Well," Safron warmed to the topic, the nectar loosening his tongue, "there were certain encounters in the administrative chamber with Meg that definitely weren't about paperwork..."

"I remember those," Meg's voice came from behind him, making him jump. She slid into a nearby seat, whip coiled casually. "Though I wonder how accurate your game's portrayal was."

"Care to compare notes?" Safron found himself saying, surprising everyone including himself.

Meg's eyebrows rose appreciatively. "My, my. Chaos really did change something in you, didn't it?"

"Or maybe brought out what was already there," Eurydice suggested. "We all wear masks when we're new somewhere. Even I used to pretend I was just a simple forest nymph."

"Until someone," she nudged Orpheus, "caught you cursing out a satyr in language that would make Dionysus blush."

"He deserved it!" Eurydice defended. "Besides, you're one to talk. Mr. 'The Muse Requires Natural Form'."

"Art demands truth," Orpheus said with dignity. "Though perhaps some truths were more enjoyable to explore than others."

"Speaking of exploration," Safron turned to Meg, feeling bold, "how much did you bet in that pool about me watching Zag change?"

"Enough to make it interesting," she smiled dangerously. "Though Than's the one who really invested. Something about 'knowing appreciative eyes when he sees them.'"

Safron choked on his nectar. "Than said what now?"

"Oh yes," Meg leaned back, clearly enjoying herself. "He's quite observant, our Than. Especially when it comes to people watching his partner."

"I... that's..."

"Don't worry," she purred. "He finds it amusing. Flattering, even. Though you might want to be more subtle about staring at his collarbones."

"I do not stare at- Okay, maybe a little."

Eurydice's laughter rang out. "Sugar, you stare at everyone's everything. It's part of your charm."

"I prefer to think of it as thorough appreciation of divine aesthetics," Safron defended.

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Orpheus mused. "In my day, we simply called it hor-"

"Perhaps we shouldn't corrupt our modern friend too quickly," Eurydice interrupted, though her eyes sparkled with mischief.

"Pretty sure that ship has sailed," Meg commented, eyeing the empty nectar bottles. "Especially after this morning's show."

"It wasn't a show!" Safron protested. "I was just... appreciating cultural differences."

"Very thoroughly," Meg agreed. "From multiple angles, I heard."

His mark pulsed with what felt distinctly like amusement as the others laughed. Perhaps it was time to embrace this new, bolder version of himself. After all, when in Greece...

"Well," he raised his glass with a grin, "to thorough cultural appreciation."

"And to divine aesthetics," Eurydice winked.

"And to betting pools," Meg added.

"And to the muse of natural beauty," Orpheus concluded solemnly, before Eurydice elbowed him.

As they shared more stories - each getting progressively more scandalous - Safron felt himself truly relaxing for the first time since arriving. These former mortals understood both worlds: the hesitation and the abandon, the propriety and the passion.

Maybe that's what he needed to learn - not just to adapt to this world, but to find his own balance within it. To be both the careful administrator and the appreciative observer. To know when to maintain proper distance and when to... thoroughly appreciate cultural differences.

Though he really should learn to check if Than was around before commenting on anyone's collarbones.

Chapter Text

It started small. Safron was organizing contracts in the administrative chamber when he heard Hypnos repeat the same greeting twice - exactly the same, down to the inflection.

"Welcome to the House of... welcome to the House of..."

He looked up, but Hypnos was already snoring, having only spoken once. The mark on his chest flickered oddly, like a game texture glitching.

"Did you hear that?" he asked a passing shade, but they just drifted by.

Throughout the day, small inconsistencies kept catching his eye. Meg walked through a column - not around it, through it, like a game clipping error. When he blinked, she was on the proper path. Nobody else seemed to notice.

His mark pulsed uncomfortably every time these glitches occurred.

In the lounge, Eurydice's song skipped, repeating the same line three times before continuing normally. Orpheus's lyre briefly displayed polygon edges before becoming solid again.

"You look tired," Zagreus commented during their evening chat. "Still recovering from chaos exposure?"

"I'm fine," Safron said, but as he spoke, Zagreus's image stuttered, like a game freezing for a split second. The prince's dialogue seemed to float above his head momentarily.

"Are you sure?" Zagreus pressed. "You've been staring at nothing all day."

"Just been seeing some strange..." Safron stopped as the room briefly displayed its wireframe structure before snapping back to normal. His mark burned.

Than materialized nearby, but his entrance animation seemed to loop twice before completing. "Something's different about you," Death Incarnate observed.

"I'm fine," Safron insisted, but even his own voice seemed to lag slightly behind his lips.

That night, alone in his room, things got worse. His collection of figures definitely T-posed for several seconds. The walls showed their polygon structure more frequently.

His mark was constantly warm now, pulsing in irregular patterns.

Lying in bed, he tried to rationalize it. "Just exhaustion. Too much chaos exposure. Need sleep."

But when he closed his eyes, he saw loading screens. When he opened them, the room briefly displayed its collision boxes before rendering properly.

A shade brought him some nectar, and he could have sworn he saw their affection meter increase.

"This isn't happening," he whispered to himself. "This can't be happening."

His mark flared in response, and for a moment, all reality seemed to flicker like a corrupted save file.

In the corner of his vision, almost subliminal, text appeared: [ERROR: Reality_Parse_Failed] [Attempting_Reconciliation] [Timeline_Integrity_Compromised]

He blinked hard and it vanished, but his mark continued its uneasy pulse.

The next morning, he found himself avoiding mirrors after catching his own reflection displaying error textures. During breakfast, every piece of food briefly showed its hit box before becoming normal again.

"You're very quiet," Achilles noted when Safron passed the training room.

Safron opened his mouth to respond, but dialogue options appeared: [1. Lie about being fine] [2. Admit to seeing glitches] [3. ███████ ERROR ███████]

He chose option 1 automatically, then realized with horror that he'd actually seen and selected from dialogue choices in reality.

His mark burned hot enough to make him wince.

"Perhaps you should rest," Achilles suggested, but his voice had that slight digital distortion that Safron was beginning to dread.

In the administrative chamber, contracts briefly displayed as quest items, complete with objective markers. The House's architecture occasionally showed its design grid before rendering fully.

"Just need sleep," he muttered, pressing a hand to his mark. "Just tired. Just..."

A system notification seemed to float across his vision: [WARNING: Player_State_Undefined] [Reality_Anchor_Destabilizing] [Seek_Administrative_Access]

"No," he whispered. "This isn't a game. This is real. This is..."

But was it? Had any of it been real? Was he in a coma somewhere, dreaming all this?

His mark pulsed like a corrupted save file trying to repair itself.

This was just the beginning, he realized with growing dread. Something was breaking down - reality, his mind, or maybe both.

The second day was worse. Safron started seeing damage numbers floating when people moved, heat gauges appearing in corners of his vision, and worst of all - boon effects shimmering around the gods.

He caught glimpses of Than's Death Defiance icon when he teleported. Meg's whip left actual fury marks in the air. When Cerberus barked, sound waves rippled visibly like in-game effects.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Dusa asked after finding him staring at the Styx pool, watching respawn points glowing beneath the surface. "You've been so quiet..."

"I'm fine," he tried to say, but his voice echoed like it was coming through game audio. His mark burned constantly now.

In the administrative chamber, contracts started showing completion percentages. Resource counts floated in his peripheral vision - darkness, gems, nectar amounts all displaying like HUD elements.

"Look at me," Zagreus demanded after Safron walked into a wall he'd seen as passable terrain. The prince's health bar flickered above him. "Something's wrong."

"Nothing's wrong," Safron insisted, but even he could hear the digital distortion in his voice. "I just need..."

He froze as he saw it - a run timer in the corner of his vision, counting up. Clear markers showing exit doors. Reward previews floating in doorways.

His mark pulsed painfully.

"Than," Zagreus called, and Death appeared instantly, trailing particle effects that didn't fade.

"His energy is... unstable," Than observed, his own divine aura displaying like a status effect. "The chaos exposure might have-"

But Safron fled before he could finish, unable to bear seeing more game elements bleeding into reality. In his room, he found his belongings displaying rarity levels. His own reflection showed status effects he'd never had in life.

The mark burned like Greek fire against his chest. That night, the dreams began. Not normal dreams - actual gameplay footage overlaying his memories. He saw himself in third person, experienced every death he'd put Zagreus through, felt every boon and curse.

He woke to find his room displaying region names and chamber counts. Warning indicators flashed when he moved too quickly. Even his own movements left trail effects like in-game animations.

"This isn't real," he whispered, watching damage resistance numbers calculate above his head. "None of this is real. I'm not really here. I'm..."

His mark flared, and suddenly he saw it - his own health bar, critically low and dropping.

The House itself seemed to flicker between reality and game engine renders. Shades displayed quest markers. Every conversation had visible cooldown timers.

When Eurydice tried to give him nectar, he saw the gift counter increment. Orpheus's music displayed visible sound waves that matched perfectly with game animations.

"Please," he begged his mark, which now pulsed with visible particle effects. "Make it stop."

But it didn't stop. It got worse.

He started seeing loading zones between chambers. Battle music played when near training areas. Every god's presence triggered boss battle indicators.

"Maybe I'm dead," he told his reflection, which showed damage numbers even as he spoke. "Maybe this is all just..."

A system notification seemed to burn itself into his vision: [WARNING: Reality_Anchor_Critical] [Timeline_Corruption_Detected] [Player_Status_Unknown]

That night, he didn't sleep. Couldn't sleep. Not with speedrun metrics calculating his every move. Not with his mark burning like a corrupted save point.

Not when he was no longer sure if any of this had ever been real at all.

Chapter Text

By the third day, Safron could barely distinguish reality from game elements. The House architecture constantly shifted between real and rendered. Every movement left particle trails. His mark burned like molten code against his skin.

He stopped going to meals after seeing everybody's health bars and status effects. Watching Than and Zagreus's relationship meters float above them was too much. Even Cerberus displayed as both real hound and game model simultaneously.

"He's getting worse," he overheard Meg tell the others, her voice distorting with game audio effects. "This morning he tried to walk through a wall because he saw it as a secret passage."

"The chaos exposure must have damaged something," Than's voice came with teleport sound effects. "His mortal mind..."

Safron pressed his hands against his ears, but game sound mixing followed him everywhere. Battle music faded in and out. Victory jingles played at random. The Styx bubbled with respawn point indicators.

His mark pulsed erratically now, each throb sending waves of game effects across his vision.

"Look at me," Zagreus found him huddled in a corner of the administrative chamber, contracts displaying completion percentages all around them. "Whatever you're seeing, it's not-"

"How do you know?" Safron's voice came out with digital distortion. "Maybe this is the real version. Maybe everything else was the illusion. Maybe I'm just code that gained consciousness and-"

His mark flared hot enough to make him cry out. The room rendered its wireframe structure, then its collision boxes, then reality, then back again in rapid succession.

"I can see everything," he whispered, watching boon effects shimmer around the prince. "The game mechanics, the status effects, the-" He stopped as he saw it - a glimpse of something through the fractured reality. A figure that shouldn't exist yet. White hair, familiar features...

His mark burned with recognition.

"No," he stumbled back. "You're not supposed to be here yet. That's not until-"

The mark blazed with future knowledge, and reality itself seemed to tear.

He ran. Through chambers displaying region names, past shades with quest markers, away from concerned voices that echoed with game audio effects. His own footsteps left visible sound waves.

In his room, everything was wrong. His belongings shifted between real and rendered. The mirror showed him glitching between states. His mark pulsed with corrupted save data.

"Not real," he chanted, watching his health bar drop. "Not real not real not-"

The mark burned hot enough to bring him to his knees.

Through fracturing reality, he saw impossible things. Future events bleeding through. A white-haired figure in chambers that didn't exist yet. Names he shouldn't know. Powers that hadn't awakened.

His mark responded to each vision with searing pain.

When Dusa found him, he was curled in a corner, surrounded by flickering game effects, muttering about timelines and corruption and things that shouldn't exist yet.

"Get help," he heard her tell another shade through digital distortion. "Get anyone!"

But how could they help when reality itself was breaking? When every blink showed him both truth and game engine? When his mark burned with knowledge of things that hadn't happened yet?

The last thing he saw before consciousness fled was a familiar figure - tall, dark-robed, ancient. Nyx, coming to find her lost child.

When Safron regained consciousness, he was in darkness. Not the flickering, game-rendered darkness, but true, primordial night. His mark pulsed steadily for the first time in days.

"Be still, child." Nyx's voice came from everywhere and nowhere. "Your mind needs time to reconcile."

"I'm going mad," he whispered, relieved to hear his voice without digital distortion.

"No." Nyx materialized beside him, her presence somehow stabilizing reality. "You are evolving. Though perhaps too quickly for a mortal mind to process."

She placed a cool hand over his mark, and the chaos in his vision settled. "This sigil... it's older than you know. A bridge between realities."

"I don't understand."

"The 'game' you played... it wasn't just entertainment. It was a echo of truth, reaching across time. And you, child, played it so many times, understood it so deeply, that you became a nexus point."

His mark warmed under her touch, but comfortably now.

"The chaos exposure didn't break you," she continued. "It awakened something. You're seeing both realities at once - the physical world and its underlying structure. The present and... what's yet to come."

"The white-haired figure," Safron remembered. "Things that haven't happened yet..."

"Yes. Your mark connects you to multiple timeline streams. What you perceived as 'game mechanics' are actually the fundamental forces that govern our realm. You're seeing them raw, unfiltered."

"But why me?"

"Because you learned our story so completely that you became part of it. Your thousands of attempts, your deep understanding... they weren't just gameplay. They were preparation."

She helped him sit up, reality now stable around them. "Your mark isn't just a symbol. It's a tool, meant to help bridge worlds. But such power needs control, training."

"That's why I'm here? To bridge realities?"

"Among other purposes," Nyx's eyes held ancient knowledge. "Though perhaps some truths should wait until you're stronger."

His mark pulsed with curiosity about her unspoken words.

"The white-haired one I saw..."

"Will come in time," Nyx said firmly. "For now, focus on the present. Learn to control your sight. The mark will help, if you let it."

"How?"

"It responds to your understanding. The more you accept your role, the more stability it provides. Your breakdown happened because you fought against it."

She waved a hand, and reality shifted - but controlled now, showing him both physical and fundamental forms in harmony.

"You are not going mad, child. You are becoming something new. A mortal who can see divine architecture, who understands our realm's deepest patterns."

"And the future visions?"

"Will come as they must. But first, you must master the present."

His mark hummed with agreement.

"Rest now," Nyx commanded gently. "When you wake, we'll begin your true training. There is much to learn about being a bridge between worlds."

As darkness took him again - natural sleep this time - Safron felt his mark settle into a steady rhythm. The game elements no longer seemed foreign or frightening, but part of a greater pattern he was learning to read.

His last thought before drifting off was of the white-haired figure he'd glimpsed. A future yet to come, a story yet to unfold.

But for now, at least he knew he wasn't losing his mind.

He was finding his purpose.

Chapter Text

The training began in Nyx's own chambers, away from concerned eyes. Safron sat cross-legged, his mark pulsing steadily as Night Incarnate taught him to control what he saw.

"Don't fight the overlapping realities," she instructed. "Let them exist simultaneously. Like focusing on both near and far."

It was easier said than done. The House's architecture still flickered between physical and fundamental forms, but at least he wasn't panicking now.

"Good," Nyx nodded as he managed to hold both views steady. "Now, tell me what you see."

"The chamber's physical structure, but also its... framework? Like seeing the bones under skin. And there's energy flowing through everything, like the darkness resource in the ga- in my previous understanding."

His mark warmed with approval at the accurate description.

The door opened, admitting Zagreus and Than. Both stopped short seeing Safron surrounded by visible divine energy patterns.

"Well," Zagreus managed, "that's new."

"He's learning to bridge perspectives," Nyx explained. "His mortal mind is adapting to divine sight."

"So he wasn't going mad," Than observed, his own divine aura now clearly visible to Safron's enhanced perception.

"Debatable," Safron muttered, then gasped as Than's comment triggered a ripple of possible responses and outcomes - like seeing dialogue branches, but more organic. His mark flared.

"Steady," Nyx cautioned. "Don't chase the possibilities. Stay centered in now."

"Is this why he knew so much?" Zagreus asked. "Some kind of foresight?"

"More complex," Nyx replied. "His gaming experience wasn't just play - it was preparation. Training his mind to understand divine patterns through a format he could process."

"That's why the game was so accurate," Safron realized. "It wasn't copying reality, it was... translating it?"

His mark pulsed in confirmation.

"Show them," Nyx encouraged.

Carefully, Safron extended his awareness. The mark helped him project what he saw - the overlay of physical and divine, the flow of power, the multiple layers of reality.

"Blood and darkness," Zagreus breathed. "Is this how you see everything now?"

"Getting better at controlling it," Safron nodded. "Though sometimes I still see..." He trailed off as future echoes flickered at the edges of his vision. White hair. Crystal power. Things yet to come.

His mark warmed in warning.

"He's becoming a bridge," Nyx told her sons. "Between mortal understanding and divine truth. Perhaps even between now and then, though that ability needs... careful development."

Than stepped closer, examining Safron with new interest. "No wonder chaos exposure affected him so strongly. His mind was already straddling realities."

"It's actually helping with administrative work," Safron offered. "I can literally see how resources flow through the House now. Though the constant damage numbers above training dummies are a bit distracting."

"Keep practicing," Nyx instructed. "But perhaps it's time others knew you're not simply a fan who crossed realms. You're becoming something new."

"Great," Safron sighed. "More attention."

"Could be worse," Zagreus grinned. "At least now you have an excuse for staring at Than's collarbones. Divine pattern recognition and all that."

"I hate you."

"Your mark pulses faster when you lie," Than noted dryly.

Safron groaned as the others laughed. Even Nyx's lips curved slightly.

But as they left him to practice, he caught another glimpse of that future figure. His mark warmed not with warning this time, but with promise.

A week after his reality crisis, Safron was back at his administrative desk, deliberately focusing on normal paperwork rather than the divine patterns he could now see.

"The contracts won't file themselves," Meg noted, passing by. "Even if you can see their metaphysical properties now."

"I'm trying to be normal," Safron defended, though his mark pulsed with amusement.

"Darling, you live in the Underworld, pine after divine beings, and survived chaos exposure," Eurydice called from the lounge. "Normal was never an option."

"Speaking of pining," Dusa added, dusting nearby, "have you seen Than's new cloak? Not that you need special vision for that view..."

"Can we go back to everyone teasing me about the bath incident instead?" Safron pleaded.

"Oh sugar, we can tease you about multiple things at once," Eurydice laughed.

His mark hummed contentedly as he returned to work, letting the House's familiar chaos wash over him. Sometimes regular immortal drama was better than divine insight.

Even if he did occasionally notice Than's aura glowing particularly nicely in certain lights.

Chapter Text

The problem with the House wasn't just navigating divine politics - it was navigating divine siblings. Specifically, Meg's sisters, who had decided Safron was beneath their contempt.

"Look, the mortal pet is organizing papers again," Alecto's voice dripped with disdain as she entered the administrative chamber. "Playing at being useful."

"Blood and darkness," Tisiphone hissed. "Murderrr... but not worthy of it."

Meg, to her credit, remained professional. "He's doing his job, sisters."

"'Job,'" Alecto sneered. "As if a mortal could truly serve any purpose here. Even with his... special sight." She made it sound like a disease.

Safron kept working, trying to ignore how his mark pulsed anxiously. He'd learned that Alecto's hatred wasn't like game dialogue - it was raw, real, and absolutely genuine.

"Did you hear?" Alecto continued, running a nail along his desk, leaving scratches. "It tried to train with weapons. Couldn't even lift Varatha properly. Pathetic."

"Weak... unworthy..." Tisiphone circled him like a predator.

"At least in the game you had some purpose," Alecto leaned close, her breath hot against his ear. "Here? You're just taking up space in our realm."

"Sisters." Meg's voice held warning, but Alecto ignored her.

"Tell me, mortal," she purred dangerously, "how does it feel knowing you'll never truly belong? That you're just... entertainment? A curiosity for gods to mock?"

"Murderer?" Tisiphone asked hopefully.

"No, sister. Not even worth killing. Just... insignificant."

Safron's hands trembled slightly as he continued sorting contracts. His mark burned with the effort of maintaining composure.

"Look, it's trying to ignore us," Alecto laughed coldly. "Playing brave little mortal. Tell me, do you practice those longing looks at the prince? Or do they come naturally to pathetic creatures like you?"

"That's enough." Meg's whip cracked, but Alecto just smiled.

"Protecting your little pet, sister? How sweet. Remember when you used to have standards?"

"I remember when you had dignity," Meg countered. "Instead of bullying administrators to feel powerful."

"Murderrr..." Tisiphone agreed, though whether supporting Meg or Alecto wasn't clear.

"It's fine," Safron said quietly, keeping his voice steady. "I have work to do."

"Yes, you do," Alecto's smile was cruel. "Run along, little mortal. Play at being important. Just remember - we see what you really are. A temporary amusement. Nothing more."

They left, Tisiphone's murderous muttering echoing behind them. Only Meg remained, her expression unreadable.

"They're wrong," she said finally.

"Are they?" Safron's mark pulsed with hurt he tried to hide. "I'm not exactly proving my worth here."

"You survived chaos exposure. You're adapting to divine sight. You..." she hesitated. "You make things better, somehow. Easier."

Coming from Meg, it was practically a declaration of friendship.

"Thanks," he managed. "Though your sisters..."

"Are eternal. Set in their ways. They hate change, and you..." she almost smiled. "You're nothing but change."

She left him to his work, but her words helped. Maybe he couldn't win over every immortal. Maybe some would always see him as beneath them.

But he had his place. His purpose. Even if some Furies couldn't see it.

His mark pulsed steadily, like a reminder that belonging wasn't about being liked by everyone.

After another day of enduring Alecto's venom, Safron was surprised to find Meg waiting in the lounge after hours, a bottle of expensive nectar on the table.

"Sit," she commanded. "You look like you need a drink."

"That obvious?" He settled across from her, mark still aching from the day's tensions.

"My sisters..." Meg poured them both generous portions, "can be relentless."

"You're different from them," Safron observed, accepting his glass. "The game showed that, but seeing it in person..."

"I changed," Meg said simply. "They didn't. They won't." She took a long drink. "Do you know why?"

Safron stayed quiet, sensing something important coming.

"Zagreus," she continued, swirling her nectar. "When he kept trying to escape, kept facing me... he didn't just fight. He talked. Asked questions. Made me think about duty versus purpose."

Her whip coiled absently at her hip.

"My sisters see only our function - punishment, vengeance, retribution. But Zag made me see more. Question more." A slight smile. "Annoying habit of his."

"I noticed," Safron smiled back. "In the game and here."

"The difference is," Meg leaned forward, "I chose to change. To adapt. Alecto and Tisiphone... they take pride in being unchanging. Eternal. They see adaptation as weakness."

"And me as proof of that weakness?" Safron guessed.

"You represent everything they hate. Change. Mortality. The idea that ancient ways might need updating." She refilled their glasses. "Plus, you understand us too well. Know our stories too deeply. They find that... threatening."

"I never meant to threaten anyone."

"Intent doesn't matter to them. Your very existence here challenges their rigid view of order." She studied him over her glass. "You know our weaknesses. Our growth. Our capacity for change."

"Is that why you're different with me? Because I understand the change you chose?"

Meg was quiet for a moment. "Partially. But also because I remember what it's like. Questioning your place. Adapting to new purpose. Finding worth beyond function."

She reached out, surprising him by touching his mark gently. "You're not just some mortal who played a game. You're proof that understanding can bridge realms. That change isn't weakness."

"Try telling your sisters that."

"They'll never accept it. Or you." Her hand withdrew. "But that's their loss. The House is evolving. They can evolve with it or..."

"Spend eternity being bitter about it?"

"Exactly." She smiled, actually smiled. "Though if you tell anyone I said any of this..."

"Let me guess - painful death?"

"So many painful deaths," she agreed, but her tone was almost fond.

They sat in comfortable silence, sharing the nectar. Beyond the lounge, they could hear the eternal bustle of the House - and the occasional angry mutter of Tisiphone passing by.

"Thank you," Safron said finally. "For explaining. For being..."

"If you say 'nice' I will stab you."

"...different," he finished with a grin.

His mark pulsed warmly as they continued drinking, a comfortable understanding reached. Some immortals might never accept him, but others...

"Though seriously," Meg added, "if you tell anyone about this conversation..."

"I know, I know. Painful death."

"Multiple painful deaths."

But they were both smiling now, and Safron realized that sometimes understanding was worth more than universal acceptance.

Even if it came with death threats.

Chapter Text

"Come on," Eurydice insisted, tugging Safron along the relatively safe path through Tartarus. "You can't live in the House forever without experiencing a proper underworld gathering."

Zagreus walked with them, his burning feet lighting the way. "Don't worry - Father approved this route. Plus, Than's keeping an eye out."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Safron asked, his mark pulsing nervously at the distant screams of the damned.

"Wait till you try the spread," Eurydice grinned. "My old chamber might be in Tartarus, but I knew how to throw a party even then."

They arrived at a surprisingly cozy chamber, warmly lit and filled with familiar faces. Orpheus was already there, tuning his lyre. But what caught Safron's attention was the large, cheerful man sitting near an even larger boulder.

"Well, well!" Sisyphus beamed. "The famous mortal administrator! Bouldy and I have heard so much about you."

The boulder, somehow, gave off an aura of friendly interest.

"Don't let his jolly demeanor fool you," Eurydice stage-whispered to Safron. "This one outsmarts gods for fun."

"Only when necessary," Sisyphus winked. "Though I must say, your method of gaining immortal favor is much more straightforward than mine. No chains involved!"

"...yet," Than added, materializing with drinks.

As the evening progressed, Safron found himself drawn into conversation with Sisyphus, while Bouldy provided what felt like silent but sage agreement.

"It's not easy, being mortal among them," Sisyphus noted, watching Eurydice and Orpheus perform. "But you find your way. Make your mark. Sometimes literally," he nodded at Safron's chest.

"And sometimes," he patted Bouldy affectionately, "you find friendship in unexpected places."

The boulder radiated what could only be described as contentment.

"How do you... deal with it all?" Safron asked. "The gods, the politics, the eternal nature of everything?"

"With humor, cleverness, and good friends," Sisyphus smiled. "Both the talkative kind," he gestured to the gathering, "and the excellent listeners." He patted Bouldy again.

The party continued into the eternal night, filled with music, laughter, and the subtle but definite personality of a very large rock.

"See?" Eurydice said later, as they shared her famous cooking. "Some of the best things in the Underworld happen in unexpected places."

Looking around at this strange gathering - former mortals, gods, and one very sociable boulder - Safron had to agree.

His mark pulsed warmly, feeling at home among others who'd found their place in this immortal realm, each in their own unique way. Even if one of them was a rock.

Later that night It wasn't a dream, though Safron wished it was. The mark on his chest woke him with burning urgency, pulsing with ancient power. His room fell away into impossible geometry, reality bending around him.

"INTERESTING. THE MORTAL BRIDGE GROWS STRONGER."

Chaos's presence was overwhelming - not the simplified version from the game, but the true primordial force that had shaken his sanity before. Multiple faces shifted through dimensions that shouldn't exist, each wearing an expression of cosmic curiosity.

"I... I should not be able to perceive you like this," Safron managed, his mark burning hot with recognition.

"AND YET YOU DO. PERHAPS BECAUSE YOU ARE BECOMING SOMETHING... UNDEFINED."

Reality twisted. Safron saw himself through Chaos's perception - a being of possibility, neither fully mortal nor divine, a paradox given form.

"Why are you here?" he asked, fighting to maintain consciousness under the weight of primordial attention.

"TO OBSERVE. TO UNDERSTAND. YOU PLAY A ROLE IN PATTERNS YET TO FORM." A smile that existed in several dimensions at once. "TIME MOVES DIFFERENTLY IN CHAOS. WHAT IS YET TO COME... ALREADY ECHOES."

Images flashed through impossible space - white hair, crystal power, choices yet unmade. His mark flared with recognition.

"I'm not supposed to know these things yet," Safron protested.

"AND YET YOU DO. AS YOU KNEW US BEFORE YOU KNEW US. A PARADOX... MOST ENTERTAINING."

The mark pulsed in patterns that matched Chaos's speech, like it was translating concepts too vast for mortal understanding.

"YOUR GAME WAS NOT MERELY PLAY. IT WAS PREPARATION. BUT FOR WHAT..." A laugh that rippled through reality itself. "THAT REMAINS TO BE SEEN. OR PERHAPS... HAS ALREADY BEEN SEEN."

"You're enjoying this," Safron realized.

"CHAOS APPRECIATES PATTERNS THAT BREAK PATTERNS. YOU ARE... REFRESHINGLY DISRUPTIVE."

Before Safron could respond, reality began reasserting itself. But Chaos's final words echoed through dimensions:

"WE WILL WATCH YOUR DEVELOPMENT WITH GREAT INTEREST... BRIDGE-BETWEEN-STATES."

When normal space returned, Safron found himself on his floor, mark still burning with primordial energy. This hadn't been a simple dream or vision - Chaos had reached out personally, seeing something in him worth their cosmic attention.

Chapter Text

The House was in controlled chaos preparing for the arrival of Zeus and Athena. Shades polished every surface, Dusa was stress-cleaning at triple speed, and Hades seemed even more imposing than usual behind his desk.

"Remember," Persephone was instructing everyone, "Zeus will want to examine our mortal resident himself. Athena's presence should help keep things... diplomatic."

Safron's mark pulsed anxiously. Being the subject of the King of Gods' curiosity wasn't exactly comforting.

"Don't worry," Zagreus said quietly. "Mother won't let uncle Zeus get too... enthusiastic."

"That's not as reassuring as you think," Safron muttered, adjusting his formal chiton for the tenth time. The House had provided him with proper attire - deep purple with silver trim, marking him as both mortal and official resident.

Thunder rolled through the Underworld - a distinctly artificial effect, Safron thought, given they were underground. Zeus always did love his entrances.

"BROTHER!" The King of Gods' voice boomed as he materialized in a flash of lightning. "And my favorite nephew! And... ah, the mortal we've heard so much about."

Zeus was exactly as overwhelming as the game suggested, but with an added layer of raw power that made Safron's mark burn with recognition. Athena appeared beside him with more dignity, her grey eyes sharp and calculating.

"So," Zeus loomed over Safron, "you're the one who knows all our stories? Played our tales for... entertainment?" His smile held warning thunder.

"Father," Athena intervened smoothly, "perhaps we should discuss this somewhere more... appropriate?"

"Yes, yes," Zeus waved magnanimously. "Let's see how my brother runs things these days. And hear exactly what our mortal friend knows about divine... affairs."

This was going to be a very long visit.

The meeting took place in Hades's private study, a chamber Safron had never entered before. Zeus lounged on an ornate throne he'd manifested (much to Hades's visible annoyance), while Athena stood observing, her owl perched nearby.

"So," Zeus boomed, though slightly less thunderously in the confined space, "tell us exactly how much you know, mortal."

"Everything in the game, Lord Zeus," Safron answered carefully. "Your... relationships, the family conflicts, the reconciliation..."

"Ah yes, my brother's domestic drama!" Zeus chuckled. "Though I wonder what else you might know. Other divine... encounters?"

"Brother," Hades warned, while Persephone touched his arm soothingly.

"I focus on administrative duties now," Safron deflected diplomatically, earning an approving nod from Athena.

In the halls outside, House politics were in full swing. Meg had positioned herself where she could watch both entrances, while Than materialized occasionally to check on proceedings. Hypnos, surprisingly awake, was taking detailed notes.

"The mortal shows wisdom in his restraint," Athena observed. "Though knowledge of divine matters in mortal hands..."

"Is precisely why we're here," Zeus finished, his casual tone barely masking authority. "How can we be sure these... game experiences won't be shared?"

"My mark," Safron touched his chest, "binds me to the House. To its secrets."

"Ah yes, the mysterious mark," Zeus leaned forward. "Show us."

The mark pulsed as Safron revealed it, drawing intense interest from both Olympians.

"Fascinating," Athena murmured. "It bears traces of multiple divine influences. Father, observe the pattern..."

"I see it," Zeus stroked his beard. "Very well! The mortal seems properly... contained. Though perhaps we should test his discretion?"

"That won't be necessary," Persephone intervened smoothly. "Safron has proven his loyalty repeatedly."

Outside, the House residents had formed their own political circles. Meg and her sisters observed from different vantage points, while Dusa stress-cleaned the same column repeatedly.

"Did you see Zeus's face when he noticed the mark?" Zagreus whispered to Than. "Like he recognized something..."

"Father knows more than he's saying," Athena said suddenly, her grey eyes fixed on Safron. "As do you, I suspect."

The mark burned under her scrutiny.

"The mortal serves a purpose here," Hades declared firmly. "His knowledge and loyalty are not in question."

"Of course, of course!" Zeus laughed, but his eyes were sharp. "Though perhaps I should share some stories of my own? See how they compare to these... game versions?"

"Lord Zeus," Safron found his voice, "while I know many divine tales, I prefer focusing on present duties rather than past... adventures."

A moment of tense silence, then Zeus roared with laughter. "Well said! Diplomatic as Athena herself! I approve, brother. The mortal knows his place."

Athena's slight smile suggested this had been some kind of test.

The meeting concluded with Zeus sharing increasingly inappropriate stories about his various "adventures" while Hades looked increasingly pained. Persephone managed the situation with practiced grace.

Later, in the hallway, Athena caught Safron alone.

"You handled that well," she said quietly. "Though we both know you carry knowledge beyond what you've revealed."

His mark pulsed in acknowledgment.

"Keep your secrets, mortal," she advised. "But remember - wisdom lies not just in knowing when to speak, but when to remain silent."

The House gradually returned to normal, though political currents remained. Zeus's visit had stirred things up, raised questions about Safron's role and knowledge.

"Well," Zagreus found him later, "at least uncle Zeus didn't turn you into anything."

"The day's not over yet," Safron sighed, but his mark pulsed with relief.

Chapter Text

Sometimes Zagreus wondered what strange Fate had decided to drop a mortal who'd played his life like a game into their world. Watching Safron navigate the House - blushing at Than's presence, organizing contracts with genuine enthusiasm, trying not to stare too obviously during training - was both amusing and oddly touching.

"He really did play through everything," Zagreus mused aloud one evening, watching Safron attempt to explain modern 'gaming' concepts to a surprisingly interested Achilles. "Every escape attempt, every conversation, every..." he glanced at Than, who had materialized nearby, "every relationship path."

"It's strange," Than agreed, his usual stoic expression softening slightly. "Having someone who knows not just what happened, but how it felt. The choices made. The bonds formed."

Zagreus remembered finding Safron in the bath that first time - the mortal's absolute mortification contrasting with his obvious appreciation. It should have been awkward, but somehow it had just been... adorable.

The changes in the House were subtle but significant. Dusa seemed more confident with someone else who understood transition. Meg had found an unexpected friend who truly appreciated her growth. Even Father seemed less... well, less Father-like sometimes, especially when Safron's organizational systems actually improved efficiency.

Mother, of course, had welcomed him immediately. She understood better than most what it was like to bridge worlds.

But it was the little moments that really stood out. Catching Safron practicing with Varatha when he thought no one was watching, failing gloriously but trying anyway. Finding him asleep at his desk, surrounded by contracts and mumbling about "drop rates." The way his mark pulsed whenever something reminded him of his gaming experiences.

"He fights it sometimes," Zagreus said thoughtfully. "Being here, knowing us, having that mark. Like he's afraid of changing too much."

"Change is difficult," Than noted, and Zagreus heard the personal experience in those words. "Especially when you've seen multiple versions of how things could be."

They watched as Safron attempted to explain "character builds" to a fascinated Hypnos, complete with enthusiastic hand gestures.

"Do you think he regrets it?" Zagreus asked suddenly. "Being here instead of just playing the game?"

Than was quiet for a moment. "I think... he struggles with the reality being both more and less than what he played. More real, more complex, more..."

"More painful?" Zagreus suggested, remembering Safron's face during Alecto's cruel comments.

"And more wonderful," Than finished. "Games have endings. Reality... continues."

They observed as Safron tried to avoid Meg's teasing about some particularly enthusiastic notes he'd made about divine "aesthetics."

"He's changed us too," Zagreus realized. "Made us see ourselves differently. Our stories through mortal eyes."

"Through loving eyes," Than corrected gently. "That's what makes him different. He doesn't just know our stories - he loves them. Loves us, in his way."

"Even when it hurts him?"

"Especially then."

"It's strange," Zagreus mused, "having someone who's both audience and participant. Who knows every choice I could have made because he made them himself."

"And yet still celebrates the choices you did make," Than noted.

"We're lucky, you know," Zagreus said softly. "That of all the mortals who played our story, we got one who understood it was always more than just a game."

Than's slight smile said everything.

Together they watched their mortal friend - because that's what he had become, unexpected and wonderful - try to explain the concept of "patch notes" to anyone who would listen.

Some Fate-touched moments, Zagreus decided, were better than any game could design.

Sometimes, late in the eternal night, Zagreus found himself watching Safron when the mortal thought no one was looking. The way he touched old contracts like they were precious memories, how his mark pulsed when he thought about the future, those moments of unguarded longing quickly hidden behind professionalism.

"It's strange," he mentioned to Than during one of their quiet moments, "seeing yourself through someone else's story. He knew every death, every triumph, every..." he hesitated, "every kiss."

"Does it bother you?" Than asked, his golden eyes thoughtful.

"No," Zagreus realized. "It should, maybe. But it feels more like... having a witness. Someone who truly understands what we overcame."

He remembered finding Safron in tears once, late at night, after replaying some memories through his new divine sight.

"You really went through all that," Safron had whispered. "Not just game mechanics. Real pain. Real growth. Real love."

The raw emotion in his voice had touched something in Zagreus. Here was someone who had experienced every step of his journey, felt every setback, celebrated every victory - not just as entertainment, but as... connection.

"He loves differently than immortals," Zagreus told Than. "More... completely, maybe. Because he knows it's temporary."

"Mortality gives weight to affection," Than agreed softly. "Every moment matters more when they're counted."

Watching Safron try to maintain professional distance while so obviously caring about everyone in the House... it stirred something protective in Zagreus. Not pity - the mortal had proven himself too capable for that. More like... understanding.

"Sometimes I catch him looking at us like we're dreams come true," Zagreus admitted. "Other times like we're nightmares made real. Both can be true, I suppose."

Than's hand found his. "We are both more and less than his game showed him. As he is both more and less than a simple mortal administrator."

"The mark chose well," Zagreus mused. "Someone who could love the story enough to live it, but respect it enough to not try changing it."

Below, Safron was explaining to a fascinated Dusa about something called "fan theories." His mark pulsed with enthusiasm even as he tried to maintain professional demeanor.

"He makes me see us differently," Zagreus said quietly. "All the moments I took for granted... he sees them as precious. Even the painful ones."

Chapter Text

It wasn't entirely accidental this time when Zagreus walked in on Safron bathing. The mortal was facing away, lean form half-submerged in steaming water, and Zagreus found himself appreciating how modern realm exercise had shaped that perfectly toned ass. Not that he was looking intentionally, of course.

"You know," he spoke, enjoying how Safron startled but didn't immediately hide, "for someone who claims to be just an administrator, certain assets of yours suggest otherwise."

"Gods, make some noise when you walk!" Safron spluttered, his mark pulsing rapidly. "Or at least pretend this isn't becoming a habit."

Instead of leaving, Zagreus found himself moving closer, sitting on the bath's edge. Something about the way the water highlighted Safron's form made him want to stay, though he wasn't quite sure why.

"Where's the fun in that?" He dipped a hand in the water, watching ripples move across Safron's skin. "Besides, I have to say, that modern exercise routine of yours... very effective. Particularly from this angle."

"Are you... are you flirting with me?" Safron's voice held disbelief, but he didn't move away.

"Maybe?" Zagreus realized he wasn't entirely sure himself. "Consider it... divine appreciation of mortal aesthetics."

"Than will kill me."

"Than will appreciate my detailed report," Zagreus grinned, though something warm stirred in his chest at Safron's blush. "We've had some interesting discussions about your... contributions to House views."

"You've discussed my ass with Death Incarnate?" Safron seemed stuck between mortification and intrigue.

"Among other attributes," Zagreus found himself leaning closer, drawn by the way water droplets traced Safron's shoulders. "Though this particular view might deserve special mention."

The mark on Safron's chest pulsed rapidly, matching something in Zagreus's own divine essence that he didn't quite understand.

"I should probably go," he said finally, though he made no move to leave. "Let you finish your bath."

"Probably," Safron agreed, but didn't suggest it further.

They stayed there, caught in some strange tension neither quite understood, until footsteps in the hall finally broke the moment.

"Keep up the exercise routine," Zagreus said as he finally stood. "It's doing wonders for... House morale."

"Is that what we're calling it?"

Zagreus just grinned and left, though not without a final appreciative glance that made Safron's mark pulse even faster.

Something had shifted, he realized as he walked away. Some line blurred that he hadn't meant to cross. He'd have to examine why he felt so drawn to stay, to look, to...

Well. At least he had an interesting report for Than.

Though perhaps he'd keep some of these new feelings to himself. At least until he understood them better.

Zagreus found himself distracted during his administrative duties, mind wandering back to the bath incident. Why had he stayed? Why had that moment felt so... charged?

"You're unusually quiet," Than noted during their evening together. "Something on your mind?"

"I walked in on Safron in the bath again," Zagreus admitted, then found himself adding, "Intentionally, this time."

Than's golden eyes studied him carefully. "And?"

"And... I stayed. Talked. Flirted, maybe?" Zagreus ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know why. Something about seeing him there, all that mortal vulnerability mixed with surprising confidence..."

"You're attracted to him," Than stated simply.

"I love you," Zagreus said quickly.

"I know." Than's smile was gentle. "That's not in question. But he affects you. The way he knows us, understands us. Sees you."

Zagreus considered this. "He played through every moment of my journey. Felt everything I felt. Chose paths I might have taken..."

"And still celebrates the path you did take," Than finished. "Even knowing it meant he couldn't be more than an observer."

"Until now." Zagreus remembered how the water had traced Safron's form, how his mark had pulsed in rhythm with something in Zagreus's own divine essence. "He's not just an observer anymore."

"No," Than agreed. "He's become something more. To the House. To us."

"Are you... okay with this?"

"With you being drawn to someone who loves our story so completely? Who respects what we have while still feeling deeply?" Than's hand found his. "I'm death incarnate, my love. I understand that hearts are complex things."

Zagreus leaned into him, grateful for this understanding. "I don't know what I'm feeling. Or why that moment in the bath felt so..."

"Important?"

"Yeah."

They sat in comfortable silence, watching the eternal twilight shift.

"Perhaps," Than said finally, "some stories have room for new chapters."

Zagreus thought about Safron's blush, the way his mark had responded, how natural it had felt to stay and talk and look and...

"Maybe," he agreed softly.

His own divine essence pulsed with possibilities he hadn't considered before.

Sometimes, it seemed, even princes could be surprised by new feelings.

Late in the eternal night, Zagreus found himself in his room, examining the Mirror of Night. Not for powers or abilities this time, but reflecting on changes he hadn't expected.

A mortal who played his story thousands of times, who knew every choice, every path - and somehow had become more than just a player or observer. Zagreus watched his own reflection blur with memories: Safron's mark pulsing in rhythm with his divine essence, that charged moment in the bath, Than's understanding smile.

But it was Nyx who provided the final piece of insight, materializing from shadow as he contemplated.

"You feel it too, don't you?" she asked. "The resonance. His mark responds to you specifically, child."

"Because he played as me?"

"Because he was chosen for you. Not as a lover," she added, seeing his expression, "but as something equally important. A witness. A keeper of your story. Someone who could understand you completely, from every possible angle."

Zagreus thought about the bath incident, how natural it had felt to stay, to look, to appreciate. Not just physical attraction, but something deeper.

"The mark binds him to this realm," Nyx continued, "but it resonates with you because you are the heart of the story he lived thousands of times. Your choices, your growth, your love," she glanced toward Than's usual spot, "all experienced through his mortal heart until he became something more."

"What is he to me?" Zagreus asked quietly.

"Whatever you choose. Friend, admirer, confidant... or perhaps something new entirely. The Fates rarely send such gifts without purpose."

As she faded away, Zagreus caught his reflection again in the mirror. He saw himself as Safron must have seen him thousands of times - not just a prince or a son or a lover, but a complete story, every possibility, every path.

And now Safron was writing his own chapter in that story, changing from player to participant, from observer to... something else. Something that made Zagreus's divine essence pulse with recognition.

Sometimes, he realized, the most interesting stories were the ones you never expected to tell.

Chapter Text

It started during a routine inventory check. Safron was reviewing the House's gemstone stores when he noticed an unusual surplus.

"These numbers can't be right," he muttered, his mark pulsing thoughtfully. "We have way too many gems just... sitting here."

"Resource management problems?" Zagreus appeared behind him, still slightly awkward since their bath encounter but maintaining their usual friendship.

"The House Contractor has all projects covered, but we keep accumulating more than we need," Safron explained. "It seems wasteful just letting them gather dust."

He paused, remembering something from his mortal life. "You know, where I'm from, we had these card games. Strategy games that brought people together..."

Safron's mark pulsed with excitement, "what if we made our own? Using House characters, powers, stories..."

Zagreus's eyes lit up. "A game about us?"

"Not just about you - with you. All of you. Different factions, abilities, strategies..." Safron was warming to the idea. "We could use some gems to set up a proper gaming space. Get people together outside work hours..."

"Father might approve," Zagreus mused. "He's always going on about proper leisure activities for staff morale."

"Plus," Safron added with a slight smile, "it might give Alecto something to do besides torturing me verbally."

The mark on his chest pulsed with possibility. Perhaps this was another way to bridge his gaming past with his current reality - not just through memory, but through creation.

After discovering the gem surplus, Safron found himself in the House Contractor's office, explaining his card game idea. The shade seemed intrigued, particularly by the potential for resource management.

"A gaming chamber?" The Contractor reviewed the proposal. "Interesting use of excess gems. Though you'll need help with the artistic aspects..."

"I have some design ideas, but-"

"Ah!" The Contractor brightened. "I know just the shade. Anthius!"

A figure materialized - not a typical shade, but a young man with an otherworldly beauty that spoke of divine favor. Flowers seemed to bloom and fade in his presence, a gift from his patron Dionysus.

"Anthius was a Theban prince," the Contractor explained. "Quite talented with artistic endeavors. Lord Dionysus himself marked him for his creativity."

"And eternally grateful for the recognition," Anthius smiled, his presence bringing a subtle vitality to the room. "Though I admit, being remembered mainly as Dionysus's favorite can be... limiting."

Safron found himself studying the former prince. Unlike Adonis's deliberate provocation, Anthius's beauty felt more natural, more focused on creation than attention. His mark pulsed with interest at meeting another mortal touched by divine favor.

"I've been looking for a proper project," Anthius continued, flowers briefly crowning his head before fading. "Something beyond just... being pretty for eternity."

"Well," Safron spread out his initial sketches, "how do you feel about helping create a game that captures the essence of every being in the House?"

Anthius's eyes lit up with genuine enthusiasm. "Finally, a chance to show I'm more than just another pretty divine plaything? Count me in."

As they began discussing concepts, Safron realized he might have found not just an artist, but someone who understood what it meant to navigate the space between mortal and divine.

The mark on his chest pulsed with possibility. Perhaps this game could be more than just entertainment - it could be a bridge between worlds, just like its creators.

The House Contractor's introduction of Anthius proved to be more significant than Safron initially expected. The former Theban prince brought an energy to their project that was distinctly different from the usual Underworld atmosphere.

Unlike the typical shades, Anthius maintained a more corporeal form - a gift from Dionysus. He appeared as a young man in his early twenties, with features that balanced masculine and feminine beauty. His dark curls were perpetually adorned with ghostly flowers that bloomed and faded with his emotions, and his chiton seemed to shift between purple and green in the eternal twilight.

"The trick," Anthius explained as they worked on card designs in Safron's newly approved game chamber, "is capturing not just how they look, but who they are."

He was sketching Zagreus's card, his fingers leaving trails of ephemeral petals across the parchment. The prince's likeness emerged not just as a portrait, but as a story - determination and rebellion captured in every line.

"You understand them differently than I do," Safron observed, watching flowers crown Anthius's head as he concentrated. "I know them through playing their story. You..."

"Lived among their kind?" Anthius smiled, though there was a hint of old pain there. "Being favored by a god is... complex. Beautiful and terrible at once." A dark violet bloom appeared briefly before withering. "Though I suspect you're learning that yourself."

Safron touched his mark thoughtfully. "At least mine came with clear purpose. You were just..."

"Pretty? Entertaining? A mortal toy?" The flowers in Anthius's hair turned sharp-edged for a moment. "Sorry. Old wounds. Dionysus was kind, truly. But divine attention comes with divine expectations."

They worked in comfortable silence for a while, Safron developing game mechanics while Anthius brought characters to life on cards. His artistry was extraordinary - each image seemed to capture some essential truth about its subject.

"You're different from Adonis," Safron noted as they reviewed faction designs.

"Thank the Fates for that," Anthius laughed, soft pink flowers blooming. "He performs his beauty like a weapon. I just... am what I am." He gestured at the perpetual flora adorning him. "Though Lord Dionysus's marks aren't subtle either."

"At least yours is pretty. Mine just glows and occasionally tries to drive me mad with divine insight."

"Yes, I heard about your chaos exposure. Rough way to learn about divine patterns." Anthius's flowers shifted to thoughtful blue. "Though it seems to have worked out. You're still sane, mostly."

"Mostly," Safron agreed, then noticed Anthius's latest sketch. "Is that... Than?"

The drawing captured Death Incarnate in a moment of gentle revelation, the kind only Zagreus usually saw. "Too intimate?" Anthius asked. "I can revise-"

"No, it's perfect. It shows who he really is, not just what he seems." Safron's mark pulsed warmly. "You see past surfaces."

"Comes with being surface myself for so long," Anthius shrugged, but the flowers in his hair blushed pink at the compliment. "Everyone always looking, few ever seeing."

They were interrupted by Zagreus himself, who had taken keen interest in their project. "How's it-oh." He stopped, seeing his own card design. "That's... you captured something there."

"Anthius has a gift for essences," Safron explained.

"More than just pretty after all, hmm?" Zagreus studied the former prince with new respect. "Father will be pleased. He's been wanting to properly utilize more talented shades."

"I'm not actually a shade," Anthius corrected gently. "Lord Dionysus's blessing left me... something in between. Rather like Safron here, though less officially employed."

"Then we should fix that," Zagreus decided. "Consider this project your official House position. Creative Director?"

The flowers in Anthius's hair bloomed in surprised joy, a rainbow of petals briefly showering the room. "I... thank you, my prince."

After Zagreus left, they returned to work with renewed enthusiasm. Safron found himself appreciating how Anthius's divine-touched nature complemented his own. They both understood the complexity of mortal and divine intersection, though from very different angles.

"These cards," Anthius mused, adding detail to Persephone's image, "they're not just game pieces. They're stories, relationships, truths..."

"A bridge," Safron agreed, his mark pulsing in harmony with Anthius's floating flowers. "Like us."

They shared a moment of understanding - two mortals marked by divine purpose, finding their place in the eternal house.

"Though I still think Adonis is going to demand his card be extra shiny," Anthius added with a grin.

"With abs specifically highlighted," Safron agreed.

Their laughter echoed through the chamber, accompanied by a shower of amused golden blooms.

Chapter Text

The gaming chamber was coming together beautifully. Anthius's divine-touched artistry transformed the once-bare room into something between a symposium hall and a strategic war room. Dark wood tables perfectly sized for card matches, comfortable seating arrangements for spectators, and walls adorned with carefully crafted faction symbols.

"A bit higher," Anthius directed from atop a ladder, his chiton riding up as he stretched to hang a particularly elaborate Warriors of Might emblem. Safron, holding the ladder steady, found his eyes wandering before quickly averting them.

"Enjoying the view?" Anthius teased, flowers in his hair turning playfully pink. "Don't worry - I'm used to being admired. Though usually less politely than you manage."

"I wasn't-I mean-" Safron's mark pulsed with embarrassment.

"Please, after Dionysus's parties? Your blushing is practically innocent." Anthius descended gracefully, landing close enough that Safron could smell the perpetual scent of wine and flowers that surrounded him. "Though it is refreshing to be appreciated for more than just... aesthetic value."

Dusa chose that moment to arrive with cleaning supplies, her snakes all blushing at the scene. "Oh! I'm not interrupting anything, am I? I can come back! Or not come back! Or whatever's least awkward!"

"Perfect timing," Anthius smiled, stepping back casually. "We could use help with the higher corners. Unless Safron would prefer to hold my ladder again?"

"I hate both of you," Safron muttered, but his mark pulsed with amusement.

The room continued taking shape throughout the day. Meg stopped by to inspect their progress, raising an eyebrow at the elaborate Fury sisters display. "Not bad. Though Alecto's portrait seems... intense."

"Tried to capture her essence," Anthius explained. "Challenging, given how often she threatens to disembowel me for existing too prettily in her surroundings."

Than materialized occasionally to check on their work, though Safron suspected he was more interested in the way they'd portrayed him and Zagreus on their respective cards. The slight smile when he saw their paired card displays suggested approval.

By evening, the space was transformed. Four distinct areas represented each faction, with a central space for actual gameplay. The card sets were complete, rules finalized, and even the House Contractor had approved their gem usage.

"It's really happening," Safron said softly, his mark pulsing with pride as they surveyed their work.

"More than a game," Anthius agreed, gentle flowers blooming around them both. "A bridge between realms. Between stories." He glanced at Safron with a hint of his usual teasing smile. "Though next time you want to appreciate the view while I'm working, just say so. I've been told I pose quite well."

"Don't you have some flowers to grow?"

"Always," Anthius laughed, a shower of petals falling around them. "Though making you blush is much more entertaining."

Tomorrow they would introduce the game properly to the House. But for now, they enjoyed their shared achievement, surrounded by the proof that even the Underworld could bloom with new creation.

The gaming chamber was packed. Every shade, deity, and House resident who could fit had gathered for the grand introduction. Safron's mark pulsed with nervous energy as he and Anthius prepared to demonstrate their creation.

The air suddenly filled with the scent of wine and festivities. Purple mist swirled, and Dionysus materialized with his characteristic flourish.

"Well, well! Heard there's a party starting in the Underworld! Couldn't miss that, could I?" His eyes found Anthius, whose flowers instantly bloomed deep violet. "And what's this? My favorite mortal creation, making creations of his own?"

"Lord Dionysus," Anthius managed, petals falling like wine drops. "You're... fashionably late as always."

"For you, darling? I'm right on time." The god settled into a prime viewing position, goblet materializing in hand. "Now show us what you and our little mortal administrator have conjured up!"

Safron stepped forward, grateful for the distraction from the charged energy between god and former prince.

"The game is played between two players, each with a carefully crafted deck of twenty-five cards," he began, as Anthius laid out their demonstration setup. "These decks can be purely from one faction or mixed between two..."

Anthius took over, his artistic hands displaying each card type. "The battlefield is divided into melee and ranged rows. Each player takes turns placing cards, building their strategy across three rounds. Victory comes from winning two rounds through superior power and tactical play."

They proceeded to demonstrate a match. Safron chose Warriors of Might paired with Masters of Fate, while Anthius selected Lords of Bounty mixed with Agents of Change.

"Each row can hold up to nine cards," Safron explained, playing Zagreus's card in melee position. "Hero cards have power values and special abilities that trigger under specific conditions."

"Support cards," Anthius added, placing one of his own, "provide ongoing effects that can change the tide of battle." His fingers lingered on the artwork, where he'd captured Dionysus's essence perhaps too well, judging by the god's appreciative smile.

The demonstration match flowed naturally, showing how different strategies could develop. Safron's aggressive Warriors of Might approach contrasted with Anthius's more subtle Lords of Bounty tactics.

"And that," Safron concluded as Anthius won their demonstration match with a particularly clever combination, "is just the beginning. Each faction offers unique playstyles and strategies."

"Brilliant!" Dionysus declared, materializing beside Anthius to examine the cards. "You've captured us perfectly, darling. Especially my... strategic elements." His proximity caused flowers to bloom rapidly in Anthius's hair.

"We're planning a tournament," Safron announced, trying to redirect attention. "All House residents and regular visitors welcome to participate."

"Count me in!" Dionysus draped himself casually across Anthius's workspace. "Though I might need private lessons first. To understand all these... intricate mechanics."

"I'm sure Safron would be happy to explain-" Anthius started.

"From you, flower prince," Dionysus winked. "For old times' sake."

The tournament signup began, but Safron was distracted by how the flowers in Anthius's hair had turned the exact shade of Dionysus's wine. Some divine marks, it seemed, never truly faded.

At least the game introduction had gone well. Now they just had to manage a tournament full of competitive immortals, each with their own divine pride at stake.

Simple enough, right?

Chapter Text

The tournament planning took over Safron's chamber, walls covered with potential match-ups and brackets. Anthius was supposed to be helping, but he was "busy" giving Dionysus hea... a very thorough private tutorial in one of the gaming room's quieter corners.

"So we'll need preliminary rounds," Safron muttered, trying to organize the overwhelming number of participants. "Maybe group stages first..."

"Need help?" Zagreus's voice made him jump. The prince was closer than expected, peering at the tournament plans. "Though I should probably learn how to play properly first."

"I could teach you," Safron offered, his mark pulsing faster. "Now, if you want?"

They settled at one of the gaming tables, away from Dionysus's increasingly flirtatious "strategy questions" to Anthius. Safron laid out a practice deck, explaining card placement and basic mechanics.

"Here," he said, reaching to guide Zagreus's hand to the correct card position. The moment their fingers touched, both froze. Safron's mark pulsed in perfect rhythm with Zagreus's divine energy.

"Like this?" Zagreus asked softly, not pulling away.

"Y-yes," Safron managed. "Though for maximum effect..." He adjusted their shared grip on the card, hyperaware of every point of contact.

They stayed like that perhaps longer than necessary, Safron "showing" Zagreus proper card placement while their hands remained linked. The prince's skin was warm, his divine energy making Safron's mark glow steadily.

"You know," Zagreus said eventually, still not moving his hand, "Than might want lessons too."

"All three of us?" Safron's voice cracked slightly.

"Could be interesting." There was something new in Zagreus's smile. "For... strategy purposes."

Finally separating their hands (though Safron's mark protested the loss), they returned to tournament planning.

"Quite a lineup," Zagreus noted, his hand somehow having found its way back to rest near Safron's. "Though some of these matches might get... intense."

"That's why we're setting clear rules about no actual combat, just cards," Safron explained, very aware of their proximity. "Though maybe we should separate your uncles in the brackets..."

"Probably wise," Zagreus agreed. "Though speaking of wisdom..." His fingers brushed Safron's again. "I might need more private lessons. To really understand all the... positions."

Safron's mark pulsed so brightly it was visible through his chiton. "For strategy purposes?"

"Of course," Zagreus smiled. "Though Than might want to observe. For... thorough understanding."

Across the room, Anthius's flowers were blooming in increasingly interesting patterns as Dionysus insisted on very detailed explanations of his card's special abilities.

Safron's chamber had become a war room of sorts, walls covered with tournament brackets and strategy notes. Anthius sat nearby, still finishing some last-minute card art while occasionally glancing at Dionysus's continued "strategic consultations" with Nerites in the corner.

Final Tournament Brackets:

First Division:

Zagreus vs Hypnos ("That should be interesting," Zagreus commented, leaning over Safron's shoulder close enough to make his mark pulse)

Megaera vs Dusa

Than vs Hermes

Achilles vs Patroclus

Orpheus vs Sisyphus

Dionysus vs Athena

Alecto vs Tisiphone

Chaos vs Nyx

Second Division:

Hades vs Zeus

Demeter vs Persephone

Apollo vs Artemis

Ares vs Aphrodite

Poseidon vs Charon

Asterius vs Theseus

Circe vs Heracles

Nerites vs Plutus

Third Division (Qualifying Rounds):

Skelly vs Eurydice

Adonis vs Icarus

Plus winners from preliminary matches

"We'll need special arrangements for some participants," Safron noted, trying to focus despite Zagreus's proximity. "Chaos might require... unique accommodations."

"And father will insist on proper protocol for his match with Zeus," Zagreus added, his hand casually brushing Safron's as he pointed at the bracket. "Though I'm more interested in these new additions. Heracles? Circe?"

"We wanted to include some of the broader mythological sphere," Safron explained, definitely not getting distracted by how Zagreus hadn't moved his hand away. "Plus, their cards showed such interesting potential that it seemed wrong not to invite them."

They worked through logistics: Match timing and locations,Special divine requirements,Referee assignments (mostly Nyx, as the most neutral party) ,Victory conditions,Prize considerations.

"Speaking of prizes," Zagreus mused, fingers still somehow entangled with Safron's over the planning papers, "what does the winner get?"

"Besides eternal bragging rights?" Safron's mark pulsed as Zagreus's thumb traced small circles on his wrist. "We're thinking a special championship card. Anthius is designing it."

"Hmm," Zagreus leaned closer, ostensibly to examine a bracket. "And what about... private victory celebrations?"

Safron's mark flared bright enough to illuminate the papers. "That's... not officially part of the prize structure."

"Pity," Zagreus grinned, finally pulling back but letting his fingers trail across Safron's hand. "Though I might need more private strategy sessions. To properly prepare."

"For tournament purposes only, of course?"

"Of course." Zagreus's smile held promises that made Safron's mark pulse erratically. "Though Than might want to join these... strategy discussions."

They returned to planning, though Safron noticed his normally neat handwriting was rather shaky.

Chapter Text

"Step right up, boyos and ghosties!" Skelly's voice echoed through the House's lower halls. "Two spots in the grand tournament up for grabs! Any shade can enter, all ya need is a dream and... well, you're all already dead so not much to lose!"

Safron watched in amusement as Skelly, taking his role as contest host with surprising enthusiasm, worked the crowd of eager shades. The training dummy had insisted on running this "preliminary opportunity," as he called it.

"Even got official rules and everything!" Skelly proudly displayed a parchment covered in surprisingly neat handwriting. "Each shade gets one try at the special deck I put together. Highest scores get the spots!"

The challenge deck, as it turned out, was cleverly designed - requiring both skill and quick thinking. Shades lined up for their chance, each taking turns against Skelly's surprisingly strategic play.

"Not bad, boyo!" he encouraged a particularly determined baker's shade. "But maybe leading with that support card wasn't your best move, eh?"

Two competitors stood out. Pirithous, the infamous friend of Theseus who'd once attempted to kidnap Persephone, showed remarkable tactical thinking - perhaps learned from his time stuck in the Underworld's chairs of forgetfulness.

"Better at cards than kidnapping, ain't ya?" Skelly teased, though there was respect in his permanent grin as Pirithous executed a particularly clever combination.

But it was Psyche who truly impressed, her experience with divine trials perhaps lending itself to strategic thinking. Her final match against Skelly's deck drew quite a crowd.

"Now that's how you play the game!" Skelly declared as she claimed victory. "Got yourself a tournament spot, missy! And you too, chair-warmer!" he added to Pirithous.

"This should be interesting," Zagreus commented, having appeared beside Safron to watch. "Psyche understands divine politics better than most, and Pirithous... well, at least he can't get stuck in any chairs during a card game."

"Unless we make special rules," Meg suggested dryly as she passed by.

As the crowd dispersed, Skelly looked inordinately pleased with himself. "Not bad for a training dummy, eh boyo?" he asked Safron. "Got ourselves some real interesting additions to the show!"

"You enjoyed this way too much," Safron noted.

"Hey, when you spend eternity getting hit with various weapons, hosting a contest is a nice change of pace!"

The tournament brackets were now complete. Psyche and Pirithous would add their own fascinating dynamics to the mix - one who succeeded with divine trials, one who failed spectacularly.

"Think they have a chance?" Zagreus asked.

"In this game?" Safron watched Psyche already studying card combinations while Pirithous attempted to charm information out of nearby shades. "Anyone has a chance. That's kind of the point."

"Speaking of chances..." Zagreus's fingers brushed his arm. "About those private lessons..."

Safron's mark pulsed as Skelly shouted in the background, still riding his host success: "Remember folks, no refunds on failed tournament attempts! Mainly 'cause there was no entry fee! But still!"

Some opportunities, it seemed, were worth taking. Whether in cards or... other matters.

Chapter Text

"You wanted private lessons?" Safron's voice held amusement as Zagreus entered his chambers that evening. The prince was arranging cards on his personal gaming table, already having shed his usual armor down to a lighter chiton for comfort.

A chill in the air announced Thanatos's arrival. Death Incarnate settled silently in his corner, golden eyes gleaming with interest as he prepared to observe.

"For strategic purposes," Safron managed, his mark already pulsing at the intimate setting. The eternal twilight cast interesting shadows across Zagreus's form as he moved.

"Of course," Zagreus smiled, gesturing to the seat beside him - closer than strictly necessary for card instruction. "Though I thought we might make it interesting. I had Dionysus send some of his personal vintage..."

Several unopened bottles of nectar sat ready nearby, though they started with actual strategy discussion. Safron took his time explaining card combinations, each demonstration bringing him closer to Zagreus, his hands lingering when showing proper card placement.

"Like this?" Zagreus asked, hyper-aware of their proximity as Safron guided his fingers on the cards.

"Almost," Safron murmured, shifting even closer under the pretense of adjusting Prince's hold. "Though perhaps we should add some... incentive to improve?"

As the nectar flowed, pretense of pure strategy faded. Zagreus lost the next round, choosing to remove his remaining shoulder piece with deliberate slowness. Firelight from his feet cast dancing shadows across increasingly exposed skin.

"Your turn," he smirked as Safron lost again. The mark on Safron's chest pulsed rapidly as he chose to remove his outer chiton, leaving the lighter one beneath.

Than shifted in his corner, golden eyes reflecting the eternal twilight as he watched their progress.

Several rounds and drinks later, Zagreus was down to his base chiton, the divine fabric clinging in interesting ways. Safron found strategy increasingly difficult, distracted by exposed muscle and deliberately casual touches as cards were played.

"Focusing on the wrong kind of power values?" Zagreus teased as Safron's eyes wandered again. His hand "accidentally" brushed Safron's bare shoulder while reaching for cards.

The mark's steady pulse matched something in Zagreus's divine essence, heat building between them with each play, each removal, each drink.

The nectar's divine potency was hitting Safron hard now, making him pleasantly dizzy and far less inhibited. His mark pulsed with warm light that seemed to dance with the shadows cast by Zagreus's burning feet.

"Perhaps..." Safron fumbled another card, distracted by how Zagreus's chiton had slipped to reveal more divine form, "I should focus on... strategy."

"Oh? Is that what you're trying to focus on?" Zagreus's smirk was devastating as he deliberately shifted, fabric sliding higher. "Your mark suggests otherwise."

Indeed, the sigil was glowing brightly enough to illuminate both their cards. Safron lost another round, the nectar making his movements clumsy but his appreciation bolder.

"Your choice," Zagreus reminded him, voice low. "Drink or remove?"

Than's silent presence added weight to every choice, every glance, every increasingly heated moment.

"Practical demonstration?" Safron's voice caught as Zagreus shifted even closer, divine form radiating heat that made his mark pulse faster.

"Mhmm," the prince hummed, deliberately dropping a card just to bend and retrieve it, giving Safron a perfect view of godly assets. "Sometimes visual learning is most effective."

The nectar had thoroughly dissolved Safron's usual restraint. His eyes wandered openly now, appreciating how Zagreus's remaining clothing clung to every divine curve and muscle. The prince was clearly enjoying the attention, each movement becoming more deliberately teasing.

"Your play," Zagreus reminded him, voice low. "Unless you're too... distracted?"

Safron fumbled his cards, sending several floating to the floor. As he moved to collect them, Zagreus's hand "helpfully" steadied his waist, fingers trailing bare skin and making his mark flare bright enough to illuminate them both.

Than's presence in the corner added electric tension to every touch, every heated glance. His golden eyes caught firelight as Zagreus pulled Safron closer under pretense of showing proper card placement.

"Like this," the prince murmured against Safron's ear, chest pressed to his back, divine warmth seeping through minimal remaining fabric. "Though your form could use some... adjustment."

The proximity of Zagreus's divine form combined with Dionysus's potent nectar had Safron's head swimming pleasantly. The prince remained pressed against his back, supposedly demonstrating card placement but mostly just radiating divine heat that made Safron's mark pulse in rhythm with his own essence.

"You're still too tense," Zagreus murmured, free hand sliding along Safron's arm. "Proper strategy requires... relaxation."

"Hard to relax," Safron managed, hyper-aware of every point of contact, "with you distracting me."

"Am I distracting?" Zagreus's laugh was warm against his neck. His minimal remaining clothing left little to imagination. "Here I thought I was being helpful."

Another round lost, more fabric shed. The eternal twilight played across divine muscle, mortal skin, leaving both gleaming in the half-light. Each movement brought new contact, new heat, new tension.

Safron lost track of actual gameplay, too focused on how Zagreus's hands kept finding reasons to guide, to touch, to linger. The wine made everything pleasantly hazy except for the acute awareness of divine skin against his.

The last pieces of clothing had found their way to the floor, cards completely forgotten. Zagreus's divine form radiated heat against Safron's back, while his mark pulsed bright enough to cast shadows across their bare skin.

"Still thinking about strategy?" Zagreus teased, voice low against Safron's neck. The prince's hands wandered freely now, each touch sending sparks through Safron's wine-hazed mind.

Than remained in his corner, golden eyes reflecting their intimate dance of mortal and divine forms in eternal twilight. His silent observation added electricity to every heated moment.

"Your mark," Zagreus murmured, tracing the glowing sigil on Safron's chest, "it matches my essence now." Indeed, the pulsing light synchronized perfectly with the prince's divine energy.

Divine heat met mortal desire as pretense of card lessons faded entirely. Safron's mark illuminated every perfect line of Zagreus's form as they moved together, while Than's presence kept the temperature balanced between scorching and electric.

"You know," Zagreus murmured appreciatively, hands wandering lower as they shifted positions, "I've been admiring that perfectly toned ass since your administrative duties began. Seems mortal exercise has impressive benefits."

Safron's mark pulsed brighter at the praise, wine making him bold enough to press back against divine heat. Zagreus's appreciation was evident in both touch and tone.

"Though seeing everything now..." The prince's hands grew more exploratory, one tracing Safron's spine while the other gripped his hip. "Even better than what I glimpsed during our bath encounter. No wonder I keep finding excuses to walk in on you."

Divine warmth met mortal desire as exploration continued. Safron's wine-hazed mind registered every touch, every appreciative comment, every heated moment where immortal power met mortal passion.

"Turn around," Zagreus commanded softly. "Let me see all of you properly."

The mark's steady pulse matched something deeper in Zagreus's divine essence as they faced each other, pretense of card lessons long forgotten. The prince's mismatched eyes traveled deliberately over every inch of exposed skin.

"Beautiful," he murmured, pulling Safron closer. "Though I think you need more... hands-on instruction."

The nectar had Safron delightfully dizzy, inhibitions thoroughly dissolved as his eyes wandered over divine form. "You know," he managed, words slightly slurred, "they really undersold certain... godly proportions in the game."

Zagreus's laugh was warm and rich. "Enjoying the view?"

"Mhmm," Safron hummed, wine making him bold. "Though some things need... closer inspection." His mark pulsed rapidly as he let his gaze drift lower.

"Careful," Zagreus growled playfully, pulling him closer. "Mortals shouldn't tease gods."

"Not teasing," Safron protested, though his drunken smile suggested otherwise. "Just... appreciating divine architecture."

Zagreus's response was to press him against the gaming table, cards scattering forgotten. "Then perhaps you need a more thorough... lesson in divine form."

The wine had Safron thoroughly intoxicated, his appreciation of divine form - particularly Zagreus's impressive endowment - becoming increasingly vocal and less coherent.

"You're drunk," Zagreus noted with amusement, still pressing him against the gaming table.

"Maybe," Safron agreed, swaying slightly. "But you're beautiful. And your penis is... divine." He giggled at his own drunk observation.

Zagreus leaned in, clearly intending to kiss him, but the combination of wine, divine proximity, and excitement proved too much. Safron's nose suddenly started bleeding, and he lost his balance, tumbling backwards onto the table, scattering cards everywhere.

"Perhaps we should continue this when you're more... stable," Zagreus suggested, trying not to laugh as he helped gather cards from around Safron's sprawled form.

"No, m'fine," Safron protested weakly, though his mark's pulsing had become as unsteady as his vision. "Just... need a moment..."

He passed out right there on the gaming table.

Shape

Morning found Safron in his own bed with a splitting headache and only fragments of memory - something about cards, wine, and... had he really commented on divine anatomy?

His mark pulsed with what felt suspiciously like amusement at his groaning attempts to remember the evening.

At least, he thought, looking at his fully-clothed state, someone had been kind enough to dress him before returning him to his room.

Though he couldn't quite explain why there were playing cards scattered through his bed, or why his mark kept pulsing every time he tried to remember exactly what happened after that seventh glass of nectar.

Chapter Text

Safron's head was still pounding when he encountered Zagreus in the administrative chamber. The prince's usual warm manner seemed oddly stiff.

"Sleep well?" Zagreus asked, his tone carrying an edge Safron didn't understand.

"I... think so?" Safron winced at his own headache. "Though everything after the seventh glass of nectar is rather... blurry."

Something flickered in Zagreus's mismatched eyes. "Blurry. Right." His temperature seemed to rise slightly, making the air shimmer. "So you don't remember anything about our... private lesson?"

"We had a lesson?" Safron's genuine confusion only seemed to make things worse. His mark pulsed anxiously as Zagreus's warmth turned almost uncomfortable.

"Amazing," Zagreus said flatly. "You don't remember any of it? The cards? The wine? The..." he cut himself off, flames flickering at his feet more intensely than usual.

"I found cards in my bed," Safron offered helpfully, completely missing the prince's growing frustration. "Did I... did something happen?"

"Did something-" Zagreus started, heat actually scorching the floor now.

"Peace," Than's cool voice cut through the tension as he materialized. "He was thoroughly intoxicated, Zag. Divine wine affects mortals differently."

"Clearly," Zagreus bit out. His usual playful manner had vanished entirely. "Though some memories might be worth keeping."

Safron looked between them, completely lost. "I'm sorry if I did something inappropriate..."

"Inappropriate?" Zagreus laughed, but it wasn't his usual warm sound. "No, nothing inappropriate. Just spent an evening bearing my soul - and everything else - to someone who apparently can't be bothered to remember."

"Zag," Than warned softly, noting how Safron's mark was pulsing with distress.

"No, it's fine," Zagreus continued, heat rolling off him in waves. "Just a drunk mortal's entertainment, right? Nothing worth remembering."

"I didn't mean-" Safron started, but Zagreus was already striding away, leaving scorched footprints in his wake.

Than lingered, his cool presence soothing after Zagreus's heat. "Give him time," he advised. "Pride, especially divine pride, bruises easily."

"But I don't even know what I did!" Safron's mark flickered anxiously.

"Perhaps that's the problem," Than said cryptically before dissolving into shadow.

Safron stood alone in the administrative chamber, surrounded by scattered contracts and the lingering scent of scorched marble. His head still pounding, he tried desperately to remember anything from the previous night.

His mark pulsed unhelpfully, though he could have sworn it felt like it was laughing at him.

At least, he thought miserably, he couldn't possibly have made things any worse.

Then he found a distinctly divine-looking chiton mixed in with his bedsheets, and realized maybe he could.

Safron found himself in Anthius's workshop, surrounded by half-finished card designs that suddenly seemed meaningless. His head still pounding, he explained the situation through barely contained tears.

"...and now he hates me, and I can't even remember what I did wrong," Safron's voice cracked, his mark pulsing erratically. "I found his chiton in my bed, Anthius. His chiton. What happened last night?"

Anthius's flowers shifted to sympathetic blues. "Divine wine and mortal memory rarely mix well. Though from what I hear..." he paused as petals fell. "Let's just say there was quite a bit of mutual... appreciation."

"But I don't remember any of it!" Tears finally spilled over. "He showed me something real, didn't he? And I just... forgot it all."

Unknown to them, Zagreus had approached the workshop, still burning with hurt pride, but stopped short at the scene. Through the doorway, he could see Safron's shoulders shaking, mark flickering like a distressed heartbeat.

"I've never seen him so angry," Safron continued, voice raw. "And the worst part is he has every right to be. I finally got what I'd dreamed about and I was too drunk to even remember it."

Anthius's flowers turned deeper blue. "The first time a god shows you their true self... it should be memorable."

"He trusted me with that, didn't he?" Safron asked miserably. "With seeing all of him. And I just... lost it all to wine."

In the doorway, Zagreus's heat dimmed slightly, anger giving way to something more complex as he watched Safron break down.

"What if he never forgives me?" Safron's mark was barely glowing now. "What if I ruined everything because I couldn't handle my wine?"

"Mortals and gods," Anthius sighed, his own flowers reflecting past pain. "We risk our hearts for their fire, knowing we might get burned."

Zagreus silently withdrew before either could notice him, but his steps left cooler prints now. Perhaps, he thought, divine pride wasn't the only fragile thing in his realm.

Back in the workshop, Safron tried to piece together fragments of memory through tears. "I remember thinking he was beautiful. That his body was perfect. But it's all just... flashes. Did we... did anything...?"

"Perhaps," Anthius suggested gently, "you should focus less on what happened and more on what you want to happen next. When you're sober enough to remember it."

Safron's mark pulsed weakly. "If he ever gives me another chance."

"Gods can be temperamental," Anthius's flowers shifted to hopeful pink. "But they can also be surprisingly forgiving. Especially when genuine remorse is involved."

"I just wish I could remember," Safron whispered. "Even just the way he looked at me. Must have been special, to make him this angry about losing it."

Outside, Zagreus found himself at his own desk, staring at scattered cards from the previous night. Perhaps, he thought, there were worse things than being forgotten.

Like watching someone cry over having forgotten you.

Chapter Text

The Fates, it seemed, had a sense of humor. Who else would send the realm's most notorious weaver to design tournament attire?

"Stand still," Arachne commanded, multiple hands working simultaneously as she circled Safron. Despite her spider-like lower half, she moved with surprising grace. "Can't properly measure if you keep fidgeting."

"Sorry," Safron managed, trying not to react as various limbs wielded measuring tools. "Just not used to being handled by quite so many hands at once."

"That's not what I heard about your private lesson," Anthius quipped from nearby, earning a snort from Arachne and a furious blush from Safron.

"Gossip travels fast in the Underworld," Arachne noted, skillfully wielding needles with several hands while others adjusted fabric. "Though I must say, passing out naked on a gaming table? That's a new one."

"Can we focus on the chitons?" Safron pleaded, his mark pulsing with embarrassment.

"Oh, we are." Arachne's multiple eyes glittered with amusement. "Creating something in saffron yellow for our Safron. Divine irony, don't you think?"

"The shade's chiton should be pink with blue accents," Arachne continued, her many hands working silk with supernatural speed. "To match those lovely flowers you keep sprouting, dear."

"At least someone appreciates my perpetual blooming," Anthius smiled as petals drifted down.

"Please," Arachne snorted, multiple eyes rolling. "After what you and Dionysus did in my workshop last week, I'd say plenty appreciate your... gifts."

Several of her hands were now embroidering intricate patterns into Safron's chiton - card suits and game symbols woven with threads that seemed to shimmer with divine light. "Being cursed into spider form does have its advantages. So many projects at once!"

"Is it true?" Safron asked cautiously. "About challenging Athena?"

"To a weaving contest? Absolutely." Arachne's fingers never stopped moving. "Worth it too. Have you seen her tapestries? Dreadfully traditional. No innovation at all." She paused thoughtfully. "Though perhaps I could have been more diplomatic about pointing that out."

"Instead of weaving scenes of Zeus's... indiscretions?" Anthius suggested innocently.

"Art should reflect truth!" Arachne declared. "Besides, look where it got me - eternal commissions from the Underworld's finest. Speaking of which..." Several hands tugged at Safron's current chiton. "Off. Need to check the fit."

As Safron changed behind a privacy screen (learning from past mistakes about casual nudity), Arachne continued working on final details. "The tournament starts tomorrow. You boys ready to host divine competition?"

"As ready as we'll ever be," Anthius sighed. "Though keeping Olympian egos in check during a card game might be harder than actually creating it."

"Please," Arachne scoffed. "I challenged a goddess to a weaving contest. At least your game can't get you transformed into an arthropod."

Safron emerged in his new chiton, the saffron-colored silk falling perfectly. Divine-touched thread caught eternal twilight, making the gaming symbols seem to move across the fabric.

"Now that," Arachne said appreciatively, "is art. Turn."

As Safron rotated, the fabric shifted like liquid gold. Anthius whistled. "No wonder certain princes can't keep their eyes off you."

"Speaking of which," Arachne smirked, "how's that particular drama resolving?"

"It's... not," Safron admitted, his mark pulsing sadly through the silk. "He's still angry about the forgotten evening."

"Men," Arachne sighed, all eight legs tapping impatiently. "Mortal or divine, always complicating simple matters. Though I suppose that's why we love them."

She turned to adjust Anthius's chiton next - pink silk flowing into blue like his ever-changing flowers, decorated with blooming patterns that seemed to grow across the fabric.

"There," she declared finally. "Official tournament hosts, properly attired. Try not to get these stained with wine. Or tears. Or... other fluids."

"Arachne!" Safron spluttered while Anthius just grinned.

"What? I've woven for Dionysus's parties. I know what happens to fine silk at divine gatherings."

After she departed (all eight legs moving with surprising dignity), Safron found himself before the mirror again, studying how the chiton caught light like captured sunlight.

"Go find him," Anthius suggested gently. "That fabric's wasted if he doesn't see you in it."

Later, alone in his chamber, Safron stood before his mirror watching his mark pulse through saffron silk. The gaming symbols seemed to dance across the fabric, telling stories of cards and chance and divine encounters.

He felt Zagreus before he saw him - that distinctive warmth approaching from behind.

"I'm sorry," Safron started, but strong arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him back against divine heat.

"Don't be," Zagreus murmured against his neck. "I overreacted. Nothing really happened that night - just some wine, some nudity, some appreciation of divine form before you passed out. Though your drunk commentary on certain divine attributes was... memorable."

Safron groaned, but Zagreus's laugh was warm against his skin. "We have time," the prince continued softly. "To make memories you'll actually remember."

They stood there, reflected in eternal twilight, mortal wrapped in divine embrace. Safron's mark pulsed in rhythm with Zagreus's essence, while somewhere in the House, a spider-goddess wove threads of fate into new patterns.

Tomorrow would bring divine competition. But for now, there was just this - reconciliation draped in saffron silk, and promises of memories yet to make.

Chapter Text

The tournament hall hummed with immortal energy. Safron, resplendent in his new saffron chiton, stood with Anthius to announce the first match.

"Lords and Ladies, Shades and Spirits," Anthius called, flowers blooming with excitement, "welcome to the first match of our House tournament: Lord Dionysus of the Lords of Bounty faction versus Lady Athena of the Masters of Fate!"

The contestants approached their seats. Dionysus lounged casually, wine materializing beside his carefully constructed deck, while Athena sat with warrior's posture, her grey eyes already analyzing possible strategies.

"Brother," she nodded formally. "Shall we demonstrate proper divine competition?"

"Oh come now, owl-eyes," Dionysus grinned, already pouring wine. "Let's make this fun! Loser hosts the next feast?"

"Begin!" Safron called, his mark pulsing with anticipation as both gods drew their opening hands.

Dionysus led with his signature card, placing it in the ranged row. His divine image on the card seemed to shimmer with actual wine-light as his power activated: poisoning one of Athena's cards while boosting his own strength.

"Tactical error," Athena smiled, countering with a strategic placement of her own hero card. Its power triggered, allowing her to glimpse Dionysus's next draws.

"Getting predictable in your old age?" Dionysus teased, laying down a support card that filled his side with shimmering wine effects. Several shades in the audience swayed, feeling its influence even in card form.

"Predictable?" Athena's smile was razor-sharp as she revealed her trap - a carefully planned combination that reversed his card's intoxicating effect. "Perhaps you've had too much of your own gift, brother."

The divine siblings traded plays with increasing complexity. Dionysus filled his rows with effects that complemented and enhanced each other, while Athena's careful card placement turned his own power against him.

Two rounds to zero - a clear victory for the goddess of wisdom, though Dionysus seemed more amused than disappointed.

"Well played, owl-eyes!" He raised his wine glass. "Though next time, perhaps we add some drinking rules?"

"There are other ways to celebrate victory, brother," she smiled, then turned to address Safron and Anthius. "Your game does us justice. The abilities, the combinations... you understood our natures well."

The first match of the tournament had set a spectacular standard. As gods and shades discussed the plays they'd witnessed, Safron's mark pulsed with pride. Their creation had succeeded in capturing divine essence in card form.

"Ready for the next match?" Anthius asked, his flowers blooming with excitement.

The tournament had begun.

The match between Psyche and Pirithous drew unexpected attention. Here were two souls who'd experienced both divine favor and divine punishment, each trying to prove themselves through cards rather than grand gestures.

The audience found themselves genuinely invested in this clash of reformed souls. Even Hades watched with interest - perhaps appreciating how eternal punishment had improved Pirithous's decision-making skills.

Psyche ultimately claimed victory, her final combination showing the kind of divine understanding that had earned her immortality. "Well played," she told Pirithous. "Better than your last divine encounter, certainly."

"At least this time I'm not stuck in a chair," he conceded with good humor.

The rest of Division 1 progressed with divine intensity:

Zagreus triumphed over a surprisingly strategic Hypnos, though the match took twice as long due to Hypnos dozing between plays

Thanatos claimed victory against Hermes in what became the fastest-played match in tournament history

Megaera defeated Dusa in a surprisingly close game that ended with both competitors sharing a drink

Achilles bowed to Patroclus in a match that had the audience swooning at their tactical exchanges

Orpheus's victory over Sisyphus was accompanied by impromptu musical commentary

Alecto's match against Tisiphone ended with several destroyed chairs but a clear victory for Alecto

Chaos and Nyx's match transcended normal gameplay, with cards seeming to bend reality itself before Nyx emerged victorious

The tournament's energy was building. Each victory brought new stories, new dynamics, and new appreciation for how cards could capture divine and mortal essence alike.

"Fascinating," Athena commented to Safron. "How mortal games can reveal immortal truths."

Of all potential Division 2 matches, none drew more attention than Zeus versus Hades. The House trembled with anticipation as the brothers took their seats - Zeus materializing his own throne of clouds, Hades looking thoroughly unimpressed.

"Brother," Zeus boomed, lightning crackling around his cards. "Shall we settle some old arguments through this charming mortal game?"

"Do try not to destroy my House this time," Hades responded dryly, his own deck radiating chthonic power. "Some of us maintain our realms rather than just throwing lightning at problems."

Persephone and Nyx exchanged knowing looks as the match began. This wasn't just about cards - it was centuries of brotherly rivalry finding a new outlet.

The match escalated as immortal pride fueled each play. Zeus's ranged row devastated with repeated damage effects while Hades' melee strength grew through calculated sacrifices.

Around them, the very air seemed charged with divine energy. Persephone quietly reinforced the chamber's protective enchantments as both brothers became increasingly invested in their game.

Zeus led with confidence, his cards creating chains of devastating effects. Each Master of Fate card seemed to anticipate and enhance the next, building a display of Olympian might.

But Hades had been ruling his realm since the beginning of time. His Warriors of Might cards showed why the dead feared and respected him, each sacrifice feeding into greater power.

"You always did prefer flash over substance," Hades commented as Zeus's cards lit up the chamber.

"And you always did hide in the dark," Zeus countered, though there was a hint of affection in the jab.

"Well," Zeus smiled, lightning dancing in his beard. "It seems heights beat depths after all."

"Perhaps," Hades agreed. Then played his final card - destroying one of his own powerful units to fuel his hero card's ability, bringing his total to 78.

The chamber fell silent.

"Well played, brother," Zeus finally said, actually seeming pleased despite his loss. "Though I demand a rematch. Perhaps at the next family dinner?"

"As long as it's here," Hades responded dryly. "Your lightning is less destructive to my decor than my ceiling."

As the brothers rose, there was a new respect in their interaction. Perhaps, Safron thought as his mark pulsed with satisfaction, their game had provided more than just entertainment - it had given divine siblings a new way to connect.

"Though next time," Zeus called as he prepared to depart, "we should add some proper stakes!"

"The last time you suggested 'proper stakes' we had to divide the world into three realms," Hades muttered, but his lips twitched slightly.

Some rivalries, it seemed, were better played out in cards than cosmos.

Chapter Text

After the epic clash of divine brothers, the tournament continued with two notably different matches. First came Adonis, who'd insisted on playing his games completely nude ("Art should be appreciated in its purest form!"), facing off against Icarus.

"Really?" Meg rolled her eyes as Adonis posed dramatically while placing each card. "Is the nudity necessary?"

"Everything about me is necessary," Adonis declared, flexing as he played a particularly powerful combination. Several shades swooned. "Beauty enhances strategy!"

Icarus, trying desperately to keep his eyes on his cards rather than his opponent's display, managed to maintain focus on the game. His deck showed interesting synergy - perhaps falling from the sky had taught him something about calculated risks.

Behind the scenes, Safron's duties as tournament host had grown increasingly complex. Between matches, he and Anthius scrambled to maintain order in the rapidly evolving event.

"If one more god demands a throne made of their element," Anthius sighed, flowers drooping with exhaustion, "I'm retiring to Elysium."

"At least you don't have to explain to Hades why there's a wine fountain in the administrative chamber," Safron replied, his mark pulsing with tired amusement. "Though watching Adonis try to convince everyone that 'clothing restricts strategic thinking' was almost worth it."

Their friendship had deepened through shared chaos. Each divine demand, each crisis averted, each midnight planning session brought them closer. Anthius's flowers would bloom in sympathy when Safron's mark pulsed with stress, while Safron learned to read his friend's moods through petal colors.

"You know," Anthius mused during a rare quiet moment, "when you first arrived, I thought you were just another mortal playing at divinity. Now look at us - managing divine egos like we were born to it."

"Speaking of divine egos," Safron nodded toward approaching footsteps, "incoming Olympian request in three, two..."

They shared a knowing look before turning to face their next challenge. Some friendships, it seemed, were forged in divine fire - or at least in tournament logistics.

The semi-finals loomed, and the House buzzed with anticipation. The matchups promised incredible drama:

Division 1: Zagreus vs Thanatos and Athena vs Nyx Division 2: Hades vs Aphrodite and Circe vs Adonis

"You realize," Anthius noted as they prepared the tournament space, "we're about to host matches between Death Incarnate and his lover, AND Night personified versus her most strategic daughter?"

Safron's mark pulsed anxiously as they reviewed preparations. "At least the Division 2 matches might be calmer— never mind, Adonis just arrived announcing he's added body paint to his 'strategic uniform.'"

"Remember when we thought creating the game was the hard part?" Anthius laughed, his flowers shifting through stressed colors.

"Lord Hades requires his throne adjusted three degrees left for optimal card viewing angles," a shade reported.

"Tell him we'll handle it right after we finish dealing with Aphrodite's request for 'mood lighting' and Adonis's demand for a reflecting pool," Safron sighed, checking his notes. "Anthius, please tell me the body paint at least matches tournament colors?"

"Oh, it matches everything," Anthius's flowers turned amused pink. "Though I'm more concerned about Than and Zag's match. Remember what happened when they got competitive over paddleball?"

They both winced at the memory of the three-week cleanup.

"You know what's funny?" Safron mused as they rushed between tasks. "In the game, all this drama was just dialogues. Reality is so much more..."

"Chaotic?" Anthius suggested, dodging a stray lightning bolt from Zeus's excited gesturing.

"I was going to say alive," Safron smiled, his mark pulsing warmly despite the stress.

The first semi-final match drew every eye in the House. Thanatos and Zagreus took their positions, the air crackling with both competitive spirit and obvious attraction.

"Try not to get distracted, Than," Zagreus smirked, shuffling his deck with practiced flair.

"Says the prince who once lost a match because he was admiring my 'strategic pose,'" Than replied dryly.

Nearby, Nyx and Athena sat in perfect stillness, both already radiating strategic power for their upcoming match. The pressure of their combined presence had turned several nearby drinks to pure wisdom.

"Reminder to all competitors," Anthius announced, flowers somehow maintaining professional colors, "transformations, death effects, and excessive divine manifestations are prohibited during matches."

The semi-finals proved as dramatic as feared. Thanatos and Zagreus's match turned the air into a war between ice and fire, their competitive spirit matched only by their obvious attraction. Than's calculated plays met Zag's passionate strategies, but in the end, Death Incarnate's patience won out. Thanatos claimed victory, though the temperature fluctuations took hours to normalize.

Nyx versus Athena became a silent masterclass in strategy. Mother and daughter moved cards with such precision that reality seemed to bend around their plays. No words were spoken, yet every move told stories of wisdom and night. Athena emerged victorious, though her usual confidence seemed humbled by the experience.

In Division 2, Hades faced Aphrodite in what became known as the "Passion versus Power" match. The goddess of love's attempts to charm her way to victory met Hades's immovable authority. His methodical destruction of her strategies proved why he ruled the Underworld, securing him a place in finals.

The last semi-final almost didn't happen when Adonis insisted his body paint counted as "tournament attire." Once properly covered (mostly), his match against Circe turned into a battle of transformative magic versus divine beauty. Circe's victory was punctuated by Adonis briefly becoming a very handsome peacock.

Final matches were set: Division 1: Thanatos vs Athena Division 2: Hades vs Circe

"Well," Anthius said as they cleaned up yet another scorch mark, "at least we're down to the last matches."

"Don't jinx it," Safron warned, his mark pulsing with exhausted pride. "We still have to survive the finals."

Late the night before finals, Safron found Zagreus in his chamber doorway, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable.

"Can't sleep," the prince admitted, entering without invitation. His usual fire seemed dimmed. "Keep thinking about the match..."

"You played beautifully," Safron assured him, his mark pulsing warmly at Zagreus's proximity.

"Than deserved to win," Zagreus smiled slightly, producing a small banner he'd clearly made himself. "See? Already made this to support him tomorrow." But his eyes held something wistful.

"Missing being part of the action?"

"Maybe." Zagreus moved closer, warmth returning slightly. "Though watching you manage everything... you've grown into this role, haven't you?"

Before Safron could respond, footsteps in the hall sent Zagreus retreating with a last lingering look. Some conversations, it seemed, would wait for another time.

The finals began with intensity that threatened to reshape the House itself. Thanatos versus Athena brought endless night head-to-head with divine strategy. Death's patience met Wisdom's calculation in a match that had everyone holding their breath.

Than's calculated plays showed why even gods respected Death's approach, each card placed with eternal certainty. But Athena's strategic mastery proved why she led divine armies, her combinations flowing like perfect battle plans.

In the audience, Zagreus clutched his handmade banner while trying to maintain princely dignity. His obvious pride in Than battled with his own competitive nature.

After intense plays and counter-plays, Athena's strategic mastery finally prevailed. Than accepted defeat with grace, though the temperature drop around him had several shades seeking warmer corners.

The second final brought different tensions as Hades faced Circe. The witch-goddess's transformative magic met Underworld authority in a clash of ancient powers.

"Do try not to turn my cards into pigs," Hades commented dryly as they began.

"No promises," Circe smiled, her cards shimmering with potential transformations. "Though I was thinking more along the lines of peacocks - worked so well on our beautiful friend there." She winked at a still-sulking Adonis.

Hades claimed victory with the same methodical certainty he applied to running his realm. Circe accepted defeat gracefully, though several victory celebration wine goblets mysteriously turned into water bowls for her transformed cards.

As the dust settled from the finals, Safron and Anthius prepared announcements for the super final: Athena versus Hades. Wisdom against Underworld Authority. Strategy against Power.

"Did you see Zag after Than's match?" Anthius asked quietly, his flowers shifting to concerned purple.

"He's trying so hard to be supportive," Safron nodded, his mark pulsing with sympathy. "Made that banner and everything."

"Speaking of support..." Anthius nodded toward approaching footsteps. Zagreus appeared, still holding his slightly crumpled 'Than for Victory' banner, though his usual fire seemed dimmed.

"Quite a final coming up," he said, trying to sound enthusiastic. "Father versus Athena. Though..." he glanced at Safron, something vulnerable in his mismatched eyes, "don't suppose you need any help with preparations? Could use the distraction."

Before Safron could respond, Than materialized nearby. "Your banner," he said softly to Zagreus, "it helped." The temperature around them warmed noticeably.

As the couple moved away together, Safron turned back to super final preparations. His mark pulsed steadily - there would be time for personal matters after they survived this last divine competition.

Assuming, of course, the House survived Athena and Hades's upcoming clash.

"Twenty gems says father turns at least one of Athena's cards into a contract," Anthius whispered.

"Thirty says she counters by making his cards cite regulations," Safron replied.

Chapter Text

Rainbow light announced *Iris's arrival - the divine messenger selected specifically for the pre-match interviews. Unlike Hermes's rapid-fire delivery, she brought an elegant professionalism that suited the occasion perfectly.

"Lady Iris," Safron welcomed her, noting how her wings shifted through subtle color changes. "Thank you for moderating this event."

"Darling, when I heard about this tournament, I simply had to be involved!" Her voice carried like wind chimes. "So much more interesting than delivering Zeus's usual... messages."

The interview chamber had been specially prepared, with both finalists' thrones positioned to project suitable authority while maintaining diplomatic equality. Iris settled gracefully between them, her presence somehow making even Hades seem more relaxed.

"Before we begin," she announced, "let's reveal what our worthy finalists are competing for!"

Safron and Anthius unveiled the prizes with proper ceremony: First - a masterwork animated deck crafted by Hephaestus himself, each card alive with divine power, shifting and moving like captured moments of immortal life. Second - a champion's crown woven from Olympian gold and Underworld shadow-steel, marking the wearer as a true master of divine strategy.

"And," Iris added with dramatic flair, "the winner's greatest plays will be eternally recorded in a special card - their moment of victory captured forever in Hephaestus's living metal!"

"Lord Hades," Iris turned gracefully to the Underworld ruler, her wings shifting to respectful deep blue. "Your path to the finals has shown remarkable... adaptability, especially for someone known for unchanging rules."

"The House adapts when necessary," Hades responded with surprising diplomacy. "Though some changes are more welcome than others." His glance toward Persephone in the audience softened his usual stern demeanor.

"And your thoughts on facing Athena? Strategy versus Authority - quite the symbolic match."

"My niece's wisdom is renowned," Hades acknowledged. "Though perhaps she'll learn that some authority comes from experience rather than theory."

Athena's grey eyes sparkled at the challenge as Iris turned to her. Her wings shifted to owl-grey, matching the goddess's aura.

"Lady Athena, your strategic mastery has impressed everyone - even your mother's match showed us new depths of divine gameplay."

"Each game is a battle," Athena responded thoughtfully. "Each card a soldier in a greater campaign. Though I must say," she added with unusual humor, "uncle's administrative strategies have proven... enlightening."

"Speaking of strategies," Iris's wings flickered with rainbow curiosity, "your semifinal match against Death Incarnate became quite the talk of Olympus."

"Thanatos understands patience," Athena nodded respectfully toward Than in the audience. "Though perhaps not quite as well as his current romantic choices." Her slight smile toward Zagreus showed divine approval of their relationship.

Iris guided the conversation skillfully through predictions and preparations, her presence keeping even divine egos in check. But it was her final question that caught everyone's attention:

"And your thoughts on these mortal game creators?" Her wings swept gracefully toward Safron and Anthius. "Quite remarkable, capturing divine essence in card form."

"The mortal has proven... capable," Hades admitted, making Safron's mark pulse with surprise at the praise. "Though his administrative skills still need work." The added critique actually made Safron smile - some things never changed.

"Indeed," Athena agreed. "To understand divine strategy well enough to create this game... perhaps mortals still have much to teach us about seeing ourselves clearly."

Iris concluded the interviews with perfect timing, her wings creating subtle rainbows as she summarized the upcoming match. But it was her parting comment that lingered:

"Divine competition shaped by mortal understanding... perhaps this tournament's greatest victory isn't about who wins, but how we've all played the game."

Safron and Anthius exchanged glances as the chamber prepared for tomorrow's super final. Their creation had somehow bridged mortal and divine understanding in ways they'd never expected.

"Though I still say father's going to try turning her cards into contracts," Anthius whispered, his flowers shifting through betting colors.

"After this?" Safron watched Iris's rainbow trail fade. "He might just cite proper procedural regulations instead."

"The shades have spoken! Lord Hades stands at 55% favor, his recent victories and home-realm advantage weighing heavily. Lady Athena commands 45%, with many citing her strategic mastery and undefeated record in Division 1."

The finalists approached their positions, divine power radiating from both. Hades's deck pulsed with chthonic energy while Athena's cards seemed to glow with strategic light.

Safron's mark pulsed with anticipation as both competitors drew their opening hands. The chamber fell silent as divine competition prepared to reach its peak.

"Begin!" Iris declared, her wings creating a rainbow arc over the battlefield.

"Notice," Iris commented to the audience, her wings shifting analytically, "how each player builds toward their deck's strengths. Lord Hades focuses on melee power while Lady Athena develops ranged control."

"Father's building something big," Zagreus noted to Than. "But Athena's too smart to fall for obvious traps..."

"Round two to Lady Athena!" Iris's wings flashed victory colors. "One round each... everything rests on the final confrontation!"

The chamber hummed with divine energy as both competitors prepared for the decisive round. Safron's mark pulsed with the intensity of the moment while Anthius's flowers shifted through tension colors.

The final round began with crackling intensity. Both competitors had saved their most powerful combinations for this moment.

"Interesting," Iris commented as they drew their hands. "Lord Hades holds Zagreus's Relentless Pursuit event card, while Lady Athena has just drawn The Pact Revealed. Divine secrets about to unfold..."

Hades opened with a devastating sequence: Zagreus in melee, immediately drawing a card through his ability, followed by Ares, forcing two of Athena's cards to damage each other.

But Athena had anticipated this. She deployed Dusa, preventing Hades's next powerful card from being played, then followed with Zeus in ranged position.

The chamber held its breath as support cards changed the game's dynamics. Hades deployed Shield of Fortitude, protecting his key cards, while Athena's Echo of Change allowed her to maximize value from every play.

The final combinations approached. Hades revealed his master plan - Zagreus's Relentless Pursuit allowing him to play Warriors of Might cards at full strength. His formation surged to incredible power levels.

Athena, however, had been waiting. The Pact Revealed showed both players' top cards, and her Masters of Fate combination turned this knowledge into tactical advantage.

"By the power of divine wisdom and strategic mastery," Iris declared, her wings creating a victory rainbow, "Lady Athena claims the championship!"

The chamber erupted. Zagreus, despite his father's loss, cheered appreciatively for the display of strategic brilliance. Than nodded respectfully at several particularly clever plays.

"Well fought, uncle," Athena acknowledged as Hades rose. "Your power nearly overwhelmed my tactics."

"Perhaps," Hades replied with surprising graciousness, "there is wisdom in learning from defeat. Though next tournament..." A slight smile crossed his stern features. "We shall see how strategy fares against improved authority."

As Iris presented the prizes - Hephaestus's animated deck gleaming with divine craft - Safron's mark pulsed with pride. Their game had brought gods together in competition that strengthened rather than divided.

"Remarkable," Athena commented later, examining her victory card - a eternally animated moment of her winning play. "How mortal creativity could capture divine essence so perfectly."

The tournament had ended, but its impact would ripple through both realms. Sometimes the greatest victories weren't about who won, but what was learned in the playing.

Though Hades did insist on reviewing the tournament regulations. Just in case.

The celebration transformed the House entirely. Dionysus, though eliminated early, made sure the wine flowed freely. Divine and shade alike mingled, discussing favorite matches and memorable plays.

As the celebration continued, Safron noticed Zagreus watching him from across the room, something thoughtful in his mismatched eyes.

Later, as the party wound down, they found themselves cleaning the lounge together. The familiar routine of organizing felt different now - more intimate somehow.

"Quite a tournament," Zagreus commented, helping gather scattered cups. "Though I still say Than could have won if..."

"If you hadn't distracted him with that victory banner?" Safron teased.

"If you hadn't been looking so good in that host outfit," Zagreus replied casually, making Safron's mark pulse rapidly.

They worked in comfortable silence, occasionally brushing hands as they cleared tables. The eternal twilight made everything feel dreamlike, or maybe that was just the leftover effects of Dionysus's wine.

Exhaustion finally caught them on one of the lounging couches, neither quite remembering sitting down. Safron felt divine warmth as Zagreus leaned against him, both too tired to move.

"You did well," Zagreus murmured, eyes drifting closed. "Creating all this. Bringing everyone together."

"We should probably finish cleaning," Safron managed, though he made no effort to move.

"Probably," Zagreus agreed, settling more comfortably against him. "Later though..."

Safron's last conscious thought was how perfectly they fit together, his mark pulsing in gentle rhythm with Zagreus's divine essence as they drifted off.

Morning would bring new challenges, new stories, new adventures. But for now, there was just this - mortal and divine finding peace in shared exhaustion, while somewhere in the House, a deck of cards shuffled itself contentedly.

Chapter Text

The reality check came, appropriately enough, via Hermes. The messenger god materialized while Safron was still organizing tournament aftermath paperwork.

"Got some interesting souls coming in today, mate," Hermes announced, his usual rapid speech carrying an unusual edge. "Thought you might want to... observe. Part of your administrative duties and all."

Something in his tone made Safron's mark pulse anxiously. "What kind of souls?"

"Mass tragedy topside. The kind that keeps us busy." Hermes's wings twitched. "Think it's time you saw what this House really handles. Not just games and celebrations."

"Follow me," Hermes said, his usual playful demeanor subdued. "And prepare yourself. This isn't like processing regular contracts."

The Pool of Styx churned more violently than usual as they approached. The crimson waters didn't just ripple - they thrashed with incoming souls. Too many souls.

"Village fire," Hermes explained grimly. "Whole families. Children."

Safron's mark pulsed painfully as the first wave emerged from the blood-red waters. These weren't the usual single shades, dignified in their passing. These souls clutched at each other - parents still trying to protect children, siblings holding hands, lovers refusing to separate even in death.

"Help sort them," Hermes instructed, his wings beating faster than usual. "They need to be processed properly. Can't let them stay confused like this."

"But I've never..." Safron started.

"You wanted to be part of the House? This is part of it. The real part."

The next hours blurred into a nightmare of bureaucracy and tragedy. Each soul needed documentation, each death required proper classification. Safron's hands shook as he recorded causes of death: smoke inhalation, burning, collapsed structures, trampling during escape attempts...

"Young man, please," a shade of an elderly woman clutched his arm. "My granddaughter... I lost her in the flames..."

"Sir," another shade, barely more than a boy, "my mother was right behind me, she was just..."

The mark on Safron's chest burned as he tried to maintain professional distance. This wasn't a game. These weren't character backstories or dramatic plot points. This was death - real, messy, tragic death.

Hermes worked alongside him, his speed actually useful now as he guided souls, delivered messages, coordinated with Charon. "This is why we exist," he said during a brief pause. "Not for tournaments or entertainment. For this. To give death order. To make it bearable."

Thanatos appeared occasionally, his presence actually comforting to the new arrivals. Even Hypnos's sleeping-related comments seemed gentler than usual.

"The hardest part," Hermes continued as they processed another family group, "is maintaining distance while showing enough care. Too cold, they break. Too involved, you break."

Hours stretched into what felt like days. Safron's mark pulsed with each new arrival, each tragic story, each broken family seeking reunion in death.

When the last soul was finally processed, Safron's hands were shaking so badly he could barely hold his quill.

"You did well," Hermes offered, his wings finally slowing. "Most mortals... well, there's a reason we don't usually let them see this part."

"How do you handle it?" Safron asked quietly. "All this death, all this loss..."

"By remembering our purpose," Hermes replied. "We're not here to make death pleasant. We're here to make it bearable. To give it meaning through order." He paused. "Though sometimes, a bit of entertainment helps. Tournaments and such. Reminds everyone that existence continues, even after."

Safron looked back at the Pool of Styx, still tinged darker than usual. His mark ached with remembered pain.

"Welcome," Hermes said softly, "to the real House of Hades."

In his chamber that night, Safron could still hear the voices of the newly arrived souls. His mark pulsed with each remembered tragedy. The tournament seemed very far away now - a brief light moment in an eternal cycle of death and processing.

This was the truth of his new home. Not just games and divine drama, but the very business of death itself.

When Zagreus found him later, the prince didn't need to ask what was wrong. He just sat quietly, offering warmth against the chill of reality.

Some lessons about the Underworld, it seemed, could only be learned the hard way.

The next few days found Safron reviewing his administrative duties with new eyes. Every contract, every form - they weren't just paperwork anymore. Each document represented someone's final journey, their last story.

He found Hermes in the lounge late one evening, the messenger god unusually still, wings folded.

"You're wondering why I spend so much time here," Hermes said before Safron could ask. "When I could be up on Olympus with all its... festivities."

Safron nodded, his mark pulsing gently in the eternal twilight.

"Olympus," Hermes's usually rapid speech slowed thoughtfully, "is all about celebration of life. Wine, love, war, wisdom - aspects of living. But death..." He gestured at the House around them. "Death needs speed, efficiency, understanding. Someone to guide souls quickly, before they get lost in confusion."

"But it wears on you," Safron observed. "All that death."

"Course it does. Why do you think I joke so much? Why I supported your tournament idea?" Hermes smiled, but it held weight. "Sometimes you need light to balance the dark. Though the dark..." he paused. "The dark is where we're truly needed."

Safron thought about the souls from the village fire, how Hermes had known exactly what to say to each one.

"Besides," Hermes continued, "Olympus can be... exhausting. All that divine drama, everyone trying to be more important than everyone else. Down here?" His wings stretched. "Here we just do what needs doing. No pretense. Death doesn't care about divine politics."

"Is that why you helped me adjust when I first arrived?"

"Partly," Hermes admitted. "Also because you reminded me of myself a bit. Learning to bridge realms, finding your place between divine and mortal understanding." His wings twitched. "Though mostly because you looked so hilariously overwhelmed."

They shared a laugh that felt more genuine for acknowledging the darkness they balanced.

"The mark helps, doesn't it?" Hermes nodded at Safron's chest. "Lets you process things differently than a regular mortal would."

"Sometimes," Safron touched the gently pulsing sigil. "Though lately it feels more like... preparation. Like it's getting me ready for something."

"Probably is," Hermes said cryptically. "Though that's a story for another time. Right now, we have more souls arriving. Ready to help guide them home?"

Safron stood, understanding now that 'home' meant giving death meaning through proper processing. His mark hummed with purpose.

"Though after," Hermes added with a hint of his usual mischief, "perhaps we should organize another tournament. Smaller scale. Just to remind everyone that death isn't the only eternal constant."

Some balances, Safron realized, were best maintained through both darkness and light. Just as some messengers were more than just deliverers of news.

And some marks, perhaps, were preparation for understanding both.

Chapter Text

After the confrontation with the furies, Safron found himself in need of the healing waters of the Phlegethon-heated bath. He didn't expect to find Zagreus already there, divine form gleaming in the steam.

"We seem destined to meet here," the prince smiled, making no move to cover himself. Their earlier kiss had changed something between them, making divine nudity feel less overwhelming and more... intentional.

"I can come back," Safron offered weakly, though his mark pulsed eagerly at the sight.

"Or," Zagreus moved through the water with deliberate grace, "you could join me. Let the water help with those fury marks."

The invitation was clear. With only slight hesitation, Safron shed his clothing and slipped into the bath, trying not to stare too obviously at divine perfection.

"You're still self-conscious," Zagreus observed, moving closer. "Even after everything. Even after that kiss."

"Mortal instincts," Safron managed, though his eyes wandered appreciatively over godly form. "Some habits are hard to break."

"Then perhaps," Zagreus's hands found Safron's shoulders, "we need more practice at breaking them."

Divine hands traced healing patterns across Safron's shoulders, each touch carrying warmth deeper than the bath's heat. His mark pulsed in rhythm with Zagreus's essence as they drew closer.

"You've been watching me since you arrived," Zagreus murmured, fingers trailing lower. "Always trying not to get caught. Always pulling back."

"Can you blame me?" Safron's voice caught as divine touch explored mortal form. "Look at you. Perfect divine proportions..."

"And yet," Zagreus smiled against his neck, "I'm the one who kept finding excuses to walk in on your baths. Your mortal form is... captivating."

Their second kiss held none of the hesitation of the first. Divine fire met mortal passion as steam swirled around them. Zagreus's hands grew bolder, appreciating every inch of what he'd been admiring from afar.

"Beautiful," the prince murmured, and for once Safron didn't feel the need to argue about mortal limitations.

The mark glowed brightly through the steam as they explored this new intimacy, divine and mortal forms learning each other through touch and taste.

Steam made everything dreamlike as divine hands explored mortal form with increasing appreciation. Zagreus's touch lingered particularly on Safron's perfectly mortal posterior, drawing an appreciative sound.

"Your form," the prince murmured between kisses, "drives me to distraction. Why do you think I keep finding reasons to observe you here?"

Safron could barely focus, especially with divine anatomy pressed so intimately against him. The prince's godly endowment lived up to every artistic representation in the House.

"You're staring again," Zagreus smiled against his neck.

"Hard not to," Safron managed, his mark pulsing rapidly as divine hands grew bolder. "You're literally perfect."

"Says the mortal whose form has been driving me mad since he arrived." Zagreus pulled him closer, steam swirling around their joined bodies. "Why do you think Than had to keep rematerializing me away from your chamber?"

Their kisses grew deeper as divine and mortal forms learned each other through touch. The mark glowed brightly enough to illuminate them both through the steam.

The eternal twilight through steam made everything feel surreal as they explored each other. Zagreus's divine member pressed against Safron's perfectly shaped posterior, drawing gasps from both as the prince's hands wandered with increasing boldness.

"You have no idea," Zagreus murmured against his neck, "how many times I've imagined this. Your form haunts my dreams."

"Says the god with perfect anatomy," Safron managed, his mark pulsing in rhythm with their movements. Divine hands gripped his ass possessively as Zagreus pulled him closer.

"Perfect is boring," the prince's voice was rough with desire. "Your mortal form... the way you respond to every touch... that's perfection."

Steam swirled around them as divine and mortal bodies pressed together, learning each other's most intimate places. Safron's mark glowed brightly enough to cast shadows through the mist as their exploration grew more heated.

Some boundaries, it seemed, were meant to be crossed.

Their intimate exploration was suddenly interrupted by the familiar sound of nervous snake hissing.

"Oh gods! Oh no! I'm so sorry! I just- cleaning schedule- I didn't-" Dusa's snakes all covered their eyes simultaneously as cleaning supplies clattered to the floor. "I'll come back! Or never come back! Or just quit entirely!"

Safron tried to disentangle himself from divine embrace, his mark pulsing with mortification, but Zagreus just laughed and held him closer.

"Dusa," the prince called casually, as if they weren't both naked and obviously interrupted mid-passion, "perhaps the baths could wait?"

"Waiting! Yes! Good idea! Excellent suggestion!" Dusa was already retreating, her snakes still adamantly averting their gaze. "Though wait until Than hears- I mean, not that I'm going to tell him! Or anyone! Ever! Though everyone probably will know anyway because I'm babbling and oh gods I'm still here talking..."

Her hasty exit left several cleaning cloths floating in the water.

"Well," Zagreus murmured against Safron's neck, divine hardness still pressed firmly against mortal curves, "that's one way to announce our new... situation."

"The whole House will know within the hour," Safron groaned.

"Good," the prince's hands returned to their previous explorations. "Saves me the trouble of making announcements."

Some interruptions, it seemed, were just part of House life.

Though judging by how quickly Zagreus returned to their previous activities, not all interruptions were entirely effective.

After Dusa's interruption, the heated moment gradually cooled to something more thoughtful. Zagreus's arms remained around Safron, but his touch turned contemplative.

"Than," Safron said quietly, naming the complexity between them.

"Yes," Zagreus sighed, resting his chin on Safron's shoulder. "It's... complicated. I love him, wholly and completely. That hasn't changed."

The mark pulsed with understanding as Safron leaned back into divine warmth. "I would never want it to."

"But this," Zagreus's hands traced gentle patterns on mortal skin, "what's growing between us... it's real too. Different, but real."

"Does it have to be either-or?" Safron asked softly, surprising himself with the boldness.

"No," came Than's voice from the doorway, making them both start. Death Incarnate stood observing, his golden eyes unreadable. "It doesn't."

The temperature in the bath fluctuated between Zagreus's heat and Than's chill as possibilities hung in the steam.

Some complications, perhaps, needed time to find their own unique solutions.

Even if Dusa was probably already accidentally telling the entire House about what she'd witnessed.

Chapter Text

Clothed and somewhat composed, they found themselves in Zagreus's chambers - a neutral ground for an anything-but-neutral discussion. Than's chill balanced Zagreus's warmth while Safron's mark pulsed steadily between them.

"I've known," Than spoke first, his golden eyes intense. "About Zag's growing feelings. About yours. Death sees many things, including hearts in transition."

"I never meant to-" Safron started.

"To fall for him?" Than's smile held surprising warmth. "None of us plan these things. I certainly didn't expect a prince to chase me through eternity."

"You make it sound so one-sided," Zagreus protested, though his hand found Than's naturally. "As if you weren't worth every chase."

"And now," Than continued, other hand gesturing to include Safron, "we find ourselves in an interesting position. A mortal who understands us perhaps better than we understand ourselves, having played through our story countless times."

"Your story," Safron emphasized. "I would never want to change that."

"Perhaps," Than moved closer, his chill making Safron shiver, "it's time for a new chapter. One with more... complexity."

"Complexity?" Safron's mark pulsed rapidly as Than moved even closer, death's chill meeting the lingering warmth from Zagreus's touch.

"You've watched us, played as us, understood us," Than's voice was thoughtful. "Now you're part of us. The mark shows it - how it responds to both our essences."

Indeed, the sigil on Safron's chest pulsed in harmony with both Than's chill and Zagreus's heat. The prince moved to join them, creating a triangle of mortal and divine energy.

"It's not just physical attraction," Zagreus added, his hand finding Than's while his other reached for Safron. "It's understanding. Connection. You know our story because you lived it through that game, but now you're writing your own part in it."

"And what part is that?" Safron asked quietly, acutely aware of being surrounded by divine presence.

"That," Than's golden eyes held something like amusement, "depends on what we all choose to write next. Though watching Zag chase after two of us might be entertaining."

"Hey!" Zagreus protested, but his smile was warm. "I caught you, didn't I?"

"Eventually," Than conceded, then turned back to Safron. "The question is, mortal, are you prepared for what it means to be caught by divinity? Not just one god, but... this complexity we're discussing?"

"I've seen enough divine romances to know the risks," Safron said, his mark pulsing between them. "But I've also seen how you two redefined what was possible. Changed fate's pattern."

"And now you're changing it further," Than observed. "A mortal bearing chaos-touched visions, carrying a mark that responds to both death's chill and life's fire."

Zagreus moved closer, creating a perfect triangle of energy - his warmth, Than's chill, and Safron's mortal essence bridging both.

"It won't be simple," Than continued. "Death and life rarely are. Add mortality to the mix..."

"Nothing about this has been simple," Safron pointed out. "From the moment I arrived here, playing your story turned into living among you. Being part of your story."

"Our story now," Zagreus corrected softly. "Though Than's right - it's complicated. Divine love isn't like mortal love. It's..."

"Eternal," Than finished. "Consuming. Sometimes literally."

"And yet," Safron's mark pulsed steadily, "here we are. Death, Life, and a mortal who played both your parts."

The energy between them shifted, neither fully divine nor purely mortal. Something new, undefined, full of possibility.

"So," Than's golden eyes held both warning and invitation, "shall we see what kind of story we can write together?"

"Though perhaps," Than added with uncharacteristic humor, "we should establish some guidelines before Dusa accidentally announces any more bath-time discoveries to the House."

"Too late," Zagreus grinned. "Hermes just zipped by my window wearing a very interesting expression. I give it about ten minutes before Olympus knows."

Safron groaned, but found himself caught between divine chuckles. The mark pulsed with something like contentment as Than's chill and Zagreus's warmth surrounded him.

"Your father is going to hate this," Safron realized suddenly.

"Father hates most things initially," Zagreus shrugged. "Then mother helps him see reason. Usually. Eventually."

"Death and Life claiming the same mortal," Than mused. "It does rather complicate administrative protocols."

"Because a chaos-marked mortal administrator dating the prince of the underworld was so procedurally sound to begin with?" Safron asked dryly.

"Dating?" Both gods said simultaneously, their tones making Safron's mark pulse rapidly.

"Poor choice of words?" he suggested weakly.

"Mortals," Than sighed, but his cold fingers found Safron's jaw with surprising gentleness. "Always trying to define the indefinable."

"Though 'dating' does have a certain charm," Zagreus added, his warmth pressing from the other side. "Very mortal. Very... official."

The mark between them glowed steadily as three very different essences found their own unique harmony.

"So," Zagreus murmured, his warmth increasing as Than's chill balanced it perfectly. "Shall we make this... official?"

The first kiss was Zagreus - all fire and passion, life's intensity burning through mortal reservations. The mark pulsed brightly in response.

The second was Than - cold as death but somehow just as passionate, stealing breath in the most literal sense. The mark flickered between hot and cold.

Then both gods moved together, creating something entirely new - a kiss that combined death's inevitability with life's passion, divine power with mortal emotion. Safron's mark blazed with unprecedented light as three essences found perfect harmony.

When they finally parted, the eternal twilight seemed different somehow. Like reality itself had shifted to accommodate this new possibility.

"Well," Than said softly, his usual stoic demeanor slightly ruffled. "That was..."

"Worth breaking a few divine protocols for?" Zagreus suggested, his grin bright enough to match Safron's still-glowing mark.

"Worth whatever fury lectures await," Safron agreed.

Chapter Text

The administrative chamber felt particularly cool today, a welcome contrast to the eternal heat of Phlegethon that seemed to seep through every corner of the House. Safron had just finished organizing the latest batch of shade requisition forms when his mark gave a familiar warm pulse - Zagreus was approaching.

"There you are," Zagreus's voice carried its usual warmth as he leaned against the doorframe, his burning feet leaving faint smoky traces on the obsidian floor. "Than mentioned you've been cooped up here since morning."

"Someone has to keep track of all these forms," Safron replied, patting a stack of parchments, though his casual tone couldn't quite hide the way his mark flickered at Zagreus's presence. "But I was actually hoping to catch you. I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Oh?" Zagreus pushed off from the doorframe, moving closer with that fluid grace that still made Safron's heart skip a beat, even after everything that had developed between them. "Administrative or personal?"

"Professional curiosity, actually." Safron straightened in his chair, trying to maintain some semblance of composure despite the way his mark warmed at Zagreus's proximity. "It's about your Titan-feeding duties."

Something flickered across Zagreus's mismatched eyes - surprise, perhaps amusement. "Ah, that. Not the most glamorous part of being Prince of the Underworld, I must admit."

"I know it's a serious responsibility, but..." Safron hesitated, his administrative professionalism warring with his inner game developer's curiosity. "I've always wondered about the logistics. I mean, they're Titans. Do they have... dietary preferences? Is there a feeding schedule?"

Zagreus chuckled, perching himself on the edge of Safron's desk in that casual way that somehow managed to look both princely and rebellious. "You know, you're the first person who's ever actually asked about that. Most just assume it's all dramatic chains and eternal punishment."

"Well, I did spend an embarrassing amount of time theorizing about Underworld logistics before I ended up here," Safron admitted, feeling the familiar flush of being reminded of his former fan status. His mark pulsed with a mix of embarrassment and affection.

"It's actually quite organized," Zagreus leaned closer, his natural heat making the mark on Safron's chest glow faintly. "Want to see for yourself? I'm due for a feeding round, and Father's been saying you should learn more about all aspects of the House's operations."

Safron's eyes widened. "Is that... allowed? I mean, they're Titans."

"You're an official administrator of the House now," Zagreus reminded him, reaching out to trace a finger along Safron's mark, sending a shiver of warmth through it. "Besides, after surviving Alecto and her sisters, I think you can handle seeing a few bound Titans. Though..." his expression grew more serious, "we should probably check with Than first. He tends to get concerned when we venture into the deeper parts of the Underworld without letting him know."

"Wouldn't want another bath incident situation," Safron muttered, earning another laugh from Zagreus.

"No, though that turned out rather well in the end, didn't it?" Zagreus stood, offering his hand. "So, ready for a field trip to see the less-advertised side of Underworld maintenance?"

Safron glanced at his stack of paperwork, then back at Zagreus's extended hand. His mark pulsed with anticipation and just a hint of nervous energy. "Lead the way, Prince of the Underworld. Just... promise me they don't have any allergies I should know about?"

"Don't worry," Zagreus grinned, pulling him up. "Though you might want to bring a clipboard. Something tells me you'll want to take notes."

The descent into the deeper levels of the Underworld was unlike anything Safron had experienced before. Even with his divine sight, the darkness here felt different - older, heavier somehow. Zagreus's burning feet provided most of their illumination, casting dancing shadows on ancient walls that seemed to pulse with their own strange rhythm.

"Most of the Titans are kept in separate chambers," Zagreus explained as they walked, his casual tone at odds with their ominous surroundings. "It's safer that way, prevents them from..." He paused, glancing at Safron with a hint of concern. "Are you alright?"

Safron had stopped dead in his tracks. His mark was behaving strangely - not the usual warm pulse he associated with Zagreus's presence, but something else entirely. It felt like a pull, as if something deep within the darkness was calling to it. The sensation was similar to what he'd experienced in Chaos's realm, but different - more urgent, almost familiar in a way he couldn't explain.

"I..." Safron pressed a hand to his chest, where the pomegranate and laurel wreath sigil was now glowing with an intensity he'd never seen before. "Something's different. It's like the mark is trying to..." He gestured vaguely, struggling to find the words.

Zagreus moved closer, protective instinct evident in his stance. "We're approaching Chronos's chamber," he said quietly, mismatched eyes studying Safron's mark with newfound intensity. "Father keeps him separate from the others. He's... different. Time itself still clings to him, even in his diminished state."

The pull grew stronger as they neared a massive doorway carved with symbols that seemed to shift and change even as Safron tried to focus on them. His divine sight was going haywire, showing him flashes of something he couldn't quite grasp - fragments of future events, perhaps, or echoes of past ones.

"Maybe we should turn back," Zagreus suggested, his hand finding Safron's shoulder. "Than would never forgive me if-"

"No," Safron interrupted, surprising himself with his certainty. "I need to see him. I don't know why, but..." His mark pulsed again, and for a moment he saw something in his mind's eye - a different version of the Underworld, changed somehow, and figures he didn't recognize yet felt he should know.

Zagreus studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Alright. But stay close to me. And if anything feels wrong - anything at all - we leave immediately. Than would literally kill me if anything happened to you, and Father would probably help him hide my shade."

Despite the situation, Safron couldn't help a small smile at that. "Noted."

They approached the doorway together, Zagreus's warmth a reassuring presence at Safron's side. As the door began to open, revealing the ancient chamber beyond, Safron's mark flared with such intensity that its light rivaled Zagreus's burning feet.

And there, in the darkness, something stirred - something that remembered the weight of time itself, and perhaps, recognized the significance of the mark that now burned upon a mortal's chest.

As they stepped into Chronos's chamber, Safron's breath caught in his throat. The mark's intense glow illuminated a scene both familiar and terrifying - one he'd seen before, but only in early game builds and concept art. The fallen Titan was massive even in his bound state, his form shifting between something almost human-like and abstract concepts of time itself.

"Oh gods," Safron whispered, his administrative composure slipping as game knowledge and current reality collided. "It's really him. The one who..." He stopped himself, suddenly very aware of the weight of future knowledge he carried.

Zagreus glanced at him sharply. "The one who what?"

"Nothing," Safron said quickly, though his mark pulsed betrayingly. "Just... game developer excitement getting the better of me." But it wasn't just fan excitement causing his mark to react. There was something else, something that made his divine sight swim with possibilities - futures and pasts overlapping like badly aligned transparency sheets.

Chronos stirred, and Safron felt time itself hesitate around them. The Titan's presence was overwhelming, but what truly shook Safron was how familiar it felt. His mark responded to Chronos's energy in a way that eerily reminded him of certain scenes he'd seen in the Hades 2 builds - scenes he now wondered if he should have paid more attention to.

"He's more active than usual," Zagreus noted, stepping slightly in front of Safron. "Father mentioned he's been... restless lately. Something about the alignment of-"

"Divine forces," Safron finished automatically, then winced. "Sorry, I just... I mean, it makes sense that temporal powers would be affected by..." He trailed off, trying not to reveal too much.

The mark flared again, and suddenly Safron's divine sight showed him something that wasn't there - or perhaps wasn't there yet: a woman with a familiar sigil, standing in this very chamber, wielding power that resonated with his own mark in ways that made his current situation make terrifying sense.

"Melinoë," he breathed, the name slipping out before he could stop it.

The chamber temperature dropped dramatically, and Chronos's form shifted, focusing on Safron with an intensity that made his mark burn. Zagreus's hand found his, radiating protective warmth.

"How do you know that name?" Zagreus asked quietly, but before Safron could formulate a response that wouldn't compromise future events, a familiar cold presence materialized behind them.

"I thought I might find you both here," Thanatos's voice carried its usual calm, but there was an edge to it. "When I felt the temporal disturbances, I..." He paused, taking in the scene - Safron's brilliantly glowing mark, Zagreus's protective stance, and Chronos's unusual attention. "What's happening?"

Safron stood frozen between them, his mark pulsing with the weight of knowledge he couldn't share, yet somehow seemed to be living through. The convergence of past game knowledge and present reality was becoming overwhelming, especially with Chronos's presence stirring something in his mark that felt like destiny itself.

"I think," he said carefully, "that we should probably talk about why exactly I ended up in the House of Hades with this particular mark. Because I'm starting to think it wasn't just random chance."

The mark flared one final time, and in that moment, Safron saw through his divine sight what he'd been trying not to acknowledge - his role in events yet to come, and why a former game developer's knowledge of future divine events might be exactly what the Fates had in mind.

"I think," Safron had just begun, his mark burning bright with dangerous knowledge, "that we should probably talk about why exactly I ended up in the House of Hades with this particular mark. Because I'm starting to think-"

Reality fractured.

The chamber filled with shifting geometric patterns that made even divine sight struggle to comprehend. The familiar presence of Chaos manifested, their voice resonating through multiple layers of existence at once.

"HALT, MORTAL ADMINISTRATOR." The words seemed to bend time itself. "SOME TRUTHS ARE LIKE RIVERS - THEY MUST FLOW IN THEIR PROPER COURSE."

Chronos stirred at Chaos's appearance, the temporal energies in the chamber becoming almost unbearable. Safron's mark pulsed in response, but the burning need to speak what he knew subsided under Chaos's influence.

"Master Chaos," Zagreus stepped forward, still keeping his protective stance near Safron. "We didn't expect-"

"FEW EXPECT THE CONVERGENCE OF TIME AND NECESSITY," Chaos responded, their form shifting in impossible ways. "YET HERE WE STAND, AT A MOMENT WHERE SILENCE SERVES FATE BETTER THAN REVELATION."

Thanatos's grip on his scythe tightened slightly. "The temporal disturbances... they're not just from Chronos, are they?"

"PERCEPTIVE, SON OF NYX." Chaos's attention seemed to focus on Safron's mark. "THE CURRENTS OF TIME ARE SHIFTING. BUT SOME WATERS MUST REMAIN UNDISTURBED UNTIL THEIR SEASON COMES."

The mark's glow subsided gradually under Chaos's gaze, though the pull toward Chronos remained. Safron understood the warning - some knowledge wasn't meant to be shared, even if he could feel its weight pressing against his chest.

"We should return," Thanatos said quietly, extending his hand to both Safron and Zagreus. "Mother Nyx will want to know about this."

As they prepared to leave, Chronos shifted one final time, and Safron's mark flared briefly - a reminder that some destinies, once set in motion, couldn't be stopped, only properly timed.

The trip back through Thanatos's portal was unusually silent. Even Zagreus, typically quick with a quip, seemed lost in thought. They materialized in Nyx's familiar chamber, where the Night herself was already waiting, her dark form outlined by countless stars.

"Children," she greeted them, her eternal eyes fixing particularly on Safron's still-faintly-glowing mark. "Chaos has informed me of what transpired."

"Mother," Thanatos began, but Nyx raised a graceful hand.

"The currents of fate run deep," she said, her voice carrying the weight of ancient knowledge. "And some threads must remain unknotted until their time comes to be woven."

Safron unconsciously touched his mark, which had finally begun to settle. "But what I saw... what I felt down there..."

"Is both truth and possibility," Nyx completed. "The mark you bear carries significance beyond current understanding. Even I see only fragments of its purpose." She moved closer, her presence cooling the lingering heat from Chronos's chamber. "But know this - your arrival in the House was no accident, though its full meaning must unfold in its proper time."

"Like a game narrative," Zagreus muttered, then looked slightly embarrassed when everyone turned to him. "What? I've played enough of them to know how pacing works."

Despite the gravity of the situation, Safron felt a smile tugging at his lips. Leave it to Zag to break tension with an accidentally perfect analogy. His mark pulsed warmly in response.

"Speaking of games," Thanatos interjected, his golden eyes studying Safron carefully, "perhaps we should focus on more immediate matters. Like explaining to Lord Hades why we were in Chronos's chamber to begin with?"

"Ah," Zagreus winced. "Right. That."

"I'll handle the report," Safron offered, administrative instincts kicking in. "It was my curiosity that-"

"Was natural for one in your position," Nyx interrupted smoothly. "I will speak with Lord Hades. For now, I suggest you rest. The mark's reaction to Chronos has likely drained you more than you realize."

As if on cue, Safron felt exhaustion sweep over him. The mark's intense activity had taken its toll. Both Zagreus and Thanatos moved closer, their contrasting temperatures a familiar comfort.

"Come on," Zagreus said softly. "You look like you could use a break from both administrative and cosmic duties."

"Try not to unravel any more temporal mysteries for at least a few hours," Thanatos added, his usual dry tone carrying a hint of affection.

As they led him from Nyx's chamber, Safron caught one last glimpse of the Night Mother. For a moment, he thought he saw something in her expression - a knowledge of things to come, perhaps, or understanding of what his mark's reaction truly meant. But like so many things in the House of Hades, that too would have to remain a mystery.

At least for now.

Chapter Text

The training grounds were quiet this time of cycle, with only the distant sounds of shades sparring to break the silence. Safron found Megaera there, methodically cleaning her whip - a task he'd learned meant she was in a contemplative mood.

"Administrator," she acknowledged his presence without looking up. "If you're looking for Zagreus, he's off bothering his father about something."

"Actually," Safron said, his mark giving a subtle pulse as he approached, "I was looking for you. I had a question about... older histories."

That got her attention. Her golden eyes fixed on him with that piercing gaze that still made him slightly nervous, even after all this time. "Older histories?"

"Uranus," Safron said carefully, watching her reaction. "I know the mortal versions of the story, but given recent events..." His mark pulsed briefly, remembering Chronos's chamber. "I wondered if there might be more to it."

Megaera was quiet for a long moment, her whip forgotten in her hands. "Interesting," she finally said. "Of all the ancient histories to ask about, you choose that one. Why?"

"Professional curiosity?" Safron offered, then sighed at her skeptical look. "Fine. After what happened with Chronos, I've been thinking about the older powers. The ones that came before. And Uranus... well, he was the beginning of a lot of things, wasn't he?"

"More than mortals know," Megaera confirmed, setting her whip aside. "Though I'm surprised you're asking me and not Nyx about this."

"You're more likely to give me the unvarnished truth," Safron pointed out. "No cryptic warnings or destiny talks."

That earned him a small smile. "True enough. Very well, administrator. What do you want to know?"

Safron settled onto one of the stone benches, his mark giving a curious pulse. "The fall of Uranus - was it really as... straightforward as the stories say? Just Cronus and the adamantine sickle?"

Megaera's wings shifted slightly as she considered her response. "No divine fall is ever straightforward, administrator. Uranus was... different from what mortals imagine. Not just sky, but potential itself. Every possibility that could exist, suspended above reality."

She began pacing, her steps precise and measured. "When Cronus struck, he didn't just separate sky from earth. He separated what could be from what was. That's why Time itself - Chronos - became so important afterward. Without endless possibility hanging overhead, things needed order. Sequence."

Safron's mark flickered with interest. "Is that why-" he stopped himself, remembering Chaos's warning about speaking of future things.

"Why what?" Meg asked sharply.

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Just thinking about how it connects to other things. Please, continue."

Meg gave him a suspicious look but proceeded. "The pieces of Uranus that fell... they didn't all just become what your stories tell of. Some fragments of that infinite potential still exist, seeking to rejoin with what was. It's why certain places in the Underworld feel... different. Places where possibility bleeds through."

His mark pulsed warmly, remembering the strange sensations in Chronos's chamber. "Like where time feels fluid?"

"Exactly," Meg nodded. "Though I notice you're taking more interest in these ancient matters lately. Any particular reason?"

The mark flickered nervously. "Just trying to understand more about the House and its histories. Proper administrative knowledge and all that."

"Hmm," Meg's golden eyes studied him carefully. "You know, Alecto may be cruel, but she's not entirely wrong about one thing - mortals getting too deeply involved with divine matters can be dangerous."

"Are you worried about me, Meg?" Safron asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm worried about maintaining order," she corrected, though her tone held less edge than it once would have. "The House has enough chaos without-"

She stopped abruptly, both of them remembering who might be listening when that particular word was used.

"Can I ask you something more personal?" Safron ventured carefully, knowing how the fury could react to such questions. "About your own connection to all this?"

Megaera's wings twitched slightly - a tell Safron had learned to recognize as discomfort. "You mean my lineage."

"Yes. Being essentially Uranus's daughter... that's quite a legacy to carry. Do you ever think about it?"

"Legacy," Meg repeated the word with a hint of bitterness. "You know what's ironic, administrator? We - the Furies - we're born from his last moment of existence. From violence and endings came those who would punish violence and enforce endings."

She picked up her whip again, running it through her fingers in what Safron recognized as a self-soothing gesture. "As for how I feel about it... I prefer to focus on what I am now, not what created me. The House gave me purpose beyond mere vengeance."

Safron's mark pulsed gently, sensing the weight behind her words. After a moment's hesitation, he asked, "And your brother? I've noticed he's never around the House..."

"Erinyes," Meg's voice turned sharp, then softened slightly at Safron's startled expression. "My brother, as you call him - he chose a different path. Not all children of divine violence wish to serve order. Some prefer to embody the chaos of their creation."

She stood, wings spreading slightly. "We don't speak of him. Not here. Some family matters are better left in darkness, administrator. I'm sure you can understand that."

The finality in her tone made it clear that particular line of questioning was closed. His mark's worried pulse suggested it was probably for the best.

Chapter Text

Safron was organizing his latest batch of administrative scrolls when a shower of blue petals drifted onto his desk, followed by an exasperated sigh.

"You wouldn't believe what Dionysus just tried to convince me to do," Anthius announced, dropping into the chair across from Safron's desk. The flowers floating above his head were cycling between amused blue and embarrassed pink. "Apparently, there's this new wine festival idea he's planning..."

Before he could finish, a familiar whoosh of divine speed filled the chamber, and Hermes materialized, hovering cross-legged in the air beside them.

"Speaking of festivals, my professional associates," Hermes grinned, speaking at his usual rapid pace, "I just delivered the most interesting invitation from Sisyphus. Apparently, he's planning another underground gathering, and this time he's promising Eurydice will perform. Even convinced Bouldy to be the centerpiece."

"How does a boulder become a centerpiece?" Anthius asked, his flowers shifting to a curious yellow.

"Very carefully, I'd imagine," Safron replied dryly, his mark giving an amused pulse. "Though I'm more concerned about how you two always seem to show up exactly when I'm trying to get work done."

"Mate, if we waited for you to not be working, we'd never see you," Hermes pointed out, zipping around to peek at Safron's scrolls. "Besides, after that whole business with Chronos the other day, you could use some friendly distraction."

Anthius's flowers immediately shifted to a concerned deep purple. "I heard about that. Are you okay? Than mentioned something about temporal disturbances..."

"I'm fine," Safron assured them, though his mark flickered slightly at the memory. "Just... learning more about the House's deeper mysteries."

"Well then," Hermes clapped his hands together, moving too fast to track, "all the more reason for a break. What do you say, professional associates? Shall we engage in some non-administrative activities?"

"The last time you suggested 'non-administrative activities,' we ended up racing chariots through Asphodel," Safron pointed out, though he was already stacking his scrolls neatly to the side. "And I distinctly remember Thanatos being very... concerned."

"Oh please," Hermes waved dismissively, still zipping around the room. "Than's always concerned. It's his default state. Besides, those shades needed the entertainment. You should have seen how they perked up when Anthius's petals started leaving rainbow trails behind the chariot."

Anthius's current petals turned a sheepish orange. "I still maintain that was an accident. My emotions got a bit... excited."

"Speaking of excited," Hermes paused mid-air, a mischievous glint in his eyes that Safron had learned to be wary of, "I may have borrowed something interesting from Lord Dionysus's private collection. Just a small amphora of his special reserve..."

"The one that made Apollo recite poetry in reverse for three days straight?" Anthius asked, his flowers sparking with interest-purple and caution-yellow.

"The very same, professional associate!" Hermes beamed. "And I know just the perfect spot to sample it - that hidden alcove near Elysium where the rivers meet. The one with the view of the eternal sunset?"

Safron's mark gave a warning pulse. "I don't know... After what happened with Chronos, maybe we should stay closer to the House..."

"Mate," Hermes landed finally, placing a warm hand on Safron's shoulder, "speaking as someone who's been running messages between divine realms since the dawn of time - sometimes you need to stop thinking about the big cosmic mysteries and just enjoy some quality time with friends. Even if said friends include a speed-obsessed god and a man who accessorizes with emotional flowers."

"Hey!" Anthius protested, though his petals were shifting to a happy rose-gold color.

Safron looked between them - Hermes with his eternal grin and Anthius with his telling petals - and felt his mark warm with affection. These two had been there through everything: the card tournament chaos, the fury sister confrontations, even that awkward period when he was figuring out things with Zag and Than. Maybe a little break from House duties was exactly what he needed.

"Fine," he conceded, standing up. "But if Than shows up looking disapproving..."

"We'll tell him it was all my idea," Hermes promised cheerfully. "Which it is! Now, who's ready for some divine-grade relaxation?"

"Should I be worried that your flowers just turned the color of trouble?" Safron asked Anthius as they followed Hermes out.

"Probably," Anthius grinned, now trailing a mix of excitement-gold and mischief-purple petals. "But isn't that half the fun?"

The alcove near Elysium was as beautiful as Hermes promised. The convergence of rivers created an ethereal ambiance, their waters casting shifting lights that played through Anthius's falling petals. Safron sat with his back against smooth stone, his mark providing a gentle glow as Hermes poured the stolen divine wine.

"You know," Safron started, watching as Anthius's petals shifted through lazy, content colors, "I've been meaning to ask - how are you finding it here now? Being more... involved in House life? Before, it was mostly just you and Dionysus, but lately..."

Anthius's petals shifted to a thoughtful blue-violet. "It's different. Good different. Though..." A few pink petals fell as he glanced away. "Sometimes I still feel like I'm intruding. Like I'm just the mortal Dionysus used to fancy."

"Used to?" Hermes raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of wine. "Those sunset-orange petals you sprouted when he showed up at the tournament suggested otherwise."

"Speaking of romantic entanglements," Safron interjected, feeling bold from the divine wine and comfortable in the presence of his closest friends, "I've always wondered something about you, Hermes..."

"Oh?" The god of speed grinned, hovering cross-legged above the ground. "Do tell, professional associate."

"Well..." Safron's mark pulsed with amused embarrassment. "Given your whole speed thing... are you, um, always fast at... everything?"

Anthius nearly choked on his wine, his petals exploding into shocked pink and entertained orange.

Hermes's laugh echoed through the alcove. "Wouldn't you like to know! Though I'll have you know, mate, that speed is all about control. Sometimes fast..." he zipped from one side of the alcove to the other, "sometimes slow..." he demonstrated by moving in exaggerated slow motion, "it's all about knowing your audience, if you catch my meaning."

"Oh gods," Safron buried his face in his hands, his mark glowing with embarrassment. "I can't believe I actually asked that."

"Please," Hermes waved dismissively. "After walking in on you with Zag and Than in the baths that time, I'd say we're well past propriety. Speaking of which, have they figured out the temperature balance thing yet? I imagine death's chill and eternal flame make for interesting..."

"Moving on!" Safron interrupted hastily, while Anthius's petals cycled through every shade of amused there was. "Really, really moving on."

"Fine, fine," Hermes conceded, though his grin suggested this wouldn't be the last time he brought it up. "But seriously, professional associates, it's good to see you both finding your places here. Even if one of you leaves flower trails everywhere and the other has a glowing chest tattoo that occasionally predicts the future."

"Speaking of that," Anthius leaned forward, his petals settling into a curious lavender, "what exactly happened with Chronos? Than mentioned something about temporal disturbances..."

Safron's mark pulsed at the memory. "That's... complicated. And probably best discussed when we're not drinking stolen divine wine that might make us speak in reverse for three days."

"Fair enough," Hermes raised his cup. "A toast then - to complicated divine matters, mortal administrators, emotional flowers, and friendship that transcends all three!"

"To friendship," Safron agreed, his mark glowing warmly as they clinked their cups together, Anthius's happiness-gold petals showering them all.

Chapter Text

The Phlegethon-heated baths were particularly welcoming after a long day of administrative duties. Steam rose in lazy curls around them as Safron settled into the water, his mark giving a contented glow at both the warmth and Zagreus's presence.

"Move over," Zagreus said, sliding in beside him with his usual grace. "Your ass is taking up my favorite spot."

"Your favorite spot is wherever I'm sitting?" Safron raised an eyebrow, though he shifted to make room. His mark pulsed warmly as Zagreus settled next to him, the prince's natural heat making the already warm water nearly hot.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, until Safron's curiosity got the better of him. "Can I ask you something I've always wondered about?"

"Hmm?" Zagreus was watching his own feet, which continued to burn even underwater, creating small steam bubbles.

"Your feet - they're literally made of fire. So why do they hurt in Asphodel? Shouldn't you be immune to the lava?"

Zagreus laughed, the sound echoing off the bath chamber walls. "You know, Mother asked the same thing once. It's... complicated. My flames are divine fire - life and rebellion burning eternally. Asphodel's magma is death made molten. Different nature entirely."

"And the shades?" Safron pressed, turning slightly to face him, their shoulders brushing. "Why do they keep fighting you? After all this time, they must know you'll just keep coming back."

"Ah, that." Zagreus's expression turned thoughtful, his mismatched eyes reflecting in the water. "It's their purpose now. Even in death, warriors need something to fight for. Father understood that when he set up the security protocols. It gives them meaning, you see? Even if they know they can't win."

"Like a game where both sides know the ending but play anyway," Safron mused, then caught himself. "Sorry, I sometimes still think in those terms..."

"No, that's actually a good way to put it," Zagreus shifted closer, his heat making Safron's mark pulse stronger. "Though speaking of games, we never did finish our last match of that card game you created..."

"Because someone got distracted," Safron reminded him, very aware of their proximity.

"I remember you being equally distracted," Zagreus grinned, moving to face him properly. "In fact..."

A cold breeze suddenly swept through the chamber.

"Starting without me?" Thanatos's voice carried its usual dry tone, though there was warmth beneath it.

"Never," Zagreus smiled, moving to make space between them. "Just keeping the water warm for you."

Safron's mark pulsed contentedly as Than joined them, its glow reflecting off the steam-filled air. Some questions, he decided, could wait for another time.

Than's natural chill created an interesting temperature gradient in the water, making Safron's mark pulse with the now-familiar sensation of being caught between heat and cold.

"You're thinking too loud," Than observed, his golden eyes catching the mark's glow.

"Just enjoying the contrast," Safron replied, then grinned. "Though I'm still trying to figure out how Death Incarnate enjoys baths. Isn't it a bit... living for your taste?"

"Says the mortal administrator bathing with divine entities," Than countered, though his lips curved slightly.

"He's got you there, mate," Zagreus laughed, shifting to drape an arm around Safron's shoulders. "Though speaking of divine entities, you never did tell us what father said about those new shade processing protocols you proposed."

"Ah, that." Safron leaned back, caught between Zag's warmth and Than's cool presence. "He actually approved them, though he did mutter something about 'innovative mortal perspectives' in that tone of his."

"The one that sounds like he's trying not to admit he's impressed?" Zagreus asked, his burning feet creating more steam bubbles as he stretched them out.

"That's the one." Safron's mark pulsed with amusement. "Though I still think we need to adjust the Elysium warrior registration system. The shades keep challenging me to duels when I'm just trying to do inventory."

"They're not used to an administrator who can actually see them properly," Than pointed out, moving closer so his shoulder pressed against Safron's. "Divine sight makes you more... real to them."

"Real enough to get challenged to combat, not real enough to convince them I'm just trying to count spears," Safron sighed, though he was thoroughly enjoying being sandwiched between death and rebellion incarnate.

"Always did like watching you do inventory," Zagreus mused, his hand trailing down Safron's back underwater. "The way you get all focused, marking things off your lists..."

"Zag," Than's voice carried a warning tone, though his own hand had found Safron's knee. "We agreed no distracting him during administrative hours."

"Technically," Safron's mark pulsed brighter as both touches sent contrasting sensations through him, "my shift ended two hours ago."

"Well in that case..." Zagreus began, but was interrupted by a familiar voice echoing from the bath chamber entrance.

"Boss? Lord Hades is asking about those inventory reports and- OH GODS NOT AGAIN!"

Dusa's mortified squeak was followed by the rapid sound of her retreating through the wall.

"We really need to put up a 'do not disturb' sign," Safron muttered, his mark glowing with embarrassment while both Than and Zag dissolved into laughter.

Chapter Text

The lounge was unusually quiet when Anthius entered, trailing soft lilac petals behind him. Only Dionysus's corner boasted its usual energy, where Orpheus was sampling the god's latest vintage with unusually animated gestures.

"Mate, I'm telling you, the mortals up there? They're coming up with these fascinating new ways to enjoy my gifts. They're calling them 'cocktails' now! Absolutely incredible stuff."

"Your eternal enthusiasm for mortal innovation never ceases to inspire, Lord Dionysus," Orpheus replied, his melancholic tone at odds with how quickly he reached for another drink.

Anthius's petals shifted to an interested rose-gold, but before he could approach, a familiar rush of wind announced Hermes's arrival.

"Professional associates! You won't believe what our dear administrator has gotten himself into this time," Hermes grinned, hovering cross-legged above an empty chair. "Seems Lord Hades caught him in quite the compromising situation with the young Prince and Than."

"Again?" Dionysus laughed, his violet aura rippling. "Man, those three are really keeping things interesting down here! Almost makes me miss the old days with... ah..." He trailed off, glancing at Anthius, whose petals had suddenly turned a telling shade of sunset-orange.

"Now now," Hermes intervened smoothly, moving at his characteristic speed. "No awkward moments in the lounge - house policy! Speaking of policies, who's up for a little excursion? I heard Sisyphus is taking a break, and Bouldy's been awfully chatty lately."

"Chatty?" Anthius's petals shifted to confused blue. "It's a boulder."

"My dear professional associate, you of all people should know appearances can be deceiving! Besides, any friend of our administrator is worth visiting, wouldn't you say?"

"That boulder gives surprisingly good advice," Dionysus chimed in, swirling his wine. "Though not as good as my vintage! Speaking of which, Anthius, you simply must try this new blend. Mortals are doing fascinating things with grapes these days!"

Anthius's petals shifted between interested-gold and cautious-purple. "The last time I tried one of your new blends, I woke up in Elysium wearing nothing but flower petals."

"And you looked absolutely fantastic, mate! The eternal champions still talk about your impromptu dance performance."

"I believe," Hermes interjected, zipping between them, "Theseus called it 'a display worthy of the gods themselves!' Though his tone suggested he wasn't entirely sure if that was a compliment."

"If we're visiting Sisyphus," Anthius said quickly, his petals now a mortified pink, "perhaps we should bring something? It seems rude to just drop in."

"Already handled, professional associate!" Hermes produced a small amphora from somewhere. "A little something from my personal collection. Not as strong as our dear D's concoctions, but it should make conversation with Bouldy more... interesting."

"You mean comprehensible," Dionysus grinned. "Though I still say my stuff makes the boulder downright philosophical! Remember that time Safron had some and spent three hours getting life advice from it?"

"And actually solved his Than-Zag situation afterward," Hermes pointed out. "Maybe Bouldy knows something we don't!"

"Or maybe," Anthius suggested, his petals now an amused orange, "divine wine just makes talking to rocks seem perfectly reasonable."

"Only one way to find out!" Dionysus stood, his aura rippling with excitement. "What do you say, friends? Shall we pay our stony philosopher a visit?"

"Actually," Dionysus swirled his wine thoughtfully, his purple aura dimming slightly, "I've been meaning to catch our dear administrator for a proper chat. Funny how we keep missing each other, considering I'm down here more often lately. Something about Father Zeus wanting 'better understanding of mortal integration' or whatever."

"Your father does seem unusually interested in our administrator's role," Hermes noted, his usual rapid movement slowing just a fraction. "Can't imagine why!"

Anthius's petals shifted to a knowing violet. "You mean besides Safron being the first mortal administrator who can actually see divine paperwork and hasn't gone mad from looking at it?"

"Speaking of going mad," Dionysus grinned, "remember when he first arrived? Poor mate nearly lost it when he realized who we all were. Kept muttering something about 'game mechanics'.Would've been a perfect moment for some quality D time, if Father hadn't insisted on all those official protocols."

"...And then there was that whole business with the Furies," Hermes added, zipping around the wine crater. "And the tournament. And the Chronos incident. And the bath situations..."

"Man's got a busy social calendar, I'll give him that!" Dionysus laughed. "Though I still need to properly thank him for including my best boons in that card game of his. Really captured their essence, you know? Plus," he glanced at Anthius with a softer expression, "it's nice seeing how he's helped others find their place here too."

Anthius's petals turned a complex swirl of sunset-orange and grateful-gold. "He does have a way of making the House feel more... welcoming."

"Tell you what," Hermes proposed, already moving toward the door at his characteristic speed, "why don't we grab him after he's done with those inventory reports? Lord Hades can't keep him busy forever, and I happen to know Than's got soul-collecting duties in Macedonia this evening..."

"And Zagreus is due for another escape attempt," Dionysus added cheerfully. "Perfect timing for some quality bonding! Maybe we can finally tell him about that time in Olympus when Zeus tried to..."

"Perhaps," Hermes interrupted quickly, "some stories are best saved for after a few rounds with Bouldy?"

"Professional associates!" Safron's voice interrupted their plotting, his mark giving a surprised pulse at finding the unusual gathering. His eyes took in Dionysus's typical state of undress - the god lounging in his nearly transparent chiton that left little to the imagination, his divine form radiating that characteristic mix of chaos and allure that made most mortals lose their minds.

"Administrator! We were just talking about you," Hermes announced, zipping around excitedly.

"Finally escaped the paperwork, mate?" Dionysus stretched languidly, his ever-present impressive divine endowments making Safron's administrator-trained eyes politely seek a more professional focal point. "You know, I've been meaning to ask - that game knowledge of yours... ever come across those fascinating theories about Zagreus and me being the same person?"

"Actually," Safron's mark pulsed with scholarly interest, momentarily overriding his attempt to maintain professional composure, "there are several ancient texts that suggest you and Zag were originally one deity. The twice-born god, emerging from..." He caught himself, remembering his audience. "Though obviously that's not the case here."

"Obviously," Dionysus grinned, adjusting his barely-there chiton as he shifted position. "Though it would explain a few things, wouldn't it? The whole rebirth cycle, the effect on mortals... speaking of effects on mortals, how ARE you handling all this divine exposure? Still keeping your sanity mostly intact?"

"Mostly," Safron agreed, his mark flickering as he continued his valiant effort to maintain eye contact. "Though some aspects of divine life remain... challenging to adjust to."

"He means the casual nudity," Anthius supplied helpfully, his petals a knowing shade of amused-orange.

"Among other things," Safron muttered, while Dionysus's booming laugh filled the lounge.

"You mortals and your modesty!" Dionysus shifted again, causing his chiton to ride up even further. "Though I must say, you're handling it better than most. Remember when Anthius first arrived? Couldn't look at anyone for a week!"

"That's because you greeted me wearing nothing but grape vines," Anthius retorted, his petals cycling between embarrassed pink and fond orange.

"And you loved it," Dionysus winked, causing the petals to settle firmly on orange.

"Speaking of handling things," Hermes interjected, moving at his usual swift pace, "we were just planning a little excursion to visit Sisyphus and Bouldy. Care to join us, administrator? Unless you're expected back in certain chambers..." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Safron's mark pulsed with consideration. "Actually, Zag's attempting another escape, Than's on duty, and Lord Hades is occupied with a particularly complex shade situation involving a philosopher who won't stop arguing about the nature of death..."

"Perfect timing then!" Dionysus stood, his divine presence filling the room as his chiton somehow managed to cover even less. "Nothing like a little divine communion to brighten up your evening. Plus," his grin turned mischievous, "I've been dying to hear your thoughts on some of those other myths about me. The ones involving Zagreus's mother..."

"Let's not," Safron said quickly, his mark flickering with diplomatic caution. "Some mythological discussions are best left for... less official settings."

"Spoilsport," Dionysus pouted, though his eyes sparkled. "Though I suppose you're right. Wouldn't want to complicate your current... arrangements. Speaking of arrangements," he glanced meaningfully at the way his chiton was now barely maintaining any pretense of coverage, "think I should put on something more formal for our visit to Bouldy?"

"Please do," Anthius muttered, though his petals suggested he wasn't entirely sincere about the request.

"Actually," Safron found himself saying, his mark betraying his attempt at casual professionalism with a warm pulse, "the current look suits you. Divine aesthetics and all that."

"Oh?" Dionysus's grin widened, his aura rippling with pleased energy. "Finally getting comfortable with our godly ways, are we? And here I thought you only had eyes for death and rebellion!"

"I can appreciate divine beauty while maintaining professional boundaries," Safron replied diplomatically, though his mark's glow suggested otherwise. "Consider it... artistic admiration."

"Artistic admiration!" Hermes zipped around them, laughing. "Is that what we're calling it now? Wait until I tell Than you've been 'artistically admiring' other gods!"

"I think," Anthius interjected, his petals a knowing mix of amused-orange and mischievous-purple, "what our dear administrator means is that some divine sights are worth appreciating, even if you're not planning to... interact with them."

"Interact!" Dionysus threw his head back in laughter, causing his chiton to shift precariously. "Is that what happened in those baths I keep hearing about? Just some casual interaction?"

"And on that note," Safron said quickly, his mark now practically radiating embarrassment, "perhaps we should head to Sisyphus? Before any more... interaction-related topics arise?"

"Oh, mate," Dionysus winked, "topics aren't the only things rising around here!"

"Lord Dionysus!" Anthius's petals exploded into scandalized pink, though there was definitely some appreciative orange mixed in.

"What? Just stating divine facts!" Dionysus grinned,\ads "Besides, our dear administrator here clearly appreciates some godly candor. Don't you, mate?"

"I appreciate many things about the House," Safron managed, his mark pulsing traitorously bright. "The... openness of divine culture being one of them."

"Openness!" Hermes zipped around with a laugh. "Is that what we're calling it? Speaking of open, remember when Adonis first arrived? Now there's someone who really embraced divine culture!"

"At least he embraced something," Anthius muttered, his petals shifting to a scandalized but amused mix of colors. "Unlike some gods who seem allergic to proper clothing..."

"Hey now," Dionysus protested playfully, draping himself back onto the couch in a pose that made his chiton essentially decorative at this point. "I'm wearing more than Adonis usually does! Besides," he fixed Safron with a knowing look, "I don't hear any complaints about the view. Unless those mark pulses mean something else?"

"The mark responds to all divine energy," Safron said quickly, trying to maintain some semblance of professional dignity while very determinedly keeping his eyes at a respectful level. "It's a natural reaction to..."

"To what, exactly?" Dionysus's grin widened impossibly further. "Divine presence? Godly gifts? My particularly impressive-"

"BOULDY!" Hermes interrupted, moving at perhaps his fastest speed yet. "Weren't we going to visit Bouldy? Right now? Immediately?"

"Yes!" Safron seized the escape opportunity, his mark practically glowing with relief. "Sisyphus must be wondering where we are!"

"Fine, fine, but this conversation isn't over, dear administrator. We still have so much to... discuss."

"The surface myths about you are quite fascinating," Safron offered, attempting to steer things toward safer scholarly territory.

"Oh, mate," Dionysus winked as they headed out, "wait until you hear the ones that didn't make it into mortal records. Though perhaps we should save those for after a few drinks with Bouldy..."

The walk to Sisyphus's chamber was punctuated by Dionysus's increasingly suggestive commentary about various myths, each one making Anthius's petals shift through more vibrant shades of scandalized entertainment.

"And that's not even mentioning the real story about the thyrsus," Dionysus continued, walking with a deliberate sway that made his chiton flutter dangerously. "The mortals got that one completely wrong. You see, what really happened was-"

"Lord Dionysus!" A familiar voice echoed through the corridor. "Man, I was just thinking about- oh." Zagreus stopped short, taking in the scene - particularly Dionysus's state of undress and Safron's glowing mark. "Am I interrupting something?"

"Just sharing some historical insights with your administrator," Dionysus grinned. "Speaking of which, remember those myths about us being the same person? Your Safron here knows all about those, don't you mate?"

"I thought you were attempting an escape?" Safron asked quickly, his mark pulsing with a mix of embarrassment and affection at Zagreus's appearance.

"Was, but Father's in one of his moods. Something about philosophers questioning the fundamental nature of death. Thought I'd wait it out." Zagreus's mismatched eyes narrowed slightly at Dionysus's pose. "Though I see you're being... entertained."

"Professionally," Safron assured him quickly. "We're actually on our way to visit Sisyphus and Bouldy."

"All of you?" Zagreus raised an eyebrow. "Should I be concerned about what sort of advice Bouldy might give under Dionysus's influence?"

"Hey now," Dionysus protested, "that boulder gives excellent counsel! Remember that time it helped Safron figure out his feelings about you and Than?"

"That was private!" Safron's mark flared brightly.

"Nothing's private in the House," Hermes zipped around them all. "Especially not after that bath incident! Speaking of which..."

"We're not speaking of which," Safron interrupted firmly. "We're going to have a nice, normal visit with a perfectly reasonable boulder."

"Normal?" Zagreus grinned. "With this group? Should I come along just to ensure things don't get too... interesting?"

"The more the merrier!" Dionysus beamed, casually slinging an arm around Zagreus. "Though speaking of interesting, ever notice how we share certain... divine attributes? Must be that whole 'same deity' thing the mortals believed."

Zagreus glanced down, then quickly back up. "I see you're still allergic to proper clothing."

"Like you're one to talk about proper," Hermes interjected, zipping between them. "Or should we discuss what happened in the administrative chambers last week?"

"That was different," Zagreus protested while Safron's mark pulsed with the memory. "We were... reviewing documentation."

"Is that what we're calling it now?" Anthius's petals shifted to a knowing orange. "Must have been some very engaging paperwork."

"The most engaging, though I must say, our dear administrator seems quite engaged by various divine aspects today."

"I'm professionally observant," Safron defended, though his mark's bright pulse betrayed him.

"Oh? And what professional observations have you made?" Zagreus asked, a hint of possessive heat in his tone that made Safron's mark glow even brighter.

"Merely noting the... diverse manifestations of divine power," Safron managed diplomatically.

"Diverse manifestations!" Hermes burst into laughter. "Is that what the mortals are calling it these days? Must make those administrative reports very interesting!"

"Speaking of interesting," Dionysus grinned, "wait until you hear what your administrator thinks about divine aesthetics. Quite the appreciative eye, our Safron has..."

"Than's going to love hearing about this," Zagreus said, though his tone suggested amusement rather than concern.

"Can we please just go see Bouldy?" Safron pleaded, his mark now practically radiating embarrassment.

"Lead the way!" Dionysus gestured grandly.

Finally reaching Sisyphus's chamber, they found both he and Bouldy exactly where expected - though Sisyphus's eyebrows shot up at their unusual group.

"Your Highness! And... quite the divine company you're bringing today," Sisyphus grinned, eyes darting between Dionysus's barely-covered form and Safron's glowing mark. "Bouldy and I were just discussing the nature of divine appreciation, weren't we, Bouldy?"

The boulder sat in eloquent silence.

"You know," Zagreus settled next to Safron, radiating that protective heat, "I'm starting to think this visit might lead to some interesting administrative reports."

"Bold of you to assume this is going in any official documentation," Safron muttered, his mark pulsing as Dionysus stretched languorously.

"Oh? Keeping secrets from Lord Hades?" Hermes zipped around them all. "How delightfully unprofessional!"

"Speaking of unprofessional," Anthius's petals swirled with mischief, "remember when Dionysus first visited the administrative chambers?"

"We agreed never to mention that incident," Safron said quickly, while his mark betrayed his recollection with a bright pulse.

"Incident?" Zagreus's eyebrows rose. "What incident?"

"Nothing worth retelling," Safron insisted, though Dionysus was already grinning widely.

"Oh mate, it was beautiful! There I was, providing some divine inspiration to the paperwork process..."

"You were sprawled across my desk wearing grape vines!"

"Exactly! Inspiring!"

Bouldy sat in what seemed to be highly amused silence.

After Dionysus finally departed (called away by some "urgent festivities" on the surface), the atmosphere shifted to something more relaxed, though Safron's mark was still pulsing from all the earlier divine exposure.

"Your boulder seems chattier than usual today," Hermes observed, hovering cross-legged near Bouldy.

"Must be the company," Sisyphus chuckled. "Bouldy's always had a soft spot for our administrator here. Says he's good for the House's energy."

"Did Bouldy actually say that, or are you just making things up again?" Zagreus asked, still sitting close enough to Safron that his natural heat kept the mark glowing.

"I'd never put words in Bouldy's mouth! ...Mostly because Bouldy doesn't have one."

"I still can't believe I once spent three hours getting life advice from a rock," Safron mused, remembering that particularly strange evening.

"To be fair," Anthius's petals shifted to a thoughtful blue, "it was really good advice. Even if you were absolutely plastered on divine wine at the time."

"At least I didn't end up dancing through Elysium in nothing but flower petals."

"That happened ONE time!"

"Tell that to Theseus. He's still composing odes about it."

"Really bad odes," Zagreus added helpfully. "Though not as bad as the ones Hypnos writes about Than's work ethic."

Bouldy sat there in what could only be described as judgmental silence.

"See?" Sisyphus gestured proudly. "Bouldy gets it!"

"Gets what exactly?" Safron's mark pulsed with amusement.

"That some things in the House are better left undocumented. Speaking of which, how ARE those bath incident reports coming along?"

"Don't you start," Safron groaned while everyone else dissolved into laughter.

Even Bouldy seemed to be silently chuckling.

Chapter Text

"Oh gosh, um, Administrator? I don't mean to interrupt but there's this really stubborn stain in the West Hall and Lord Hades suggested - well, not suggested exactly, more like strongly implied - that maybe we should do a thorough cleaning of all the administrative areas and..."

"Dusa," Safron's mark pulsed with fond amusement at her nervous rambling. "Breathe. Or whatever the equivalent is for a floating gorgon head."

"Right! Yes! Breathing! Or... you know." She bobbed anxiously in the air. "It's just, there's so much to do, and the dust gets everywhere, and have you seen the state of the scrolls in the corner? Not that I'm criticizing your organizational system! It's just..."

"Would you like some help?" Safron offered, already standing. His mark gave an amused pulse at how Dusa's eyes widened.

"Oh no, no, no! I couldn't ask the Administrator to clean! That's not... I mean... what would Lord Hades say?"

"He'd probably say 'At least someone is maintaining proper order in this House' in that tone of his."

"That was a surprisingly good impression," Dusa giggled, then caught herself. "But really, you don't have to..."

"Dusa," Safron picked up a cleaning cloth. "After all the times you've saved me from administrative chaos, letting me help with actual chaos seems fair. Besides," his mark flickered with mischief, "you can tell me all about what Meg's been up to lately..."

"Dusa," Safron picked up a cleaning cloth, his mark pulsing with fondness.

"Oh! Oh no, you really shouldn't-- I mean, you're the Administrator and I couldn't possibly-- but those scrolls are getting really dusty and-- oh gosh, am I suggesting you're not keeping things clean? I didn't mean--"

"Dusa," Safron interrupted gently. "It's fine. I could use a break from paperwork anyway."

"Well... if you're sure? Not that I'm doubting your decision! It's just-- oh! Your mark is glowing through the dust particles! Not that I was staring! I just noticed because--"

"Because you're thorough in your observations," Safron smiled, already starting to organize the scattered scrolls. "It's one of your best qualities."

"Oh! That's-- thank you! Though speaking of thorough, have you seen the cobwebs in the corner? Not that I'm criticizing! It's just that the shades have been complaining about-- oh gosh, should I not mention the shade complaints? Is that confidential administrative information?"

His mark pulsed with amusement as they fell into a comfortable rhythm of cleaning and Dusa's endearingly nervous chatter. "So... how's Meg been lately?"

"Oh! She's been-- I mean, I wouldn't know-- well, maybe I noticed she's been spending more time in the lounge, not that I was watching or anything!"

"The lounge, hm?" Safron's mark flickered with interest as he carefully dusted a shelf of administrative records.

"Yes! I mean-- not that I'm keeping track! But sometimes when I'm cleaning there-- oh! Speaking of cleaning, is that wine stain from when Lord Dionysus visited your office? Not that I'm implying anything inappropriate! It's just that he wasn't wearing much-- oh gods, I shouldn't have mentioned that!"

Safron's mark pulsed with embarrassed amusement at the memory. "Let's... focus on these cobwebs instead."

"Right! Yes! Cobwebs! Much safer topic-- oh! Did you see that shade trying to read your paperwork through the window? Should I shoo them away? Not that I'm trying to tell you how to manage your office! It's just--"

"It's probably one of the philosophers again," Safron sighed, reaching for a higher shelf. "They're very interested in administrative procedures lately. Though after that incident with Plato and the filing system..."

"Oh gosh, don't remind me! There were scrolls everywhere! Not that it was your fault! Or Lord Hades'! Or anyone's really! Though maybe if we had more shelves-- not that I'm suggesting your organization system isn't perfect! It's just--"

His mark suddenly pulsed with warning. "Dusa, watch out for that--"

"EEEK!"

A cascade of scrolls tumbled down, causing Dusa to zip around in panicked circles. "Oh no oh no oh no! I'm so sorry! I'll fix it! Not that it needs fixing because of me! But I'll help-- unless you don't want my help! Which would be totally understandable after I caused such a mess! Oh gosh oh gosh--"

"It's fine, Dusa," Safron started gathering the fallen scrolls, his mark providing helpful illumination. "Actually, I've been meaning to reorganize these anyway."

"Oh! I could help with that! I mean-- if you want help! Not that you need it! You're so organized already with your color-coding system and-- oh gosh, was that supposed to be a secret? I just noticed because sometimes when I'm cleaning I see how you arrange things! Not that I'm snooping! I would never--"

A familiar voice interrupted Dusa's spiral. "What happened here?"

"Lady Megaera!" Dusa nearly dropped the scrolls she'd managed to collect. "We were just cleaning! Not that the office was dirty! And then I knocked over some scrolls! But the Administrator said it's okay! Not that I'm speaking for him! Oh gosh--"

Meg's lips twitched slightly. "I see."

"We're doing some organizational maintenance," Safron explained diplomatically, his mark pulsing with amusement at Dusa's continued flustered bobbing.

"Oh yes! Maintenance! Very important! Though maybe I should go check on the lounge-- not that I'm trying to avoid responsibility! It's just--"

"Dusa," Meg's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Why don't you help the Administrator finish here first?"

"Really? I mean-- yes! Of course! If that's okay? Not that you need to stay and supervise! Unless you want to! Not that I'm suggesting you should! Oh gosh--"

Safron's mark flickered with suppressed laughter as he watched Meg's carefully neutral expression crack into the smallest of smiles.

"Perhaps I will," Meg said, leaning against the doorframe. "Someone should make sure you two don't reorganize the entire House filing system."

"That was ONE time!" Dusa protested, then immediately backtracked. "Not that it was anyone's fault! The new system made perfect sense! Even if Lord Hades did get a bit... confused. Oh no, should I not have mentioned that?"

"Speaking of Lord Hades," Meg noted, watching as they sorted scrolls, "he seemed rather... amused by your latest bath incident report, Administrator."

Safron's mark flared with embarrassment while Dusa let out a small "eep!"

"Oh gosh, the baths! I'm so sorry about walking in that time! Not that I saw anything! Well, I did, but I didn't mean to! And Than was being very professional about it! Even if Zagreus wasn't wearing-- oh no, I shouldn't talk about that! Not that there's anything wrong with-- I mean-- maybe I should clean the ceiling?"

"The ceiling?" Safron raised an eyebrow.

"Yes! It's very... ceiling-like! And probably dusty! Not that I'm criticizing your vertical cleaning habits! Oh gosh, that sounded wrong--"

"Dusa," Meg interrupted, though her tone held unmistakable fondness, "perhaps we should focus on the scrolls currently on the floor?"

"Right! Yes! Floor scrolls! Much safer topic! Though speaking of safe topics, did you hear about Hypnos's new filing system for death reports? Not that I was eavesdropping! I just happened to be cleaning near his desk when-- oh! Should I not mention that I clean near his desk? Is that confidential? Not that I look at the reports! Well, maybe just the titles, but--"

Safron's mark pulsed with warm amusement as he watched Meg's carefully maintained stern expression soften almost imperceptibly at Dusa's rambling. The three of them fell into a surprisingly comfortable rhythm - Dusa chattering nervously about everything and nothing, Meg offering dry commentary, and Safron's mark providing helpful illumination as they slowly restored order to the chamber.

"Oh!" Dusa suddenly zipped higher. "Is that Zagreus's personal file? Not that I was looking! It just fell open and-- oh gosh, are those bath incident reports? Should I pretend I didn't see that? Not that there's anything to see! Well, there was that one time, but--"

"Dusa," both Safron and Meg said simultaneously, though their tones carried more affection than rebuke.

Chapter Text

The sound of Orpheus's lyre drifted through the House, more melancholic than usual. Safron found the musician in his usual spot, but something was different about his posture today.

"These tales," Orpheus sighed when he noticed Safron's approach, his mark giving its usual gentle pulse at the musician's presence. "They become distorted with time. Changed. The truth of moments lost in simple retellings."

"Your story?" Safron asked carefully, knowing how delicate the subject could be.

"Among others. I've been thinking... perhaps there are better ways to share these tales. To show their truth, not merely tell them." Orpheus's fingers stilled on the lyre strings. "In the surface world, they once performed great festivals of theater to honor the gods and share their stories."

Before Safron could respond, a new presence filled the chamber - not overwhelming like the major Olympians, but carrying a distinct creative energy that made his mark tingle curiously.

"Did someone say theater?" The voice belonged to a figure Safron had never seen before, radiating a minor divine aura and wearing what appeared to be both a comic and tragic mask as accessories. "Oh, don't mind me! I always appear when someone's cooking up interesting performance ideas. Thalia's the name, theatrical inspiration's the game!"

"You're... one of the Muses?" Safron's mark pulsed with recognition of divine energy, though clearly a lesser one.

"The fun one!" Thalia grinned, her presence bringing an unusual lightness to Orpheus's corner. "And I must say, the Underworld is due for some proper theatrical entertainment. All these wonderful stories just waiting to be performed..."

Orpheus's expression shifted with interest. "Perhaps... perhaps there is merit in showing these tales as they truly were. With proper music, of course."

"Of course!" Thalia agreed enthusiastically. "And speaking of proper performances..." her eyes fixed on Safron with an unsettling gleam of inspiration, "that mark of yours could create some fascinating stage effects..."

Safron's mark pulsed with sudden alarm. "Oh no. No, I'm an administrator. I organize things, I don't perform them."

"But darling, that's exactly what makes you perfect for it! Besides," Thalia's grin widened, "I hear you're quite familiar with how stories can be told in different ways. Something about... games?"

Safron had a sinking feeling that administrative duties weren't going to be enough to get him out of this one.

Thalia moved with a dancer's grace, her form shifting between aspects as she circled them - sometimes appearing with the exaggerated smile of comedy, other times with hints of dramatic flair. Unlike the major Olympians' overwhelming presence, her divine aura manifested in more subtle ways: the way shadows seemed to arrange themselves like an audience around her, how her voice carried perfect theatrical projection without ever seeming to shout, and the way her masks - both worn and decorative - caught light that wasn't there.

"The thing about theater," she continued, her chiton somehow managing to create dramatic flows even without wind, "is that it needs both truth and performance. Reality and illusion." She paused, eyeing Safron's mark thoughtfully. "Rather like a certain administrator who bridges mortal and divine..."

"I really don't think-" Safron began.

"That's the spirit!" Thalia clapped her hands, the sound echoing with perfect acoustics. "Doubt and reluctance - perfect emotional foundation for performance!"

"Lady Thalia," Orpheus interjected, his usual melancholy lifted by growing interest, "perhaps if we were to tell a story that needs to be properly understood..." He glanced meaningfully at Eurydice's empty spot.

"Oh!" Thalia's eyes lit up with divine inspiration, one of her masks briefly glowing. "Your story! But not as it's usually told... no, no, we need all the perspectives. The Underworld's view. The truth behind the legend."

Safron's mark pulsed with sudden understanding. "You want to perform Orpheus and Eurydice's story... here? In the House?"

"With some proper artistic direction, of course," Thalia gestured, and suddenly the chamber seemed to reshape itself into a rough stage space. "We'll need a cast... someone to play Orpheus, someone for Eurydice... oh! And a Hermes!"

The way she looked at Safron made his mark flare with alarm.

"After all," she continued, her smile growing theatrical, "who better to play the divine messenger than someone who already manages communications between realms?"

"But I'm not a performer," Safron protested weakly.

"Darling," Thalia's masks caught that nonexistent light again, "everyone's a performer. Some of us just haven't found our stage yet."

Orpheus was already plucking new notes on his lyre, the melody carrying both familiar tragedy and something new. "Perhaps... perhaps this is how the story should be told. Not just my journey, but everyone's part in it."

"Exactly!" Thalia spun, her movement creating perfect stage pictures without effort. "Now, we'll need more cast members. Someone who understands the transition between art and life for Eurydice... oh! And of course, the first actor ever to play Orpheus! Time to send some messages..."

Safron's mark pulsed with resignation as he watched the Muse of Comedy begin to orchestrate what was clearly going to be either a masterpiece or a disaster. Possibly both.

Word spread through the House with supernatural speed (though whether that was Thalia's theatrical influence or just the usual underworld gossip network was unclear). Eurydice arrived first, drawn by the sound of Orpheus's newly inspired music.

"So," she said, taking in the scene - particularly Thalia's enthusiastic gesturing as she described potential staging ideas, "we're putting on a show about... us?"

"About all of us," Thalia spun to face her, masks shifting to express multiple emotions at once. "The love, the loss, the journey - but from the Underworld's perspective! The parts of the story mortals never see!"

"And who exactly," Eurydice raised an eyebrow, "is going to play me?"

"Ah!" Thalia's eyes sparkled with divine mischief. "That's where it gets interesting. GALATEA, darling! You can come in!"

A figure stepped through the doorway - moving with the careful grace of someone still learning how flesh works after being marble. Safron's mark pulsed in recognition; he'd seen her at the card tournament but hadn't known her story.

"A statue brought to life," his mark flickered as understanding dawned, "to play someone who..."

"Who moved between life and death," Eurydice finished softly. "Clever casting."

"I... I'm still learning how to move naturally," Galatea admitted, her formerly marble features expressing uncertainty in fascinating ways. "Everything is still so... fluid."

"Perfect!" Thalia declared. "That's exactly what we need - someone who understands the transformation inherently! And you'll have the real Eurydice to guide you!"

Safron's mark gave a warning pulse just before another presence filled the room - this one carrying the weight of ancient tradition.

"I hear," came a new voice, rich with theatrical history, "that the House of Hades is mounting a performance."

Thespis stood in the doorway, carrying himself with the dignity of someone who had invented an entire art form. "Though I admit, I didn't expect my return to the stage to be quite so... posthumous."

Thalia's masks briefly glowed with delight. "The first actor himself! Oh, this is perfect - you simply must play Orpheus!"

The real Orpheus looked up from his lyre. "I... would be honored to have you tell my part of the story."

"Though perhaps," Eurydice added with a slight smile, "with fewer tragic poses than classical tradition demands?"

"My poses," Thespis declared with mock offense, "were considered the height of dramatic art!"

Safron's mark pulsed with growing anxiety as he watched the room fill with more potential cast and crew - Anthius arriving with his emotion-reflecting flowers already shifting through theatrical colors, Arachne eyeing everyone with costume-designing calculation...

"Now then," Thalia turned back to Safron with that unsettling gleam of inspiration, "about your role as Hermes..."

"I still haven't agreed to-"

"DARLING!" A familiar rush of wind announced the actual Hermes's arrival. "I heard someone's playing me in a show? This I simply have to see!"

Safron's mark flared with resignation. Somehow, he had a feeling administrative duties weren't going to be an acceptable excuse to escape this particular divine production.

Chapter Text

The House lounge had been temporarily converted into what Thalia called a "rehearsal space," though to Safron it looked more like organized chaos. His mark pulsed anxiously as he watched the growing cast assemble.

"Now then!" Thalia stood atop a table, her masks catching ethereal light as she addressed the gathered group. "Before we assign all the supporting roles, let's see what our leads can do! Thespis, darling, show us your Orpheus!"

Thespis stepped forward with classical dramatic flair, every movement precisely calculated in the ancient style. "O cruel Fates, that tear my love from life's sweet light-"

"Perhaps," the real Orpheus interrupted gently from his corner, "with less... gesturing?"

"Less gesturing?" Thespis looked scandalized. "But how will the back rows know what emotions I'm conveying?"

"We're not performing in an amphitheater," Galatea offered quietly, her formerly marble features capturing a surprisingly natural look of amusement. She'd been practicing movement with Eurydice all morning, each gesture becoming more fluid.

"Speaking of performing," Hermes zipped around Safron, "let's see your take on me! Remember - quick wit, quick feet, quick everything!"

"I really don't think-" Safron started.

"Perfect hesitation!" Thalia clapped. "Very messenger-like, that uncertainty before delivering potentially world-changing news!"

Near the back, *Nerites was demonstrating his water effects to an increasingly nervous-looking Icarus. "The Styx scenes need proper atmosphere," Nerites insisted, his movements carrying echoes of ocean currents.

"Yes, but maybe with less actual water?" Icarus suggested, eyeing the growing puddle around his feet. "Some of us have had bad experiences with falling from heights AND getting wet."

Anthius's flowers were shifting rapidly between amused-orange and anxious-purple as he watched it all unfold. "At least my special effects can't actually flood the stage," he muttered to Safron.

"Don't give Thalia ideas," Safron whispered back, his mark pulsing in rhythm with the chaos around them. "She already wants to know if your flowers can change color on specific dramatic cues..."

"Darling!" Thalia swooped down on them, her masks somehow expressing both delight and directorial seriousness. "Less whispering, more practicing! Now, show me how Hermes would deliver the news about Eurydice's fate!"

"I, uh," Safron's mark pulsed nervously as everyone turned to watch. "Lord Orpheus, I regret to inform you-"

"No, no, NO!" The actual Hermes zipped over. "You're going too slow! It needs to be quick but meaningful! Watch me!" He demonstrated, speaking at his characteristic rapid pace: "Lord-Orpheus-terrible-news-I'm-afraid-but-don't-worry-I-have-a-solution-also-did-you-hear-about-that-thing-in-Thessaly?"

"How do you even breathe?" Safron asked, his mark flickering with bewilderment.

"Breathing's optional when you're delivering divine messages, professional associate!"

Meanwhile, Galatea was attempting to capture Eurydice's movements under the real Eurydice's guidance, her formerly marble limbs moving with increasing grace.

"Like this?" she asked, attempting a particular gesture.

"Almost," Eurydice demonstrated again. "Think less 'statue coming to life' and more 'shade returning to form.'"

"Speaking of forms," Arachne called from her corner where she was aggressively measuring everyone with enchanted thread, "would someone please tell Thespis that no, we cannot add seventeen layers of classical drapery to his costume? Some of us are trying to create a coherent visual aesthetic here!"

"But the gravitas!" Thespis protested. "How can I properly emote without proper robes?"

"The same way the rest of us do," Nerites commented dryly, still practicing his water effects. "With actual emotions."

"Says the one turning our rehearsal space into a swimming pool," Icarus muttered, now perched on a high shelf to avoid the spreading puddle.

Anthius's flowers had settled into an amused orange-pink swirl as he watched it all unfold. "At least nobody's asked me to make my petals rain dramatically yet- oh no." His expression fell as Thalia turned toward him with that familiar gleam of inspiration.

"Actually, darling, about those falling petals..."

Safron's mark pulsed with sympathy. They were definitely in for an interesting rehearsal period.

Chapter Text

"So," Safron asked during a brief break, his mark pulsing curiously as he watched Nerites practice his role. "You're playing the River Styx?"

"Among other things," Nerites replied, his movements carrying that distinctive fluid grace. "All the water elements, really. The rivers, the tears, the boundaries between realms..." He demonstrated, his gestures creating subtle ripples in the air. "Being a former sea deity helps, even if I am just a shade now."

"It's beautiful," Safron admitted, his mark responding to the ethereal effects.

"When he's not flooding the rehearsal space," Icarus called down from his perch in the rafters, where he was rigging something with ropes and pulleys. As a shade who died falling, he'd been given the somewhat ironic role of managing the "ascending from the Underworld" scenes.

"Says the one who keeps dropping sandbags during dramatic moments," Nerites shot back, though there was humor in his tone.

"That was one time!"

"Three times, actually," Safron corrected, reviewing his notes. His administrator habits had him keeping track of all rehearsal incidents, much to Thalia's amusement. "Though the last one did add some unexpected drama to Orpheus's lament scene..."

"See? I'm contributing to the artistic vision!" Icarus grinned, then yelped as one of his ropes slipped.

"Speaking of artistic vision," Hermes zipped over, moving at his usual impossible speed, "how's the message delivery coming along, professional associate? Remember - quick but clear, swift but meaningful!"

Safron's mark pulsed with effort as he attempted again: "Lord-Orpheus-I-bring-news-of-your-beloved-"

"Better!" Hermes encouraged. "Though maybe with less mark-glowing? Unless that's part of the special effects?"

"The mark does what it wants," Safron sighed, watching it pulse in rhythm with his attempts at speed-talking.

From across the room, they could hear Thespis and the real Orpheus still debating performance styles:

"But the classical hand gesture for 'overwhelming grief' has always been-"

"With all due respect," Orpheus interrupted gently, "I lived this story. Perhaps fewer gestures, more genuine feeling?"

Nearby, Galatea was working with Eurydice on a particularly emotional scene, her formerly marble features capturing more nuanced expressions each day. "Like this?" she asked, demonstrating a look of longing that seemed to draw from her own experience of transformation.

"Perfect," Eurydice nodded. "Use what you know about wanting to be fully alive..."

"Safron!" Thalia's voice carried perfect theatrical projection. "Let's work on your big scene with Galatea - the moment Hermes first encounters Eurydice's shade!"

His mark pulsed nervously as he took his position. Galatea moved to face him, her movements now carrying that ethereal quality she'd developed - somewhere between statue and shade, perfectly suited for the role.

"Remember," Hermes coached from the sidelines, "this is a delicate moment! You're greeting someone who's just realized they're dead!"

"No pressure," Safron muttered, his mark flickering.

"Actually," Galatea said softly, staying in character, "that uncertainty in your mark... it works. It's how I felt, coming to life from marble. That moment of 'am I really here?'"

Safron hadn't thought of it that way. His mark pulsed with understanding as he began: "Welcome, shade of Eurydice... to the House of the ever-living..."

"Better!" Thalia called out. "Still needs to be faster, but the emotion is right! Nerites, give us some subtle river effects for atmosphere!"

A gentle ripple of energy moved through the air around them, carrying the essence of the Styx without actually getting anyone wet this time.

"See?" Nerites smiled. "I can do subtle."

"When you're not recreating the great flood," Icarus commented from above, still working with his ropes. "Though speaking of effects, wait until you see what I've planned for the ascension scene! Just need to adjust these pulleys..."

"Should we be worried?" Safron whispered to Anthius, who was watching the ceiling nervously.

"Your mark's already answering that question," Anthius replied, his flowers shifting to concerned-purple as they watched Icarus wobble on his perch.

From her corner, Arachne called out without looking up from her sewing: "If anyone damages these costumes with water effects or falling equipment, they'll find themselves wearing nothing but spiderwebs for the performance."

"That might actually suit some scenes," Thalia mused thoughtfully.

"No!" several voices chorused at once.

Safron's mark pulsed with resigned amusement. At least administrative work had prepared him for managing chaos - though perhaps not quite this theatrical a version of it.

"Again!" Thalia called out, her masks gleaming. "From Hermes's entrance! And this time, Safron darling, try to channel some of that administrative efficiency into your delivery!"

"Right," Safron took his position again, trying to find the balance between Hermes's speed and his own natural tendency to organize thoughts carefully. His mark began to pulse in a steady rhythm, almost like a metronome...

"Well, well," a familiar voice drew everyone's attention. "The rumors about an administrative performance were true."

Zagreus stood in the doorway, his burning feet leaving faint marks on the floor. Than materialized beside him a moment later, his golden eyes taking in the scene with careful consideration.

"Prince!" Thalia brightened. "Come to watch our rehearsal? We're just working on the scene where- oh! Actually..." Her masks shifted with new inspiration. "Perhaps you'd both like to contribute? After all, who better to advise on Underworld authenticity than death himself and the Prince who keeps escaping it?"

Safron's mark pulsed with mild panic. "I'm not sure that's-"

"Actually," Than interrupted, a slight smile playing at his lips, "I'd be very interested in seeing how you portray divine messengers, considering recent... experiences."

"The bath incident was not my fault," Safron muttered, his mark betraying him with an embarrassed glow.

"Oh?" Zagreus grinned, settling in to watch. "Do tell us more about these messenger scenes..."

From above, Icarus called down: "Less flirting, more rehearsing! Some of us are trying to create art here!" A moment later: "...though if anyone asks, I never dared speak to the Prince that way."

"Noted," Zagreus laughed. "Though I must say, mate, your rigging looks a bit unstable. Maybe ask Dusa for help? She's good with heights."

"Oh! Um, yes! I could help!" Dusa's voice came from somewhere near the ceiling, where she'd apparently been watching. "Not that I was spying! I was just cleaning the rafters and happened to notice the rehearsal and- oh gosh, should I not have mentioned that?"

Nerites took advantage of the distraction to demonstrate his latest water effect, which might have been impressive if it hadn't accidentally splashed Than.

Death Incarnate stood there dripping, his expression unreadable.

"...I'll just go practice by the Styx, shall I?" Nerites backed away slowly.

"Probably wise," Than agreed dryly.

Safron's mark pulsed with growing amusement as he watched Zagreus try very hard not to laugh at his partner's predicament.

"You know," Thalia mused, her masks shifting thoughtfully, "that actually gives me an idea for the river crossing scene..."

"No," Than stated firmly.

"But the dramatic potential-"

"No."

Anthius's flowers had settled into thoroughly entertained orange, dropping petals that mixed with the puddles from Nerites's effects. "At least someone else is getting soaked for a change."

"I heard that," Than turned his golden gaze to the flower-crowned shade. "Perhaps you'd like to demonstrate your special effects for the death scenes?"

"I'll just... go help Arachne with costumes," Anthius decided quickly, his petals shifting to nervous-purple.

Through it all, Galatea remained perfectly in character as Eurydice's shade, prompting Thalia to declare: "See? That's the kind of focus we need! Though perhaps with fewer divine domestic disputes in the background..."

Chapter Text

"This is a disaster," Arachne declared, holding up what remained of Thespis's costume. "Absolute disaster."

The shredded chiton hung limply in her hands, still smoking slightly from where it had caught fire during the latest rehearsal - a unfortunate combination of Zagreus stopping by to watch (and standing too close), Icarus's rigging system failing (again), and Nerites's attempt to help with water effects (which mainly succeeded in creating steam).

"I can fix it!" The former spider-queen's fingers were already moving with inhuman speed, weaving threads of darkness and light. "But if anyone - ANYONE - brings fire, water, or falling objects near my costumes again..."

"To be fair," Safron's mark pulsed diplomatically as he helped gather scattered costume pieces, "nobody expected Zagreus to get quite so invested in the death scene demonstration."

"He said, and I quote, 'I'm something of an expert at dying dramatically,'" Thespis added, still looking mournfully at his ruined classical drapery. "Though perhaps he could have demonstrated without the actual flames..."

"At least your costume only caught fire," Galatea commented, examining her own outfit which was somehow both soaked and singed. "I'm still not sure how that happened."

"Physics," Nerites shrugged, "gets strange when divine elements mix. Speaking of which..." He eyed the ceiling nervously where Icarus was installing yet another pulley system.

"This time it'll work perfectly!" Icarus called down. "I've calculated everything!"

"That's what you said last time," Anthius reminded him, his flowers shifting to skeptical-purple. "Right before the sandbag incident."

"That was a deliberate artistic choice!"

"Was it also an artistic choice when you got tangled in your own ropes?" Galatea asked innocently, her formerly marble features capturing a perfect expression of naive inquiry.

"I was demonstrating the binding power of fate!" Icarus protested. "Very thematically appropriate!"

Safron's mark pulsed with warning just before a new voice joined the chaos.

"What," Lord Hades himself rumbled from the doorway, "exactly, is happening to my House?"

"Lord Hades!" Thalia swept forward, her masks somehow managing to look both respectful and dramatically confident. "We're simply mounting a small theatrical production! A cultural endeavor to enrich the Underworld's artistic-"

"My administrative chamber," Hades interrupted, "is covered in flower petals. The West Hall is flooded. There are rope systems in my rafters. And my Administrator appears to be..." he paused, taking in Safron's current state - wrapped in measuring threads while Arachne muttered about proper hemlines, "...participating."

Safron's mark pulsed with nervous energy. "My Lord, I can explain-"

"Please do," Hades's tone was dry as the Asphodel. "Explain why the House of the Dead is becoming a theater troupe."

"Well," Safron began diplomatically, years of administrative experience kicking in, "we're exploring alternative methods of historical documentation through performative-"

"It was my idea!" Orpheus stepped forward, surprising everyone with his directness. "To tell our story... properly. All of it. The parts about the House, about how everything worked together..."

"Including my role as gracious host to wandering musicians?" Hades raised an eyebrow.

"Actually," Safron found himself saying, his mark pulsing with sudden inspiration, "your role is quite significant in the production. The stern but ultimately understanding ruler who-"

"Who what, exactly?"

"Who recognizes the power of both divine law and mortal love?" Galatea offered softly, her newly-practiced expressions capturing perfect diplomatic hopefulness.

There was a long moment of silence, broken only by the sound of Icarus accidentally dropping another sandbag somewhere above.

"I see," Hades finally said, his expression unreadable. "And who, might I ask, is playing my role in this... cultural endeavor?"

Everyone froze. In all the chaos of casting, somehow they'd overlooked...

"Actually," Thalia's masks shifted to her most persuasive expression, "we've been seeking someone with the proper... gravitas for the role."

"Have you now?" Hades's tone suggested he knew exactly where this was going.

Safron's mark pulsed with either warning or encouragement - he wasn't quite sure which - as he watched Thalia prepare what would either be the most brilliant or most disastrous casting suggestion in theatrical history.

"We will cast someone suitable to represent my role from a respectful distance," Hades stated with finality. "I do not perform. I govern."

"Of course, my Lord," Safron's mark pulsed with relief at this return to proper divine order. "We wouldn't presume..."

"Good." Hades surveyed the chaos around him. "Though I do expect this... production to maintain appropriate dignity. The House of Hades is not a common amphitheater."

"Absolutely, Lord Hades!" Thalia's masks shifted to their most respectful aspect. "We're keeping everything tasteful and dignified..."

At that exact moment, Anthius's flowers released a shower of petals in response to his nervousness, while Nerites's water effects created a subtle mist that made the falling petals look rather like colorful rain.

"...mostly dignified," Thalia amended.

"I see." Hades turned to leave, then paused. "Administrator?"

"Yes, my Lord?"

"Do ensure that all... theatrical documentation is properly filed. For archival purposes."

"Of course, my Lord." Safron's mark pulsed with understanding - Hades might not participate, but he was, in his own way, acknowledging the importance of how stories are told and remembered.

After Hades departed, everyone let out a collective breath.

"Well then," Thalia brightened, "about casting someone to portray our illustrious Lord of the House..."

"Someone dignified," Safron suggested quickly.

"Someone with presence," Galatea added.

"Someone who won't accidentally flood the stage," Nerites muttered.

"I heard that," came the response from several voices at once.

Arachne, who had been suspiciously quiet during the entire exchange, finally looked up from her weaving. "If anyone suggests spiderweb decorations for the throne, I'm leaving."

"Perhaps," Thespis suggested, his classical training evident in his pose, "we should focus on suggesting Lord Hades's presence rather than directly portraying him. Shadows, voice, the weight of authority..."

"That... actually makes sense," Safron's mark pulsed thoughtfully. "More respectful too."

"The House itself could represent him," Galatea offered, her sculptor's understanding of form and space adding weight to her words. "The architecture, the atmosphere..."

"Yes!" Thalia's masks gleamed with inspiration. "Nerites, darling, could you create effects that suggest divine authority without actually manifesting it?"

"Like this?" Nerites demonstrated, his movements creating a subtle play of shadow and mist that somehow carried the weight of underworld authority without trying to capture its essence.

"Perfect!" Thalia clapped. "Anthius, your flowers could add to the effect - darker colors, more somber tones when we need to suggest the Lord's presence..."

Anthius's petals shifted to a deep, regal purple in demonstration. "Like this?"

"Exactly! And Safron, darling, your mark seems to respond naturally to divine energy - we could use that in scenes where Hermes encounters the House's authority..."

"My mark isn't a special effect," Safron protested, though it was currently pulsing in perfect rhythm with the atmospheric elements Nerites and Anthius were creating.

"Everything's a special effect in theater," Arachne commented dryly, her fingers never stopping their intricate weaving. "Though if anyone suggests I create an actual throne of webs..."

"No more prop suggestions from me," Icarus raised his hands in surrender, though his eyes still held that familiar gleam of someone planning something spectacular. "Just working on the ascension scene rigging. Very respectfully."

"Speaking of respect," Eurydice joined in from where she'd been observing, "I think this approach works better. The story isn't really about Lord Hades himself - it's about how all of us, the House itself, played our parts."

"In that case," Safron suggested, his administrative mind finding structure in the chaos, "maybe we should focus on how each character interacts with the House's authority rather than trying to personify it?"

His mark pulsed with satisfaction as he watched the others consider this approach - one that would tell their story while maintaining proper respect for divine hierarchy. Sometimes the best solutions came from working within proper boundaries rather than trying to cross them.

Chapter Text

The House had never felt quite like this before. Shades filled every available space in the makeshift theater area, their ethereal forms creating an audience that stretched back into shadows. Even the usually bustling administrative chambers were quiet - everyone, it seemed, had come to watch.

Safron's mark pulsed rapidly as he peered through a gap in the curtains Arachne had woven (definitely not from spider silk, despite her continued suggestions).

"Is that... is that Alecto in the audience?" he whispered, his mark flickering with alarm.

"Wonderful," Safron muttered. "No pressure."

"Lord Hades and Lady Persephone are here too," Galatea added, her formerly marble features now perfectly capturing pre-performance anxiety. "In the royal viewing area."

"Which I specifically designed to suggest authority without direct representation," Nerites reminded everyone, his water effects creating a subtle atmospheric boundary around the divine seating.

Anthius's flowers were cycling through nervous colors so quickly they were starting to look like a rainbow waterfall. "At least Than and Zagreus promised to sit in the back. Less chance of accidental fire or death-related incidents..."

"Places!" Thalia's voice carried both divine command and theatrical excitement. "Remember - we're not just telling a story, we're showing the truth of it. The House's perspective on love, death, and transformation..."

"And proper administrative procedures," Hermes zipped past with a wink at Safron.

"That too," Thalia agreed. "Now then... Orpheus, music ready?"

The real Orpheus nodded from his musician's alcove, while Thespis took his position as the performed version, for once not striking an overly dramatic pose.

"Nerites, atmospheric effects in place?"

"Rivers ready to flow, mist prepared to swirl, not a drop will touch Arachne's costumes."

"Icarus, rigging secure?"

"Triple-checked everything. The ascension scene will be perfect."

"Anthius, flowers under control?"

His petals settled into a determined gold. "Ready to enhance without overwhelming."

"Galatea?"

"Ready," she said softly, standing in the wings, looking more alive than marble had any right to.

"And our Hermes?"

Safron's mark pulsed steady and strong as he took his position. "Ready to guide this tale through the Underworld."

Thalia's masks caught ethereal light as she smiled. "Then let us begin..."

Just before Thalia could give the signal to begin, a distinctive perfumed presence filled the backstage area.

"Starting without me, darlings?" Aphrodite's voice carried amused warmth. "When you're performing a story that involves my handiwork?"

Safron's mark pulsed with surprise as the goddess of love materialized near Galatea, who instinctively straightened - remembering, perhaps, the divine touch that had given her life.

"Lady Aphrodite," Thalia's masks shifted to diplomatic welcome. "We didn't expect..."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss this," Aphrodite smiled, touching Galatea's cheek gently. "My lovely creation, playing a tale of love and transformation? It's all so deliciously meta."

"I hope," Galatea said softly, "to do justice to both stories - mine and Eurydice's."

"My dear," Aphrodite's eyes sparkled, "you already are. The way you've learned to move, to feel... it's exactly why I breathed life into that marble." She turned to address the whole company. "Love takes many forms, doesn't it? Between lovers, between art and artist, between performers and their roles..."

Safron's mark pulsed with understanding as he watched Galatea stand taller under her creator's approval. Even Thespis seemed moved enough to forget his classical poses.

"Now then," Aphrodite stepped back with divine grace, "don't let me interrupt. Though I do hope you've captured love's power properly in this telling..."

"We've tried to show all aspects," Safron found himself saying, his mark steady. "Love, loss, hope, transformation - how they all work together in the House."

"Good answer, Administrator," Aphrodite winked. "Very diplomatic. I'll be watching from... oh, somewhere appropriate. Break hearts, darlings!"

As she vanished in a shimmer of rose petals (causing Anthius's flowers to shift to impressed-pink), Thalia regained her theatrical composure.

"Well! Nothing like a divine endorsement to start the show! Places, everyone. Let's make both Love and Death proud..."

The performance began with Orpheus's music - not the melancholic tunes he usually played, but something that captured both surface light and underworld shadows. Thespis stepped into the light, and for once his classical training served him perfectly - embodying Orpheus's mortal confidence before fate intervened.

Safron's mark pulsed in rhythm with the cues as he made his first entrance. "Greetings-mortal-musician-who-dares-to-challenge-death's-domain!" The words came naturally now, quick but clear, carrying Hermes's characteristic energy while maintaining divine dignity.

When Galatea appeared as Eurydice, the audience fell completely silent. Her transformation from shade to memory to hope was so convincing that even the real Eurydice, watching from the wings, seemed moved. Aphrodite's earlier blessing seemed to have added an extra dimension to her performance - every gesture carrying the weight of someone who understood transformation intimately.

Nerites's water effects created the Styx crossing with perfect subtlety - suggesting divine boundaries without overwhelming the scene. Above, Icarus's rigging worked flawlessly, creating the illusion of souls passing between realms.

Anthius's flowers shifted through emotional harmonies - deep blues for loss, purple for divine authority, gold for hope - each petal fall perfectly timed to the story's rhythm.

But it was during the pivotal looking-back scene that everything came together. Thespis and Galatea moved in perfect synchronization, their forms caught between Nerites's mist and Anthius's falling petals. Safron's mark glowed with genuine emotion as he delivered Hermes's final message:

"Some paths... some paths must be walked alone. Some choices echo through both life and death. But in the House of Hades... nothing is ever truly lost. Only transformed."

The real Orpheus's music swelled, carrying all their voices - mortal and divine, past and present, loss and hope - as the story reached its conclusion. Not just the famous tale of looking back, but the whole truth of it: how love changes both the loving and the loved, how the House holds all these stories, how even in death there is transformation.

In the royal viewing area, Lord Hades remained impassive, but Lady Persephone was seen to wipe away a tear. Than and Zagreus, from their place in the back, seemed unusually still. Even Alecto and her sister watched in silence.

And somewhere, in a shimmer of rose-scented air, Aphrodite smiled.

As the final scene faded into Nerites's gentle mist, before the audience could react, a single voice rose from the darkness. Eurydice stepped forward, no longer watching from the wings but taking center stage. The real Orpheus's lyre shifted to a melody that seemed to catch somewhere between surface light and underworld shadow.

Her voice, when it came, carried all the weight of someone who had lived this story, died this story, and found something new in its telling:

"In darkness deep where shadows dwell, Where stories of the dead do tell, The truth of love's eternal light That burns beyond the endless night..."

Galatea and Thespis remained frozen in their final pose, caught in that eternal moment of almost-reunion, while Safron's mark pulsed gently with each note. Anthius's flowers settled into a deep, midnight blue that scattered starlike petals across the stage.

"Through rivers crossed and paths unknown, Through marble brought to flesh and bone, Through every transformation's art, The House holds every beating heart..."

Nerites's mist swirled like memories around her feet, while above, Icarus's rigging created the subtlest suggestion of worlds shifting between each verse. Even Arachne's costumes seemed to catch impossible light as Eurydice moved through her song.

"So listen well to tales twice-told, Of love that makes the mortal bold, Of death that brings new life to be, Of chains that set our stories free..."

The final note hung in the air like a promise, like a memory, like hope itself. For a moment, there was absolute silence in the House of Hades - even the eternal lines of shades seemed to hold their breath.

Then the applause began.

After the applause finally faded and the audience began to disperse, Safron found himself backstage helping with cleanup, his mark still glowing from the performance's energy.

"Administrator," a melodious voice called, and he turned to find Aphrodite herself lounging gracefully on what appeared to be a throne made entirely of rose petals that definitely hadn't been there a moment ago. "We haven't been properly introduced, have we? An oversight, considering how... interesting your presence in the House has become."

Safron's mark pulsed with nervous energy. He'd seen Aphrodite at the card tournament, of course, but they'd never actually spoken. "My Lady, I-"

"Oh, none of that formality," she waved elegantly. "Anyone who can make Death Incarnate blush in the baths has earned a more casual conversation."

Safron's mark flared bright red. "You know about-"

"Darling, I'm the goddess of love. I know about everything involving hearts, bodies, and particularly creative uses of administrative chambers." Her smile was both knowing and kind. "Though I must say, your arrangement with Zagreus and Thanatos is one of my more interesting success stories."

"Success stories?" Safron's mark flickered curiously despite his embarrassment.

"Of course! Did you think it was just chance that brought a mortal with such... specific knowledge and appreciation into their path?" She examined her perfect nails. "Though I admit, the mark was an unexpected addition. Quite the dramatic flair it adds to certain... intimate moments, I hear."

"I... thank you?" Safron managed, his mark practically strobing now.

"For what? The mark? Oh no, that wasn't me. That's something else entirely." Her eyes sparkled with divine mischief. "Though speaking of divine gifts, your Galatea did beautifully tonight. It's not easy, you know - bringing art to life. But sometimes, when the love is true enough..."

She stood in one fluid motion, her divine presence surprisingly gentle for an Olympian. "Keep an eye on that mark of yours, Administrator. And do keep making Death and Rebellion so wonderfully flustered. It's been ages since the Underworld was this entertaining!"

With a laugh like silver bells and a shower of rose petals, she vanished, leaving Safron standing there with his mark pulsing in confused patterns.

"Did..." he started.

"Did Aphrodite just give you her personal approval for your relationship status while also cryptically commenting on your mysterious mark?" Hermes zipped by. "Yes, yes she did! Though personally, I think she just enjoys adding dramatic epilogues to good performances."

Somewhere in the distance, Thalia's delighted laughter suggested she thoroughly approved of this final scene.

"Well," Thalia appeared, her masks still glowing with post-performance energy, "I'd say that was a success! No floods, no fires, no falling equipment..."

"And only minimal divine interference," Nerites added, carefully dissolving his last water effects.

"The costumes survived," Arachne declared with something almost approaching satisfaction. "Though if anyone thinks I'm making another set..."

"You enjoyed it," Anthius teased, his flowers a knowing orange. "I saw you getting emotional during the transformation scene."

"I did no such thing. There was dust in my eyes. Many eyes. All of them."

Galatea approached them, still moving with that fluid grace that seemed enhanced by Aphrodite's earlier blessing. "Thank you," she said softly to everyone. "For helping me tell both stories - Eurydice's and mine."

"Speaking of stories," Thespis joined them, for once not striking a pose, "I must admit, the modern interpretation worked better than my classical approach would have."

"Did the first actor in history just admit to learning something new?" Icarus called down as he descended from his rigging.

"I admit to nothing! I merely... adapted my considerable talents to the venue."

Eurydice, still glowing from her final performance, smiled. "Sometimes the best way to tell an old story is to find its new truth."

Safron's mark pulsed warmly as he looked around at their unlikely theater troupe - former statues and shades, gods and mortals, all brought together by the need to tell a story truly.

"So," Hermes zipped into their midst, "when's the next performance?"

"NO!" came the unanimous response, though everyone was smiling.

"Although," Thalia's masks shifted thoughtfully, "I did have this wonderful idea about adapting the Minotaur's story..."

"Tomorrow's problems," Safron suggested quickly, his mark flickering with amused alarm. "For now, I think we all deserve a break."

"Agreed!" Anthius's flowers settled into content gold. "Though... we did do it, didn't we? Told the story right?"

Looking at their gathered company - at Galatea's newfound confidence, at Thespis's relaxed dignity, at Eurydice's peaceful smile - Safron's mark pulsed with certainty.

"Yes," he said softly. "I think we did."

"Quite the performance," Thanatos's familiar cool presence materialized beside Safron. "Especially your Hermes impression. Very... energetic."

"Is that Than's way of saying you were hot running around stage?" Zagreus appeared on Safron's other side, his natural heat making the mark pulse between their contrasting temperatures.

"Please don't encourage him," Safron muttered, though his mark betrayed his pleasure at their approval.

"Was a bit worried when Mother started crying," Zagreus admitted. "But Father actually seemed... well, as close to impressed as he gets. Said something about 'acceptable representation of House protocols' which is practically a standing ovation from him."

"The Furies had opinions," Than added dryly. "Alecto seemed disappointed by the lack of violence, but Megaera appreciated the... what did she call it? 'Dignified handling of authority themes.'"

"Hypnos fell asleep," Dusa zoomed over to join the conversation, "but he was smiling! Not that I was watching him specifically! Oh gosh, should I not have mentioned that?"

"And Nyx," Than continued, "said something cryptic about 'stories revealing truths yet to come' while looking at your mark. Though that might just be Mother being her usual mysterious self."

Zagreus grinned. "Even Cerberus stayed awake for the whole thing. All three heads!"

"Speaking of staying awake," came Megaera's voice as she approached, "that was... not terrible. The dignity of the House was maintained while still telling a personal story. Well done." Coming from Meg, this was practically effusive praise.

"Though I'm curious," she added with a slight smile, "about what Lady Aphrodite was saying to you after the show. Something about baths and administrative chambers?"

Safron's mark flared bright red. "That was... she was just..."

"Being Aphrodite," Than finished, though there was amusement in his golden eyes.

"At least she didn't mention the incident with the filing cabinets," Zagreus added helpfully.

"What incident with the filing cabinets?" Dusa asked innocently.

"NOTHING," three voices chorused at once.

Zagreus slipped an arm around Safron's waist, his eternal warmth making the mark glow contentedly. "I particularly enjoyed how you managed to deliver Hermes's lines without passing out from talking so fast."

"Lad's got a point," Achilles joined their group, Patroclus at his side as always. "That speed-talking was impressive. Though I must say, the way you all handled the love and separation themes..." He glanced at Patroclus with ancient understanding in his eyes.

"We know something about waiting between realms," Patroclus added softly. "Though your ending was kinder than most such tales."

"That was intentional," Safron explained, leaning slightly into Zagreus's embrace while his mark pulsed between the prince's heat and Than's cool presence. "We wanted to show how the House transforms relationships rather than just ending them."

"Indeed," Achilles nodded. "Rather like how certain administrators transform divine relationships, eh?" His knowing smile made Safron's mark flicker with embarrassment.

"Sir," Zagreus grinned, "are you teasing my administrator?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, lad. Though speaking of dreams, Hypnos was quite animated about the performance. Well, as animated as one can be while sleep-floating."

"He said, and I quote," Dusa offered, "'Best pre-nap entertainment ever!' Not that I was paying special attention to his comments! Oh gosh, should I not have remembered that so exactly?"

Than's slight smile suggested he was enjoying watching Safron get flustered by all the attention, though his cool hand finding Safron's other side indicated his own approval of the evening.

"You know," Patroclus mused, "there's something poetic about how your mark responds to both death's chill and rebellion's heat. Rather like the House itself, balanced between extremes..."

"Please don't get philosophical about my love life," Safron pleaded, though his mark's warm pulsing between Than and Zag rather proved Patroclus's point.

Chapter Text

The administrative chamber was quiet in the post-performance lull, but Safron's mark wouldn't stop pulsing with restless energy. Aphrodite's words about their "arrangement" kept echoing in his mind, making him more aware than ever of the imbalance in his feelings.

When Zagreus's warmth filled the doorway, Safron's mark immediately blazed bright - the instant, overwhelming response he'd come to associate with the Prince's presence. It was this automatic reaction that troubled him; with Than, the mark's response was different - steady, comfortable, but lacking that intense spark that Zagreus inspired.

"Still working?" Zagreus approached, his eternal heat making the mark pulse stronger. "You've been hiding in here since the performance ended."

"Just... thinking," Safron replied, his mark betraying the complexity of those thoughts.

"About what Aphrodite said?"

"About... everything." Safron hesitated, then continued carefully. "About how some feelings are... different than others. Even when they're supposed to be the same."

Zagreus's mismatched eyes studied him thoughtfully. "You mean about you and Than?"

The mark's flickering response was answer enough.

"It's just..." Safron struggled to find the words. "With you, everything is immediate, intense. Like my mark can't contain it. But with Than, it's more... I care for him, deeply, but it's not the same burning feeling. And I don't know if that's... fair."

Zagreus sat on the edge of Safron's desk, his own expression showing unexpected uncertainty. "You know... even after all this time escaping and returning, facing all sorts of challenges, sometimes the heart is the most complicated labyrinth of all."

His burning feet left faint marks on the floor as he shifted uncomfortably. "I... I'm not good at this part. The talking about feelings part. Usually I just die dramatically or set something on fire."

Safron's mark pulsed with fond amusement despite his concerns. "Please don't set my paperwork on fire."

"No promises," Zagreus attempted a smile, though his usual confident demeanor had slipped. "But seriously... Than and I, we've had ages to figure out what we are to each other. And then you came along and everything changed, but in a good way. Different way. But maybe... maybe different isn't wrong?"

"But what if-" Safron's mark flickered anxiously, "what if Than can tell? That my feelings for him aren't the same as they are for you? What if it ruins everything we've built?"

"Than's not..." Zagreus started, then stopped, clearly struggling with his own uncertainty. "I mean, he's Death Incarnate. He understands about different kinds of... connections..." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Blood and darkness, I'm terrible at this. Usually when things get this complicated I just try to escape again."

"Please don't," Safron said quickly, his mark pulsing with both anxiety and affection. "I've seen your escape success rate."

That got a genuine laugh from Zagreus. "See? This is why it works. You understand me, even when I'm being... me. And Than understands us both, in his own way. Even if it's all different kinds of understanding."

Zagreus pulled Safron onto his lap, the natural heat of him making the mark pulse with that familiar intensity. "Maybe we're overthinking this," he murmured, though he didn't sound convinced.

"That would be a first for you," came Than's voice as he materialized in the chamber, his presence immediately creating that complex temperature dynamic that made Safron's mark react in its distinctly different way - steady, cool, certain.

"Than," Safron's mark flickered with nervous energy. "We were just..."

"Discussing the nature of different kinds of love," Than stated, his golden eyes taking in the scene with that ancient, unfathomable understanding that came with being Death Incarnate. "I could feel your anxiety from across the House."

"I'm sorry," Safron started, but Than raised a hand, cutting him off.

"Don't apologize for feeling what you feel, Administrator." His voice carried neither hurt nor judgment - just that eternal certainty that made him who he was. "Death understands better than most that not all bonds are meant to burn with the same fire."

"But is it fair to you?" Safron asked, still perched on Zagreus's lap, caught between rebellion's heat and death's cool presence.

"Fair?" Than's lips curved slightly. "I am Death. I exist beyond mortal concepts of fair or unfair. What exists between us..." he gestured to encompass all three of them, "doesn't need to mirror itself perfectly to be real."

"That's... surprisingly insightful, Than," Zagreus commented, his arms tightening slightly around Safron.

"I've had eternities to contemplate the nature of existence, Zag. Did you think I spent all that time just waiting for you to die again?"

"Actually," Zagreus grinned, some of his usual spark returning, "I thought you spent it practicing those dramatic entrances of yours."

"Someone has to maintain dignity in this relationship," Than replied dryly, though there was warmth beneath his cool tone. He moved closer, his presence making Safron's mark create those familiar patterns - different from its response to Zagreus, but no less meaningful.

"It's like the House itself," Than continued, his golden eyes fixed on Safron's mark. "Some souls burn bright with passion, others fade gentle like twilight. Death accepts all forms of ending, just as..." he paused, choosing his words carefully, "just as I accept all forms of connection."

Safron's mark pulsed with understanding. "You knew? About how I felt?"

"I am as old as Night herself," Than reminded him. "Did you think I couldn't feel the different rhythms of your heart? The way your mark burns for Zag's heat but steadies to my presence?"

"I thought..." Safron started.

"You thought it would hurt me?" Than's expression softened slightly. "Administrator, I deal in absolutes - the final transition, the ultimate change. But what exists between life and death, between passion and peace..." he gestured to Zagreus's eternal flame, then to his own cool aura, "that space is where the most interesting bonds form."

Zagreus was unusually quiet, his heat a constant comfort against Safron's back as they both absorbed Than's words.

"Besides," Than added, the faintest hint of amusement in his voice, "someone needs to maintain balance when you two inevitably cause chaos in the administrative chambers."

"That was ONE time," Zagreus protested.

"Three times," both Safron and Than corrected simultaneously.

Than moved first, closing the distance with that fluid grace that made him seem to float rather than walk. His cool fingers traced the mark on Safron's chest, creating those steady, gentle pulses that were so different from - yet perfectly complementary to - Zagreus's heat at his back.

"Show me," Than said softly, "how these different feelings manifest."

Safron turned his head to meet Zagreus's kiss first - intense, burning, making his mark flare bright with that overwhelming response that had started this whole conversation. Then Than's cool lips found his, the sensation entirely different but no less profound - like diving into deep, still waters after standing in flame.

"See?" Than murmured against his mouth. "Both real. Both true."

Zagreus leaned forward to kiss Than over Safron's shoulder, their contrasting temperatures creating that familiar perfect balance that made Safron's mark pulse in complex patterns. The prince's eternal heat and death's cool embrace, with him caught wonderfully in between.

"Though perhaps," Than added as they separated, his golden eyes carrying a hint of mischief that few ever saw, "we should continue this discussion somewhere other than the administrative chambers. Unless you want another incident for the records?"

"Dusa would never forgive us," Safron agreed, his mark now pulsing with a different kind of anticipation.

"Race you to my chambers?" Zagreus suggested with his characteristic grin.

"Some things," Than sighed, though his tone was fond, "never change."

"And some things," Safron added, his mark glowing steady and sure between death's chill and rebellion's heat, "don't need to."

They barely made it to Zagreus's chambers, the prince's heat and Than's chill creating those familiar temperature contrasts that made Safron's mark pulse with anticipation. The mark glowed brightly as they came together, its patterns shifting between intense flares for Zagreus's burning touch and steady waves for Than's cool embrace.

"Trust us," Than murmured, his golden eyes holding ancient wisdom as they positioned Safron between them.

The mark's glow illuminated the chamber as they moved together, finding that perfect rhythm between death's measured pace and rebellion's passionate fire. Safron surrendered to their different but complementary approaches - Zagreus's characteristic intensity balanced by Than's eternal patience.

Later, wrapped in that perfect temperature balance between them, Safron's mark pulsed contentedly. Different kinds of love, different kinds of connection - all equally true, all equally valid.

Than's cool fingers traced the now-gently glowing mark while Zagreus's warmth pressed against Safron's back. No more words were needed; their bodies had said everything necessary about the nature of their unique bond.

Chapter Text

The gathering in Safron's chambers had started casually enough - a small celebration of the successful theater performance that had somehow turned into an intimate group sprawled across various pieces of furniture. His room was uniquely his: administrative scrolls mixed with what Zagreus called "fan materials" - artwork and books about the House he'd mysteriously arrived with.

Zagreus lounged on the bed beside him, radiating comfortable heat, while Than perched more formally nearby, his cool presence creating that familiar temperature balance that made Safron's mark pulse contentedly. Hermes zipped between positions, never quite settling. Anthius sat cross-legged on the floor, his flowers shifting through relaxed colors, while Meg leaned against the wall with her usual grace. Dusa bobbed nervously near the ceiling, occasionally drifting lower when the conversation caught her interest.

"You know," Hermes said, pausing briefly in his constant motion, "for someone who manages all our records, professional associate, we know surprisingly little about your own history."

"Oh! Yes!" Dusa descended slightly. "I mean, not that we need to know! But it would be nice? If you wanted to share? Oh gosh, is that too personal to ask?"

Safron's mark flickered nervously. "There's not much to tell..."

"Mate," Anthius's flowers shifted to gentle encouragement-blue, "even I've told more about my life before the House, and I spent most of it talking to plants."

"Well..." Safron felt Zagreus's reassuring warmth at his side, Than's steady presence nearby. "I suppose... what do you want to know?"

"Everything!" Hermes declared. "Well, everything you're willing to share, professional associate. Start with the basics - what was life like before you became our favorite administrative phenomenon?"

The mark pulsed with memories as Safron began to speak about his past for the first time since arriving in the House...

"The basics might be nice," Anthius suggested gently, his flowers settling into a patient shade of blue. "Where you came from, what you did..."

Safron's mark pulsed slowly as he gathered his thoughts. Zagreus's warmth at his side was reassuring, as was Than's steady presence.

"I grew up in a small city," he began carefully. "Nothing spectacular - just a normal life with my parents. They..." his mark flickered as he realized this was the first time he'd spoken of them since arriving, "they always supported me, even if they didn't always understand me."

"Understand?" Meg's question was surprisingly gentle.

"Being gay, for one thing. I never actually told them. Always meant to, but..." His mark pulsed with old regret. "Timing never seemed right."

"Mortals and their timing," Hermes mused, for once not zipping around. "Always waiting for the perfect moment that never comes."

"Did you have many friends?" Dusa asked, drifting a bit lower. "Not that you need to answer! Oh gosh, was that too personal?"

"No, it's..." Safron's hand found Zagreus's automatically as he continued. "I had a few close friends. Not many. I was always a bit... different. Spent more time with books and games than people, really. Especially after university."

"University?" Than's question carried genuine curiosity.

"It's a place of learning," Safron explained. "Where mortals go to study specific subjects. I did well enough - good marks, though not perfect. Always felt like I was searching for something more, something..."

His mark suddenly flared with realization. "My parents..." The words came out choked. "They don't know what happened to me. When I disappeared, did time... are they..."

The mark's pulse became erratic as the full weight of this understanding hit him. Before anyone could react, he was on his feet, moving toward the door.

"I need to... I have to find Nyx. She'll know... she has to know..."

He was gone before anyone could stop him, leaving his gathered friends exchanging concerned looks as his mark's distressed glow faded from the chamber.

Each step through the House's eternal twilight corridors felt heavier than the last. Safron's mark pulsed with an anxiety he hadn't felt since first arriving - not the familiar nervous energy of divine presence, but something deeper, more primal. Memories he'd somehow managed not to think about came flooding back:

His mother's smile when he'd show her his latest games... His father's quiet pride at his graduation... The last normal morning at home, so ordinary he couldn't even remember the details now...

The mark flickered erratically as he moved, casting unstable shadows on the walls. How had he not thought about this before? Had the House's magic somehow kept him from wondering? Or had he been so caught up in his new life that he'd pushed aside thoughts of his old one?

"Mother Nyx?" His voice echoed in the empty corridors. "Please..."

Each remembered detail brought fresh waves of guilt: the half-finished conversation with his mother about coming to visit, the promising job interview he'd never attended, his father's planned retirement celebration he'd never made it to...

The mark's light grew more unstable with each memory. What did they think had happened to him? Were they searching? Had time passed differently in the mortal realm? Or had it stopped? Were they worried? Grieving? Moving on?

"My child."

Nyx's voice came from the darkness ahead, her eternal presence both comforting and overwhelming. But for the first time since arriving in the House, Safron didn't pause to compose himself before approaching Night Incarnate. His mark's chaotic pulsing reflected the storm of emotions he couldn't contain.

"My parents," he managed, his voice cracking slightly. "I never thought... I didn't consider..."

Nyx's eternal presence surrounded him, stars shifting in her dark form as she regarded him with ancient understanding. "You seek knowledge of the mortal realm you left behind."

"Please," Safron's mark pulsed desperately. "Are they... how much time has..." He couldn't even form complete questions, the weight of forgotten responsibility crushing his usual administrative composure.

"Time flows differently between realms," Nyx began carefully, her voice carrying the weight of ages. "What feels like months in the House might be mere moments above, or..."

"Or?" His mark flared with fear at her hesitation.

"Or years may pass in the blink of an immortal eye. The boundaries between mortal time and divine existence are... fluid."

Safron felt his knees weaken. Years? Could years have passed while he was arranging soul intake forms and falling in love with death and rebellion?

"I need to know," he whispered, his mark's light reflecting off Nyx's starry form. "Please. They're my parents. I never even told them..." His voice caught. "So many things I never told them."

Nyx was quiet for a long moment, the darkness around them deepening. When she finally spoke, her voice was gentler than usual. "There may be a way to see, though viewing mortal timelines from the House carries its own risks. The knowledge you seek might bring pain as easily as peace."

"I don't care," Safron's mark pulsed with determination through his tears. "I need to know. They deserve... I need to know if they're okay."

The stars in Nyx's form shifted again as she considered his words. Behind them, familiar footsteps approached - Zagreus's heat and Than's cool presence, followed by the others, all having followed their distressed administrator.

"Very well," Nyx's voice carried both compassion and warning. "Look."

The darkness around them shifted, forming images like reflections in still water. Safron felt Zagreus and Than move closer, their contrasting temperatures steadying him as the scenes began to form.

His mark's pulse stuttered at what he saw: his parents' house, but... different. The garden his mother loved had new plants. His father's old car was gone. And there, moving inside...

His parents, but five years older than when he'd last seen them. His mother's hair had more grey, his father's steps a bit slower. And on the wall...

His mark flared with pain as he saw it - his photo among others, surrounded by flowers. A memorial.

"Five years," Nyx confirmed quietly. "In the mortal realm, you have been missing for five years."

Safron's legs gave out entirely. Only Than and Zagreus's quick reactions kept him from collapsing, though his mark's light had dimmed to almost nothing.

"They think I'm..." he couldn't even say it. "All this time, they've been..."

The scene shifted, showing more: his mother putting flowers by his picture, his father wearing his old university sweatshirt that Safron had left behind, their faces carrying the weathered look of grief that had settled into acceptance but never truly healed.

"They never stopped looking," Nyx added gently. "Even now, they keep your memory alive."

"Five years," Safron repeated numbly. "I've been here helping shades file paperwork and falling in love and performing plays while they've been..." His mark flickered with devastating guilt. "I never even got to tell them. Never got to introduce them to..." he glanced at Zagreus and Than, fresh pain washing over him.

"Oh gosh," Dusa whispered from somewhere behind them. Anthius's flowers had turned the deepest shade of sorrowful blue anyone had ever seen.

Something broke inside him then - something that had been carefully contained behind administrative efficiency and House protocols. His mark flared with an intensity it had never shown before, but this time it wasn't from divine presence or lover's touch - it was pure, raw anguish.

"FIVE YEARS!" The scream tore from his throat, echoing through Nyx's chamber. "Five years of them grieving while I was what? Playing house with gods? Filing papers? ENJOYING MYSELF?"

His mark pulsed violently as he pulled away from Than and Zagreus's supportive hold, stumbling backward. "I'm their only child and I just... disappeared! They'll never know what happened to me! Never know I was happy, that I found love, that I..." His voice cracked as tears streamed down his face.

"Admin-" Hermes started, but Safron cut him off.

"Don't! Don't call me administrator right now! I'm not... I'm their son! I'm their missing son who they've mourned for five years while I was too caught up in divine drama to even THINK about them!"

His legs gave out again and this time he let himself fall, his mark casting wild, painful pulses of light across the chamber. "My mother's birthday... I missed five of her birthdays. Dad's retirement... the trip they were planning... all the Sunday dinners I promised to come to..."

The sobs that wracked his body were primal, uncontrolled. "I never told them... so many things I never told them... and now they'll die thinking I just vanished, that something terrible..."

His fists pounded against the floor, his mark's light becoming almost painful to look at. "What kind of son am I? What kind of person forgets their own PARENTS?"

Neither Than's cool presence nor Zagreus's warmth could reach him through this storm of self-loathing. Even Anthius's comforting flowers and Meg's steady strength seemed distant. This wasn't divine chaos or administrative crisis - this was human grief in its purest form, and it was tearing him apart.

Through tears that seemed endless, Safron's blurred vision caught another shift in Nyx's darkened reflections. His mark's painful pulsing slowed just enough for him to focus on the new scene forming:

His parents' house again, but this time... a small figure. A little girl, maybe four years old, with hair so pale it seemed almost white. She was sitting in his mother's garden, in the spot where he used to read.

"They..." his voice was raw from crying. "They adopted?"

The scene shifted closer: the little girl looking up at his mother with bright eyes, his father teaching her to plant flowers beneath his memorial photo. And there, on a document visible on the kitchen table, a name that made his mark pulse with strange recognition:

Melinoe.

"What kind of name..." he whispered, his grief momentarily pierced by confusion.

Nyx's form seemed to still completely, the stars in her essence freezing for just a moment. Than's golden eyes narrowed slightly, though he remained silent. Even Zagreus appeared to hold his breath.

But Safron was too lost in his emotional storm to notice their reactions. His eyes remained fixed on the little girl who now lived in his old home, who brought small smiles to his parents' grief-worn faces, who carried a name that should have meant something more to him but was lost beneath the wave of fresh pain.

"They found someone else to love," he whispered, curling tighter into his corner. "While I was here, they... they needed..." His mark's light dimmed to almost nothing as fresh tears came.

The chamber remained silent, the darkness deep and waiting, as if even Night herself wasn't sure what this revelation might mean

"Melinoe, Melinoe, Melinoe..." The name kept falling from his lips like a broken record, his mark beginning to pulse in an unusual pattern - something between recognition and confusion. The same feeling he'd had in Chronos's chamber started to surface through his grief.

He knew that name. Knew it from somewhere beyond this vision, beyond this moment. His mark flared with dangerous knowledge, the kind Chaos had warned him about sharing.

"This can't be..." he started, then caught himself, remembering suddenly that he was the only one here who knew what that name would mean in the future. His mark pulsed with the weight of knowledge he couldn't share, even as his tears continued to fall.

Nyx's form shifted slightly, her eternal eyes studying him with increased intensity. Than and Zagreus exchanged looks that suggested they sensed something significant in his reaction, but couldn't quite grasp what.

But Safron's mind was racing now, torn between devastating personal grief and cosmic implications he couldn't begin to process. A little white-haired girl named Melinoe, adopted by his parents after his disappearance... and somewhere in the future, a game he'd played but couldn't talk about, a character he knew but couldn't mention...

His mark's light became erratic, reflecting his fractured emotional state - grief for his parents, guilt for his absence, confusion about this revelation, and the terrible weight of knowledge he had to keep to himself.

"I need..." he managed through tears, "I need to think. I need... I can't..."

No one moved to stop him as he stumbled to his feet. Even Nyx remained silent, though her starry form seemed to pulse with something like recognition - or perhaps concern.

He needed to find Chaos. Or maybe he needed to scream into the void. Or possibly both. His mark flickered wildly as he moved blindly through the darkness, leaving his concerned friends behind, his mind a storm of grief and temporal implications he couldn't share.

Through his tears, Safron suddenly lunged for Zagreus, grabbing his hands with desperate intensity. His mark was pulsing so erratically it almost hurt to look at.

"Please," he begged, his voice raw and broken. "Please, I need to see Chaos. You can call them, right? You have to... I need..." His grip on Zagreus's hands was almost painful, nothing like his usual gentle touch.

Zagreus stood frozen, his own eyes wet with tears - not from physical pain, but from watching someone he loved break apart so completely. For once, the Prince of the Underworld had no quick response, no solution to offer.

"I..." Zagreus started, his eternal flame dimming slightly with emotion.

Then Nyx moved. For the first time since Safron had arrived in the House, Night Incarnate reached out and touched him directly. Her hand, cool and ancient as the darkness itself, rested on his shoulder.

The effect was immediate. His mark's chaotic pulsing didn't stop entirely, but it steadied somewhat, like a storm being contained but not calmed. His desperate grip on Zagreus loosened slightly.

"Child," Nyx's voice carried both authority and gentleness, "some revelations require time, even in a realm where time holds little meaning."

"But I need..." Safron's voice cracked, tears still falling despite Nyx's calming touch. "The name... it can't be... I know things I can't..."

"Yes," Nyx said simply, her eternal eyes holding his. "You do."

That simple acknowledgment - that someone understood there were things he couldn't say, even if they didn't know what those things were - somehow helped him breathe again.

Still trembling, Safron suddenly threw himself at Zagreus, clinging to him with the desperate intensity of a child seeking anchor in a storm. His mark pulsed against Zagreus's chest as he buried his face in the prince's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, his voice muffled. "I'm so sorry I grabbed you like that, I shouldn't have... I was just..."

Zagreus's arms wrapped around him immediately, his eternal warmth offering comfort without words. For a moment, they just stood there, Safron holding onto Zagreus like he was the only solid thing in existence.

Then, still shaking, Safron turned his tear-stained face toward the others. "I'm sorry, everyone. I didn't mean to... to break down like that. I've never..." His mark pulsed with embarrassment through the grief.

"Oh gosh, no! Don't apologize!" Dusa swooped lower, her snakes writhing with concern. "We understand! Well, maybe we don't understand exactly, but we... oh gosh, I'm not helping, am I?"

Anthius's flowers had shifted to a complex mix of compassion-blue and concern-purple. Meg's usual stern expression had softened to something almost gentle. Than stood silent but supportive, his golden eyes holding no judgment.

Finally, still keeping one hand clutched in Zagreus's chiton, Safron turned to Nyx. His voice was quiet but determined through the remnants of tears:

"Mother Nyx... will you take me to Chaos? Please?"

Nyx studied him for a long moment, stars shifting in her eternal form. Then, with a slight nod: "Come, child. Some questions can only be answered in the depths beyond reality."

As darkness began to gather around them, Safron finally let go of Zagreus, his mark pulsing with a mix of gratitude, grief, and something else - something that felt like destiny stirring.

The last thing the others saw before Nyx's darkness enveloped them was Safron's mark, still glowing with tears yet unshed, and questions yet unasked.

Chapter Text

The shift into Chaos's realm was familiar now to Safron, though his mark's emotional pulsing made the geometric impossibilities around them seem even more unstable. Nyx's presence anchored him as reality bent and reformed.

"CHILD OF THE SURFACE," Chaos's voice resonated through multiple layers of existence. "YOUR TEARS ECHO THROUGH REALITIES. THOUGH YOU ARE NOT ALONE IN YOUR DISTRESS TODAY."

That's when Safron saw him - a figure that made his mark flare with dangerous recognition. Tall, imposing, radiating temporal energy that felt somehow... sideways to current reality. Moroc. But how? Why? His mark pulsed with knowledge he shouldn't have, couldn't share.

"INTERESTING," Moroc's voice carried the weight of time itself, different from but complementary to Chaos's cosmic resonance. "THE MARK RESPONDS TO FUTURE KNOWLEDGE. AS EXPECTED."

Safron's breath caught. His mark flickered rapidly as implications started forming. "You... you're not from now, are you?"

"TIME," Moroc responded, "IS LESS LINEAR THAN MORTALS IMAGINE. ESPECIALLY IN PLACES WHERE REALITY BENDS."

Nyx remained silent, but her eternal presence seemed to pulse with something like recognition - or perhaps concern.

"SOME QUESTIONS," Chaos interjected, their form shifting through impossible geometries, "CARRY ANSWERS THAT CANNOT YET BE SPOKEN. THOUGH PERHAPS, CHILD OF THE SURFACE, YOU ALREADY KNOW THIS."

Safron's mark pulsed with understanding and frustration. "The little girl... Melinoe... is she...?"

Before anyone could respond, two more presences materialized in Chaos's realm - one radiating moonlight, the other carrying the essence of crossroads and magic. Hecate and Selene, their appearances making Safron's mark pulse with that same dangerous recognition. His knowledge of the future felt like it might burst from his chest.

"The threads begin to weave," Hecate observed, her voice carrying multiple tones at once. Her three faces shifted in the impossible light, each expressing a different aspect of time - past, present, and future.

"The moon sees all cycles," Selene added, her silvery presence casting strange shadows through Chaos's geometric patterns. "Even those that haven't yet begun."

Safron's mark was practically strobing now, responding to the gathering of entities who shouldn't - couldn't - be here yet. Unless...

"THE CHILD UNDERSTANDS MORE THAN HE SHOULD," Moroc stated, temporal energy swirling around him. "YET LESS THAN HE NEEDS TO."

"She's both," Safron whispered, his mark pulsing with realization. "The little girl and the... she's both at once. Isn't she? Past and future..."

"CAREFUL, CHILD OF THE SURFACE," Chaos warned. "SOME TRUTHS ARE LIKE BLADES - THEY CUT WHEN GRASPED TOO QUICKLY."

"The moon's light reveals all phases," Selene's voice was gentle despite its power. "The child who is and will be, the mortal and divine, the adopted and the..."

"Enough," Hecate interrupted, all three faces turning to study Safron. "He carries too much knowledge already. The weight of it threatens to break him."

"My parents," Safron's voice cracked, his mark pulsing with renewed grief through the cosmic implications. "Will they lose her too? Will she disappear like I did? Make them go through that pain again?"

The gathered entities exchanged looks that seemed to bend reality around them. Even Nyx's eternal presence shifted uncomfortably.

"THE CYCLES OF LOSS," Moroc spoke carefully, "ARE NOT ALWAYS WHAT THEY APPEAR."

"Please," Safron begged, his mark flaring with desperate need to know. "They've already lost one child. I can't bear the thought of them losing another, even if she's also... even if she becomes..." He stopped, choking on knowledge he couldn't voice.

"The crossroads of fate have many paths," Hecate's three faces spoke in unison. "Some lead to loss, others to transformation. Sometimes they are the same path."

"BUT WILL THEY LOSE HER?" Safron's shout echoed through the impossible geometries of Chaos's realm, his mark blazing with parental love for the parents he'd left behind.

"CHILD OF THE SURFACE," Chaos's voice carried an unusual note of gentleness. "THE GIRL WHO IS MELINOE WALKS A PATH BETWEEN MORTAL AND DIVINE. AS DO YOU. YOUR PARENTS' PAIN..."

"Tell me!" His mark was pulsing so violently it seemed to distort the reality around them. "Please... they can't go through that again. They can't..."

Selene's moonlight softened, wrapping around him like a comfort. "The moon sees all phases of the cycle, child. Your parents will not lose her as they lost you. Her path is different. When she leaves them, it will be with understanding, with purpose. With love."

"When she...?" Safron's voice broke completely.

"Some destinies," Hecate added, "require mortal love to shape divine purpose. Your parents are not victims of fate, but participants in it."

His mark pulsed with sudden desperate hope. "Dreams," he whispered. "Hypnos... he can... can't I just...?"

"MORTAL DREAMS ARE DELICATE THINGS," Chaos responded, their form shifting thoughtfully.

"I don't care about delicate!" Safron's voice cracked with emotion. "I just want them to know I'm okay. That I love them. That I'm sorry for disappearing. They don't even have to know it's real, just... just let me say goodbye. Please."

"The boundaries between sleep and death are not to be crossed lightly," Hecate's faces spoke in turn. "Even with Hypnos's power..."

"The moon influences dreams," Selene added softly, her silvery light pulsing in rhythm with Safron's mark. "But direct intervention..."

"PLEASE," his mark flared with the force of his plea. "I'll do anything. Follow any rule. I just need one dream. One chance to tell them... to let them know..."

Moroc's temporal energy swirled thoughtfully. "TIME'S WOUNDS HEAL DIFFERENTLY IN DREAMS. YET THE RISK..."

"I don't care about risks!" Tears were falling again, catching the impossible light of Chaos's realm. "They're my parents. They think I'm... they don't know... please. Even if it hurts me, even if it's dangerous. Just one dream."

The gathered entities exchanged looks that seemed to bend reality itself. Even Nyx, who had remained silent, stirred slightly.

"Perhaps..." Hecate began carefully, all three faces showing different aspects of possibility.

Chapter Text

The transition from Chaos's realm to Hypnos's domain was gentler than Safron expected. His mark pulsed softly in the strange twilight space between sleep and dreams, where the sleep god waited with uncharacteristic seriousness.

"Now remember," Hypnos's usually cheerful voice carried actual weight for once, "dreams are tricky things. Too real and it hurts more than helps. Too vague and the message is lost. We're aiming for that sweet spot where truth feels like comfort rather than pain."

Safron's mark flickered nervously as Hypnos wove dreams around them. The space shifted, becoming something familiar - his parents' kitchen, where they'd shared countless Sunday dinners. Evening light slanted through the windows just as he remembered it.

"They'll be able to feel your love," Hypnos continued, his form already fading. "But details about the House, about divine matters... those will fade like morning mist. Ready?"

Before Safron could answer, reality shifted one final time. And there they were - his parents, looking just as they had in Nyx's vision, sitting at the kitchen table. His mother was absently stirring her tea, the way she always did when lost in thought. His father was doing the crossword, his reading glasses perched on his nose.

His mark pulsed with such intense emotion he thought it might break him.

"Mom? Dad?" His voice came out barely above a whisper.

They looked up, and for a moment, everything froze.

His mother's teaspoon clattered against the cup. Her eyes - the same brown as his own - widened with recognition that wavered between dream and reality. His father's crossword puzzle slipped from his fingers, forgotten.

"Safron?" His mother's voice trembled. Even in this dream-space, he could see the years of grief etched in her face. "Baby, is that..."

"Hi, Mom," he managed, his mark pulsing with gentle light that in the dream appeared as a soft glow around him. "Hi, Dad."

His father stood slowly, like he was afraid any sudden movement might shatter the moment. "Son?" The word carried five years of loss.

"I'm okay," Safron said quickly, tears already falling. "I'm okay, and I'm sorry, I'm so sorry I disappeared, I never meant to..."

His mother reached for him with shaking hands. In this dream-space, he could feel her touch - not quite solid, but real enough that his mark pulsed with recognition of her familiar perfume, the softness of her sweater.

"Where..." she started, but he could feel Hypnos's influence making the question fade before she could complete it.

"I can't explain," he said softly, letting his father's hand rest on his shoulder - that familiar paternal gesture he'd taken for granted so many times. "But I needed you to know... I'm safe. I'm loved. And I miss you so much it hurts."

"You're really here?" His father's voice broke on the question. "This isn't just another dream about you?"

"It's really me, Dad. Just... just for a moment."

His mother's tears felt real against his cheek as she pulled him close. "My baby boy... we looked everywhere..."

"I didn't choose to go," the words spilled out between sobs, his mark pulsing with the truth of it. "One moment I was here, and then... I never wanted to leave you. Never wanted to make you worry. It wasn't my choice, I promise."

His mother's hands cupped his face, studying him through her tears as if trying to memorize every detail. "You look... different. But the same. My sweet boy..."

"You've taken care of yourself?" His father's question carried all those years of helpless parental concern. "Wherever you are?"

Safron nodded, leaning into his mother's touch while gripping his father's hand. "I have people who care about me. Who love me. But they're not... they're not you. No one could ever be you."

"We never stopped looking," his mother whispered. "Never stopped hoping..."

"I know," his mark pulsed with pain at the memory of their grief in Nyx's vision. "I know you didn't. And I need to tell you... there are so many things I need to tell you..."

He turned to fully face them both, gathering his courage. "I'm gay," he blurted out, years of unspoken truth finally finding voice. "I should have told you before. Should have trusted you with that. With everything."

His father's grip on his hand tightened. "Son... we knew. Or suspected. We just wanted you to tell us when you were ready."

"We just wanted you to be happy," his mother added softly. "That's all we ever wanted."

The simple acceptance in their voices broke something in him. His mark flared with five years of held-back tears as he collapsed into their embrace, sobbing like the child he'd once been in this very kitchen.

"I miss Sunday dinners," he whispered through tears, breathing in his mother's familiar scent. "Miss Dad's terrible jokes and Mom's way of rolling her eyes at them. Miss the way the kitchen smells when you're baking, Mom. Miss helping Dad in the garden..."

His father's hand moved to smooth his hair, just like when he was little. "The roses you helped plant still bloom every spring," he said softly. "Your mother talks to them sometimes."

"The blue ones," his mother added, still holding him close. "They're as stubborn as you always were. Refusing to fade even in winter."

His mark pulsed with memories: kneeling in the dirt beside his father, learning how to properly plant bulbs; sitting at this very table doing homework while his mother baked; all the small, precious moments he'd taken for granted.

"I was going to come to dinner that Sunday," his voice cracked. "Had so many things to tell you. About the job interview, about my plans, about... everything. And then..."

"Shh," his mother soothed, just like she used to when he was upset. "You're here now. Even if it's just..."

"A dream," his father finished, understanding settling in his eyes. "This is a dream, isn't it, son?"

Safron nodded against his mother's shoulder. "But it's real too. I'm real. My love for you is real. I just... I needed you to know that."

His mark pulsed gently as they held each other, all three of them crying now, sharing this impossible moment between sleep and waking.

He could feel the dream starting to fade at the edges, Hypnos's power gently signaling their time was growing short. His mark pulsed with the desperate need to say everything before this moment slipped away.

"I have to go soon," he managed through tears. "But please know... every day, every single day, I think of you. I love you. I'm okay, and I love you so much."

His mother's grip tightened. "My baby..."

"And," he added softly, his mark flickering with knowledge he couldn't fully share, "tell Melinoe... tell her..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Tell her hello. Tell her the garden is a good place for stories."

His parents exchanged a look of surprise. "You know about...?" his father started.

"Just... love her. Like you loved me. She'll need it, even when... especially when..." His mark pulsed with future knowledge he couldn't voice. "She's special. More than you know. But she needs your love, just like I did."

"We could never love anyone like we love you," his mother whispered.

"I know. But love her differently. Love her for herself. She's... she's part of something important. Part of why..." His voice caught as the dream began to dissolve around them.

"Safron," his father's voice carried urgent love, "wherever you are, whatever happened... we're proud of you, son. Always have been. Always will be."

"I love you," he managed one last time as the dream faded. "I love you, I love you, I lo-"

The kitchen dissolved into dream-mist, his parents' touch becoming memory once more. His mark pulsed with grief and love and gratitude as reality began to reform around him.

His last glimpse was of his mother's tears, his father's proud smile, and between them, a faint shimmer of white hair - Melinoe, watching from the doorway, though whether she was really there or just part of the dream's ending, he couldn't tell.

Chapter Text

Reality returned slowly. Safron found himself in his chambers, though he couldn't remember how he'd gotten there. His mark was pulsing softly, still echoing with the lingering warmth of his parents' embrace. Than and Zagreus were nearby - he could feel their contrasting temperatures - but they were keeping a respectful distance, letting him process.

That's when he felt it - a different kind of warmth. His hand moved automatically to the cross he always wore beneath his chiton, a gift from his mother years ago. He'd never taken it off, even in the House of Greek gods, but he'd almost forgotten its presence. Now, though...

The small silver cross was warm to touch, radiating a gentle light that somehow didn't conflict with his mark's glow but complemented it. In the heart of the Greek underworld, surrounded by ancient deities and eternal powers, this simple symbol of his mortal faith was... alive.

"I never stopped believing," he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. His mark pulsed in harmony with the cross's light. "Even here, among other gods, I never..."

The realization brought fresh tears, but different from before. Here was something he'd carried from his old life to his new one, a thread of connection that had never broken. His parents had given him this cross, and through all the divine chaos and supernatural events, it had remained. Just like their love.

His fingers wrapped around the warm silver, and for the first time since seeing his parents in the dream, he felt... anchored.

"Hey," Zagreus's voice was unusually gentle as he finally approached, his heat a familiar comfort. "Can we...?"

Safron nodded slightly, still clutching the cross, his mark pulsing with exhausted emotion. Than moved closer too, his cool presence creating that balance they'd perfected over time.

"The dream," Safron's voice was raw from crying, "it was real. They felt real. They..." Fresh tears threatened, but he was almost too tired to shed them.

"We know," Than said softly, his golden eyes showing rare emotion. "Hypnos... he made sure it was done right."

"They're proud of me," Safron whispered, his mark flickering with wonder. "After everything, after five years of not knowing... they're still proud of me."

Zagreus settled beside him, carefully wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "Of course they are. How could they not be?"

Than's cool hand found Safron's free one, anchoring him between their temperatures. For a long moment, they just sat there in silence, letting Safron process everything that had happened.

"I saw her," he finally said, his mark pulsing gently. "Melinoe. At the end of the dream. She was... she's so small."

Neither Than nor Zagreus commented on the strange tone in his voice when he said the name, though their slight tension suggested they noticed it.

"What do you need?" Zagreus asked simply. "Right now, what can we do?"

Safron's mark flickered as he considered. "Just... stay? I don't want to be alone right now. I can't..."

"We're not going anywhere," Than stated with death's certainty.

The days that followed passed in a haze. Safron barely moved from his bed, curled around a pillow that slowly became damp with silent tears. His mark pulsed quietly, dimmer than usual, like a heartbeat that had forgotten its usual rhythm.

The first day, Zagreus tried to coax him to eat. When that failed, he simply climbed into bed behind Safron, wrapping his warm presence around him like a shield. No words, just quiet comfort and steady heat against Safron's back.

Than would appear silently, leaving small offerings - Safron's favorite chocolate from the surface, pomegranate cakes from the kitchen. The treats remained mostly untouched, but their presence marked time's passage in the eternal twilight of his chambers.

In the administrative chamber, paperwork began to pile up. Lord Hades's voice could be heard rumbling about duties and responsibilities, until Nyx's quiet but firm intervention:

"He has witnessed five years of his parents' grief in a single moment, my Lord. Even the most dedicated administrator requires time to process such weight."

"The House cannot stop for mortal emotions," Hades growled, though with less force than usual.

"No," Nyx agreed softly. "But perhaps it can bend, just slightly, for one who has served it so well."

In his chambers, Safron continued to lie still, his mark's dim pulsing the only sign of life besides his breathing. Sometimes Zagreus would stroke his hair in silence. Sometimes Than would sit in the corner, his cool presence steady and watchful. Neither tried to force him to talk, to move, to be anything other than what he was in this moment - a son drowning in five years of compressed grief.

On the fourth day, when Zagreus settled behind him with that now-familiar warmth, Safron slowly turned and pressed his face into the prince's chest. His mark flickered briefly - the first voluntary response since the dream. Zagreus said nothing, just held him closer, one hand moving to trace gentle patterns on his back.

By the sixth day, Than appeared with his usual offering of pomegranate cake. But this time, instead of simply leaving it, he broke it in half and ate one portion himself, settling into the chair near the bed. After a long silence, Safron's hand emerged from the blankets, reaching for the remaining piece. His mark pulsed faintly as Than's cool fingers brushed his during the exchange.

"Thank you," Safron whispered, his voice rough from disuse. They were the first words he'd spoken since that night.

Than simply nodded, remaining in his seat as Safron took small, careful bites. The cake tasted like memory and comfort, somehow better for being shared.

When Zagreus returned later, he found Safron actually sitting up against the pillows, though still wrapped in blankets. His mark's light was still dim, but steady.

"Mom used to make pomegranate jam," Safron said quietly as Zagreus settled beside him. "Every autumn."

It wasn't much - just a fragment of memory shared in a hoarse voice - but it was something. Zagreus's arm slipped around him, and Safron leaned into the warmth, his mark pulsing gently against the prince's side.

They stayed like that, the silence now holding tiny spaces where words might eventually return.

Chapter Text

Persephone found him in the garden, his mark pulsing quietly as he stared at the pomegranate trees. He'd finally left his chambers, though he still moved like someone carrying a great weight.

"My mother," he said without turning, his voice still rough from days of silence, "she had a special recipe. Seven pomegranates, exactly. Not six, not eight. The sugar had to be added slowly, while stirring clockwise. She said it was about patience, about doing things properly."

Persephone moved to stand beside him, her presence carrying that unique blend of divine power and mortal understanding. "Tell me more about her recipe."

"She'd save the best fruits all autumn, waiting for the perfect ripeness." His mark pulsed with memory. "The kitchen would smell amazing for days. She'd let me lick the spoon if I helped pit the seeds. My fingers would be stained red, and she'd laugh..."

His voice caught, but this time the tears didn't come. Perhaps he'd cried them all out over the past week.

"Would you like to make some?" Persephone asked gently.

Safron finally turned to look at her, surprise making his mark flicker. "Here?"

"Why not? We have pomegranates. We have time. And sometimes..." she smiled softly, "sometimes recreating a piece of home helps heal the heart."

His mark pulsed with consideration as he looked at the fruit-laden trees. "I... I think I remember the recipe. Every step. She made it so many times..."

"Then shall we?" Persephone gestured toward the trees. "Seven pomegranates, you said?"

"Exactly seven," Safron nodded, his mark glowing a little stronger. "And the stirring has to be clockwise..."

They gathered the fruits carefully, Safron testing each one for ripeness the way his mother had taught him. His mark pulsed gently as he explained to Persephone: "Not too soft, not too firm. When you press here, it should give just slightly..."

The House kitchen was usually Dusa's domain, but today it belonged to memory. Persephone arranged the pomegranates on the counter while Safron found a pot that felt right - "It has to be heavy-bottomed," he explained, his voice growing slightly stronger. "Mom always said thin pots burn the jam."

"Like this?" Persephone held up a copper pot that seemed to catch the eternal twilight just so.

"Yes," his mark flickered with recognition. "Almost exactly like the one she used."

As they began to work, his hands remembered the motions before his mind could catch up. Splitting the fruit carefully, not wasting a single seed. His fingers started to stain red, just like they used to in his mother's kitchen.

"She'd tell stories while we worked," he said softly, separating seeds from pith. "About her own mother making jam, about the first time she tried it alone and burned it completely. Dad would stick his head in just to breathe in the smell..."

His mark pulsed steadily now, each memory flowing easier than the last. Persephone listened, adding sugar when he instructed, stirring clockwise as he directed, letting him talk.

For the first time since the dream, the weight in his chest felt a little lighter. Not gone - never gone - but manageable, transformed into something sweet and preserved, like the jam they were making.

When the jam was done, cooled to perfect consistency just as his mother had taught, Safron found himself gathering jars. His mark pulsed with purpose as he filled each one carefully.

"The first jar," he said softly to Persephone, tears starting to fall silently, "always went to Dad's morning toast." His hands shook slightly as he sealed it. "But here..."

He began to move through the House, each jar a piece of his heart given form:

To Zagreus first, his mark pulsing warmly: "Because you held me through the silence."

To Than, whose cool fingers brushed his as he accepted the jar: "For sharing pomegranate cake until I could eat again."

To Nyx, who understood his need for time: "For protecting my grief when I couldn't speak it."

To Hermes: "For teaching me speed but letting me move slow when I needed to."

To Anthius, whose flowers turned gentle-blue at the gesture: "For letting your colors speak when I couldn't."

To Dusa, who immediately started fretting about proper storage: "For caring about the small things that keep us going."

To Meg, who accepted the jar with surprising gentleness: "For standing guard while I was vulnerable."

Each gift was accompanied by quiet tears, his mark pulsing steadily as he shared this piece of his mortal life - his mother's recipe, his family's tradition - with those who had become his new family.

When he reached the last jar, he held it for a long moment, his mark flickering with memory.

"Mom always kept one jar," he whispered to no one in particular, tears falling freely now. "One jar for midwinter, when we needed to remember autumn's sweetness most."

Chapter Text

The administrative chamber felt both familiar and strange as Safron entered it for the first time in days. His mark pulsed quietly as he took in the accumulated scrolls, the slight layer of dust on his desk, the waiting work.

"Administrator." Lord Hades's voice filled the chamber before Safron even saw him. "I see you've decided to rejoin the functioning of my House."

Safron's mark flickered nervously as he turned to face the Lord of the Underworld. "My Lord, I apologize for my absence-"

"You have been... indulged," Hades interrupted, his tone carrying both authority and something else - not quite understanding, but perhaps acknowledgment. "The House has accommodated your mortal needs for grieving. But do not mistake accommodation for privilege, Administrator. You may have found purpose here, but this is still my domain, not your home to rest in as you please."

The words stung, but Safron's mark pulsed with recognition of their truth. He was here for a reason, even if that reason wasn't yet clear. This wasn't a vacation in the Underworld - it was a duty, a purpose.

"I understand, my Lord," he said quietly, his mark steady despite his inner turmoil. "The work will be caught up by-"

"By tonight," Hades finished firmly. "The dead do not cease arriving merely because an administrator requires... emotional respite."

As Hades turned to leave, however, he paused. "Though... the Queen mentioned your mother's recipe proved quite adequate. Perhaps there is something to be said for certain mortal traditions."

With that cryptic comment, he left Safron standing among his scattered papers, his mark pulsing with the complex reality of his position - not quite belonging, not quite separate, caught between mortal grief and divine duty.

As Safron began sorting through the backlog of paperwork, he became aware of efficient movements in the adjacent office space - the steady scratch of quill on parchment, the methodical organization of scrolls. His mark pulsed with recognition; he knew those sounds.

Praxis, the shade who managed the eastern administrative section, was exactly where she always was. In life, she had been an Athenian record-keeper during the city's golden age, and death hadn't diminished her dedication to proper documentation. Her form was more solid than most shades, shaped by centuries of purpose - sharp features, hair always perfectly arranged in a practical style, ghostly scrolls and quills floating around her as she worked.

They'd never really spoken before his... absence. But now she looked up, her ethereal eyes meeting his.

"The shade intake forms from sectors three through seven need reviewing," she said without preamble, her voice carrying the crisp efficiency of someone who had managed records for millennia. "I've maintained preliminary organization during your... leave, but several cases require your specific attention."

Her tone held no judgment about his absence, just practical acknowledgment of work to be done. His mark pulsed with unexpected appreciation for her professional directness.

"Thank you," he said quietly. "For keeping things..."

"Organized? It's what we do." She floated a stack of scrolls toward his desk. "Though your filing system has some... innovative elements I hadn't considered in my centuries here. Quite efficient, actually."

Coming from Praxis, this was practically effusive praise. His mark flickered with surprised pleasure.

"Perhaps," she added, her form shifting slightly in what might have been discomfort with personal conversation, "we could discuss your organizational methods over work? The backlog is... substantial."

As they settled into work, Safron noticed the subtle ways Praxis's divine nature manifested even in administrative tasks. Her quill seemed to glow slightly when reviewing punishment records, and her ethereal form carried an underlying authority that went beyond mere bureaucratic power.

"These cases," she indicated a particular stack with a gesture that made the air crackle slightly, "require judgment on appropriate consequences. As the goddess of judicial punishment, I could handle them directly, but..." She paused, studying him with ancient eyes that had seen millennia of justice and vengeance. "Your mortal perspective has proven... unexpectedly valuable in balancing eternal law with circumstantial mercy."

His mark pulsed with the weight of this trust from a deity of vengeance. "You want my input on punishment cases?"

"Your methods are... different," she acknowledged, her form shimming with barely contained divine power. "Where I see clear lines of crime and retribution, you sometimes see... complications. Motives. Circumstances." Her tone suggested she wasn't entirely sure if this was good or bad. "It's... interesting."

Coming from a goddess who had executed divine vengeance since the dawn of justice, 'interesting' was quite the concession.

"Perhaps," she continued, her ethereal scrolls arranging themselves with perfect precision, "we could review these cases together. Combine your mortal insight with my eternal understanding of justice."

His mark flickered thoughtfully. Working directly with a goddess of vengeance on punishment cases... it wasn't what he'd expected for his first day back, but somehow it felt right.

After they'd worked in companionable efficiency for a while, Safron's curiosity got the better of him. His mark pulsed gently as he asked, "Why now? We've worked in adjacent offices for months, but..."

Praxis's form stilled, her divine energy making the air heavy with consideration. "I witnessed your grief," she said finally, her voice carrying the weight of someone who had overseen countless acts of justice and vengeance. "The way you handled it... it was different."

"Different?" His mark flickered questioningly.

"Most mortals who experience loss either crumble completely or seek vengeance against fate itself," she explained, her ethereal scrolls pausing in their constant motion. "But you... you turned grief into sweetness. Made jam, of all things." A slight smile touched her ancient features. "As one who deals in punishment and retribution, I found that... intriguing."

She gestured to a particular case file. "Like this shade here - by eternal law, their crimes demand specific punishment. But perhaps, like grief transformed to jam, justice could be... transformed as well. Not softened, but... reshaped into something that serves a purpose beyond mere vengeance."

His mark pulsed with understanding. "You want to explore different approaches to justice?"

"I want to understand how a mortal who has lost so much can still see possibilities beyond the obvious path," she corrected. "Five years of life stolen, yet you make jam instead of demanding revenge. It's... unprecedented in my experience."

His mark pulsed with unexpected humor. "Well, it's hard to seek vengeance against divine chaos itself. Especially when..." he paused, a slight smile forming, "when Nemesis is your sister. Family dinners would get pretty awkward."

Praxis actually laughed - a sound that made several scrolls flutter with divine energy. "Indeed. Though I must say, my sister would probably appreciate the irony of someone choosing pomegranate jam over retribution." Her form shimmered with amusement. "She does have a certain... appreciation for unexpected justice."

"Besides," Safron added, his mark flickering with both humor and lingering pain, "how exactly would one go about getting revenge on beings who exist outside time and reality? Write them a strongly worded administrative memo?"

"'Dear Chaos and temporal entities,'" Praxis played along, her divine authority momentarily softening, "'Your interference with mortal timelines has been noted and filed under 'cosmic irregularities.' Please submit appropriate paperwork in triplicate...'"

"'...and ensure all reality-bending is properly documented with appropriate timestamps,'" Safron finished, his mark pulsing with genuine amusement for the first time since the dream.

"Though," Praxis added more seriously, her divine nature reasserting itself, "few mortals would find humor in such circumstances. Perhaps this is why the House chose you for... whatever purpose you serve here."

His mark flickered at that reminder - there was still so much he couldn't say about his true purpose, about Melinoe, about the future he knew was coming.

Chapter Text

"The House of Hades," Dionysus announced, lounging in his barely-there chiton, "needs to relax! And by relax, I mean REALLY relax."

Safron's mark pulsed with mild concern as he watched the god of wine transform one of the lesser-used chambers into what he called a "divine spa experience." His recent emotional journey had left him raw enough that even Dionysus's usual exuberance felt a bit overwhelming.

"I promise you'll love it, mate!" Dionysus grinned. "Already got some special guests coming. Adonis is bringing his... expertise."

"Expertise in what exactly?" Safron asked, though his mark's nervous flicker suggested he already knew.

Before Dionysus could answer, a familiar voice called from the doorway: "Expertise in perfect beauty, obviously."

Adonis stood there, predictably nude, his divine beauty literally radiating through the chamber. "Though I hear I might have some competition today..."

"Competition?" Safron's mark pulsed questioningly.

As if on cue, another figure appeared - impossibly beautiful, carrying a mirror, and also completely naked. "They say I'm the most beautiful," Narcissus declared, admiring his reflection. "Though I suppose I could be persuaded to compare..."

Dionysus's grin widened impossibly further. "Oh, this is going to be fun! Three divine beauties, one spa day, and..." he glanced at Safron's already flustered mark, "one administrator to keep things... orderly."

Safron had a feeling this was going to be a very long day.

"Now then," Dionysus clapped his hands, his chiton somehow managing to cover even less, "who's ready for some divine pampering?"

"The water temperature needs to be perfect," Narcissus was insisting, still gazing at his reflection in the spa pool. "Like me."

"I can help with that!" Zagreus offered enthusiastically, stepping toward the water.

"NO!" several voices chorused at once.

"Your feet, mate," Dionysus explained lazily from his lounging position. "We're going for 'relaxingly warm' not 'literally boiling.'"

In the corner, Meg was pretending to be completely uninterested in the whole affair, though Safron's mark pulsed with amusement as he noticed her eyes carefully studying the massage techniques being demonstrated.

"Oh gosh, oh gosh," Dusa hovered nervously near the aromatherapy station where Anthius was carefully releasing different colored petals into the air. "Are you sure it's okay for snakes to get massaged? Not that I don't appreciate the offer! But what if they get too relaxed? What if-"

"Darling," Adonis interrupted, stretching in a way that seemed physically impossible for anyone not blessed by Aphrodite herself, "everything can be massaged. Though speaking of divine blessings..." he turned to Narcissus with a challenging smile, "care to compare what the gods gave us?"

"I would," Narcissus replied without looking away from his mirror, "but I'm far too captivated by my own reflection at the moment."

"Boys, boys," Dionysus grinned, his chiton now basically theoretical, "there's plenty of time for comparing... assets later. Right now, let's focus on getting our dear administrator to actually relax. He's been far too tense lately."

Safron's mark pulsed with alarm as all three divine beauties turned their attention to him.

"Oh yes," Adonis smiled. "He definitely needs our... expertise."

"Come on, mate!" Dionysus draped himself over a nearby couch, divine assets on full display. "Not even a little mark pulse for all this godly beauty?"

Safron's mark remained stubbornly dim. Even with three of the most beautiful divine beings competing for attention around him, his mind kept drifting back to his parents' kitchen, to pomegranate jam and lost time.

"He's not even looking," Narcissus observed with mild offense, finally glancing away from his mirror. "How can he not look? Even I look, and I'm me."

"Maybe he needs a different approach," Adonis suggested, moving to demonstrate what he clearly thought was his best angle.

"I appreciate the... effort," Safron managed diplomatically, his mark pulsing with tired politeness. "But I'm just not..."

"Oh honey," Meg's voice carried unexpected understanding beneath its usual sharpness. "They could dance the dance of divine seduction right now and you'd probably just ask them to file it under 'entertainment, miscellaneous.'"

"Is that the wrong filing category?" Dusa asked anxiously, her snakes now wearing tiny spa towels. "Should we make a new one for divine dancing? Oh gosh, would that require new forms?"

Anthius's flowers shifted to a gentle, understanding blue. "Sometimes," he said softly, "even the most beautiful distractions can't compete with what the heart's processing."

Dionysus sat up slightly, his usual playful demeanor softening. "Ah. Perhaps we're approaching this relaxation thing from the wrong angle."

Through it all, Safron hadn't let go of Zagreus's hand. The prince's eternal warmth was the only thing that felt truly grounding, his mark pulsing gently where their fingers intertwined.

"Now that's interesting," Adonis observed, momentarily forgetting his beauty contest with Narcissus. "All this divine perfection on display, and his mark only responds to the prince's touch."

"It's not about physical perfection," Safron said quietly, his grip on Zagreus's hand tightening slightly. "It's about... connection. Understanding."

"He held my hand like this," he continued, his mark pulsing with memory, "when I couldn't even speak. Just sat there, being warm, being present."

Dionysus's expression shifted to something surprisingly thoughtful. "Love's funny like that, isn't it? Sometimes it's not about the grand displays or perfect forms. Sometimes it's just about someone holding your hand through the hard parts."

"Boring," Narcissus declared, returning to his mirror. "Though I suppose even imperfect love has its charm. Not as charming as my reflection, of course..."

Zagreus's thumb stroked across Safron's knuckles, a small gesture that made his mark glow warmer than any display of divine beauty could manage.

"Perhaps," Anthius suggested, his flowers shifting to a gentle mix of colors, "we could focus less on... competitive nudity and more on actual relaxation?"

"But my beauty contest..." Adonis started to protest.

"Can wait," Dionysus interrupted, showing unexpected sensitivity. "Sometimes what the heart needs isn't distraction, but support. Even if that support comes from just holding someone's hand."

After a moment of comfortable silence, Safron's mark pulsed with unexpected mischief. "Though if we're talking about competitive displays," he said quietly, squeezing Zagreus's hand, "the Prince of the Underworld has nothing to be concerned about in terms of... divine proportions."

"Oh?" Dionysus perked up immediately. "Do tell, mate!"

Zagreus actually blushed, his eternal heat making Safron's hand warmer. "I don't think that's necessary to-"

"Let's just say," Safron continued, his mark flickering with the first real amusement it had shown in days, "that rebellion comes well-equipped."

"Now THAT deserves comparison!" Adonis declared, turning with renewed interest.

"Absolutely not," Zagreus stated firmly, though he was grinning.

"Spoilsport," Narcissus commented, briefly glancing away from his mirror. "Though I suppose if we're ranking divine endowments..."

"We're not," Safron said, but his mark was pulsing with genuine entertainment now. "I'm just saying, if we were... the prince of the Underworld holds his own against any god of beauty."

"Is that administrative testimony?" Dionysus teased. "Should we file it under 'divine assets, comparative analysis'?"

"Oh gosh," Dusa squeaked from her corner. "Is that really a category? Should I be updating the filing system? Not that I look at those kinds of files! Oh no..."

"If we're actually comparing," Meg's voice came unexpectedly relaxed from where she'd finally settled into one of the massage chairs, "I can offer some professional observations about several divine... attributes."

Everyone turned to stare at her. Even Narcissus looked away from his mirror.

"What?" She stretched languidly, her wings spreading in unusual relaxation. "A fury sees things over the centuries. For instance, Adonis, you're not as unique as you think. Remember that spring festival in Thessaly? Around 300 BC?"

Adonis actually blushed. "That was... a different era."

"And Dionysus," she continued, a rare smile playing at her lips, "remember that incident with the maenads and the measuring contest?"

"Now that was a party!" Dionysus grinned, adjusting his nearly nonexistent chiton. "Though I still say the thyrsus comparison was unfair..."

"Wait," Safron's mark pulsed with curiosity. "There are official records of divine... measurements?"

"Oh honey," Meg's eyes glittered with unusual mischief, "there are entire scrolls dedicated to godly proportions. Though most are classified under 'divine incidents, clothing optional.'"

"I need to see these records," Narcissus declared. "For comparison purposes, of course."

"For your mirror collection?" Zagreus teased.

"Perhaps," Meg stretched again, looking more relaxed than anyone had ever seen her, "some divine mysteries should remain mysterious. Though I will say..." she cast an appraising look at Zagreus, "our prince does maintain certain... high standards of the House."

"Speaking of House standards," Adonis lounged back, somehow making even that simple movement look divinely seductive, "is there anyone in this palace you haven't seduced, Prince? It seems everywhere I turn, someone's got a story about your... diplomatic relations."

Zagreus choked slightly while Safron's mark pulsed with amused interest.

"Let's see," Adonis began counting on his perfect fingers. "Than, obviously. Our dear administrator here. Meg, of course. That time with the musician..."

"That was ages ago," Meg commented lazily from her chair.

"And didn't something happen with that shade from Athens? The poet?" Dionysus added helpfully. "Oh, and that warrior from Sparta..."

"The list does seem rather extensive," Narcissus agreed, finally fully engaged in a conversation not about himself. "Though I suppose with those looks and that position of power..."

"I haven't..." Zagreus started, his eternal heat making him practically glow with embarrassment.

"Darling," Adonis interrupted with a knowing smile, "even the furniture in this palace probably has a crush on you. Not that I blame them - rebellion looks good on you. Very good."

"Should we start a new filing system?" Dusa suggested nervously. "Maybe 'Prince's Personal Affairs'? Oh gosh, that sounds inappropriate! Not that I'm keeping track! Even though I might have seen... oh no..."

Safron's mark flickered with genuine amusement as he watched Zagreus grow increasingly flustered. "Well," he said, squeezing the prince's hand, "at least he's consistent in his... diplomatic approach."

"Very diplomatic," Meg smirked. "In multiple positions."

"Though speaking of diplomatic positions," Safron's mark pulsed with mischievous energy, a spark of his old humor returning, "I've always found that 69 is a particularly effective number for... administrative purposes."

The room went silent for a moment before Dionysus burst into delighted laughter.

"Did our proper administrator just..." Adonis began, looking impressed.

"Oh my," Narcissus actually dropped his mirror.

Zagreus, still holding Safron's hand, turned a shade of red that had nothing to do with his usual heat. "I just remembered I need to... attempt an escape. Right now. Immediately."

"Running away, Prince?" Meg called after him, looking thoroughly entertained.

"Strategic retreat!" Zagreus called back, already disappearing through the door.

"Who knew," Dionysus mused, watching the prince's hasty exit, "that all it took to make the great escape artist flee was one administratively suggestive number?"

Safron's mark pulsed with the first real laughter it had shown in days. Sometimes, he realized, healing came in unexpected moments - even in the middle of a divine beauty contest with an embarrassed prince and a room full of naked gods.

"Should I... should I file that number under 'special administrative procedures'?" Dusa asked anxiously.

"Oh honey," Meg smiled from her chair, "file it under 'ways to make the Prince of the Underworld blush and run.'"

Chapter Text

"Ah... ah... ACHOO!"

Safron's mark pulsed in warning just a moment too late as an enormous wet nose pressed against his back, followed by another, and then a third. All three of Cerberus's heads had decided that right now was the perfect moment for attention, administrative duties be damned.

"Hello to you too, boy," Safron managed between sneezes, his mark flickering with the familiar mix of affection and allergic reaction that Cerberus always inspired. "I thought you were guarding the gates?"

A deep 'boof' echoed through the chamber, followed by two agreeing whines from the other heads. The middle head nudged a large, slobbery ball toward Safron's feet.

"Really? Now?" Safron looked at his stack of unfinished paperwork, then at the hopeful expressions on all three faces. His mark pulsed traitorously - he'd always been weak to puppy eyes, even when they came in triplicate from the Guardian of the Underworld.

The right head let out a small whimper that somehow managed to sound exactly like Zagreus when he wanted something.

"You've been spending too much time with Zag," Safron accused, though he was already reaching for the ball. "Learning his manipulation techniques..."

All three tails began wagging enthusiastically, creating a breeze strong enough to scatter several scrolls across the floor.

"Lord Hades is going to kill me," Safron muttered, but his mark was already glowing with anticipation. "One game. Just one, okay?"

The answering triple-bark probably meant 'we'll see about that.'

One game quickly turned into several, with Safron's sneezing punctuating each throw. His mark pulsed warmly despite his allergies - there was something endearing about watching the fearsome Guardian of the Underworld playfully argue with himself over who got to return the ball.

"No fair using all three heads at once," Safron chided as the massive hound managed to catch the ball with one head while the other two complained. "Some of us only have one mouth to work with."

The left head dropped the ball to let out what sounded suspiciously like a laugh.

"Having fun?"

Zagreus's voice made both Safron and all three of Cerberus's heads turn. The prince was leaning against the doorframe, grinning at the scene of scattered paperwork and his father's fearsome hound playing fetch with his administrator.

"Your dog," Safron sniffed, wiping his nose, "is as stubborn as you are."

"He's technically Father's dog," Zagreus approached, reaching up to scratch behind all three sets of ears simultaneously - a skill Safron had yet to master. "Though he does seem to have developed a fondness for certain administrators, despite their allergies."

The middle head bumped against Safron's chest, making his mark pulse brightly. "ACHOO! Yes, yes, I'm fond of you too, even if you're trying to kill me with affection."

"Should I be jealous?" Zagreus teased. "You never sneeze this much around me."

"That's because you- ACHOO! -don't shed enough fur to stuff a thousand mattresses."

All three of Cerberus's heads managed to look offended at that.

"He's been shedding more than usual lately," Zagreus observed, still expertly navigating the three-head scratching situation. "Father says it's because of the seasonal changes in Asphodel."

"Wonderful," Safron managed between sneezes, his mark pulsing with resigned affection as the right head decided his lap was the perfect place to rest. "As if the paperwork wasn't enough of a ch- ACHOO! -challenge."

The left head whined sympathetically while simultaneously trying to nose the ball back into play. The middle head seemed content just watching the chaos it had helped create, tongue lolling out in what could only be described as a smug expression.

"You know," Zagreus grinned, "Than says he's never seen Cerberus take to anyone like this. Well, except Mother."

"Lucky m- ACHOO! -me."

A deep rumbling sound that might have been either agreement or amusement came from all three throats at once. The massive tail wagging was now creating small windstorms around Safron's scattered documents.

"Should we maybe continue this in the courtyard?" Safron suggested hopefully, eyeing his increasingly messy chamber.

All three heads perked up at the word 'courtyard,' and before either Safron or Zagreus could react, Cerberus had gently but firmly grabbed the administrator with his middle head - thankfully by the back of his chiton and not any more... vital areas.

"Wait, no- ACHOO! I didn't mean- ACHOO! Zag, help!"

"Sorry, mate," Zagreus was barely containing his laughter as Cerberus proudly carried his sneezing prize toward the courtyard, the other two heads still trying to balance the ball between them. "Can't countermand a direct order from the Guardian of the Underworld. House policy and all that."

Safron's mark pulsed with a mix of resignation and amusement as he dangled from Cerberus's gentle but insistent grip. "I'm adding this to your file! ACHOO! Under 'failure to assist administrative personnel in distress!'"

The echoing sound of Zagreus's laughter followed them down the hall, along with the continuous sneezing of one very allergic, very resigned administrator being carried off for mandatory play time with a three-headed dog who had decided that fetch wait for no allergy.

Chapter Text

The evening found Safron back in his chambers, still amused by Zagreus's dramatic spa day exit. He was curled up in his favorite chair when the prince himself appeared, having apparently finished his "strategic retreat."

"So," Safron's mark pulsed with gentle teasing as Zagreus settled nearby, radiating his usual warmth, "about that escape attempt..."

"We're not discussing numbers right now," Zagreus warned, though he was smiling.

"Actually," Safron's mark flickered thoughtfully, "I've always wondered about your favorite escape routes. You must have some that you prefer over others?"

"Are you making an official administrative record?" Zagreus raised an eyebrow.

"Consider it... personal curiosity." Safron shifted to make room for Zagreus beside him. "All those attempts, all those different paths... there must be some that stand out?"

Zagreus was quiet for a moment, considering. "Well, there was this one time in Asphodel..."

His mark pulsed with interest as Zagreus began to share stories of his more memorable attempts to reach the surface, each tale carrying its own mix of triumph and inevitable return.

"There was this one time," Zagreus settled more comfortably beside Safron, their shoulders touching, "when I made it through Tartarus using nothing but my fists. No weapons, just pure spite and determination."

Safron's mark pulsed with amused interest. "How did that work out?"

"Terribly! Made it to Meg and she laughed for about five minutes straight before killing me. But," he grinned, "it was worth it just to see her face when I walked in basically naked."

"Speaking of naked approaches," Safron's mark flickered mischievously, "what about that time Than mentioned... something about losing your chiton in Elysium?"

"That was NOT my fault!" Zagreus protested immediately. "The Hydra's acid attacks are very unpredictable, and besides, Theseus was much more flustered by it than I was."

"I bet he was."

"Though," Zagreus continued thoughtfully, "there was this other time, in Asphodel... I had this perfect run going. Everything lined up just right - best boons, great weapon, even the chambers seemed to be in my favor. Made it all the way to the temple entrance..."

"And?"

"Tripped over my own burning feet and fell right into the Phlegethon."

Safron's mark pulsed with genuine laughter. "The great Prince of the Underworld, defeated by his own coordination."

"Than still hasn't let me live that one down," Zagreus admitted ruefully. "Keeps suggesting I need remedial walking lessons."

"Actually," Safron's mark flickered with administrative curiosity, "I've always wondered... all those coins you spend at Charon's shops during your escapes - where do they actually go?"

Zagreus paused mid-story, his mismatched eyes widening slightly. "I... huh. I've never actually thought about that."

"You've spent thousands of coins over countless escape attempts," Safron pointed out, his mark pulsing thoughtfully. "Surely they must end up somewhere?"

"Maybe Charon has some sort of... boat maintenance fund?"

"For a boat that basically rows itself through the ethereal rivers of the underworld?"

"Well, when you put it that way..." Zagreus shifted, his warmth making Safron's mark glow contentedly despite the mystery. "Though there was this one time I tried to peek under his robes to see if he had some sort of coin storage system..."

"You didn't."

"I did! Got smacked with an oar for my trouble. Worth it though - Than's face when I told him about it was priceless. Though speaking of priceless..." Zagreus grinned. "There was this other time when I tried to bargain with Charon using Temple of Styx receipts..."

"How did that work out?"

"About as well as you'd expect. Though his 'HHHRRRRRNNNGGGH' did sound more amused than usual."

"You know," Safron's mark pulsed curiously as he shifted against Zagreus's warmth, "why doesn't Charon speak? I mean, Than can talk, Nyx can talk, even Chaos communicates clearly despite being... well, Chaos."

Zagreus was quiet for a moment, his eternal heat providing a comfortable contrast to the chamber's cool air. "It's funny, I've known him literally forever and never really asked. Though..." he grinned suddenly, "there was this one escape attempt where I tried to teach him modern speech."

"You didn't."

"I did! Spent an entire run through Asphodel just trying to get him to say 'hello' instead of 'HRAAAAAAAH.' Than found us and nearly died laughing - which, given that he's Death Incarnate, was quite something."

"How did Charon take it?"

"Hit me with his oar again. Though..." Zagreus's expression turned thoughtful, "you know what's interesting? He CAN speak. He chooses not to."

Safron's mark flickered with interest. "Really?"

"Mm-hmm. Heard him once, ages ago, having a proper conversation with Hermes. Proper words and everything. But as soon as he noticed me listening..." Zagreus rubbed his head ruefully, "well, let's just say his oar made his feelings about eavesdropping very clear."

As they continued sharing stories, comfortable in each other's presence, Safron's mark pulsed with another curiosity that had been building. His eyes followed a particularly rapid Hermes passing by the chamber doorway.

"Speaking of speed demons..." he began casually.

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever... I mean, with how fast Hermes moves, and that incredibly short chiton he wears..."

Zagreus caught on immediately, his eternal heat flickering with amusement. "Are you asking if I've ever caught a glimpse of divine messenger secrets during my escape attempts?"

"Well..." Safron's mark pulsed with embarrassed interest. "He does move awfully fast in very little clothing..."

"Let's just say," Zagreus grinned, "that there have been some... interesting moments of divine revelation during particularly rapid message deliveries. Though Than wasn't very amused when he caught me looking that one time..."

"So you HAVE seen something!"

"I plead divine privilege," Zagreus laughed. "Though I will say, speed isn't the only impressive thing about our favorite messenger god."

Safron's mark flickered with scandalized amusement. "Does Than know you've been appreciating other divine... attributes?"

"Speaking of divine appreciation," Safron's mark pulsed with genuine curiosity, "how come Than gets so particular about Hermes but doesn't bat an eye at Dionysus basically being naked all the time?"

Zagreus chuckled, his warmth pressing closer. "Ah, that's actually kind of funny. See, Than's known Dionysus forever - he's just... Dionysus, you know? Always being himself, always on display. It's like background noise at this point."

"But Hermes...?"

"Hermes is different. He's Than's work partner, sort of. They deal with souls together, have their whole death-and-guidance dynamic. So when I get caught looking at Hermes'... swift movements..." Zagreus grinned, "it's like I'm appreciating a coworker's assets."

Safron's mark flickered with understanding amusement. "So Dionysus can wave his divine gifts around all day because he's just being Dionysus, but Hermes gets special treatment because he's professionally connected?"

"Exactly! Though don't tell Than I explained it that way. He still insists he doesn't care who I look at."

"Says the god who 'accidentally' showed up during that one particularly revealing message delivery..."

"You noticed that too?" Zagreus laughed. "Poor Hermes was so startled he actually slowed down for once!"

Safron's mark pulsed with sudden warmth. "You know... I really do love Hermes. Not like," he squeezed Zagreus's hand quickly, "not like us, obviously. But he's been... he's been there for everything."

"Oh?" Zagreus shifted to look at him properly.

"From my very first day here, he just... got it, you know? No judgment, no divine superiority. Just 'welcome to the chaos, professional associate!'" Safron's mark glowed with fond memory. "He made everything feel less overwhelming, somehow. Made divine madness seem... manageable."

"That's Hermes," Zagreus smiled softly. "Always moving fast but never too busy to care."

"Exactly! And during these past few days, with everything about my parents..." Safron's mark flickered with lingering pain but also gratitude, "he'd just zip by, drop off some surface chocolate, make some ridiculous joke about administrative efficiency, and zoom away. Never pushed, never demanded I talk. Just... was there."

"Like a really fast, slightly chaotic big brother?"

"Yes!" Safron's mark pulsed with perfect recognition. "That's exactly it. The best big brother you could ask for, even if he's technically an ancient deity who probably flashed half the House during message deliveries."

Zagreus laughed, pulling him closer. "Don't let him hear you call him 'big brother' though. He'll either cry or start planning the most chaotic family reunion ever."

"Though speaking of Hermes," Safron's mark pulsed with mischievous energy after a moment of comfortable silence, "purely from an aesthetic perspective..."

"Mm?"

"He does have really nice hips. The way they move when he's zipping around..."

"What?!" Zagreus pulled back slightly to stare at him.

"Don't hit me!" Safron laughed, his mark flickering with amusement. "I'm just saying, for a messenger god, he's got some really impressive... message delivery techniques."

"I can't believe you're admiring Hermes's hips!" Zagreus tried to sound outraged, but his eternal heat betrayed his own amusement.

"Hey, you're the one who admitted to divine messenger appreciation during escape attempts!"

"That's... that's different!"

"Is it though?" Safron's mark pulsed teasingly. "Should we ask Than for his professional opinion on Hermes's hip movements?"

"I'm leaving," Zagreus declared, standing up though he was clearly fighting back laughter. "I'm going to attempt another escape, and we're never discussing Hermes's hips again."

"Run away then," Safron called after him, his mark glowing with genuine happiness for the first time in days. "I'm sure Hermes will be happy to guide you... with those very efficient hips of his!"

Zagreus's scandalized laughter echoed down the corridor as he fled.

Chapter Text

The eternal twilight of the House settled into its own kind of routine. Safron's mark pulsed gently as he moved through his morning - if you could call it morning in a place where time was more suggestion than rule.

Dusa was already cleaning the same spot she'd cleaned six times, her snakes still wearing tiny spa towels from yesterday. "Oh! Good mor- I mean, hello! Not that you need to say hello! Oh gosh, should I not be cleaning this again?"

"The spot looks perfect, Dusa," he assured her, his mark flickering with fond amusement.

In the lounge, Hypnos was sleep-floating in his usual spot, muttering something about "administrative dreams" and "very efficient filing systems." Meg sat in her corner, pretending to read reports but actually watching Dusa clean with poorly hidden interest.

"MATE!" Dionysus's voice boomed as Safron passed, the god still somehow wearing even less than yesterday. "About that spa day ranking system we were discussing..."

"No more divine measurement competitions," Safron called back, though his mark pulsed with humor.

"Spoilsport! Though speaking of sports..." Dionysus stretched deliberately, causing several shades to walk into walls.

The day was shaping up to be perfectly, wonderfully normal - which, in the House of Hades, meant anything but.

Making his way through the House, Safron found Anthius in the garden, his flowers cycling through pleased colors as he arranged new blooms. A few petals drifted down as he worked, creating natural patterns that somehow ended up looking suspiciously like certain divine anatomy.

"The flowers have a mind of their own," Anthius defended when he caught Safron's raised eyebrow. "They're still... inspired from yesterday."

"Uh-huh," Safron's mark pulsed with skepticism. "And these particularly suggestive rose arrangements?"

"Pure coincidence. Though Narcissus did ask for a copy..."

Near the training grounds, Achilles and Patroclus were demonstrating sword techniques to some shades, though they seemed more interested in demonstrating their lingering looks at each other than actual combat moves.

"Your form needs work," Meg commented dryly as she passed, though whether she meant their fighting stance or their flirting was unclear.

A familiar rush of wind announced Hermes's arrival, and Safron's mark flickered with amusement as he deliberately avoided looking at the god's hips after last night's conversation.

"Professional associate! No time to chat, lots of messages to deliver, though Than did ask me why Zagreus keeps muttering about 'administrative hip appreciation' whatever that means!"

"Been giving the prince some interesting thoughts about divine messengers, have we?" Praxis's voice carried unusual amusement as she floated past with her scrolls. "Though I must say, your recent filing system for 'divine physical attributes' is surprisingly thorough."

Safron's mark pulsed with embarrassment. "That was supposed to be a private administrative reference..."

"Nothing's private in the House archives," she reminded him, her divine authority softened by clear entertainment. "Though your categorical organization of 'godly assets by department' was quite... professional."

From somewhere nearby, they heard Cerberus's excited barking, followed by the sound of multiple things falling over and Dusa's anxious "Oh gosh, oh gosh!"

"Good boy wants pets!" Hypnos called out helpfully from his floating nap position. "Also, someone's trying to smuggle banned substances into the afterlife... might want to handle that... snore"

"I'll get it," Meg sighed, wings shifting as she stood. "Though someone might want to explain to Cerberus that three heads doesn't mean triple treats. He's getting spoiled."

"Don't let him hear you say that," Safron warned, his mark flickering as all three of Cerberus's heads turned toward them with perfect puppy-dog eyes. "Last time someone mentioned diet restrictions, he managed to look pathetic with all three faces for a week straight."

"The fearsome hound of the Underworld," Praxis observed dryly, "defeated by portion control."

As the eternal not-quite-day continued, Safron found himself in one of the quieter corners of the House, his mark pulsing contentedly at the familiar chaos of it all. Than appeared briefly to drop off a pomegranate cake, cool fingers brushing his shoulder before disappearing again to his duties.

"You look better," Nyx observed, materializing from the shadows. "More... present."

"The House helps," Safron admitted, his mark flickering thoughtfully. "All this divine chaos somehow makes everything else feel... manageable."

As if to prove his point, they heard Zagreus's voice from somewhere nearby: "Cerberus, no! That's not a ball, that's Sisyphus's boulder!"

"BOOF!" (times three)

"Oh gosh, should we stop them? Not that I'm questioning anyone's decisions! But maybe rolling boulders isn't... oh no, it's heading for the lounge!" Dusa's nervous commentary provided perfect narration.

"See?" Safron's mark pulsed with genuine warmth. "Perfectly normal day in the House."

"Indeed," Nyx's starry form shifted with what might have been amusement. "Though perhaps someone should..."

They were interrupted by the sound of Bouldy rolling past, pursued by an enthusiastic three-headed hound, an anxious gorgon head, and a slightly singed prince.

"I've got it!" Zagreus called out. "Everything's under control!"

The crash that followed suggested otherwise.

"I'll update the incident reports," Safron sighed, though his mark flickered with happiness. Some things in the House never changed - and somehow, that made everything else easier to bear.

"BOOF!"

"Cerberus, NO!"

"Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh!"

Just another eternal day in the House of Hades

Chapter Text

"A... date?" Zagreus looked genuinely puzzled, his mismatched eyes studying Safron with confusion. "Like the time measurements mortals use? Or is it some kind of fruit?"

Safron's mark pulsed with amused affection as they sat in his chambers. "No, it's... it's something mortals do when they're together. Like a special time set aside just for each other."

"But we're already together," Zagreus pointed out, his eternal heat a comfort against Safron's side. "Right now, even."

"Yes, but..." Safron's mark flickered as he tried to explain. "It's different. It's planned, intentional. You dress up, go somewhere nice, do something special together..."

"We do special things together," Zagreus grinned suggestively.

"Not THAT kind of special," Safron's mark pulsed with embarrassed humor. "Well, not just that. It's about... romance. Creating moments just for each other."

"Romance?" Than's cool voice joined the conversation as he materialized nearby. "Is this another mortal concept we should know about?"

Safron looked between his two divine partners - death incarnate and the prince of the underworld - and realized explaining modern dating to eternal beings might be more complicated than he'd thought.

His mark flickered with determination. He was going to make them understand the concept of a proper date, even if it killed him.

...Though given his company, perhaps that wasn't the best choice of words.

"Okay, let me try to explain," Safron's mark pulsed thoughtfully as he faced his confused divine partners. "In the mortal world, when you're with someone, you plan special occasions. Like... remember how Orpheus composes specific songs for Eurydice?"

"Yes, but that's just Orpheus being Orpheus," Zagreus shrugged. "He'd compose about dust if you let him."

"Not helping, Zag." Safron's mark flickered with patient amusement. "The point is, it's about making an effort. Showing someone they're special by planning something just for them."

"But we know we're special to each other," Than stated, his golden eyes reflecting genuine confusion. "Death's eternal nature doesn't require scheduled validation."

"It's not about requiring anything," Safron tried again. "It's about... wanting to create moments. Like..." his mark pulsed as he searched for an example they'd understand, "like how you sometimes wait for me after administrative duties, Than. Or how Zag brings me pomegranates from his escape attempts."

"Those are just things we do," Zagreus said, though he looked thoughtful.

"Exactly! But imagine doing something like that, but bigger. Planned. Special."

"Special how?" Than asked, and Safron could tell he was actually trying to understand.

"Well, that's what I want to show you. If you'll let me plan something for us? A proper date?"

Zagreus and Than exchanged looks that somehow managed to convey both confusion and curiosity.

"No dying allowed during it though," Safron added quickly, looking at Zagreus.

"That's a very specific restriction," Than observed dryly.

"Let me get this straight," Zagreus shifted closer, his warmth making Safron's mark pulse steadily. "You want to plan a specific time for us to be together, doing something special that isn't work or escaping or... other activities?"

"Exactly!"

"But why plan it?" Than asked. "Eternity provides endless opportunities for togetherness."

"That's... that's kind of the point," Safron's mark flickered as he tried to explain. "Because it's eternal, it's easy to just let moments happen. But sometimes it's nice to make a moment happen on purpose. To say 'this time is special because we chose to make it special.'"

"Like declaring a particular soul collection more important than others?" Than mused.

"Or marking a specific escape attempt as different from the rest?" Zagreus added.

"Sort of?" Safron's mark pulsed with hope that they were starting to understand. "But less about death and escape, more about... us. Together. Doing something nice."

"Define 'nice,'" Than requested, looking increasingly intrigued despite his eternal stoicism.

"Well, that's the surprise part," Safron smiled. "If you'll trust me?"

"Always," Zagreus said immediately, while Than nodded with that slight smile that meant more than any grand gesture.

"Just..." Safron's mark flickered with mild concern, "maybe we could agree that work emergencies, escape attempts, and sudden death-related duties could wait for just one evening?"

"You're asking Death to take a break?" Zagreus grinned.

"I'm asking both of you to let me show you something mortal. Something special."

The way they both looked at him then - Than's golden eyes soft with curiosity, Zagreus's mismatched ones bright with interest - made his mark pulse with anticipation.

This was either going to be the most unique date in history or a complete disaster. Possibly both.

Than's form shifted slightly, that subtle movement Safron had learned to recognize as apologetic. "The dead... they don't exactly wait for romantic occasions."

"Oh," Safron's mark pulsed with understanding. "Right. Death doesn't take holidays."

"I would..." Than started, his cool presence carrying genuine regret. "But there's been an increase in mortal endings lately, and..."

"Hey," Safron reached for his hand, mark glowing gently at the cool touch. "I understand. Really. Maybe... maybe Zag and I could try this first? Like a test run?"

"A trial date?" Zagreus perked up, always eager for new challenges. "Without dying?"

"Preferably without dying, yes." Safron's mark flickered with amusement before turning back to Than. "And then when things are calmer with work..."

"I would like that," Than said softly. "To experience this mortal custom. When duty allows."

"Besides," Zagreus grinned, "this way you can perfect your dating technique before trying it with Than. You know how he is about proper procedures."

"I am literally still here," Than pointed out dryly, though there was fondness in his tone.

"So," Safron's mark pulsed with both excitement and slight nervousness, "tomorrow evening then? Just you and me, Zag?"

"It's a date," Zagreus declared proudly, clearly pleased to be using the new term. "Whatever that actually means."

Than's cool lips brushed Safron's cheek before he stood. "Try to keep him from setting anything on fire," he advised before disappearing in his characteristic flash of green.

"That was ONE time!" Zagreus called after him.

"Three times," Safron corrected automatically, his mark already beginning to pulse with plans for tomorrow.

Chapter Text

Safron's chambers had become a workshop of ideas as he prepared for tomorrow. His mark pulsed steadily as he made lists, considering and discarding possibilities. How exactly did one plan a romantic evening in the Underworld?

He'd already ruled out several typical mortal date locations:

- Restaurants (the House lounge wasn't quite right)

- Movies (definitely not an option)

- Parks (Elysium was beautiful but full of warriors trying to kill Zagreus)

- Beach walks (the Styx wasn't exactly romantic)

His mark flickered thoughtfully as he looked over his notes. It needed to be somewhere private, somewhere Zagreus wouldn't be recognized and challenged to combat every few minutes. Somewhere that wouldn't burst into flames from his burning feet...

The gardens? No, too many prying eyes. Asphodel? Too hot. Tartarus? Not exactly the mood he was going for.

His mark pulsed with sudden inspiration as he remembered a quiet corner he'd discovered during his administrative rounds - a small chamber off the main halls, peaceful, with a view of the ethereal lights that danced through the Underworld's eternal twilight.

Now he just needed to figure out how to make it special. Something that would show Zagreus what mortal romance could be, while still honoring who and where they were.

The corner chamber would need work, but his mark pulsed with possibilities as he surveyed it. The ethereal lights cast perfect shadows that could be enhanced with strategically placed candles - though he'd need to keep them far from Zagreus's feet.

He'd already asked Persephone (quietly, trying not to draw attention) if he could borrow some cushions from her gardens. Something comfortable to sit on, somewhere they could just... be together without duties or death or escape attempts.

From his own chambers, he gathered a few precious items from his mortal life - that bottle of wine he'd appeared with, still unopened. Some surface treats he'd been saving. His mark pulsed warmly as he remembered actual dates from his past life - nervous excitement, careful planning, the joy of making something special for someone you cared about.

But this wasn't just any date. This was with the Prince of the Underworld himself, someone who had literally died hundreds of times trying to reach goals. How did you impress someone like that?

"Maybe," he muttered to himself, his mark flickering with determination, "it's not about impressing. Maybe it's about showing him something different. Something... mortal."

He began arranging things carefully: cushions here, lights there, making sure everything was just far enough from where Zagreus would sit to avoid spontaneous combustion...

His mark pulsed gently as he added personal touches - a few of his favorite scrolls about the House, the ones he'd arrived with that had drawings of Zagreus's earlier escape attempts. He thought the prince might enjoy seeing how mortals had imagined him before they met.

From his collection, he pulled out his old music player - another item that had mysteriously appeared with him. It still worked somehow, probably due to whatever divine chaos had brought him here. He'd been saving its battery, but... his mark flickered with decision. If any occasion warranted sharing music from his world, this was it.

The final touch was something he'd been especially nervous about. During his administrative duties, he'd started sketching - little moments of House life, including quite a few of Zagreus. Not the dramatic escape attempts or grand battles, but quiet moments: Zagreus dozing in the lounge, playing with Cerberus, that soft smile he got when talking about Than...

His mark pulsed with slight embarrassment as he arranged the drawings. Was it too much? Too mortal? Too...personal?

"But that's the point, isn't it?" he murmured to himself. "To share these mortal parts of me. To show him how I see him, not as the great escape artist or the prince, but just as... Zag."

As he made final adjustments to everything, his mark flickered with both anxiety and anticipation. Would Zagreus understand what he was trying to show him? Would he appreciate this glimpse into mortal romance, or would it seem small compared to his grand adventures?

"Close your eyes," Safron said, his mark pulsing with nervous energy as he led Zagreus toward the prepared chamber.

"Is this part of mortal dating customs?" Zagreus asked, actually complying despite his natural rebellious tendencies. "The not seeing where you're going?"

"It's about surprise and anticipation," Safron explained, carefully guiding him around a corner. "Though with your escape history, maybe I should have specified 'close your eyes but try not to run into anything or set it on fire.'"

"That was ONE-"

"Three times, Zag. Three times."

His mark flickered warmly as they reached the entrance to the chamber. Everything was just as he'd arranged it - the soft lighting, the cushions carefully placed, his personal treasures arranged just so.

"Okay," he said softly, positioning Zagreus in just the right spot. "You can look now."

He watched anxiously as Zagreus opened his mismatched eyes, his mark pulsing rapidly as he waited for the prince's reaction to this small piece of mortal romance he'd tried to create in the heart of the Underworld...

Zagreus went unusually still, his eternal heat a steady presence as he took in the scene. His mismatched eyes moved from detail to detail - the carefully arranged lights, the cushions positioned just far enough apart to avoid fire hazards, the personal items Safron had laid out.

"These are..." he moved closer to the drawings, careful not to let his burning feet near anything flammable. "You drew these? Me?"

Safron's mark pulsed with nervous energy. "Yeah, just... moments I noticed. When you weren't escaping or fighting or... you know, dying."

"I look so..." Zagreus paused, studying one particular sketch of himself laughing at something Than had said.

"Normal?" Safron suggested. "Just... Zag, not the Prince of the Underworld?"

"Is that how you see me?"

"It's one of the ways," Safron's mark flickered warmly. "The way you smile when you're really happy, not just putting on a brave face for another escape attempt. The way you play with Cerberus when you think no one's watching. The little things that make you... you."

Zagreus turned to him then, his expression holding something Safron had never seen before - a sort of wonder that had nothing to do with divine power or eternal struggles.

"This is what mortal dating is about?" he asked softly. "Seeing each other like this?"

Before Safron could answer, Zagreus closed the distance between them, pulling him into a kiss that felt different from their usual passionate encounters. This was softer, slower, full of understanding rather than urgency. His mark pulsed with bright warmth, responding to this new kind of intimacy.

When they finally separated, Zagreus kept him close, the prince's eternal heat a perfect contrast to Safron's still-glowing mark.

"I brought something else," Safron said softly, retrieving his music player. "Music from my world. Different from Orpheus's songs, but..." He hesitated. "Would you want to hear it?"

"Show me," Zagreus settled carefully onto the cushions, pulling Safron down beside him. "Show me everything about your world, about how mortals do this."

His mark pulsing gently, Safron started the music - something soft, modern but timeless. He watched Zagreus's face as the unfamiliar sounds filled their private corner of the Underworld.

"This is what mortals listen to when they're together?" Zagreus asked, his fingers intertwined with Safron's.

"Sometimes. There are all kinds of music, but this... this reminded me of us. Of moments between the chaos."

"Like the drawings?"

"Like the drawings."

"Wait," Zagreus tilted his head as the familiar melody filled the chamber. "Is that... isn't that...?"

Safron's mark pulsed with soft amusement. "In The Blood. From my game version of you. I thought... well, it felt right. A song about family, about belonging, about finding your place..."

"About coming home," Zagreus finished quietly, his warmth steady against Safron's side.

"Even before I came here, this song meant something special. Now..." his mark flickered with emotion, "now it means even more. Knowing the real you, being part of the real House..."

Zagreus was quiet for a moment, just listening. Then, "Sing it for me?"

"What?"

"The words. I've never heard them properly. Just... sing it? Please?"

Safron's mark pulsed with sudden shyness, but looking at Zagreus's earnest expression, how could he refuse? Softly, he began:

--- "I can feel it in my bones, coursing through my veins..." ---

He watched as Zagreus closed his eyes, letting the words wash over him - words about blood and family, about searching and finding, about the ties that bind them all together.

--- "In the blood, in the blood..."--- Safron's voice grew more confident as Zagreus pulled him closer, the prince's eternal heat perfectly matching the rhythm of his mark's glowing.

As the last notes faded, they sat in comfortable silence, Safron's mark pulsing gently in rhythm with Zagreus's warmth.

"That's how mortals see us?" Zagreus finally asked softly. "Through music and stories?"

"It's one way," Safron replied, his mark flickering thoughtfully. "We try to understand things bigger than ourselves through art, through songs, through moments like this."

"And this..." Zagreus gestured to their intimate setup, the drawings, the shared music, "this is how mortals share those understandings?"

"This is how we share ourselves," Safron's mark glowed warmly. "No grand escapes, no epic battles. Just... quiet moments. Chosen moments."

"I think I understand now," Zagreus shifted to face him properly, his mismatched eyes reflecting the soft light. "Why you wanted to do this. It's not just about being together, it's about being together differently. Seeing each other differently."

"Yes," Safron breathed, his mark pulsing with joy at being understood. "Exactly that."

"Tell me more?" Zagreus requested, settling more comfortably against him. "About mortal moments, about your world's ways of seeing things?"

His burning feet had somehow managed not to set anything on fire yet - perhaps even divine flames knew when to respect a moment.

"Well," Safron's mark pulsed with remembered amusement, "there was this one time in university when I accidentally set off the fire alarm trying to make instant noodles..."

"You? Causing fires?" Zagreus grinned. "I thought that was my job."

"Hey, mortal cooking is harder than it looks! Especially at 3 AM when you're cramming for exams." His mark flickered with the memory. "The whole dormitory had to evacuate. I was standing outside in my pajamas - they had little gaming controllers on them - trying to explain to the fire department that yes, I really did manage to burn instant noodles."

Zagreus laughed, his warmth making Safron's mark glow brighter. "Tell me another one."

"Okay, so... there was this time I tried to impress a guy by pretending I knew how to skateboard. Spoiler alert: I did not know how to skateboard."

"What's a skateboard?"

"Imagine a small chariot with no horses, just wheels, that you stand on. Anyway, I ended up rolling straight into a fountain. In front of the entire campus coffee shop."

"Did you impress him?"

"Well, he did help fish me out of the fountain," Safron's mark pulsed with the embarrassing memory. "Though I think he was trying not to laugh the whole time."

"His loss," Zagreus pulled him closer. "Tell me more?"

"Want to hear about my most embarrassing romantic moment?" Safron's mark pulsed with amused recollection. "I once tried to be really smooth and romantic with this guy, had everything planned perfectly... until I accidentally called him by his brother's name."

"No!" Zagreus was practically radiating heat with laughter.

"It gets worse. Another time, I was trying to be seductive and fell right off the bed. Just... rolled straight onto the floor. Very dignified."

"At least you didn't set anything on fire," Zagreus pointed out.

"True. Though there was this one time with the shower curtain..." Safron's mark flickered with embarrassment. "Let's just say some things are not meant to be load-bearing."

"Is that why you're so careful about structural integrity in the baths?"

"Experience is a great teacher," Safron laughed. "Though none of my mortal mishaps quite compare to that time you, Than and I broke the filing cabinet..."

"That was NOT my fault!"

"Your burning feet literally melted the metal, Zag."

"Details, details..."

Chapter Text

The evening had settled into a comfortable intimacy, Safron's mark pulsing softly as he and Zagreus shared stories and laughter. The prince's eternal heat kept them warm as they lounged among the cushions, the ethereal lights casting gentle shadows.

"You know what I've realized?" Zagreus said thoughtfully, his fingers tracing patterns on Safron's arm. "All those escape attempts, all those grand battles... and somehow this feels more significant."

"More significant than dying hundreds of times?" Safron's mark flickered with amusement.

"Different kind of significant," Zagreus shifted to look at him properly. "When I'm fighting my way up, everything's about the goal, the next chamber, the next challenge. But this... this is about the moment itself. Nothing else."

"That's kind of the point of dates," Safron explained, his mark glowing warmly. "Creating spaces where nothing matters except being together."

"Is that why mortals do this? Make these special moments?"

"Partly. Also because..." Safron's mark pulsed thoughtfully, "because mortal time is limited. We have to choose our moments carefully, make them count."

Zagreus was quiet for a moment, his warmth steady against Safron's side. "Show me more? How mortals make moments count?"

The way he asked, so earnestly curious about these simple human things, made Safron's mark pulse with affection.

"Well," Safron reached for his wine bottle, his mark pulsing softly as he poured two glasses, "mortals have this thing called 'toasting'."

"You mean with bread?" Zagreus looked confused.

"No," Safron laughed, handing him a glass. "It's when you clink glasses together and make a wish or statement about something important."

"Like invoking a blessing?"

"Less divine, more... personal. Here, I'll show you." He raised his glass slightly. "To the Prince who makes administrative work a lot more interesting than it should be."

Zagreus's face lit up with understanding. "Oh! So... to the Administrator who makes dying repeatedly worth it?"

Their glasses clinked, Safron's mark flickering with amusement. "That's probably the most underworld toast ever made."

"Do mortals usually toast to death?"

"Generally we try to avoid that topic on dates," Safron's mark pulsed with humor. "Though I suppose dating Death's coworker makes that a bit difficult."

"Speaking of Than," Zagreus shifted closer, his heat making the wine warm in their glasses, "we should teach him about toasting next time. Though maybe not about the time we broke his favorite scythe holder..."

"That was entirely your fault."

"You weren't exactly complaining at the time."

"Actually," Safron's mark pulsed with sudden vulnerability after they'd settled back with their wine, "can I tell you something about Than?"

"Of course," Zagreus's warmth remained steady against him.

"Sometimes I... I don't know how to talk to him. Not like with you." His mark flickered nervously. "With you, everything just flows naturally, but with Than... he's so eternal, so beyond mortal understanding sometimes. I worry that my feelings for him aren't... enough? Or right? Or..."

Zagreus was quiet for a moment, considering. "Than is... complicated. Took me ages to understand him, and I'm literally divine. He experiences things differently. Love, time, existence itself - it's all different when you're Death Incarnate."

"Exactly," Safron's mark pulsed with relief at being understood. "Sometimes I feel like I'm speaking a completely different language with him. Like now, with this date thing - you're confused but curious, while Than just seemed... puzzled by the whole concept of scheduled emotion."

"But that's Than," Zagreus smiled softly. "He loves differently, but no less deeply. Trust me, I've had centuries to learn his language."

"How do you do it? Balance his... his eternal nature with just being with him?"

"I don't try to balance it," Zagreus admitted. "I just love him as he is. Death, dignity, dramatic entrances and all."

Safron's mark flickered thoughtfully. "I do love him. Just..."

"Differently than you love me?" Zagreus's tone held no judgment, only understanding.

"Yeah."

"Good," Zagreus pulled him closer. "Because we're different. Than doesn't need you to love him like you love me. He just needs you to love him like you love him."

"You know," Safron's mark pulsed with sudden inspiration, "you could do this too. With Than. Just the two of you."

"A date?" Zagreus shifted to look at him curiously.

"Yeah. You've known him so much longer, understand him in ways I'm still learning. Maybe..." his mark flickered thoughtfully, "maybe you could show him what eternal beings' version of a date could be."

"Without you?"

"Sometimes it's good to have moments just between you two. You had centuries together before I showed up with my mortal complications."

Zagreus was quiet for a moment, his heat steady as he considered. "You'd be okay with that?"

"More than okay," Safron's mark pulsed warmly. "You both deserve your own special moments. Besides," he smiled, "someone has to teach Death about romance, and you've had way more practice dying dramatically for him than I have."

"That's... actually not a bad idea," Zagreus grinned. "Though I should probably avoid any activities that involve dying. Than gets touchy about mixing work and pleasure."

"Just don't break any more of his scythe holders and you should be fine."

"That was ONE-"

"Three times, Zag. We broke three of them."

"Thank you," Zagreus said softly, "for showing me this. How mortals make moments matter."

Instead of responding, Safron leaned in to kiss him. His mark pulsed warmly as their lips met, this kiss carrying all the gentle understanding they'd built throughout the evening. No urgent passion or divine chaos - just them, sharing a moment they'd chosen to make special.

When they finally separated, Zagreus's eternal heat had somehow managed not to set anything on fire - a minor miracle in itself.

"We should head back," Safron's mark flickered with contentment as they gathered themselves. "Before someone sends a search party thinking you're attempting another escape."

"Or before Dusa reorganizes the entire lounge trying not to worry about where we've been," Zagreus added with a grin.

They made their way back through the House's eternal twilight, fingers intertwined, Safron's mark glowing steadily. The lounge awaited with its usual chaos - Dusa indeed cleaning the same spot repeatedly, Meg pretending not to watch her, Hypnos sleep-floating nearby.

"Welcome back, lovebirds!" Hypnos called out without opening his eyes. "Hope nobody died! That would be awkward to file under 'date night incidents'..."

"No deaths," Safron confirmed, his mark pulsing with amusement. "Just... making moments count."

"Is that what mortals call it these days?" Meg raised an eyebrow.

"Oh gosh, should I clean around you? Not that you need cleaning! But if you've been somewhere dusty... oh no, should I not ask where you've been?"

Some things in the House never changed - and somehow, that made their special moment even more precious.

Chapter Text

Safron was passing through the west hall when his mark suddenly pulsed with warning. He paused, instinctively stepping back into the shadows as voices carried from Nyx's chamber ahead.

"The balance shifts, Night Mother." The voice felt wrong - like multiple discordant notes played simultaneously, like order crumbling into chaos. "Surely you feel it too."

His mark reacted violently to that voice, pulsing with a darkness he'd never felt before. Carefully, he peered around the corner.

Eris stood before Nyx, her form constantly shifting between states of discord, making reality itself seem unstable around her. Even from a distance, her presence made his mark want to reject everything about her - not just divine wariness, but something deeper, something tied to knowledge he couldn't share.

"What brings Discord to my House?" Nyx's eternal voice carried careful neutrality.

"Oh, many things," Eris's laugh sounded like breaking glass. "Changes coming, threads unraveling... and of course, your interesting new addition. The mortal who knows too much..."

Safron's mark pulsed with alarm. She hadn't looked his way, hadn't acknowledged his presence, but somehow he knew - she knew about him. About what he knew. About what was coming.

From his hidden position, Safron watched as Eris moved in impossible ways around Nyx's chamber, her very presence making the shadows want to argue with themselves.

"Interesting choices you've all made," Eris continued, her voice making his mark pulse painfully. "A mortal administrator with such... unique circumstances. One might wonder why the Fates led him here, of all places."

"The House's administrative matters are not your concern," Nyx stated firmly.

"Oh, but discord is everywhere, dear Night," Eris's laugh scattered reality like broken mirrors. "In every choice, every change, every... unexpected arrival. And this one..." She gestured vaguely toward the House, "brings such fascinating potential for chaos."

Safron's mark flickered anxiously. Though she wasn't speaking directly about the future, something in her presence felt wrong - like she was an element that didn't belong in this time, this place.

"The House maintains its order," Nyx replied, her starry form unwavering.

"For now," Eris's form shifted again. "But order is such a fragile thing, isn't it? One small disruption, one mortal variable..."

"One mortal variable," Eris's voice twisted like serpents eating their own tails, "in the perfect machinery of death. Like a... virus in the system. A delightful little infection of chaos."

Safron's mark pulsed with a visceral revulsion as she moved, her form seeming to tear at the fabric of reality itself. Where other gods brought their own kinds of order - even Chaos had its own strange patterns - Eris was pure wrongness. Like watching something beautiful deliberately break itself.

"Your metaphors grow tiresome," Nyx stated, though there was a new edge to her eternal voice.

"Do they?" Eris's laugh made shadows bleed. "Then let me be direct. Your little mortal pet... he doesn't belong here. His very presence is a discord I didn't create - and oh, how that IRRITATES me."

The way she said 'irritates' made several nearby shades disintegrate in panic.

"Every breath he takes in this realm is wrong. Every heartbeat an insult to proper disorder. He makes patterns where there should be beautiful chaos, brings..." her face twisted in disgust, "brings LOVE where there should be delicious hatred."

His mark was practically writhing now, responding to her presence with pure rejection. This wasn't just divine power - this was malice given form, hatred made manifest.

"And what's worse," she continued, her voice becoming multiple voices all screaming different kinds of wrong, "he seems to be SUCCEEDING at it."

"I believe," Lord Hades's deep voice suddenly filled the chamber, making Safron's mark pulse with unexpected relief, "you are overstepping your bounds, Discord."

Hades materialized with his full divine authority, towering even over Eris's shifting form. Where her presence made reality want to tear itself apart, his brought the solid weight of divine law.

"Ah, the great ruler himself," Eris's voice carried poisoned honey. "Come to defend your little administrative experiment?"

"I come to remind you," Hades stated with deadly calm, "that this is MY realm. Where even Chaos itself respects certain boundaries."

"Boundaries?" Eris laughed, the sound making several more shades flee in terror. "Like the boundary between life and death that your mortal pet so casually crosses? The natural order he disrupts just by existing here?"

"The order of my House," Hades's voice dropped lower, carrying millenia of authority, "is mine to maintain or change as I see fit. Not yours to question, Discord."

The air itself seemed to tremble between their competing powers - Hades's immovable authority versus Eris's writhing chaos. Safron's mark pulsed with the understanding that he was witnessing something ancient and terrible, a clash of divine forces that mortals weren't meant to comprehend.

"For now," Eris's form began to fade, but her voice carried gleeful malice. "But discord finds its way in, dear uncle. Through the smallest cracks, the tiniest... imperfections."

Her final laugh lingered like poison in the air long after she'd disappeared.

Just as Safron's mark threatened to betray his position with its violent rejection of Eris's lingering presence, he felt familiar warmth behind him. Zagreus's arms wrapped around him silently, one hand covering his mark to dim its glow, the other pulling him further into the shadows.

The prince's heat was grounding, steady, as they listened to the aftermath of Eris's visit.

"She grows bold," Nyx's voice carried careful concern.

"Indeed," Hades rumbled. "Too bold. The question is why now?"

Safron leaned back into Zagreus's embrace, trying to control his mark's erratic pulsing. Something about Eris had triggered a reaction deeper than mere divine wariness - a hatred so pure it frightened him. He'd never felt anything like it, not even with the Furies.

Zagreus's lips brushed his ear, barely a whisper: "Easy... she's gone."

But she wasn't, not really. Her presence had left a stain on reality itself, like oil on water, like decay in something pure. His mark continued to pulse with rejection, with a knowledge of wrongness he couldn't explain even to himself.

They stayed there, hidden in the shadows, Zagreus's warmth the only thing keeping Safron's mark from screaming its hatred into the eternal twilight.

Chapter Text

After the darkness of Eris's visit, Safron found himself seeking comfort in art. His mark pulsed gently as he sat in his chambers, charcoal moving across parchment in careful strokes. He'd always drawn to process emotions, and lately, his subjects had become... more intimate.

His latest sketch captured Zagreus in repose - the elegant lines of his body stretched across Safron's bed, the eternal heat of him somehow visible even in black and white. The prince's form was a study in contradictions: powerful yet vulnerable, divine yet touchably real.

"Is that how you see me?" Zagreus's voice made his mark pulse with surprise. He hadn't heard the prince enter.

"I..." Safron glanced down at his drawing - the careful attention he'd paid to the curve of Zagreus's spine, the subtle definition of muscle, the way his body invited both admiration and desire. "Yes. This is how I see you."

Zagreus moved closer, his natural heat making Safron's mark glow warmer. "Show me more?"

With slightly trembling fingers, Safron revealed his other recent studies - intimate moments captured in charcoal and shadow. The graceful line of Than's hip, the powerful curve of Zagreus's thigh, the places where their bodies met in perfect harmony.

"These are..." Zagreus's voice carried wonder rather than embarrassment.

"Too much?" Safron's mark flickered nervously.

"Not too much," Zagreus murmured, studying a particularly intimate sketch. "Though you seem to pay special attention to certain... aspects."

Safron's mark pulsed with slight embarrassment. "An artist has to study anatomy thoroughly," he defended, though his fingers traced over a drawing that paid particular attention to the prince's perfectly formed posterior. "Some parts just require more... detailed observation."

"I've noticed your fascination with specific anatomical features," Zagreus grinned, his heat making Safron's mark glow brighter. "Especially when Than and I are training."

"You try maintaining artistic detachment when two divine beings are sparring half-dressed," Safron muttered, revealing another sketch - this one capturing the elegant length of Than's phallus in careful shadow work.

"Is that why you always volunteer to 'document' our training sessions?"

"Purely for administrative record-keeping," Safron's mark betrayed his attempt at professional dignity as Zagreus leaned closer, studying a drawing that showed particular appreciation for the prince's own impressive endowment.

"Very thorough records," Zagreus observed, his voice dropping lower. "Though I notice you seem to have a favorite subject to... document."

"Some subjects require multiple studies to capture properly," Safron defended, though his mark's pulsing suggested other motivations.

"Speaking of proper documentation," Zagreus's voice carried amused heat as his eyes dropped to where Safron's chiton was betraying his artistic excitement, "it seems these anatomical studies are having quite an effect on the artist."

Safron's mark pulsed with embarrassed arousal. "It's... a natural response to studying divine form."

"Is that what we're calling it?" Zagreus moved behind him, his eternal heat pressed against Safron's back as he reached around to examine another sketch. "These are very... detailed observations of certain divine attributes."

"Artistic thoroughness," Safron managed, though his mark's flickering suggested his interests weren't entirely academic as Zagreus's warmth surrounded him.

"Then perhaps," Zagreus's breath was hot against his ear, "you need another live study session? For accuracy's sake, of course."

"Purely for artistic purposes," Safron agreed, his mark glowing brighter as Zagreus's hand moved lower.

"Of course. Wouldn't want your administrative records to be incomplete..."

The sketchbook slipped forgotten from Safron's fingers as art gave way to more practical studies of divine form.

The sketchbook fell aside as Zagreus's eternal heat enveloped him, the prince's knowing hands moving with deliberate purpose. His mark pulsed in rhythm with each touch as Zagreus slowly, teasingly, explored the subject of his own impromptu study.

"Such attention to detail in your drawings," Zagreus murmured against his neck, one hand sliding beneath Safron's chiton. "Each line, each curve... like you've memorized every inch."

Safron's breath caught as the prince's touches became more focused, more intent. His mark glowed brightly, casting shadows that danced across their forms like living art.

"I wonder," Zagreus continued, his voice carrying heat that had nothing to do with his divine nature, "if you're as thorough in your personal observations as you are in your sketches."

Their clothing found its way to the floor, creating a scene worthy of artistic study - mortal and divine forms intertwined, shadow and light playing across bare skin. Safron's mark cast an ethereal glow over them both as Zagreus demonstrated exactly why he'd been such an inspiring subject.

"That position you mentioned during spa day," Zagreus murmured against his skin, "the one that made me flee..."

Safron's mark pulsed with understanding and desire. "The artist's favorite number?"

They arranged themselves like a living study in symmetry, mortal and divine forms creating perfect balance. Safron's mark cast an ethereal glow over their tableau, highlighting the artistic perfection of their mutual appreciation.

"Now this," Zagreus's voice carried both heat and amusement, "is worth documenting."

"Less talking," Safron managed, his mark flickering with intense pleasure, "more artistic research."

They lost themselves in their private exhibition, a performance piece for an audience of two, until Safron's mark pulsed so brightly it cast shadows on the ceiling.

Much later, when they lay catching their breath, Zagreus grinned. "Should I pose for more sketches?"

"After proper recovery time," Safron's mark flickered with satisfied exhaustion. "Some masterpieces require multiple sessions."

Chapter Text

Safron's mark pulsed with warning before he even heard the commotion. A golden light, different from Than's usual glow, was flooding the House corridors, accompanied by the familiar rush of Hermes's speed.

"Come now, dear brother," a voice like sunlight given sound echoed through the halls, "surely you're not still sensitive about that little race?"

"Little race?" Hermes zipped past, his usual casual speed taking on a competitive edge. "You cheated with that solar flare, Apollo, and you know it!"

Apollo materialized properly then, his divine radiance somehow contained enough to not blind everyone present. Unlike the other Olympians' overwhelming presence, his carried a strange mix of warmth and precision - like carefully measured sunbeams.

"Cheated? Me?" Apollo's perfect features arranged themselves into mock offense. "I merely utilized my natural advantages. Much like you do with those winged sandals."

Safron's mark responded curiously to this new divine presence, though not with the usual overwhelming reaction to Olympians. There was something almost... clinical about Apollo's divinity, like perfectly arranged musical notes.

"Natural advantages?" Hermes paused his zipping just long enough to look outraged. "Since when is temporarily blinding your opponent natural?"

"Since when is breaking the sound barrier natural?" Apollo countered smoothly.

Safron had a feeling this was about to become much more than a simple sibling rivalry.

"Tell him, professional associate!" Hermes appeared beside Safron in a rush of wind. "Tell him how my speed is perfectly natural and not at all enhanced by divine trickery!"

"Oh?" Apollo's perfect eyebrow raised as he noticed Safron properly. "The mortal administrator? Interesting... your mark resonates with quite unusual harmonies."

Safron's mark pulsed nervously under Apollo's analytical gaze. Where other gods brought chaos or power, Apollo's presence felt like being examined by the sun itself - precise, measuring, cataloguing every detail.

"Leave my professional associate out of this," Hermes protested, moving protectively closer. "This is about you and your solar-powered cheating!"

"I prefer to think of it as creative use of available resources," Apollo smiled, though it looked more like a carefully practiced expression than genuine emotion. "Though speaking of resources... what do you say to a rematch? Here in the Underworld where my solar advantages are... limited?"

"Here?" Hermes perked up. "Through the chambers?"

"Unless you're worried about losing on your home territory..."

"Oh no," Safron's mark pulsed with alarm, recognizing the growing competitive energy between the divine siblings. "Maybe we should-"

But both gods were already plotting a race course through the House's eternal twilight, their divine energies making the air itself crackle with rivalry.

While Hermes zipped around plotting the perfect race route, Apollo turned his full attention to Safron. Up close, his divine presence was even more unsettling - like being studied under a microscope made of sunlight.

"Fascinating," Apollo mused, his perfect features arranged in scholarly interest. "Your mark's resonance... it's not quite in harmony with current timeflows. Almost like it's playing a melody that hasn't been written yet."

Safron's mark pulsed nervously. There was something dangerous about Apollo's precision, his ability to see patterns that others missed.

"Just a quirk of divine energy," Safron tried to deflect, remembering Chaos's warnings about future knowledge.

"Mmm," Apollo's smile was perfectly calculated. "Like how you're a 'quirk' of the House's usual order? A mortal administrator who knows rather... specific things?"

"I just do my job," Safron's mark flickered anxiously.

"Indeed. Though I wonder..." Apollo's voice dropped lower, "what other jobs you might be meant for? What patterns are forming around you that even I can't quite see clearly yet?"

"Leave him alone, brother!" Hermes appeared between them. "Stop analyzing everything like it's one of your prophecies waiting to happen!"

"But isn't everything exactly that?" Apollo's smile remained perfect, but his eyes held genuine curiosity as they studied Safron's mark. "Though I suppose some songs must wait to be sung..."

"Speaking of songs waiting to be sung," Apollo continued, his attention still uncomfortably focused on Safron despite Hermes's protective hovering, "I hear you've been sharing some... interesting music in the House lately. Music that hasn't been composed yet, from a time that hasn't happened..."

Safron's mark pulsed with alarm, but Hermes interrupted quickly: "And speaking of things that haven't happened yet, brother, you haven't lost this race to me yet! Though you will, very soon."

"Deflection, dear Hermes?" Apollo's perfect smile gained an edge. "How unusually protective you are of this particular mortal. One might almost think..."

"One might think you're stalling," Hermes cut in. "Afraid your perfectly measured steps can't keep up with my natural speed?"

But Apollo wasn't so easily distracted. "You know," he said to Safron, his voice carrying the precision of sunlight through a magnifying glass, "as god of prophecy, I find it intriguing when I encounter rhythms I can't quite predict. Patterns that seem to... shift away from my sight."

Safron's mark flickered nervously. "I'm really just an administrator..."

"Are you? Just that?" Apollo's gaze felt like being dissected by daylight. "Or are you a note in a symphony that's still being composed?"

"He's my professional associate," Hermes stated firmly, "not one of your prophecy puzzles to solve."

"Everything's a puzzle waiting to be solved, brother. Some just have more... interesting solutions than others."

"Fine," Apollo finally turned his analytical gaze away from Safron. "Let's establish the rules of this race, shall we? Since you're so eager to prove your 'natural' speed."

"Three laps," Hermes proposed, already vibrating with competitive energy. "Through the main chambers, past the lounge, around the administrative wing..."

"No solar flares," Safron found his voice, his mark pulsing with unexpected authority. "And no breaking the sound barrier. The House has enough chaos without divine sonic booms."

Both gods turned to look at him with surprise - Apollo with that perfect, measured interest, Hermes with proud amusement.

"Listen to my professional associate," Hermes grinned. "He's seen what divine racing can do to administrative filing systems."

"Acceptable terms," Apollo agreed, his movements taking on a subtle rhythm as he prepared. "Though I notice you didn't prohibit other... creative advantages."

"Don't even think about it," Hermes warned. "No prophecy-based shortcuts either!"

"Would I ever?"

"Yes," both Hermes and Safron said simultaneously.

Apollo's laugh was like perfectly tuned wind chimes. "Well then, shall we begin? Unless you'd rather spend more time protecting your interesting mortal from my observations..."

"Three laps," Hermes stated firmly, all business now. "No divine powers except inherent speed. First one back to the administrative chamber wins."

"And what are we wagering, dear brother?"

Hermes grinned. "Bragging rights... and the truth about that incident with the laurel tree?"

Apollo's perfect features showed the first real emotion - competitive excitement. "Done."

The race itself was a blur of gold and silver, Apollo's measured precision against Hermes's natural speed. Shades scattered as the divine siblings tore through the House's corridors, their competitive energy making reality ripple.

Safron's mark pulsed in rhythm with their passing laps - watching Apollo's perfectly calculated turns clash with Hermes's instinctive flow. Where Apollo moved like orchestrated sunbeams, Hermes was pure chaos in motion.

"Oh gosh, should I clean up after them? Not that they're making a mess! But the energy residue... oh no, is divine racing residue different from regular cleaning?" Dusa fretted overhead.

By the final lap, even Hades had emerged to watch, though he merely muttered something about "Olympian children" with what might have been hidden amusement.

The finish was almost too close to call - almost. But Hermes crossed into the administrative chamber a fraction of a second before Apollo's perfect stride could carry him there, his victory whoop scattering scrolls everywhere.

"Natural speed!" Hermes crowed. "Now, about that laurel tree story..."

"A deal's a deal," Apollo conceded with dignified grace, though his eyes strayed one last time to Safron's mark. "Though I suspect there are other, more interesting stories yet to be told in this House..."

"Time for you to go, brother," Hermes said firmly. "Unless you want a rematch?"

"Another time," Apollo's smile was perfect as ever, but held something knowing. "When more songs have been sung, perhaps."

As Apollo departed in a flash of measured sunlight, Safron's mark finally relaxed from its nervous pulsing. But he couldn't shake the feeling that the god of prophecy had seen more than he should have - even if he couldn't quite predict what those visions meant.

"Don't worry about him," Hermes assured, already helping gather scattered scrolls. "Apollo sees patterns everywhere. Doesn't mean he understands them."

"And the laurel tree story?"

Hermes's grin turned mischievous. "Now that's a tale for another day, professional associate. Though I suggest you have your filing system ready - it's quite the administrative incident report!"

Chapter Text

It started innocently enough. Safron was organizing scrolls in his administrative chamber when Dusa drifted in, her snakes looking particularly anxious.

"Oh! Um, sorry to interrupt! But I was wondering... not that you have to answer! But maybe... do you have a moment to talk? About... things?"

His mark pulsed with gentle curiosity. "Of course, Dusa. What's on your mind?"

"Well..." her snakes twisted nervously, "it's about Meg. Not that I'm thinking about Meg! But sometimes when she's training, and I'm cleaning, and she does that thing with her whip... oh gosh, should I not mention the whip?"

Before Safron could respond, another visitor appeared in his doorway - Hypnos, actually awake for once.

"Speaking of relationship advice," the god of sleep floated in, "how exactly does one tell Mother Nyx that her lullabies are maybe a bit... intense? Not that I don't appreciate the gesture! But the other shades are starting to complain about the existential dread..."

His mark flickered with amused understanding as he realized his administrative chamber was becoming something else entirely - a confessional for divine and mortal troubles alike.

"And then," Dusa continued while Hypnos dozed in mid-air, "sometimes she looks at me while I'm cleaning the same spot for the eighth time, and I think maybe she's noticing me? But what if she's just noticing that I'm not cleaning efficiently? Oh gosh, should I clean differently?"

Safron's mark pulsed gently. "Have you considered that maybe she keeps coming to watch you because she wants to?"

Before Dusa could spiral into another round of anxious questioning, Anthius appeared, his flowers cycling through confused colors.

"Sorry to interrupt, but... I need advice. Dionysus invited me to another festival, but after last time when I ended up dancing naked through Elysium..."

"The eternal champions are still composing odes about that," Hypnos mumbled without opening his eyes.

"Exactly! But he looked so hopeful when he asked, and my flowers keep turning sunset-orange whenever I think about it, and..."

His mark flickered with warm amusement as he watched his chamber fill with divine beings seeking very mortal advice. Somehow, being the House's only administrative mortal had turned him into its unofficial counselor.

"Everyone," he started diplomatically, "maybe we could take these concerns one at..."

"BROTHER!" Zagreus's voice carried from the hallway. "I need relationship advice! How do you plan a date for Death Incarnate?"

The chamber went silent. Even Hypnos woke up fully.

"A date?" Dusa's snakes perked up with interest. "With Than? Oh gosh, is that allowed? Not that I'm questioning divine relationship choices! But..."

"Wait," Anthius's flowers shifted to curious-purple, "you're planning a date for Than? Without Safron?"

"With Safron's blessing!" Zagreus clarified quickly, entering the increasingly crowded chamber. "He suggested it actually. Since they had centuries together before..."

"Hold up," Hypnos floated higher with unprecedented alertness. "You're telling me my brother, THANATOS, is going on a... what did you call it? Date?"

"It's a mortal custom," Safron explained, his mark pulsing with mild embarrassment at having his personal life become House gossip. "For showing special attention to someone you care about."

"Like cleaning the same spot eight times while they watch?" Dusa asked hopefully.

"Or dancing naked at festivals?" Anthius's flowers turned a knowing orange.

"Or falling asleep during important meetings to get their attention?" Hypnos contributed.

"Not... exactly," Safron's mark flickered with growing amusement as everyone turned to him for relationship wisdom. "Though I suppose everyone has their own way of showing affection..."

"So how DOES one court Death?" Anthius asked, his flowers now fully invested in the drama.

"Well," Zagreus settled on a corner of Safron's desk, sending a few scrolls flying, "that's why I'm here. What does one plan for someone who's literally older than time?"

"Oh! You could clean his collection of souls!" Dusa suggested enthusiastically. "Not that I think about cleaning his things! But they do get dusty..."

"Maybe a nap date?" Hypnos offered. "Though last time I suggested Than take a nap, he threatened to reap my dreams."

"I could provide romantic flower effects," Anthius's petals shifted to passionate red. "Though last time I tried decorating Than's chamber, he said something about 'maintaining death's dignity'..."

Safron's mark pulsed with fond exasperation as everyone started offering increasingly outlandish suggestions.

"What about a romantic soul collection together?" someone proposed.

"Or synchronized scythe practice?"

"Oh! A candlelit reaping?"

"Maybe don't mix work and pleasure," Safron finally interjected, his mark flickering with amusement. "Than's pretty serious about professional boundaries."

"Says the administrator who broke three filing cabinets with him," Hypnos muttered, then pretended to be asleep when everyone turned to stare.

"That was... different," Safron defended while his mark pulsed with embarrassment. "And we're supposed to be helping Zag plan something for Than."

"Oh right!" Dusa bobbed excitedly. "What about... what if we... oh gosh, all my ideas involve cleaning..."

"Dionysus would suggest wine," Anthius mused, his flowers shifting thoughtfully. "But Than doesn't really drink... except that one time at the tournament when he..."

"We promised never to speak of Drunk Death's attempt at poetry," Zagreus interrupted quickly.

"It wasn't that bad!" Hypnos protested. "I mean, 'Roses are dead, violets too, I am Death, and soon you'll be through' had a certain... charm?"

"My POINT," Safron tried to regain control of the conversation while his mark flickered with suppressed laughter, "is that Than appreciates... authenticity. Simple moments."

"Simple?" Zagreus looked thoughtful. "Than does like watching the Styx at twilight..."

"See?" Safron's mark pulsed encouragingly. "Something quiet, just the two of you..."

"With proper mood lighting!" Dusa added.

"And subtle flower arrangements!" Anthius's petals demonstrated.

"And maybe some light reaping on the side," Hypnos yawned.

"No reaping," everyone chorused.

Chapter Text

Safron's mark pulsed with quiet satisfaction as he watched Zagreus make final adjustments to the scene he'd helped arrange. They'd chosen a secluded spot near the Styx, where the eternal twilight cast perfect shadows and the river's flow provided gentle ambiance.

"You're sure about this?" Zagreus asked for the tenth time, his eternal heat betraying his nervousness as he adjusted the carefully placed items - a few simple cushions (fireproof, at Safron's insistence), some ambrosia Than particularly enjoyed, and most importantly, space for just being together.

"Than appreciates thoughtfulness more than grandeur," Safron reminded him, his mark flickering gently. "Besides, when was the last time someone arranged something just for him? Not Death Incarnate, not the collector of souls, just... Than?"

Zagreus paused in his adjustments. "You know, I'm not sure anyone ever has."

They both knew Than would be arriving soon - his work schedule was, appropriately, like clockwork. Safron had helped Zagreus time this perfectly between soul collections.

"Remember," Safron's mark pulsed encouragingly as he prepared to leave them to their evening, "just be present. That's all he really wants."

Thanatos appeared in his usual flash of green, ready to report on his latest soul collections, only to find his customary spot transformed. His golden eyes widened slightly at the sight of Zagreus waiting by the Styx, the prince for once not looking ready to escape or fight.

"What's this?" Than asked, his eternal composure slipping just slightly.

"This is... well, Safron calls it a date," Zagreus explained, his warmth creating a perfect contrast to Than's cool presence. "Just us. No duties, no deaths, no escapes. Just... time together."

"Time?" Than's lips curved in the barest hint of a smile. "You're giving Death time?"

"Ironic, isn't it?" Zagreus patted the cushion beside him. "But when was the last time we just... were? Without work or purpose or eternal struggles?"

Than hesitated only a moment before settling beside him. "The souls..."

"Can wait," Zagreus finished softly. "Everything can wait. Just for a little while."

The eternal twilight wrapped around them as Than slowly, carefully allowed himself to relax. The Styx flowed quietly below, its waters catching the strange light that existed only in their realm.

"Tell me," Than said after a comfortable silence, "did our administrator help you plan this?"

"He might have offered some mortal wisdom about taking moments for ourselves."

"Clever mortal," Than murmured, his cool presence mixing perfectly with Zagreus's heat. "Though I suppose he would know about making moments count."

"He said something interesting," Zagreus mentioned, pouring the ambrosia with unusual care. "About how you see time differently than we do. How for you, it's not about making moments special because they're limited..."

"It's about choosing to make them special despite their endlessness," Than finished, accepting the drink. "Your mortal understands more than most."

"Our mortal," Zagreus corrected gently.

Than's smile grew slightly. "Yes. Ours." He paused, looking at the simple but thoughtful arrangements. "Though I notice there are no dramatic declarations, no grand gestures..."

"Would you want those?"

"No," Than admitted. "This is... sufficient."

Coming from Death Incarnate, it was high praise indeed. They sat in comfortable silence, Than's coolness and Zagreus's heat creating their own perfect balance, much like when Safron was with them but different - their original harmony, the first dance they'd learned together.

"Remember when we first..." Zagreus started.

"When you first tried to die dramatically to get my attention?" Than's voice carried rare amusement. "Or when you attempted to race me to souls?"

"Hey, those were perfectly valid courtship techniques!"

"Were they?" Than's golden eyes sparkled with uncharacteristic playfulness. "And here I thought you were just being typically chaotic."

"You know," Zagreus shifted closer, his eternal heat meeting Than's cool presence, "we never did settle who won more of those soul-collecting races."

"Because someone kept dying mid-competition," Than pointed out dryly.

"Tactical retreats!"

"Is that what we're calling your numerous deaths now?" Than's voice carried that rare warmth he showed so few. "Though I suppose your persistence was... endearing. Eventually."

"Eventually?" Zagreus grinned. "As I recall, you were the one who started showing up more frequently during my escape attempts."

"Purely professional interest."

"Right. Because Death Incarnate regularly assists escape attempts from the Underworld?"

Than's cool fingers found Zagreus's warm ones. "Perhaps I simply enjoyed watching you try. Even when you failed spectacularly."

"Like that time in Asphodel?"

"Which time? The lava incident, the hydra disaster, or the particularly memorable moment when you tried to impress me by fighting without weapons?"

"In my defense," Zagreus's heat flickered with embarrassment, "I thought bare-handed combat would look heroic."

"It looked idiotic," Than corrected, though his tone was fond. "Endearingly idiotic."

The Styx flowed below them, its waters reflecting their contrasting auras - death's cool dignity and rebellion's eternal flame, finding their own perfect balance in the twilight.

"Do you remember," Than spoke softly after a comfortable silence, "the first time you actually caught me off guard? Not with fighting or dying, just... being you?"

Zagreus shifted to look at him properly, his warmth steady. "When I brought you that nectar?"

"No," Than's golden eyes held rare vulnerability. "It was before that. You were sitting by the Styx, not trying to escape for once. Just... watching the waters. You looked so peaceful. It was... disconcerting."

"Disconcerting because you preferred me chaos?"

"Disconcerting because it made me want to stay," Than admitted quietly. "Just to watch you being still."

Zagreus's eternal heat flickered with understanding. "Is that why you started finding excuses to linger after collections?"

"I don't make excuses," Than protested, though his cool fingers tightened slightly around Zagreus's warm ones.

"No? What about all those times you needed to 'verify soul counts' in exactly the chamber I was in?"

"That was..." Than paused, a slight smile playing at his lips. "Perhaps I wasn't as subtle as I thought."

"Than, love," Zagreus grinned, "subtlety has never been either of our strengths."

The twilight deepened around them as they shared quiet laughs and old memories, death and rebellion finding their own perfect harmony.

Chapter Text

Safron found Galatea in a quiet corner of the gardens, her formerly marble fingers tracing petals with the careful wonder of someone still learning the textures of life. His mark pulsed gently - watching her discover the world was like seeing the House anew through her eyes.

"They're so soft," she said without turning, her movements still carrying that sculptural grace. "Even after all this time, I'm surprised by how soft living things can be."

"How are you adjusting?" Safron settled nearby, his mark flickering with friendly interest. Since the theater performance, they'd developed an understanding - both of them learning to navigate between states of being.

"It's strange," she smiled, and even that looked like art coming to life. "Sometimes I forget I'm not marble anymore, try to hold still for too long. Then something surprises me - a breath, a heartbeat, the way flowers feel different in morning twilight than evening twilight..."

Her wonder at simple sensations made his mark pulse with sympathy. He understood what it was like to adapt to a new way of being, even if his journey was different from hers.

"And Aphrodite?" he asked carefully. "Does she visit often?"

"She comes sometimes," Galatea's fingers moved to another flower, still marveling at its texture. "Watches me like an artist checking their work. But lately..." she paused, considering, "lately she seems more interested in how I'm changing her work."

"Changing?"

"Living differently than she perhaps intended," Galatea explained, her movements fluid in a way marble could never be. "She created me for love, but I'm discovering so many other things. Like during the play - she came expecting to see her perfect creation performing perfectly, but instead..."

"Instead?"

"Instead she saw me being imperfect. Making mistakes. Learning. Growing." Her smile carried genuine joy now, not just sculptural beauty. "I think it surprised her. Good surprise, I hope."

Safron's mark pulsed with understanding. "It's not always easy, is it? When divine beings have certain expectations..."

"No," she laughed softly, the sound still carrying traces of marble smoothness. "Though I've noticed you handle it well. Being what they need while still being yourself."

"I'm still learning that balance," his mark flickered thoughtfully. "Like you're learning to balance who you were with who you're becoming."

"At least I'm not alone in it anymore," she touched another petal, then watched her own fingers move with fascination. "Having friends who understand... it helps."

"Do you..." Safron's mark pulsed with careful curiosity, "do you ever miss it? Being marble?"

Galatea was quiet for a moment, her movements stilling into that perfect pose that reminded him she was once a statue. "Sometimes. It was simpler. No choices to make, no feelings to sort through, no..." she flexed her fingers, watching them move, "no complexity. Just being art."

"But?"

"But I wouldn't go back," she said firmly. "Even when it's overwhelming - all these sensations, emotions, choices... even when I stand too still because I forget I can move, or move too carefully because I'm afraid of breaking..." She smiled. "It's worth it. Being alive."

"Even the hard parts?"

"Especially those. Did you know," she turned to face him properly, "that I cried the other day? Actually cried. Over something so small - Orpheus was playing a new melody, and it was just... beautiful. And suddenly there were tears. Me, crying! A statue that cries!"

Her wonder at this simple human reaction made Safron's mark pulse with affection. "Tears aren't always sad," he offered.

"No," she agreed. "They're not. They're... living. Messy and complicated and wonderful. Like everything else about being real."

She reached out to touch his mark gently, her fingers still carrying that slight chill of marble. "Like your glow. Divine but mortal, caught between states of being. We're both learning to be real in our own ways, aren't we?"

"Speaking of being real," Galatea's expression shifted to something playful - an expression she'd clearly been practicing, "I saw Adonis watching me during training yesterday."

"Oh?" Safron's mark flickered with amusement. "The eternally naked beauty himself?"

"Mm-hmm. He said something about appreciating 'living art' and then posed for about an hour." She laughed, the sound more natural now. "I think he was disappointed when I didn't turn back into marble from shock at his perfection."

"He does have that effect on people."

"That's just it though," she touched another petal, watching it bend under her finger. "Before, when I was marble, that kind of beauty would have been... everything. Perfect form, perfect proportion. But now..." She smiled softly. "Now I find myself more fascinated by imperfect things. The way flowers wilt but still smell sweet. How Orpheus's voice cracks sometimes when he sings about loss. The way your mark pulses irregularly when you're thinking deeply."

She stood, her movement a perfect blend of sculptural grace and living fluidity. "I wouldn't trade any of this messiness for all the perfect marble in the world."

"Even the complicated parts?" Safron's mark pulsed gently.

"Especially those," she reached down to help him up, her touch warm now - no longer stone but not quite mortal either, something uniquely herself. "Because that's what being real is, isn't it? Not perfect, not eternal, not unchanging. Just... beautifully, complicatedly alive."

As they walked back toward the House together, Safron's mark cast soft light over them both - the former statue learning to live and the mortal learning to be divine, each helping the other find their way between what they were and what they were becoming.

"Though," Galatea added with another practiced playful smile, "perhaps we should suggest to Adonis that some moments call for clothing. Even living art benefits from a bit of mystery."

"Good luck with that," Safron laughed. "Some divine habits die hard."

"True," she agreed. "But then again, so did being marble, and look at me now."

Her laugh echoed through the garden, no longer marble-smooth but real and warm and wonderfully imperfect.

Chapter Text

The garden where Safron used to read now belonged to a little girl with hair like moonlight. She sat among his mother's pomegranate trees, a child's sketchbook open on her lap, drawing things she couldn't possibly have seen - a three-headed dog, a river that glowed, a palace that existed in eternal twilight.

"Melinoe, dinner!" his mother called - the name still new on her tongue after five years, like she sometimes expected to call another name instead.

Garden hadn't changed much in five years. The same pomegranate trees still cast familiar shadows, the same bench still sat in the corner where a son once read his games and books. Only now, a small figure with hair like newly fallen snow occupied that space.

Melinoe liked to sit there in the afternoons, when the light turned gentle and the shadows grew long. Her adoptive mother - though she just called her Mom now - had given her a sketchbook for her birthday. Its pages filled slowly with things a child her age shouldn't know to draw.

Today, she was carefully coloring something that looked like a dog, though dogs didn't usually have three heads. Her small fingers worked methodically, making sure each head had its own expression.

"Look what I drew," she'd say at dinner, and her new parents would exchange those looks they thought she didn't notice - part wonder, part worry, part lingering grief for another child who used to show them his drawings.

Sometimes, when she was almost asleep, she thought she could hear music - not like anything from above, but something deeper, older. Like a lyre played in twilight.

But these were just little things. Small moments. Dreams that felt like memories she hadn't made yet.

The little girl looked up, her eyes reflecting something older than her young face should hold. On her paper, a mark glowed faintly - a pomegranate and laurel wreath, drawn over and over, though she'd never seen its like.

"Coming!" she called back, but paused to add one last detail - a figure with burning feet, walking through her dreams.

The room still held traces of him - a shelf of games, art books, posters of a world beneath. His parents hadn't changed much, as if keeping these pieces of him might somehow bring him back. Now a little girl with moon-white hair sat cross-legged on the floor, paging through a game guide he'd left behind.

"Mom?" Melinoe called out, her small finger tracing artwork of a three-headed dog. "What's this game about?"

Her mother paused in the doorway, that familiar shadow crossing her face whenever something of his drew attention. "It was... it was your brother's favorite. About a house underground, and gods, and..." She smiled softly. "He used to talk about it for hours."

Melinoe nodded seriously, turning another page. But something about the images felt more than familiar - like déjà vu, but backwards. As if she was remembering things that hadn't happened yet.

In her sketchbook, she drew her own versions - mixing what she saw in his games with what she saw in her dreams. Were they really dreams? Or just her imagination, fed by the stories left behind by a brother she'd never met?

The line between game and dream grew fuzzy in her young mind, especially in that quiet time between afternoon and evening, when shadows seemed to hold secrets..

She had found his old game console in a drawer, still working. Her father - though the word still felt new in her mouth - would sometimes watch her play, his eyes holding a strange mix of emotions when she navigated the underworld paths as if she'd walked them before.

"How did you know about that secret room?" he'd ask softly when she found hidden chambers without searching.

"The shadows told me," she'd answer simply, not understanding why his hands would tremble slightly as he stroked her white hair.

In the game guide, someone had made notes in the margins - careful observations about characters and places. His handwriting. She traced the words with her small fingers, feeling something echo between them across time.

"Cerberus is a good boy," one note read, and she found herself nodding in agreement though she'd never pet a three-headed dog.

"The administrative chambers need better organization," said another, making her giggle without quite knowing why.

But sometimes, when she was deeply focused on the game, the lines blurred. Had she learned about the Styx from his notes, or had she always known its waters glowed? Did she remember Hypnos's sleeping spot from the game guide, or from somewhere else?

The pomegranate trees outside cast familiar shadows through her window - familiar in a way that went beyond the five years she'd lived here.

Her mother had a way of touching empty spaces - a chair at dinner, a spot on the couch, the doorframe of his room. As if checking that the absence was still there, still real. But now she had new spaces to touch - Melinoe's white hair when she tucked her in, her small shoulders when she hugged her, the spot beside her when they gardened together.

"You have his smile," her mother said once, then caught herself, eyes bright with tears she tried to hide. "When you get excited about something, you just... you light up the same way."

Melinoe didn't know how to respond to these moments - when she was both herself and a echo of someone else, loved for who she was but also for who she reminded them of. She would just hold her mother's hand tighter, letting her cry those quiet tears that came sometimes while they worked in the garden.

Her father was different about it. He'd watch her for long moments when he thought she wasn't looking, his face a map of complex emotions. Sometimes she'd catch him starting to call her by another name, stopping himself just in time.

"You're our miracle," he'd tell her instead, voice rough with feeling. "Our second chance at..."

He never finished that sentence, but she felt its weight anyway. The weight of being a second chance, of filling an absence while creating her own presence.

At night, she'd hear them talking softly about both their children - the one they lost and the one they found. Love wrapped in grief wrapped in hope, like layers of twilight folding into dawn.

There were small rituals they'd created together. Every Sunday, her mother would make pomegranate jam, and Melinoe would sit on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, watching the careful process. Seven fruits exactly - never six, never eight. She didn't know why this number mattered, but it felt important.

"Your brother used to help me pit the seeds," her mother would say softly, then add quickly, "but you have your own special way, don't you? The way you arrange them in patterns..."

And she did - circular patterns that felt like stories, though she couldn't explain why she made them that way.

Her father would read to her in the evenings, in the same spot where he used to read game manuals with his son. Sometimes his voice would catch on certain words, certain moments. She'd reach up with her small hand, pat his cheek with solemn understanding beyond her years.

"It's okay, Dad," she'd say, though she wasn't quite sure what she was reassuring him about. "The stories remember too."

They'd look at her strangely when she said things like that, these parents who were learning to love twice - once for what they lost, once for what they found. She was too young to understand the complexity of their love, how it could hold both grief and joy, memory and presence, absence and discovery.

But she felt it, in the way they held her just a little too tight sometimes, as if afraid she too might vanish between one moment and the next.

The morning after the dream felt different. Her mother moved through the kitchen with an energy that seemed both lighter and heavier - as if something had shifted in the night. She caught her touching his photo on the wall, but differently now. Not just with grief, but with something else. Something like peace.

"Mom?" Melinoe asked carefully, watching her mother make breakfast with shaking hands. "Did you dream too?"

Her mother froze, the morning light catching the new tears in her eyes. "What did you dream, sweetheart?"

But Melinoe wasn't sure how to explain it - the feeling of another presence in the house, someone both there and not there. A voice saying something about gardens and stories. Something about her, though she couldn't remember what.

"There was... someone," she said slowly, her white hair catching the sunlight. "In the garden. He said..." she frowned, trying to catch the fading memory. "He said something about me being special?"

Her mother's cup clattered against the counter. Her father, entering the kitchen, went very still.

"Did you..." her mother started, then stopped, as if afraid to ask. "Did you see what he looked like?"

But that part was already fading, like twilight giving way to dawn. All she could remember was a strange glow, a feeling of connection she couldn't explain, and something about the garden being a good place for... something.

The morning felt heavy with unspoken things, with questions her parents seemed afraid to ask and answers she didn't quite have.

"Can I have pancakes?" she asked instead of trying to explain the dream, her feet swinging under the kitchen chair, not quite reaching the floor. At five, pancakes were often more important than strange dreams.

"Of course, baby," her mother wiped her eyes quickly, turning to the stove. "With blueberries?"

"And syrup!" Melinoe nodded enthusiastically, already forgetting the heavy moment. She picked up her favorite stuffed animal - a three-headed puppy she'd insisted on getting at the toy store - and made it dance on the table.

"Careful with Spot," her father said automatically, though he was still looking at her with that strange expression.

"Spots," she corrected seriously. "He has three heads so he needs three names. Spots and Dotty and Fred."

The normality of her child-logic seemed to help her parents relax. This was just breakfast with their five-year-old daughter, who wanted pancakes and played with stuffed animals and happened to have hair like moonlight.

"Tell me about the garden?" she asked through a mouthful of pancake, syrup dripping down her chin. "Can we plant more flowers today?"

"After you clean your face," her mother laughed, but it was a watery sound.

"And my hands?"

"Yes, and your hands."

"And can I bring Spots-Dotty-Fred to help?"

"All three heads are welcome to help garden," her father assured her, his voice steadier now.

Later, while digging small holes for flowers with her plastic shovel, Melinoe suddenly remembered something else from the dream.

"He said the garden is for stories!" she announced to Spots-Dotty-Fred, who was sitting guard over her seed packets. "The nice glowy person said that!"

Her mother's hands stilled in the dirt. "Glowy person?"

"Uh-huh," Melinoe nodded, more focused on whether the pink flowers should go next to the purple ones than the weight of her words. "He had a pretty light here," she patted her chest, getting dirt on her overalls. "Like a nightlight but prettier."

"Meli, sweetheart..." her mother started.

"Can I have a nightlight like that?" she interrupted, five-year-old attention already shifting. "A pretty glowy one? Spots-Dotty-Fred says it would help him sleep better."

"Does he now?" her father's voice was strange.

"Yeah! And he says..." she scrunched up her face in concentration, then brightened. "Oh! The nice glowy person said hello! I forgot that part. He said hello to me!" She beamed, proud of remembering, then frowned at her flowers. "Do you think butterflies like pink better or purple better?"

Her parents exchanged looks over her head, but she was already deep in serious consultation with her three-headed puppy about proper flower arrangement.

In the middle of planting her purple flowers (Spots-Dotty-Fred had voted purple over pink), Melinoe suddenly stopped. Her small face scrunched up in that way it did when she was putting together a big thought.

"Mommy?" she asked, looking up at the photo on the windowsill - the one that always sat there when they gardened. "Was the glowy person him?"

The simple question, asked in her clear child's voice while holding a muddy flower, made her mother sit down hard on the garden bench.

"What makes you think that, baby?"

"'Cause..." she picked up Spots-Dotty-Fred for comfort, getting mud all over him, "he smiled like in the pictures. And he knew about the garden, and..." she hugged her stuffed puppy closer, suddenly shy. "And he looked at you and Daddy the way you look at his pictures."

Her father knelt beside her, not caring about the dirt. "What do you mean, Meli?"

"Like..." she struggled to find five-year-old words for such a big feeling, "like when you really really really love something but you can't hug it? That kind of looking."

A tear fell into the flower bed. Her mother's or her father's, she wasn't sure.

"Can I plant more purple ones?" she asked quickly, uncomfortable with the heavy feeling. "Spots says purple is better for butterflies. Dotty agrees but Fred wants pink still."

"Of course you can plant more purple ones," her father managed, his voice rough. "And pink ones too. Maybe Fred has a point."

"Fred always wants everything pink," Melinoe informed him seriously, already digging another hole with her plastic shovel. "Even his breakfast. But you can't have pink cereal, right Mommy?"

Her mother laughed softly, though her eyes were still wet. "No, sweetie. Though knowing Fred..."

"He's the silly head," Melinoe nodded wisely. Then, with that sudden shift that only small children can manage: "Did my brother like purple flowers or pink flowers?"

The question, asked so casually while she patted dirt around a plant stem, made both parents go still again.

"He..." her mother started carefully, "he liked blue ones, actually. Like the ones over there." She pointed to the roses in the corner.

"Oh." Melinoe considered this important information. "Maybe we should plant blue ones too? So... so the butterflies remember him? Spots says butterflies remember things."

"Does he?" her father's voice was barely a whisper.

"Uh-huh. And Dotty says..." she paused, frowning. "I forgot what Dotty says. But the glowy person said the garden is good for remembering. Is that why you cry sometimes when we're out here, Mommy?"

She asked it the way small children do - simply, directly, without understanding the weight of their questions.

That evening, after bath time (where Spots-Dotty-Fred had to watch from a safe, dry distance), Melinoe sat on her bed surrounded by her stuffed animals. The room - his old room - felt different at night, especially now.

"Time for sleep, sweetheart," her mother said from the doorway, holding a glass of water because Melinoe always asked for one after lights out.

"Can we leave the nightlight on extra bright?" She hugged Spots-Dotty-Fred closer. "Like the glowy person?"

Her mother sat on the edge of the bed, smoothing Melinoe's still-damp white hair. "Are you scared?"

"No!" Melinoe said quickly, then amended: "Maybe Fred is a little scared. But Spots is brave and Dotty is... Dotty is sleeping."

"Just like you should be?"

"But Mom?" She squirmed under her butterfly covers (purple, with just a little pink for Fred). "If the glowy person comes back in my dreams... should I tell him something? Like... like thank you for the garden stories?"

Her mother's hand trembled slightly in her hair. "You can tell him whatever you want, baby. That's what dreams are for."

"Can I tell him Spots-Dotty-Fred says hi? And that we planted purple flowers? And that..." she yawned hugely, "that I know how to make his favorite cereal just like you do..."

As Melinoe finally drifted to sleep, still mumbling about purple flowers and glowy people, her sketchbook lay open on her bedside table. The last page showed her child's drawing of a garden - but not quite their garden. This one had pomegranate trees that glowed, butterflies that looked like souls, and a three-headed dog much bigger than Spots-Dotty-Fred.

In the corner, drawn in careful five-year-old detail, was a figure with a glowing chest, watching over it all.

Her mother gently closed the sketchbook, her fingers lingering on its cover. Through the window, the pomegranate trees cast familiar shadows, moving between two worlds - the garden where a son once read, where a daughter now played, where dreams and memories grew together like flowers of purple and pink and blue.

"Goodnight, my loves," she whispered - to her sleeping daughter, to her missing son, to all the spaces between what was lost and what was found.

Outside, in the eternal twilight of another realm, a mark pulsed gently in response.

As silence settled over the sleeping house, one last detail remained unnoticed:

On Melinoe's bedside table, beside her sketchbook, a single pomegranate seed glowed faintly - though no one had brought fruit into her room. Its soft light pulsed in rhythm with something far below, in a realm of eternal twilight.

And in her small hand, clutched tight as she slept, was a crumpled drawing unlike her others. Not the careful pictures of gardens or three-headed dogs, but something that looked almost like a map. A child's scribbled version of paths through darkness, leading down, down, down...

Above her bed, the shadows moved strangely, as if the eternal twilight of another realm was leaking through. And somewhere, in a place between sleep and waking, a mark pulsed in answer to a question not yet asked.

Chapter Text

Safron awoke to pain.

Not the usual gentle pulsing of his mark, but something deeper, more fundamental - as if the divine sigil was trying to rewrite itself into his very being. His mark blazed with unprecedented intensity, casting shadows that seemed to move wrong, like time itself was bending around him.

"Than?" he called out instinctively, but his voice sounded strange, echoing as if through multiple layers of reality. "Zag?"

The mark's glow became almost blinding, its usual soft light now sharp enough to cut through darkness itself. But it wasn't just light anymore - there were patterns forming within it, changing the simple pomegranate and laurel design into something more complex, more... prophetic.

When he managed to look down at his chest, what he saw made his breath catch. The mark was... evolving. New lines forming, old ones shifting, creating symbols that felt ancient and future at once. And in its center, a darkness that looked suspiciously like a door.

"Child." Nyx's voice cut through his pain, her eternal presence filling the chamber. "Do not fight it."

"What's..." he gasped as another wave of transformation rippled through his mark, "what's happening to me?"

Nyx moved closer, her starry form seeming to understand something about the way his mark was changing. The shadows around her responded differently now, as if recognizing a new kind of darkness in him.

"The mark awakens," she said carefully, watching as new patterns formed within the glowing sigil. "Though perhaps sooner than..."

She stopped abruptly as his mark pulsed with a power that made even Night herself pause. The darkness at its center deepened, not like a void but like a passage - a way between places that shouldn't connect.

"Nyx," his voice shook as another wave of change coursed through him, "I can feel... I can feel her. The little girl with white hair. She's..."

The mark flared violently, and for a moment, both Safron and Nyx could see it - a child's bedroom, pomegranate trees outside the window, a small hand clutching drawings of impossible places.

"It begins," Nyx whispered, and something in her eternal voice carried both anticipation and concern.

The pain intensified, but it was different now - less like transformation and more like... recognition. As if his mark was remembering something it had always been meant to become.

"The threads align," Nyx continued, her form shifting closer as Safron struggled with the changes coursing through him. "The mark is not just a sign anymore, child. It becomes a bridge."

"A bridge to..." he gasped as another wave hit him, and suddenly he could see more clearly through that darkness in his mark - his old home, his parents moving through their morning routine, and a small figure with white hair drawing patterns that looked exactly like the ones now forming in his mark.

"She draws what you become," Nyx observed, her eternal voice carrying careful measure. "As you become what she dreams."

The mark pulsed again, and this time the pain brought something else - understanding. Not complete, not yet, but enough to make his breath catch. The pomegranate in his mark wasn't just a symbol anymore; it was becoming a key. The laurel wreath wasn't just decoration; it was turning into a path.

"Night Mother," he managed through gritted teeth, "is this... was this always..."

But before he could finish, his mark flared with such intensity that even Nyx's shadows seemed to bend away. Something was opening - not just in the mark, but in reality itself.

Through the pain, through the transformation, Safron caught glimpses - not just of his old home now, but of places between places. His mark wasn't just changing; it was revealing what it had always been meant to see:

Chronos in his chamber, watching time fold in on itself. Eris in her realm of discord, smiling at patterns only she could see. A small girl counting pomegranate seeds in patterns that echoed through realms. And somewhere, in a future he wasn't supposed to know...

"Enough," Nyx commanded, her power drawing him back before he could see too much. "Some visions are not for this moment."

But his mark had other ideas. The darkness at its center pulsed like a heartbeat now, each beat showing him more:

His mother's hands planting new flowers. His father reading bedtime stories. White hair catching moonlight. A three-headed stuffed dog watching over dreams.

"Night Mother," he gasped, the mark's power almost overwhelming now, "I understand why... why I'm really here..."

"No," Nyx's voice carried warning. "You see pieces, child. But the whole pattern..."

The mark flared again, cutting off her words, showing him one last vision - a little girl reaching toward a darkness that reached back, both of them drawing the same patterns across time and space.

"She's not just adopted," he whispered, understanding crashing through him like waves. "She's..."

"She's a fragment," Safron breathed, the knowledge burning through him as his mark pulsed with dangerous understanding. "When Hecate tries to save... in the future... the spell splits her across..." He stopped, remembering he couldn't speak of futures not yet written.

But his mark knew. The new patterns forming within it told a story of temporal fragments, of a spell cast in desperation that echoed backwards through time, sending pieces of a future soul to find safe harbor in the past. His parents, grieving for their lost son, had unknowingly become guardians of one such fragment.

"Child," Nyx's warning carried more urgency now. "Some knowledge is too heavy for any single moment to bear."

But the mark's transformation had shown him too much - the complex web of time and fate, how his own mysterious arrival in the House connected to this fragmented echo of someone who would one day be whole. Not the future Melinoe herself, but a piece of her, scattered back through time like seeds thrown to fertile ground.

The pain peaked suddenly, making him cry out as the mark settled into its new form. The patterns stabilized, the darkness at its center becoming a constant reminder of paths between moments, between fragments, between what was and what would be.

"I won't tell her," he managed, understanding the weight of this knowledge. "She needs to become herself first, before..."

"Before paths converge," Nyx finished softly, her eternal presence steadying him as the transformation completed. "But remember, child - she is real. The fragment lives its own life, creates its own truth. What she becomes is not just echo, but essence."

"What's happening? I felt..." Zagreus burst into the chamber, his eternal heat flaring with concern, only to stop short at the sight before him.

Safron was on his knees, surrounded by strange shadows that seemed to move independently of Nyx's presence. His mark - the mark Zagreus had touched countless times, had watched pulse with emotion and divine energy - was different now. More complex, more ancient somehow, with that strange darkness at its center that seemed to look back when you gazed at it too long.

"Love," Safron managed, reaching for him with shaking hands. His voice sounded strange, like it was coming from multiple places at once.

Zagreus moved instantly to support him, but hesitated for a split second before touching the transformed mark. When his eternal heat met the new patterns, something sparked between them - not their usual warm connection, but something deeper, as if Zagreus's divine essence recognized something ancient and powerful awakening.

"Mother Nyx?" Zagreus looked to her for explanation, his arms steady around Safron despite his obvious confusion.

"Some changes," Nyx replied carefully, "must be witnessed without being understood. For now."

The mark pulsed between them - Safron's new awareness, Zagreus's protective heat, and knowledge that couldn't yet be shared.

"I'm still me," Safron whispered against Zagreus's chest, feeling the prince's heart racing with concern. "Just... more, somehow."

The mark responded to Zagreus's heat differently now - not just with its usual warm pulse, but with deeper recognition. As if it could see the eternal cycles of death and rebirth that made him who he was, the countless returns home that had shaped his soul.

"You're burning up," Zagreus noted with worry, and indeed Safron's skin felt almost as hot as the prince's natural flame. "Should we get Than? Or..."

"No," Nyx interjected softly. "Let him adjust first. Too much divine presence now could overwhelm the new patterns as they settle."

Safron could feel Zagreus wanting to argue, to take action, to fix whatever was happening - his eternal protectiveness warring with his uncertainty about this transformation.

"Just hold me," Safron managed, his mark creating strange shadows where it met Zagreus's glow. "While I... while I remember how to be just one place at once."

Because that was the strangest part - feeling simultaneously here in Zagreus's arms and there in his old home, watching a little girl with white hair dream of paths his mark was only now learning to see.

Zagreus tightened his embrace, his heat a familiar anchor as Safron's very existence seemed to flutter between states of being.

Chapter Text

Safron woke to Zagreus's familiar heat, the prince's arms still wrapped protectively around him from the night before. His mark - the new, more complex version of it - pulsed quietly now, though the darkness at its center remained like a window slightly ajar.

They were in Zagreus's chambers, though Safron couldn't quite remember how they'd gotten there. After the transformation, after Nyx's cryptic warnings, everything had become a blur of sensation and revelation.

"Hey," Zagreus's voice was unusually soft, his mismatched eyes studying Safron's face carefully. "You were talking in your sleep. Something about pomegranate seeds and patterns..."

The mark flickered as Safron tried to focus solely on this moment, on Zagreus's warmth, on the simple reality of being here. But part of him could still feel the echo of other places - a child's bedroom, a garden with three types of flowers, a small hand drawing maps to somewhere deep below...

"I'm okay," he said, though his mark's pulsing suggested 'okay' was a complex state now. "Just... different."

"Different how?" Zagreus's fingers traced the new patterns in his mark with careful wonder, making both Safron and the strange darkness at its center shiver.

"Actually," Safron stretched, surprised to find the pain and disorientation from last night had faded, "I do feel okay. Better than okay."

His mark pulsed steadily, its new patterns feeling natural now, as if they'd always been there just waiting to be revealed. Even the darkness at its center seemed less overwhelming - less like a void and more like a carefully closed door.

"You sure?" Zagreus propped himself up on one elbow, his eternal heat a comfortable presence. "Because last night you were... well, you were seeing things. Places. And saying things about time and fragments and..."

"I remember," Safron smiled, reaching up to trace Zagreus's worried frown. "But it's settled now. Like... like learning a new language. At first it's overwhelming - all these new words and meanings coming at once. But then your mind adjusts, sorts it all out."

The mark glowed softly, confirming his words. Where last night it had been a storm of revelation, now it felt integrated, balanced. He could still sense the other places, the other moments, but they were background music rather than crashing cymbals.

"Besides," he added, pulling Zagreus closer, "some things are exactly the same. Like how your heat still makes my mark..." The sigil flared warmly as the prince's natural flame drew near.

"Show me?" Zagreus asked, both curious and cautious.

"Look," Safron guided Zagreus's hand to his mark. "It still responds to you the same way. Still pulses with your heat. Just... with more depth now."

As Zagreus's warmth met the new patterns, the mark glowed with their familiar intimate connection, but there was something extra - like hearing a favorite song with new harmonies you never noticed before.

"It's like," Safron tried to explain, "I can feel more of you now. Not just your heat, but your essence. All those deaths and returns, all those cycles of coming home... they've left patterns too. Beautiful ones."

Zagreus's eyes widened slightly. "You can see that?"

"Not see exactly. More like... feel? Understand?" The mark pulsed warmly as Safron pulled him closer. "But mostly I just feel us. Here. Now. The way I always have."

To prove it, he kissed Zagreus - a normal, passionate, very much present-moment kiss that made his mark glow with familiar desire rather than cosmic significance.

"See?" he murmured against the prince's lips. "Some things don't need any enhancement."

"Thank the gods for that," Zagreus grinned, his natural confidence returning as he realized Safron was truly okay. "Though I wouldn't mind exploring what else this new mark of yours can... appreciate."

"Well," Safron said with deliberate slowness, letting his chiton slip from one shoulder, "the mark does seem to have a deeper appreciation for... divine forms."

His newly evolved mark pulsed with both familiar desire and enhanced awareness as he moved. The way Zagreus's eternal heat created patterns in the air, the divine grace in every shift of his muscles - it was like seeing familiar beauty through a more profound lens.

"Is that so?" Zagreus's mismatched eyes darkened with interest as Safron continued to disrobe with teasing precision.

"Mhmm," Safron let the chiton fall completely, his mark glowing with both its usual passion and its new depth of perception. "For instance, I can see how your divine flame creates the most interesting patterns when you're... excited."

"Excited?" Zagreus's heat flared noticeably. "Is that what we're calling it?"

"Would you prefer a more... thorough analysis?" Safron moved closer, his mark pulsing with playful invitation. "I am an administrator, after all. Very detailed in my observations."

The darkness at his mark's center seemed to purr with anticipation as Zagreus reached for him, eternal flame meeting newly evolved divine sigil in a dance as old as desire itself.

Chapter Text

It started subtly during Meg's training session. Safron was watching from his usual spot, marking pulsing gently with its new awareness, when something unexpected happened.

"Your strikes are different today," Meg noted, pausing mid-spar with Zagreus. "Stronger somehow."

"Really?" Zagreus looked at his blade, which seemed to shimmer with extra divine energy. "I thought something felt..."

They both turned to look at Safron, whose mark was creating unusual patterns of light. Not the dramatic flares of divine power, but something more supportive - like a harmony strengthening a melody.

"It's you," Meg realized, studying him with her golden eyes. "Your presence is... enhancing divine abilities."

"I'm not doing anything," Safron started, but his mark pulsed with knowing contradiction. He was doing something, just not consciously. His new patterns were somehow amplifying the divine essence around him, supporting and strengthening those he cared about.

"Try it again," Zagreus suggested, readying his blade. "But this time, focus on what you're feeling."

As Meg and Zagreus resumed sparring, Safron concentrated on the new sensations flowing through his mark. It wasn't about adding power, he realized, but about enhancing what was already there - like turning up the volume on existing divine frequencies.

When he focused on Zagreus, the prince's movements became more fluid, his divine flame burning brighter but more controlled. When his attention shifted to Meg, her strikes gained additional precision, her fury's essence more refined.

"Interesting," Nyx's voice materialized with her presence. "You become a catalyst."

"I don't understand," Safron's mark pulsed with questioning energy. "I'm not giving them power..."

"No," Nyx agreed, watching as both Meg and Zagreus moved with enhanced grace. "You are helping them access more of their own essence. Like a mirror reflecting light back stronger than it received it."

The mark flickered thoughtfully as Safron processed this. "So I'm not changing them, just... supporting what they already are?"

"Precisely." Nyx moved closer, her eternal presence making the mark's new patterns shift with recognition. "Though I suspect this is only the beginning of your supporting role."

"What do you mean?"

Rather than answer directly, Nyx gestured to where Zagreus and Meg were still sparring. Their divine energies were creating complex patterns in the air, and Safron's mark was responding to each one - not controlling, not commanding, but harmonizing. Strengthening. Supporting.

"You bridge realms," Nyx said softly. "Now you learn to bridge powers as well."

"Close your eyes," Nyx instructed, her eternal presence enveloping the training grounds. "Feel the divine essences around you. Not just their power, but their nature."

Safron obeyed, his mark pulsing gently as he sensed the different divine energies:

Zagreus's rebellious heat

Meg's focused fury

Nyx's ancient darkness Each had its own rhythm, its own pattern.

"Now," Nyx continued, "don't try to change them. Think of yourself as... an instrument in their orchestra. You don't create the music, you enhance it."

Safron's mark flickered with understanding. He focused on Zagreus first, not pushing power into him but rather reflecting his existing strength back at him, amplified. The prince's movements became even more graceful, his flame more purposeful.

"Good," Nyx's voice carried approval. "But be careful. Supporting divine essence requires balance. Too much enhancement could overwhelm them, too little makes no difference."

"Like tuning an instrument," Safron murmured, his mark finding the right frequency to support without overpowering.

"Precisely. Now, try supporting multiple essences at once. Feel how they interact, how they..."

She paused as Safron's mark created a complex web of supportive energy, somehow managing to enhance both Zagreus's and Meg's abilities simultaneously while keeping their distinct natures separate.

"You take to this naturally," Nyx observed. "Perhaps because your mark was always meant to support rather than dominate."

"ENOUGH!" Meg suddenly called out, her wings fluttering with unusual agitation. "This... enhancement needs work."

"What's wrong?" Safron's mark flickered with concern. "Did I overwhelm the support?"

"No," Meg's voice carried a mix of embarrassment and annoyance. "But your... enhancement seems to have some... side effects."

Zagreus, who had stopped sparring, was looking distinctly flushed beyond his usual heat. "Ah... yes. The support is definitely... effective. Maybe too effective in certain... areas."

"Oh!" Safron's mark pulsed with mortified understanding as he realized his enhancement wasn't just amplifying their divine combat abilities, but also their... other divine aspects.

"It appears," Nyx observed with what might have been amusement, "that your supporting energy responds to ALL aspects of divine essence. Including more... passionate ones."

"I didn't mean to..." Safron started.

"Perhaps," Meg cut in, her wings still twitching, "we should practice this ability with less... intimate divine beings first."

"Or at least warn someone before enhancing EVERYTHING," Zagreus added, though he was grinning despite his obvious fluster.

Safron's mark flickered with embarrassed apology as he realized he'd accidentally created the divine equivalent of an aphrodisiac effect along with the combat enhancement.

"Actually," Nyx's eternal voice carried that tone of ancient knowledge, "this aspect of your power cannot be separated from its whole."

"What?" Safron's mark pulsed with alarm. "You mean I can't enhance abilities without also..."

"Divine essence is not compartmentalized, child," Nyx explained, while Meg and Zagreus exchanged looks that were equal parts amused and concerned. "When you support and amplify divine nature, you enhance all aspects of it. Power and passion are intrinsically linked in immortal beings."

"So every time I try to help someone in battle, I'll also make them...horny" Safron's mark flickered with embarrassment.

"Extremely aware of their more passionate nature, yes." Nyx's voice held no judgment. "This is the foundation of your supporting power - the ability to enhance divine essence in its entirety. To try to separate these aspects would be like trying to separate flame from heat."

"Well," Zagreus cleared his throat, still looking rather affected, "that's going to make group training interesting."

"Perhaps," Meg suggested dryly, her wings finally settling, "we should establish some very clear guidelines about when and where this... enhancement is appropriate."

"And maybe warn Than before any practice sessions," Zagreus added with a grin. "Though his reaction could be entertaining..."

Safron's mark pulsed with mortified understanding as he realized every future attempt to support his divine friends would also inevitably involve making them... extremely aware of their passionate natures.

"So basically," Safron muttered, his mark pulsing with resigned humor, "I'm like Aphrodite on minimal settings. Just... accidentally making everyone horny while trying to help them fight better."

"I would not phrase it quite that way to the goddess of love herself," Nyx advised, though there was definite amusement in her eternal voice.

"Oh gods," Safron's mark flickered with sudden realization. "What if Aphrodite finds out? She'll never let me hear the end of it. She already thinks my relationship situation is the most entertaining thing in the Underworld..."

"Perhaps we should keep this development... private," Meg suggested, still looking slightly flustered. "At least until you learn better control."

"Though 'better control' apparently won't help with the... side effects," Zagreus added, his eternal heat still running notably higher than usual.

"Consider it a package deal," Nyx said serenely. "Your power enhances divine essence in its totality. Battle prowess, godly abilities, and... natural drives are all connected in immortal beings."

"Great," Safron's mark pulsed with embarrassed amusement. "I wanted to help in battle and instead I'm basically a divine aphrodisiac dispenser. Than is going to have... opinions about this."

"Oh, he'll have opinions alright," Zagreus grinned wickedly. "Should we test it on him next?"

"NO!" came the unanimous response.

"Night Mother," Safron turned to Nyx, his mark pulsing with concern, "please tell me I can at least learn not to activate this power accidentally. I can't go around randomly enhancing everyone's... everything... just by being nearby."

"Especially during administrative duties," Meg added dryly. "The House has enough chaos without divinely aroused shades filing paperwork."

"Imagine the filing system under those conditions," Zagreus mused, still affected by the lingering enhancement. "Everything would be categorized by how attracted shades are to different forms..."

"Not helping, Zag," Safron's mark flickered anxiously. "Nyx?"

"The power can be controlled," Nyx confirmed, her eternal presence steadying. "Though it requires conscious focus. You must learn to keep your supporting energy contained until deliberately released."

"Like a muscle," Safron realized. "Something I have to consciously flex?"

"Precisely. Though be warned - strong emotions may cause instinctive activation. Particularly when you feel protective or... passionate... about those around you."

"So basically," Safron summarized with resigned humor, "don't get too emotional around divine beings unless I want to accidentally turn them on while trying to help them?"

"That is... one way to phrase it," Nyx agreed, with what might have been a smile.

"Is there maybe..." Safron's mark pulsed hopefully, "I don't know, some sort of divine control potion? Or a spell? Something to help me keep this power in check until I learn better control?"

"Ah yes," Meg interjected sarcastically, "because adding more divine elements to your already overly-enhancing presence seems wise."

"Actually," Nyx considered, her starry form shifting thoughtfully, "there might be something. Not to suppress the power - that would be unwise and likely impossible - but to help you maintain conscious awareness of it."

"Like training wheels?" Safron asked hopefully.

"More like... a warning system," Nyx explained. "A draught of Lethe water, mixed with essence of asphodel and a drop of Styx... it could create a subtle awareness in your mark, a kind of... notification before the power activates fully."

"So I'd feel it building up before it affects everyone?" Safron's mark flickered with interest.

"Precisely. Though the ingredients required are not simple to obtain. And mixing divine rivers' waters can be... unpredictable."

"Can't be more unpredictable than me accidentally making everyone in the administrative chamber suddenly overwhelmed with divine passion," Safron pointed out.

"Point taken," Nyx's voice carried rare amusement. "Though perhaps we should consult the River Styx about proper amounts. Last time someone mixed her waters incorrectly..."

"What happened?"

"Let us just say that particular shade is still trying to untangle himself from multiple temporal zones."

Safron turned to Zagreus, his mark pulsing with what could only be described as tactical pleading. "Zag..."

"Oh no," Zagreus recognized that look immediately. "That's your 'I need someone to do something potentially deadly' expression."

"But you're so good at collecting things," Safron's mark flickered appealingly. "And you die all the time anyway..."

"He has a point," Meg noted, still maintaining a safe distance from Safron's enhancing influence. "You do have extensive experience with dying in various river-related situations."

"And you're the only one who can actually touch the waters without, you know, eternal consequences," Safron continued, his mark practically radiating hopeful persuasion. "Plus, think about it - if you help me control this power, our private moments won't accidentally affect the entire House..."

"That was ONE time," Zagreus protested.

"Three times," everyone corrected simultaneously.

"Please?" Safron added, his mark creating what could only be described as a divine puppy-dog eye effect. "I really don't want to accidentally enhance Hypnos again. He sleep-floated into four different chambers last time..."

"That explains the sleep-talking about 'very passionate administrative procedures,'" Nyx observed.

Zagreus looked between Safron's pleading expression and his mark's deliberately adorable pulsing. "You're going to be impossible until I agree, aren't you?"

"I might even accidentally enhance your sense of guilt..."

"That's playing dirty."

"Is it working?"

Several escaped attempts, multiple deaths, and one very wet prince later...

Nyx's chamber glowed with unusual energies as she carefully mixed the collected waters. The vial of Lethe shimmered with forgetting, while the Styx sample burned red with binding oaths. The essence of asphodel floated between them like liquid twilight.

"Now," Nyx instructed as she worked, "this mixture requires perfect balance. Too much Lethe could make you forget your own power entirely. Too much Styx could bind it too tightly."

Safron watched anxiously, his mark pulsing with nervous energy. Zagreus stood nearby, still slightly damp from his collection efforts, while Meg observed from a safe distance.

"The waters remember their purpose," Nyx continued, her eternally steady hands measuring drops with precise care. "Lethe to create awareness through its opposite - forgetting. Styx to bind control through oath. Asphodel to bridge the living power and eternal essence."

The mixture began to glow with a strange light that somehow matched the patterns in Safron's mark.

"Is it supposed to do that?" Zagreus asked, moving protectively closer to Safron.

"The potion recognizes its purpose," Nyx explained. "Like calls to like. Divine essence seeking its mirror."

The liquid in the vial swirled with possibility, waiting.

"Drink," Nyx held out the vial. "But be warned - the sensation will be... unique."

Safron took the mixture, his mark pulsing nervously. "Unique how exactly?"

"You're about to drink three divine rivers mixed with eternal power," Meg pointed out. "Maybe don't ask too many questions."

Taking a deep breath, Safron brought the vial to his lips. The liquid seemed to move on its own, eager to meet his mark. As he drank, several things happened at once:

His mark flared with recognition, the new patterns singing in harmony with the mixed waters. The darkness at its center pulsed like a heartbeat. And suddenly, he could feel it - a sort of divine early warning system, like a gentle tap on his consciousness before his enhancing power could activate.

"Oh," he breathed, as the sensation settled. "That's... different."

"Different good or different 'oh gods what have I done'?" Zagreus asked, still hovering protectively.

"Different like..." Safron focused, feeling the new awareness thread through his mark. "Like having a safety catch on a powerful weapon. I can feel when it's about to trigger now."

"Test it," Nyx instructed.

Carefully, Safron reached out with his power toward Zagreus. This time, he felt the build-up before it could release, giving him time to control the flow of enhancement.

"Much better," Zagreus confirmed, though his eternal heat still flickered higher at the controlled contact. "Though maybe we should practice somewhere more private than Nyx's chamber..."

"Indeed," Nyx agreed serenely. "I believe you have adequate control now to... explore the extent of your supporting abilities. Elsewhere."

"Right," Safron's mark pulsed with embarrassed gratitude. "Thank you, Night Mother. For everything."

As they left Nyx's chamber, Safron could feel the new awareness settling into his mark like it had always been there - a gift of control from three rivers and eternal night, helping him bridge the gap between what he was and what he was becoming.

"So," Zagreus grinned as they walked away, "about that private practice session..."

"One thing at a time," Safron laughed, his mark pulsing with both control and possibility. "Though I do have some ideas about enhanced training techniques..."

Behind them, Nyx's knowing smile followed their departure, while somewhere in the House, divine waters sang through mortal veins, creating their own kind of harmony.

Chapter Text

The thought hit Safron during a quiet moment in his chambers. His mark, now controlled by the divine mixture, pulsed with sudden anxiety as he reviewed recent events.

Since discovering his enhancement abilities, Zagreus had been particularly... passionate. Always nearby, always eager for "training sessions," always responding intensely to even the smallest activation of Safron's power.

But was it real anymore? Or was it just the divine enhancement making Zagreus feel things he wouldn't normally feel? The prince's natural heat and rebellion had always been drawn to him, but now...

His mark flickered with worry as he remembered how strongly divine beings responded to his power. What if Zagreus's recent intensity wasn't love at all, but just an effect of constant exposure to divine enhancement?

The thought made his mark pulse painfully. He'd wanted to help, to support, to make their connection stronger. Instead, had he accidentally created artificial passion? Was he essentially drugging the prince with divine aphrodisiac every time they were together?

The more he thought about it, the worse it seemed. Every kiss, every touch since his power emerged - had any of it been real? Or was it all just enhanced divine response? His mark pulsed with growing distress as he remembered Zagreus's increased ardor, the way the prince seemed almost addicted to his presence lately.

Even now, he could feel his power wanting to reach out, to enhance, to strengthen their connection. The potion gave him warning, yes, but it didn't change the fundamental nature of what his ability did to divine beings.

"No," he whispered to his mark, which was trying to pulse hopefully at the sound of Zagreus's approaching footsteps. "Not right now. Not until I know..."

"Know what?" Zagreus appeared in the doorway, his eternal heat reaching for Safron as naturally as breathing. "You've been quiet lately. Is everything alright?"

Safron deliberately kept his power contained, even though it ached not to respond to Zagreus's presence. He needed to know - needed to see how the prince would react without any enhancement at all.

"Can we talk?" he asked softly, his mark flickering anxiously. "About... about what my power might be doing to us?"

The confusion in Zagreus's mismatched eyes made his heart hurt. How much of that familiar love was real, and how much was just divine essence responding to enhancement?

"Your power?" Zagreus moved closer, though Safron noticed him hesitate when no enhancing energy met his approach. "What about it?"

"I need to know," Safron's mark pulsed with barely contained anxiety, "if what you feel for me now is... real. Or if it's just response to constant enhancement."

"What?" Zagreus stopped completely.

"Since this power emerged, you've been so... intense. Always wanting to be close, always responding so strongly. But what if..." Safron's mark flickered painfully, "what if it's not really you feeling these things? What if I'm just... accidentally manipulating your divine essence into wanting me?"

"Safron..."

"No, think about it," he continued, keeping his power firmly contained despite how much it hurt to do so. "We've seen how strongly divine beings respond to the enhancement. What if all this recent passion isn't love at all? What if I'm basically just... drugging you with divine aphrodisiac every time we're together?"

His mark pulsed with misery as he forced himself to ask: "How do I know if you actually want me anymore, or if you're just addicted to how my power makes you feel?"

The hurt that flashed across Zagreus's face made Safron's mark flare with regret, but he had to know. Had to be sure.

"You think," Zagreus's voice was unusually quiet, his eternal heat flickering with something between pain and disbelief, "that I only want you because of your power?"

"I don't know," Safron admitted, his mark pulsing with distress. "That's the problem. I can't know. Not when my ability affects divine beings so strongly. Not when it makes everyone feel more... everything."

"Look at me," Zagreus stepped closer, though still not touching. "Really look at me. I died hundreds of times trying to reach the surface. I challenged the Fates themselves to change my destiny. I rewrote the very rules of death and rebirth. All before you had this power."

His mismatched eyes held Safron's gaze intently. "Do you really think a little divine enhancement could make me feel something I didn't already feel with my entire being?"

"But you've been so much more intense since..."

"Because it's YOU," Zagreus interrupted. "Not your power. You. Watching you grow into these abilities, seeing you become more of yourself - of course I respond strongly to that. I loved you before you could enhance anything except my paperwork filing skills."

Safron's mark flickered with uncertain hope. "You're sure?"

"Want me to prove it?"

Prove it how?" Safron's mark pulsed hesitantly.

"Don't use your power. Not at all. Keep it completely contained," Zagreus moved closer, his eternal heat radiating intention. "Let me show you how I feel about you without any enhancement."

"But..."

"No power," Zagreus repeated softly, now close enough that Safron could feel his warmth but not quite touching. "No divine enhancement. Just us. Like it was before. Let me remind you how much I wanted you even when you were just my stubborn administrator with a glowing mark."

Safron's mark flickered with emotion, but he kept his power carefully controlled, letting none of it reach out to Zagreus.

"You died in my office that first time," Zagreus continued, his voice low and intense. "Not because of any power, but because you looked so perfect organizing those scrolls. You remember?"

"You set the filing cabinet on fire," Safron whispered.

"I want to," Safron breathed, his mark beginning to pulse stronger despite his efforts. "I want to let you show me, but... I can't fully control it. Not when I feel this much."

"What do you mean?"

"The potion helps, gives me warning, but..." his mark flickered with frustration as he tried to contain its response to Zagreus's proximity, "strong emotions make it harder to control. And you... you make me feel everything so intensely."

Zagreus's expression softened with understanding. "So the more I make you feel, the harder it is to keep your power contained?"

"Yes," Safron admitted, his mark already starting to reach for Zagreus's divine essence despite his best efforts. "It's like... like trying not to smile when you're happy. The feeling itself triggers the response."

"Then don't fight it," Zagreus moved even closer, his heat making Safron's mark pulse desperately. "Let it happen. Because even if your power enhances what I feel, it's only amplifying what's already there. What's always been there."

"But-"

"I loved you before this power," Zagreus's voice was firm but gentle. "I'll love you after it. And I love you with it. All of you. Every enhancement, every pulse, every way you make me feel more alive."

Safron's mark flared with emotion, and this time he couldn't stop the wave of enhancing energy that reached for Zagreus's divine essence.

"You said you love me," Safron's voice was barely a whisper, his mark glowing with wonder. "You've never actually said that before. We've been together all this time, but you've never..."

Understanding dawned in Zagreus's mismatched eyes. "I haven't, have I? We've shared so much - you've watched me die and return countless times, supported my escapes, changed everything about the House, but I've never just..."

"Said it," Safron finished, his mark now pulsing with an entirely new kind of emotion.

"Well then," Zagreus moved even closer, his heat meeting Safron's involuntary enhancement in a dance of power and passion. "Let me say it properly. I love you. Not because of divine enhancement, not because of power or mark or destiny. Just because you're you."

The mark's glow became almost blinding, all Safron's careful control forgotten in the face of those three words. The enhancing power reached for Zagreus's divine essence instinctively, wanting to reflect back all the emotion it felt.

"Easy," Zagreus murmured, though his eternal heat was responding powerfully to both the enhancement and the moment. "We're okay. We're real. This is real."

"I love you too," Safron managed, his mark creating patterns of light that seemed to write the words in the air between them. "I've wanted to say it for so long, but it felt... overwhelming. Like maybe mortals weren't supposed to love gods that way."

"And now?"

"Now I think maybe that's exactly what this mark is for. Not just enhancing divine power, but... bridging that gap. Making it possible to love across realms."

Zagreus's hands finally found Safron's face, his warmth making the mark pulse in rhythm with both their heartbeats. "Then enhance away. Show me exactly how much you love me. No holding back, no doubts."

"Than..." Safron started.

"Will understand. Always has. Now stop worrying about divine protocol and kiss me properly."

The mark's answering flare lit up the entire chamber.

Chapter Text

Than materialized in his usual flash of green, finding Safron staring pensively out over the Styx. His mark was pulsing quietly, still adjusting to its new awareness after the events with Zagreus.

"You're avoiding me," Than stated simply, his cool presence making the mark flicker with nervous recognition.

"Not avoiding exactly," Safron replied, still looking at the river. "Just... processing."

"Zagreus told me about your concerns. About the enhancement power affecting genuine feelings."

"Of course he did," Safron's mark pulsed with a mix of affection and anxiety. "Than, I need to know... with you too. Has this power been...?"

"I am Death Incarnate," Than's voice carried eternal certainty. "I exist beyond mortal influence, beyond divine enhancement. What I feel..." he paused, choosing his words with characteristic care, "what I feel for both of you is as unchangeable as the final transition itself."

"But it's different with you," Safron said quietly, his mark pulsing with the truth they both knew. "Not just the power, but everything. It always has been."

"Yes," Than agreed simply. "As it should be."

"I don't love you the same way I love him," Safron admitted, the mark flickering with vulnerable honesty. "And my power... it responds differently to you too. Not with that immediate passion like with Zag, but with something..."

"Deeper," Than finished. "More eternal. Like death itself."

"Does that bother you?"

Than's cool presence moved closer, making the mark pulse with its usual steady rhythm - so different from its passionate flares with Zagreus, but no less meaningful.

"Death does not require passion to be profound," he said softly. "What exists between us... it's like the final breath. Quiet, inevitable, meaningful in its own way."

"And when my power enhances your essence?"

"It doesn't make me want you more," Than explained. "It makes me understand you deeper. Like seeing a soul's complete journey instead of just its ending."

His golden eyes held Safron's gaze with eternal certainty. "Your love for Zagreus burns like his eternal flame. Your love for me... it's like the peace of a gentle passing. Both are true. Both are needed."

"There's something else," Safron's mark pulsed with a different kind of nervousness. "Zag said... he told me he loves me. Actually said the words."

"Ah," Than's response carried no surprise. "He finally found the courage to speak what has been obvious to death for some time."

"I don't expect..." Safron started quickly, but Than's cool hand found his cheek, silencing him.

"I do not speak of love," Death said softly. "Not because it doesn't exist, but because death's affection is shown in other ways. In the moments I choose to pause between souls. In the times I linger when I should move on. In how I bend eternal duties around your presence."

The mark pulsed with understanding. Of course Than wouldn't say it - couldn't say it. Death's love wasn't meant for words.

"When your power enhances me," Than continued, "it doesn't create passion like it does with Zagreus. It creates... clarity. I see more clearly how our essences intertwine, how death itself has adapted to include you in its eternal dance."

"Like now?" Safron asked, feeling his power responding to Than's presence in that unique way - not inflaming, but deepening.

"Yes," Than's golden eyes held infinite understanding. "Show me how you see death's love. How your power reads the spaces between endings."

Almost reverently, Safron sank to his knees before Death Incarnate, his mark pulsing with a different kind of devotion than it showed Zagreus. This wasn't about passion or fire - this was about acknowledgment of something eternal, something profound.

"Your power responds differently even to this," Than observed softly, his cool hand finding Safron's hair. "Not enhancing desire, but deepening understanding."

"Because this isn't about want," Safron's mark flickered with quiet recognition. "It's about... acceptance. Submission to something greater than mortal comprehension."

Than's golden eyes held infinite meaning as he looked down at the kneeling form before him. "You understand death's nature better than most immortals. How it requires both respect and surrender."

The mark pulsed gently as Safron leaned into Than's touch, its enhancing power not inflaming divine passion but rather strengthening their connection to death's eternal truth.

"Show me," Than whispered, his usually formal voice carrying depths of meaning. "Show me how a mortal honors death's love."

Their energies merged in a dance as old as endings themselves - not a battle of passion like with Zagreus, but a gentle surrender to something infinitely vast and infinitely tender.

On his knees before Death Incarnate, Safron felt the full weight of Than's divine authority. His mark pulsed with complete submission as he worshipped death's essence with reverent attention, taking Than deeply with devoted surrender.

Than's cool fingers tightened in his hair, a rare show of dominance from usually reserved Death. "Yes," he breathed, his golden eyes watching Safron's willing submission. "Show death how thoroughly you yield."

"Mine," Than's eternal voice carried commanding power. "Show me how completely you submit to death's claim."

Than's grip tightened further, guiding Safron's submission with uncharacteristic dominance. The mark pulsed with complete surrender, enhancing not passion but the profound connection between mortal submission and death's authority.

"Perfect," Than's usually measured voice carried deep possession. "Taking death so completely, so willingly."

Safron's mark flared as he yielded entirely to Than's control, his mortal essence surrendering to death's mastery. This wasn't like the passionate play with Zagreus - this was deeper, more primal. A mortal giving himself completely to death's possession.

"My devoted servant," Than's cool authority filled every word. "So willing to worship death properly."

The mark's enhancing power made their connection deeper still, until Safron could feel death's essence flowing through him, claiming him, owning him completely. His willing submission made more profound by the power that let him feel exactly how thoroughly death possessed him.

"Show me," Than commanded softly, his eternal voice brooking no defiance. "Show death your perfect surrender."

Than's essence flooded him completely as Safron surrendered to death's climax, his mark pulsing with total submission. The enhancing power made him feel every nuance of death's possession, every aspect of his willing surrender to Than's authority.

"Mine," Than breathed as he released his grip, his cool fingers now gentle in Safron's hair. "As thoroughly as death claims all things."

Safron remained on his knees, his mark still glowing with devoted submission as Than's essence lingered on his tongue. This was what made their connection different from what he shared with Zagreus - this perfect understanding of dominance and surrender, of mortal worship and divine claim.

"Rise," Than commanded softly, helping Safron to his feet with unexpected tenderness. "You honor death well."

The mark pulsed quietly as Than pulled him close, its enhancing power still deepening their connection but gentler now, like the peace after a perfect ending.

"Than..." Safron started.

"Hush," Death's cool lips found his forehead. "Some truths need no words."

They stood together in comfortable silence, mortal and death, connected by power and submission and something deeper than love itself.

Chapter Text

The mark pulsed uncomfortably as Safron sorted through the latest batch of administrative scrolls, causing the nearby shade clerk to suddenly start reciting poetry instead of filing reports. Third time this morning.

"Sorry!" Safron called out, hastily uncorking the three rivers potion and taking a sip. The silvery liquid tasted like mineral water mixed with starlight, if starlight had a flavor. The clerk returned to normal, looking mildly confused about why they were holding a scroll like a dramatic monologue prop.

"You know," Hypnos floated by, somehow managing to sleep and talk simultaneously, "when I first started making people drowsy by accident, Mother had me practice on Charon. He just kept saying 'Hhhhhhhhhh' in different tones until I got it right."

"Somehow I don't think practicing enhancement powers on the ferryman would end well," Safron muttered, making a note in the margin of a particularly complex soul processing form. The mark tingled again, causing his handwriting to become unnecessarily flourished.

"Besides," Safron continued, trying to fix his suddenly calligraphic handwriting, "I don't think Charon would appreciate having his customer service enhanced. The shades might start expecting discounts."

A familiar chill swept through the administrative chamber. Thanatos materialized near Safron's desk, his presence causing the mark to pulse with a different, more focused energy. The nearby shades' scrolls developed a light frost.

"Megaera is waiting in the training grounds," Than said, his golden eyes holding a hint of amusement. "She mentioned something about teaching you control before you accidentally turn the entire House into a... what did Dionysus call it? A 'thirsty Thursday'?"

Safron felt his face heat up. "That was one time, and in my defense, nobody told me the enhancement powers would affect everyone at the spa simultaneously." He gathered his scrolls, trying not to think about how that particular incident had ended with Hypnos sleep-floating in the Phlegethon and Dusa stress-cleaning the entire bath house three times over.

"At least Cerberus was immune," Than noted dryly. "Though I believe Lord Hades is still questioning why all three heads spent an hour reciting epic poetry about bones."

The walk to the training grounds gave Safron time to center himself, the mark's energy settling into a steady rhythm. The familiar sounds of practice fights echoed through the corridors - the clash of Zagreus's sword against Skelly, the whoosh of shades dodging practice spears, the distinctive crack of...

Safron paused. "Is that a whip made of starlight?"

Meg stood in the center of the training ground, her usual whip replaced by one that seemed to be woven from constellation fragments. The fury's wings were half-spread, and there was something different about her usual battle stance - more ancient, more primal.

"The Asterius whip," she said by way of greeting. "From before we were called Furies. Back when we were known as the Praxidikai - the Vengeful Ones."

A chill ran down Safron's spine that had nothing to do with Than's presence. This was going to be more than just power control training.

"Before we start," Meg's voice carried the weight of ages, "you need to understand what you're actually enhancing in people. It's not just their... baser urges." The starlight whip traced patterns in the air that seemed to bend reality slightly. "You're tapping into their potential, their inner nature. The rest is just a side effect."

"A rather distracting side effect," Safron muttered, remembering how yesterday's attempt to enhance Zagreus's speed in training had ended with Than having to teleport them all to a private chamber rather abruptly.

The mark pulsed, responding to the memory, and Meg's wings suddenly flared with additional iridescence. She shot him a sharp look. "Control. Now."

Safron hastily took another sip of the three rivers potion. The fury's wings returned to normal, but her expression remained stern.

"The Praxidikai were embodiments of divine justice before even the Olympians," Meg continued, circling him. "We didn't just punish - we maintained balance. Each aspect of our power served multiple purposes." She stopped, fixing him with her intense gaze. "Like your enhancement ability."

"I'm pretty sure making Hypnos even sleepier wasn't maintaining any cosmic balance," Safron countered.

"No? His drowsiness increased, yes, but so did his insight. Or did you not notice him actually filing reports correctly while sleep-talking about everyone's dreams?"

Safron blinked. Come to think of it, Hypnos had been surprisingly efficient lately, even if he did keep mumbling about Sisyphus's recurring dream of being a professional boulder juggler.

"First lesson," Meg raised the starlight whip. "Try to enhance my speed. Just my speed."

"Are you sure? Last time with Zag-"

"I'm not Zagreus," Meg's smile held centuries of confidence. "And you're about to learn why we Furies can handle divine energy differently than most."

The mark hummed with anticipation as Safron focused, reaching for that now-familiar feeling of drawing out potential...

The moment Safron's power touched Meg's essence, he understood what she meant about multiple purposes. Her speed increased dramatically - but so did everything else. The starlight whip blazed like a supernova, her wings spread wide with colors he'd never seen before, and the very air crackled with intensified fury energy.

"Oh gods, I'm sorry-" Safron started, fumbling for the potion.

"No," Meg's voice resonated with enhanced authority, making several practice dummies spontaneously combust. "Watch. Learn." Despite the obvious intensity thrumming through her, she maintained perfect composure - though her eyes burned brighter and her hair writhed like living shadows.

"The Praxidikai existed in a time before division," she continued, executing a series of blindingly fast combat forms that left trails of starlight in the air. "Justice, vengeance, punishment, pleasure - they were all one force. Like your power."

"So I'm not doing it wrong?" Safron managed, trying very hard to ignore how the enhancement was making Meg look like a divine painting come to life, all dangerous grace and raw power.

"You're trying to separate something that can't be separated," she twisted in mid-air, her enhanced wings creating patterns that seemed to speak of ancient laws. "When you enhance someone's strength, you enhance their entire being. Their power, their desires, their essential nature - all of it intensifies together."

A familiar heat signature approached the training grounds. "Uh, Meg? Than said you were helping Safron with- oh." Zagreus stopped dead in his tracks, his flaming feet leaving scorch marks as he took in the sight of an enhanced Meg demonstrating aerial combat maneuvers that defied several laws of physics.

"Perfect timing," Meg landed gracefully, though the air around her still shimmered with power. "Now enhance him too."

"That... might not be the best idea," Safron said weakly, remembering yesterday's incident.

"It's exactly the idea. You need to learn to handle multiple enhanced beings at once. And if things get too intense..." her smile turned wicked, "that's why we invited Than to observe."

"I don't think I have enough potion for-" Safron started, but Meg cut him off with a crack of the starlight whip.

"Stop relying on it. The potion is a crutch, not a solution." Her enhanced state was starting to affect the training ground itself, ancient symbols flickering across the stone floors. "Your mark chose you. Trust it."

Zagreus moved closer, his mismatched eyes reflecting both concern and curiosity. "You've got this, mate. Though maybe aim away from my feet this time? Yesterday they nearly melted through the floor."

The mark pulsed in response to Zagreus's presence, already eager to enhance him even without Safron's conscious effort. That was part of the problem - it seemed to have favorites, and the prince of the underworld was definitely one of them.

"Focus on breathing first," Meg instructed, still radiating enhanced energy that made her every movement look like a deadly dance. "Feel the difference between actively enhancing and letting it happen naturally."

Safron closed his eyes, trying to sense the distinction. The mark's energy was always there, always wanting to reach out and intensify everything around him. But when he actually paid attention... yes, there was a difference between its eager push toward Zagreus and its current steady flow into Meg.

"Good," Meg's voice carried enhanced authority that made everyone's spines straighten automatically. "Now, without fighting it, let it reach him too."

The moment Safron allowed the power to flow naturally toward Zagreus, the temperature in the training ground spiked. The prince's laurels burst into glorious green flame, his eyes blazing with increased divine light. The familiar surge of attraction rolled through the air - but this time, Safron didn't panic and grab for the potion.

Instead, he observed how the enhancement affected them differently. Meg's power turned inward, intensifying her ancient nature, while Zagreus's blazed outward like a bonfire. Two totally different responses to the same energy.

"Fascinating," Than's cool voice cut through the heated atmosphere. He'd materialized on a nearby observation platform, his presence providing an anchoring counterpoint to the enhanced energies swirling through the training ground. "You're learning to work with it rather than control it."

"Easy there, Zag," Than called out as the prince's enhanced state intensified further, divine flames now licking up his arms and chest. The heat was making the very air shimmer, and Safron found it increasingly difficult to maintain focus on the training aspect of the situation.

Meg's enhanced form took on a more protective stance, her starlight whip creating a barrier. "This is why we started with me," she explained, voice carrying that ancient power. "Furies can channel excess energy. But gods..." She gestured at Zagreus, who was practically glowing now, his enhanced state making every movement look like living artwork.

"Blood and darkness," Zagreus breathed, his voice carrying an otherworldly resonance. His enhanced gaze fixed on Safron with an intensity that made the mark pulse in response. "We should probably..."

"Training ground's not the place," Than appeared beside them, his cool aura providing some balance to Zagreus's heat. "Meg, I believe this concludes today's lesson?"

The fury nodded, her own enhanced state gradually settling as Safron learned to ease back the power. "He's learning. Though next time..." her lips curved in a knowing smile, "perhaps we start with less volatile subjects than the prince of the underworld."

"My chambers," Zagreus managed, flames still dancing across his skin. "Now."

The last thing Safron saw before Than's teleport took them away was Meg shaking her head in amusement, the starlight whip fading back to normal as she murmured something that sounded suspiciously like "Some lessons never get old."

Chapter Text

Safron stared at his reflection in the polished bronze mirror, adjusting his chiton for the twelfth time. The mark glowed faintly under the fabric - it had been unusually quiet since yesterday's intense training session, as if even it needed recovery time after enhancing Zagreus.

"The chiton looks fine," Zagreus's voice came from the doorway, accompanied by the familiar soft crackling of his flaming feet. "Though Mother might ask why you chose Chthonic black instead of something more... surface-appropriate."

"Because your father terrifies me slightly less when I dress formally?" Safron turned to find the prince leaning against the doorframe, wearing what appeared to be an attempt at formal attire. Though somehow he'd still managed to avoid wearing shoes. "At least you tried."

"Than sends his regards," Zagreus said, moving closer. "Something about souls in Thessaly requiring his immediate attention. For the next week." The slight smirk suggested Than's timing wasn't entirely coincidental - Death Incarnate had his own way of maintaining appropriate distance.

"He's been busy lately," Safron noted, trying to keep his tone neutral. It was easier not to overthink the complex dynamic with Than - some boundaries were better left undefined, especially with an immortal force of nature.

"Mother's waiting in her garden," Zagreus changed the subject smoothly. "She's been cooking all day. Actually cooking, not just summoning food. Apparently she wants to show you her version of mortal hospitality."

The mark pulsed lightly at the mention of Persephone. "Should I be worried?"

"Only if you don't like pomegranates. She may have gone slightly overboard with the theme..."

The garden seemed to have exploded with life, even by Persephone's standards. Pomegranate trees heavy with fruit crowded the edges, their branches intertwining to create natural archways. A table had been set beneath them, floating wisps of Ixion serving as ambient lighting.

"Safron!" Persephone's smile lit up the space as effectively as any divine illumination. She was wearing a simple chiton that somehow managed to look both regal and comfortably domestic. "I hope you don't mind, but I've been experimenting with some surface recipes. It's been ages since I had someone who might appreciate mortal cooking."

"Mother," Zagreus said carefully, eyeing the table laden with various dishes, "exactly how many pomegranates did you use?"

"Only a few!" She gestured at what appeared to be at least seven different pomegranate-based dishes. "There's the glazed duck with pomegranate sauce, the pomegranate and feta salad, the-"

"My wife has been quite... enthusiastic in her preparation," Hades's deep voice rumbled as he emerged from the shadows. He was still in his formal robes, but had at least removed the more intimidating pieces of armor. "Though I admit, the aroma is not unpleasant."

The mark tingled slightly as Safron bowed. "Lord Hades."

"Administrator," Hades nodded, then turned to his son. "Zagreus. I see you've managed to keep your feet from igniting the tablecloth. So far."

"Evening, Father," Zagreus grinned. "I promise to only set fire to the approved portions of Mother's garden."

"Boys," Persephone's tone held fond warning. "Shall we eat? The pomegranate soufflé won't wait forever, even in the Underworld."

"So," Hades's tone remained as formal as ever as he surveyed the feast, "I trust the administrative duties are being handled adequately?" No softening there - business first, as always.

"Yes, Lord Hades," Safron reached for what looked like the least intimidating pomegranate dish. "The new filing system has reduced shade processing time by thirty percent."

"Hmph." The grunt could have meant anything from approval to mild disdain. With Hades, sometimes it was better not to guess.

"Dear," Persephone intervened, serving what appeared to be pomegranate-glazed something-or-other onto her husband's plate, "perhaps we could discuss something other than work? Safron, I've been meaning to ask about that interesting enhancement during yesterday's training session. The shades in the administrative chamber were filing reports in perfect iambic pentameter for hours."

The mark pulsed at the memory, causing nearby pomegranate fruits to suddenly ripen. Zagreus quickly steadied Safron's hand before he could drop his fork.

"The effects were... notable," Hades commented dryly, though his expression remained stern. "Hypnos submitted his first punctual report in centuries, even if it was written entirely in rhyming couplets."

"Father actually framed it," Zagreus grinned. "It's hanging in the administrative chamber as a 'standard of excellence.' Though I think it was more for the novelty."

"It was properly formatted," Hades corrected, not a hint of humor cracking his severe demeanor. "Unlike your last attempt at paperwork, boy. 'Too busy being enhanced' is not an acceptable excuse for late training reports."

"To be fair," Safron found himself saying before his brain could stop his mouth, "that was partially my fault. The enhancement does make focusing on paperwork rather... challenging."

"Indeed," Hades's tone could have frozen the Phlegethon. "I noticed several... disruptions to the usual routine yesterday." His gaze flicked briefly to the scorch marks still visible on Zagreus's chiton collar.

Safron suddenly found his pomegranate salad fascinating. The mark hummed nervously under his clothes.

"The enhancements are proving quite useful in combat training," Zagreus jumped in, either missing or ignoring his father's implied criticism. "Meg says my reaction time has improved significantly."

"Megaera's reports mentioned that," Hades rumbled. "Along with a requisition for replacement training dummies. Apparently the old ones couldn't withstand the... increased intensity."

"Speaking of intensity," Persephone smoothly interjected, "would anyone like to try the pomegranate wine? It's a surface recipe I've been experimenting with." She poured generously before anyone could decline. "I find it helps make family discussions less... combustible."

The wine was surprisingly good - though Safron noticed it had an interesting effect on the mark, making it pulse in rhythm with each sip. A few of Persephone's nearby flowers began blooming in synchronized patterns.

"Careful with that," Zagreus murmured, noticing the display. His hand found Safron's under the table, steadying but also notably warming. "Mother's surface wines tend to be stronger than Dionysus's varieties."

"I assure you," Hades's voice cut through the moment, "that if Administrator Safron's enhancement abilities disrupt the proper functioning of this House, we will need to implement... appropriate measures." He took a deliberate bite of pomegranate duck. "Though I suppose some degree of... adaptation... can be tolerated. For now."

"The House has survived worse disruptions," Persephone noted, her green eyes twinkling. "Remember when Dionysus first visited and turned all the Ixion flames into wine vapors? The shades were hiccuping rainbow bubbles for weeks."

"A regrettable incident," Hades muttered, though something almost like amusement flickered in his severe expression. "Though at least the paperwork remained legible. Unlike certain recent reports that appeared to be written in..." he squinted slightly, "what did Hypnos call it? 'Enhanced calligraphy with excessive flourishes.'"

The mark hummed pleasantly under the influence of Persephone's wine, making Safron's response perhaps a bit more candid than intended. "In my defense, Lord Hades, it's hard to maintain normal handwriting when everything feels like poetry."

Zagreus choked slightly on his wine, his grip tightening warmly around Safron's hand under the table. The nearby pomegranate trees suddenly produced a fresh burst of blossoms.

"Poetry," Hades repeated flatly, though his eye twitched in what might have been carefully suppressed amusement. "I see. And I suppose next week's inventory reports will be delivered in heroic verse?"

"Only if someone asks me to enhance the storeroom clerks again," Safron mumbled into his wine cup. "Though last time they did manage to catalog everything in alphabetical order. And rhyme."

"The efficiency was impressive," Hades acknowledged grudgingly. "Even if the requisition forms for Elysium were unnecessarily dramatic."

"To be fair, Father," Zagreus grinned, his thumb tracing distracting patterns on Safron's palm, "everything about Elysium is unnecessarily dramatic. Have you heard Theseus's new victory speech?"

"The House has survived worse disruptions," Persephone noted, her green eyes twinkling. "Remember when Dionysus first visited and turned all the Ixion flames into wine vapors? The shades were hiccuping rainbow bubbles for weeks."

"A regrettable incident," Hades muttered, though something almost like amusement flickered in his severe expression. "Though at least the paperwork remained legible. Unlike certain recent reports that appeared to be written in..." he squinted slightly, "what did Hypnos call it? 'Enhanced calligraphy with excessive flourishes.'"

The mark hummed pleasantly under the influence of Persephone's wine, making Safron's response perhaps a bit more candid than intended. "In my defense, Lord Hades, it's hard to maintain normal handwriting when everything feels like poetry."

Zagreus choked slightly on his wine, his grip tightening warmly around Safron's hand under the table. The nearby pomegranate trees suddenly produced a fresh burst of blossoms.

"Poetry," Hades repeated flatly, though his eye twitched in what might have been carefully suppressed amusement. "I see. And I suppose next week's inventory reports will be delivered in heroic verse?"

"Only if someone asks me to enhance the storeroom clerks again," Safron mumbled into his wine cup. "Though last time they did manage to catalog everything in alphabetical order. And rhyme."

"The efficiency was impressive," Hades acknowledged grudgingly. "Even if the requisition forms for Elysium were unnecessarily dramatic."

"To be fair, Father," Zagreus grinned, his thumb tracing distracting patterns on Safron's palm, "everything about Elysium is unnecessarily dramatic. Have you heard Theseus's new victory speech?"

The cool underworld air was a relief after the heated atmosphere of the garden. Safron and Zagreus walked slowly through the west corridor, their steps echoing off ancient stones.

"Your father was... less intimidating than I expected," Safron said, trying to ignore how his mark still pulsed warmly from Zagreus's lingering touches during dinner.

"He respects competence," Zagreus smiled, his flaming feet leaving faint traces on the marble. "And you've more than proven yourself. Though I think he's secretly amused by all the poetic paperwork."

They paused near one of the balconies overlooking the Styx. The red waters below cast a gentle glow that mixed with Zagreus's natural warmth.

"Than understands, you know," Zagreus said softly after a moment. "About us. About what I need sometimes. He's Death - eternal, unchanging. But you..." he turned to face Safron, mismatched eyes bright with emotion. "You remind me what it's like to feel mortal things. To experience life and change and moments that matter because they don't last forever."

The mark hummed gently, responding to the honesty of the moment rather than just desire.

"I never thought I'd find someone else who could understand both sides of my nature," Zagreus continued. "Someone who gets what it means to be caught between mortal and divine. Than gives me eternity. You give me now."

The kiss that followed was tender rather than urgent - a recognition of something precious rather than merely passionate.

Chapter Text

The morning light from the Ixion flames cast strange shadows over the newly reorganized filing system. Safron's mark hummed contentedly as he sorted through ancient scrolls, pleased with how the enhancement powers had actually helped create a more efficient categorization method - even if some of the labels were still written in unnecessarily poetic verse.

"You know," Hypnos called from his floating position nearby, "I can't remember the last time anyone actually looked through the pre-Olympian records. Might find some interesting stuff in there about... oh..." he drifted off into a snore mid-sentence.

Safron paused, hand hovering over a particularly ancient-looking scroll case. The mark pulsed with recognition at the symbol etched into its surface - a pomegranate intertwined with a laurel wreath, eerily similar to his own sigil.

"That's from before my time," Nyx's voice materialized from the shadows, causing Safron to nearly drop the case. "When the House was... different."

"Different how?" Safron asked, carefully opening the case. The papyrus inside seemed to shimmer with its own faint light.

"Before the division of realms," Nyx moved closer, her eternal night presence making the mark tingle. "When Chaos still held direct influence, and the boundaries between life and death were... less defined."

*Fragment of Pre-Olympian House Records *Translated from Ancient Chthonic Script

'On the Nature of the House's Foundations'

In the time before division, when Chaos still spoke directly to its children, the House stood as nexus between all states of being. Death was not yet separation, but transformation. The powers of the House were not yet bound by cosmic law but flowed freely between realms.

'The Mark of Integration '

Those rare mortals who bore the mark of pomegranate and laurel served as bridges between states of existence. Neither fully alive nor dead, they walked between realms as interpreters of divine will. Their power was not to command, but to enhance and reveal the true nature of all things.

Through their presence, the barriers between mortal and divine became permeable. They served as catalysts for transformation, their marks responding to the primordial energies that existed before the great division of powers.

Observed Effects of Mark Bearers:

Enhancement of divine and mortal essences

Revelation of hidden natures

Facilitation of transformation

Bridging of cosmic boundaries

Warning to Future Bearers

[Several lines are damaged here, but some text remains legible]

...the mark responds to Chaos itself, drawing forth the primordial potential in all things. To bear it is to serve as conduit between what is and what could be. But beware - for in times of great change, when the cosmic order shifts, the mark may serve as key to...

[The remainder of the text is lost to time]

'Addendum by Unknown Scribe'

In the time before Olympian law, before the three realms were fully separated, these mark bearers walked freely between life and death. Their power was not meant for dominion, but for revelation - showing all beings their true potential, their hidden nature, their capacity for transformation.

The last recorded bearer vanished during the great division of powers, when Zeus claimed the sky, Poseidon the seas, and Hades the underworld. What became of their line, and why the mark appears now after eons of absence, remains unknown.

[Final notation in different ink] Let those who find these records understand: the mark is not a weapon or a tool of power, but a bridge between states of being. Its return signals change in the cosmic order itself.

Safron's hands trembled slightly as he finished reading the ancient text, the mark pulsing in recognition of its own history. "This... explains some things about the enhancement power. It's not just making things stronger or... more intense. It's revealing their true nature."

"Indeed," Nyx moved closer, her presence making the scroll's ethereal glow dim slightly. "And perhaps explains why it appeared now, when changes are coming to the House once again."

"Changes?" Safron looked up sharply. "What kind of changes?"

"That," Nyx's expression remained carefully neutral, "is something even Night Incarnate cannot fully see. Though perhaps..." she gestured to another section of the archives, "there are more records waiting to be found."

"You may wish to exercise caution," Nyx advised as Safron reached for another scroll case, this one marked with symbols that seemed to shift and change when viewed directly. "Some records from that era carry... resonances."

The mark flared in agreement, causing nearby scrolls to briefly glow with their own inner light. A sleeping Hypnos mumbled something about "dancing paperwork" before drifting into deeper slumber.

"I've been wondering," Safron said carefully, setting aside the strange shifting scroll for now, "about the timing. Why the mark appeared right after the events of the..." he paused, remembering not to reference the game directly, "...after the family reconciliation."

Nyx's eternal darkness seemed to deepen momentarily. "Perhaps because the House was ready for change. When Persephone returned, when Zagreus found his place, when the old order began to shift..." She gestured at the ancient records. "The mark seeks moments of transformation."

A familiar warmth approached the archives. "There you are," Zagreus entered, flames flickering curiously at the sight of the glowing scrolls. "Father's asking why all the administrative reports from this morning are written in what he calls 'unnecessarily mystical prose.'"

"That might be my fault," Safron admitted, showing him the ancient scroll. "The mark's been... reactive since we found these."

Zagreus leaned closer, his natural heat making the papyrus curl slightly at the edges. "Pre-Olympian records? Blood and darkness, I didn't even know we had these. Mother would be fascinated by-"

He stopped abruptly as his hand brushed another scroll case, this one bearing a symbol of a double-faced mask. The case crackled with energy, and suddenly the mark blazed like a star.

Before anyone could react, visions exploded from the scroll case - images of a white-haired woman with two faces, one laughing, one weeping. The mark's response was immediate and intense, causing every piece of parchment in the archive to lift slightly off its shelf.

The visions shifted, showing fragments: a child drawing with divine light, pomegranate trees growing in impossible directions, a familiar sigil burning on someone's chest. Past and future seemed to blur together.

"That's..." Safron's voice shook as the mark pulsed in recognition. "The child from my parents' house. Little Melinoe. But how...?"

"Time moves differently in the House," Nyx said carefully, her power gradually stabilizing the energy discharge. "What is yet to be can echo into what was. And sometimes..." she looked meaningfully at Safron's mark, "what was returns when it is needed most."

Zagreus placed a steadying hand on Safron's shoulder, his warmth grounding against the overwhelming flood of information. "Mother mentioned something about Melinoe once. About how she exists in multiple states, like the seasons themselves. Part divine, part shade, part mortal..."

"Like me," Safron realized, watching the visions fade. "The mark... it's not just about enhancing what is. It's about bridging what could be."

"And perhaps," Nyx added softly, "about preparing the House for changes yet to come." Her gaze shifted to another section of the archives, where scrolls bearing Chaos's symbol sat untouched for eons. "There are more records to explore, if you wish to continue. Though some truths may be... challenging to bear."

"I think," Safron said slowly, watching as the mark's glow gradually settled, "we should be careful about how much we uncover at once." The morning's revelations already felt like trying to swallow the entire Styx in one gulp.

Zagreus nodded, his hand still steadying on Safron's shoulder. "Father always says knowledge from before the great division can be... unpredictable. Like that time Dionysus found some old wine recipes and accidentally turned half of Elysium's warriors into dancing grapevines."

"Wise choice," Nyx agreed, her darkness gently resheathing the most volatile-looking scrolls. "Some records are best approached gradually. Though..." she paused, her eternal gaze fixing on Safron's mark, "you might wish to examine the administrative logs from when Persephone first arrived. There may be... relevant parallels."

"You mean about mortals changing the House?" Safron asked, already reaching for the suggested section.

"About mortals transforming it," Nyx corrected. "Change is simple. Transformation..." her form shifted slightly, revealing hints of her more primordial aspects, "that requires something more. A catalyst. A bridge. A mark."

Hypnos chose that moment to snore particularly loudly, accidentally creating a small cloud of sleep energy that made several nearby shades start sleep-filing their reports.

"Perhaps," Safron smiled, watching the drowsy but surprisingly efficient shades, "some changes are better when they happen naturally. Even if they involve enhanced poetry and sleeping bureaucrats."

"Speaking of changes," Zagreus grinned, his flames dancing playfully, "Father's latest memo requests that all future enhanced paperwork at least maintain 'some semblance of professional dignity.' Apparently the last batch of reports read like love poetry to administrative efficiency."

"In my defense," Safron said, carefully returning the most volatile scrolls to their shelves, "administrative efficiency can be very romantic. All those perfectly aligned columns of numbers..." The mark hummed with amusement, making nearby inkwells shimmer.

"Only you would find paperwork arousing," Zagreus laughed, then paused thoughtfully. "Though I suppose that explains why Than sometimes looks so interested in your filing system."

Nyx's lip twitched in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "I shall leave you to your... administrative duties. Though perhaps," her gaze lingered meaningfully on the section about Persephone's arrival, "some records are worth a closer look. When you're ready."

After she melted into the shadows, Safron leaned against a shelf with a heavy sigh. "I feel like every answer just leads to more questions. Little Melinoe, the mark's purpose, these coming changes..."

"Hey," Zagreus moved closer, his natural warmth a comfort against the cool archive air. "Whatever's coming, we'll handle it. The House has survived rebellions, family drama, and Dionysus's party planning. I'm pretty sure we can manage some cosmic transformations."

"Even if they involve enhanced poetry?"

"Especially then. Though maybe we should work on controlling that particular side effect. Father's starting to quote some of the reports, and it's honestly a bit disturbing to hear him reciting passionate odes to proper filing procedures."

The mark pulsed with laughter, causing a nearby scroll to unfurl dramatically. On it, in freshly enhanced handwriting, appeared: "Beneath eternal twilight's gentle glow, The records dance in columns, row by row..."

"Oh no," Safron groaned, quickly rolling it back up. "Not again."

"I suppose one more scroll wouldn't hurt," Safron said, reaching for the records about Persephone's arrival. The mark hummed with curiosity, its glow softer now, more focused.

"Mother rarely talks about her first arrival," Zagreus noted, moving to read over Safron's shoulder. "Says some memories are like pomegranate seeds - better savored slowly."

As they unrolled the ancient parchment, the mark's light illuminated text that seemed to shift between formal record-keeping and something more personal:

*Official House Records - Cycle Unknown

*Recorded by Multiple Scribes

*Initial Entry: The mortal maiden Kore (now Queen Persephone) enters the House. Notable observations:

- Surface flowers sprouting through stone floors

- Unprecedented growth in Elysium's eternal gardens

- Tartarus temperatures rising to unprecedented levels

- Lord Hades displaying unusual behaviors

*Secondary Documentation: The House begins to transform in her presence. Changes noted:

- Pomegranate trees appearing spontaneously

- Shades reporting increased sensations of "hope" and "renewal"

- Administrative systems adapting to accommodate growth

- Divine-mortal boundaries becoming increasingly permeable

*Personal Notes (Scribe Unknown): [Written in margins] She brings life to death itself. Not through power or command, but through simple presence. The House responds to her as though it has been waiting for this transformation. Even Lord Hades seems to soften, though he would never admit such things in official records.

Warning Addendum: When mortal and divine truly merge, change becomes inevitable. The House remembers her first steps here - how even Tartarus bloomed. Let future records show: transformation often comes not through force, but through the simple courage to be oneself in places that seem to forbid it.

[Final notation in different hand] She made death itself learn to live again. Perhaps that is why the House still calls to certain mortals - those who can bridge worlds without breaking them.

"Like mother, like son?" Safron smiled softly, looking at Zagreus. "Seems running around changing the House runs in the family."

Want me to continue with their reaction to these revelations?

"That's the thing," Zagreus said, his flames flickering thoughtfully as he traced the words 'mortal maiden' with a finger. "She was mortal here. I mean, technically she was Demeter's daughter, but..." He paused, struggling to articulate something that had clearly been on his mind.

"The records call her Kore," Safron noted, the mark pulsing gently in response to the ancient text. "Before she became queen. Before she became..."

"Divine," Zagreus finished. "Mother says she remembers what it was like - the transition. Not just from maiden to queen, but from mortal to..." He shook his head, flames dancing. "Sometimes I catch her staring at her own hands like she's still surprised by the power in them."

"That's why she understands," Safron realized, thinking of all the times Persephone had quietly helped him navigate the strange space between mortal and divine. "She's been through this before. The transformation."

"She says divinity isn't something that happens all at once," Zagreus continued, his voice soft. "It's like her pomegranate trees - growing slowly, taking root in unexpected places. One day you're just... different. But also still yourself."

The mark hummed in recognition, making the ancient text glow brighter at certain words: transformation, bridge, merge.

"Is that why she's so interested in your mark? Because she sees something familiar?"

"Maybe," Safron touched the sigil through his chiton. "Though I'm not sure I'm ready to think about what that might mean. One existential revelation at a time?"

Chapter Text

The enhanced poetry incident in the administrative chamber had finally settled down (though some shades were still filing reports in perfect haiku), when a familiar shower of flower petals announced an arrival. Blue and purple blooms spiraled through the air, carrying the distinct scent of wine and springtime.

"Working too hard as usual?" Anthius's voice carried its usual warmth, though the petals falling around him were tinged with hints of concern-grey. "Hermes mentioned something about you discovering ancient scrolls and cosmic destinies. Just another average day in the House, then?"

The mark pulsed happily at the sight of a friend. Safron looked up from his unnecessarily ornate paperwork to find Anthius perched on the edge of his desk, surrounded by his ever-changing flower aura.

"You look... different," Safron noted. There was something more settled about his friend's divine energy, less of the nervous flutter that used to accompany his petals.

"Amazing what regular visits from Dionysus can do for one's confidence," Anthius grinned, though a few pink-tinged petals betrayed his blush. "Speaking of divine attention..." his eyes fixed on Safron's mark, which was still occasionally causing nearby scrolls to burst into spontaneous poetry. "I hear you've been causing quite a stir yourself. Something about enhanced training sessions and family dinners?"

"You could say that," Safron said, watching as his mark's response made Anthius's flowers cycle through curious colors. "Though I notice you're not mentioning the rumors about you and Dionysus in the Garden of Elysium. Something about wine-infused roses blooming everywhere?"

Anthius's flower aura exploded into deep purples and passionate reds, betraying his emotions before he could even speak. "That was... he was just helping me experiment with new varieties of divine flora." A cascade of pink petals suggested otherwise.

"Mhm. And I suppose the singing grapevines were just a coincidence?"

"At least I didn't enhance an entire administrative department into writing love poems about proper filing procedures," Anthius countered, his flowers shifting to teasing orange. "Hermes couldn't stop laughing about that one. Said Than actually cracked a smile when he read the ode to 'perfectly aligned ledgers.'"

The mark pulsed sheepishly. "It's getting easier to control. Mostly. Though yesterday I accidentally made Hypnos sleep-organize the entire scroll repository. He got everything alphabetized while sleep-floating."

"That's actually impressive," Anthius leaned back, a few thoughtful blue petals drifting down. "But seriously, how are you handling it? All of this?" He gestured vaguely at the mark. "Divine transformation isn't exactly covered in the mortal handbook."

"Let's get out of here," Anthius suggested, his petals shifting to a restless amber. "You've been cooped up with these scrolls too long. Besides," a knowing smile spread across his face as wine-dark flowers bloomed around him, "I have some actually interesting gossip from Dionysus about a certain incident in Elysium involving Zagreus, a training session, and what happened when your powers accidentally enhanced his divine strength..."

Safron felt his face heat up as the mark pulsed at the memory. "That was... not entirely my fault. Nobody told me enhancement would affect his flames like that."

"Oh? Do tell," Anthius's flowers turned decidedly mischievous shades of purple as they walked toward the lounge. "Dionysus said something about scorch marks on the ceiling?"

"Can we maybe talk about you instead?" Safron deflected. "Like how Dionysus apparently spent three days helping you 'cultivate special blooms' in your private garden?"

The sudden burst of pink and red petals around Anthius was answer enough. "He's... different than I expected," he admitted softly. "Everyone thinks of him as just the party god, but he understands things. Growth. Transformation. The wild joy in becoming something new."

"Speaking from experience?" Safron nudged his friend gently, watching the flowers shift through emotional hues.

"Says the man whose divine mark keeps making everyone accidentally poetic and aroused," Anthius retorted, but his flowers were warm, happy colors. "Though I suppose we're both learning to bloom in unexpected ways."

"Remember when our biggest worry was beating Hades in that card game?" Anthius laughed, settling into one of the lounge's plush chairs as his flowers created a gentle rain of nostalgic blue petals. "Now look at us - you're dating the prince of the underworld, and I'm..." he paused, a few wine-dark blooms appearing.

"Having 'private wine tastings' with Dionysus?" Safron suggested with a grin. "Very private, from what I hear."

"At least I don't have Hermes spreading rumors about my love life to every shade in the House," Anthius countered. "Though he did mention something about you, Zagreus, and an interesting use of the administrative chamber after hours..."

"Hermes talks too much," Safron muttered, though the fond smile gave him away. "How's the theater group doing? Thalia mentioned you were working on new special effects for the next production."

"Oh no," Anthius's flowers turned knowing shades of gold, "you're not changing the subject that easily. Tell me about Zagreus. Is it true what they say about divine flames and passion?"

"Tell me about Dionysus first," Safron bargained. "Is it true what they say about wine gods and stamina?"

They both burst out laughing, Anthius's flowers showering them in amused yellows and oranges.

"Gods, listen to us," Anthius wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. "Two mortals gossiping about their divine lovers like it's the most normal thing in the world."

"Are we, though?" Safron asked quietly after their laughter settled. "Still just mortals, I mean."

Anthius's flowers shifted to thoughtful shades of blue-violet. "I've been wondering that too. Yesterday I made an entire grove of roses bloom in Elysium without even thinking about it. And Dionysus..." his petals turned a deep wine-red, "he says I taste like springtime now."

"Persephone was mortal once," Safron said, thinking of the ancient records. "Before she became queen. Before she became... more."

"Does it scare you?" Anthius asked, his flowers showing gentle concern in soft lavender. "Changing like this?"

"Sometimes. But then Zagreus looks at me like... like I'm something wonderful precisely because I'm changing. Not quite mortal, not quite divine." Safron smiled softly. "Though I could do with fewer incidents of accidentally making everyone poetic."

"At least your changes are dramatic," Anthius grinned, petals shifting to teasing pink. "When I started transforming, I just kept finding flower petals in weird places. Do you know how embarrassing it is to sneeze rose petals during an intimate moment with a wine god?"

"Better than accidentally enhancing your divine boyfriend's flames during a private moment and setting the curtains on fire."

"You didn't!"

"Twice, actually."

Their laughter echoed through the lounge, Anthius's flowers raining down in joyful golds and ambers.

"Speaking of Dionysus," Safron said, watching as his friend's flowers shifted through wine-dark purples, "he's been spending a lot more time down here lately. But you still keep your chambers in Elysium..."

Anthius's petals slowed their fall, taking on deeper, more contemplative shades. "He... actually asked me about that. About maybe visiting Olympus. Having my own space in his gardens there."

"But?"

"But I've seen how it is up there," Anthius said softly, his flowers turning a mix of stormy grey and warm amber. "All that bright sunlight, the constant parties, everyone trying to outshine each other. Down here..." he gestured at the eternal twilight beyond the lounge windows, "I can just be. Grow at my own pace. Create beauty in quiet places."

"And Dionysus understands that?"

A shower of happy pink petals answered before Anthius could speak. "That's the thing about him - everyone sees the wild parties and eternal revelry. But he gets it. The need for quiet moments between the chaos. For letting things grow naturally." His flowers turned briefly wine-red. "Besides, he says Olympian gardens are too... orderly. He prefers my wild blooms in Elysium."

"You really love him, don't you?" Safron asked gently.

"As much as you love your prince of flames," Anthius smiled, his flower aura practically glowing with contentment. "Though with hopefully less accidental fire damage."

"You know," Anthius said, his flowers settling into peaceful shades of evening blue, "when we first got caught up in all this divine attention, I was terrified we'd lose ourselves. Become just another story about mortals transformed by gods' whims."

"And now?" Safron watched as a few stray petals danced with the ethereal light from the Styx beyond the windows.

"Now I think maybe we were meant to write our own stories," Anthius smiled, his flowers blooming in confident golds and purples. "You with your prince who brings warmth to death itself, me with my wine god who understands the beauty of wild gardens in dark places."

"And both of us choosing to stay in the Underworld," Safron noted. "Who would have thought?"

"It suits us though, doesn't it? This place between places." Anthius stood, stretching as his flower aura shifted to contented sunset colors. "Speaking of which, I should head back to Elysium. Dionysus promised to help me create some new varieties of night-blooming vines."

"'Create vines,' is that what they're calling it now?"

"Better than 'enhanced administrative activities,'" Anthius shot back with a grin, his petals turning briefly mischievous pink before settling into warm, friendly hues. "Don't be a stranger, alright? Even with all this divine transformation business, some things shouldn't change."

"Like two not-quite-mortals gossiping about their divine lovers?"

"Exactly," Anthius laughed, his departing flower shower creating a brief rainbow in the eternal twilight. "Though maybe next time with less accidental poetry and more wine."

Chapter Text

"Keeping secrets from the messenger god?" Hermes materialized in a blur of motion, his characteristic grin bright as sunlight. "Bad idea, mate! Especially when said secrets involve my favorite coz and death himself getting creative with divine authority."

The mark pulsed with embarrassment as Safron looked up from his scrolls. "How do you always know everything?"

"Please," Hermes zipped around the room, too swift to follow but somehow leaving no papers disturbed. "I literally just passed Than looking smugger than death has any right to be, and Zag's flames are still smoking with satisfaction. Doesn't take Athena's wisdom to piece that story together!"

"It's not what you-"

"Oh, it's exactly what I think," Hermes cut him off with that lightning-quick perception of his. "And good for you! About time someone got Than to loosen up that eternal grip of his. Well, metaphorically speaking. Sounds like his actual grip was plenty firm-"

"Hermes!"

"What? I'm the god of boundaries, among other things. Crossing them is literally in my job description!" He paused his perpetual motion just long enough to fix Safron with a knowing look. "Besides, who do you think's been running interference with the other Olympians? Zeus keeps trying to 'formally inquire' about mortal-divine relations in his realm."

"Zeus is what?" Safron choked, while the mark flickered nervously.

"Oh, don't worry about that!" Hermes was suddenly perched on the desk, feet never quite touching the surface. "I've got him thoroughly distracted with some choice gossip about Apollo's latest romantic disaster. Did you hear about the race? Not the one through Elysium - everyone knows about that diplomatic nightmare - but the one that ended with him chasing a nymph right into Ares' war games?"

His words came quick as mercury, but there was genuine protectiveness beneath the casual tone. "Besides, you've got bigger news to handle. Word is Aphrodite's planning a visit. Something about 'witnessing the beautiful dynamics of power and submission firsthand.'"

"She's WHAT?"

"I know, right? Told her Than would sooner take a vacation than allow that kind of divine voyeurism. Though between us," he leaned in with conspiratorial speed, "I think she's just jealous. You've managed something pretty unique here, mate - got death showing actual emotions and our rebellious prince finding balance. That's the kind of love story that makes even the goddess of love take notes."

The mark pulsed with a mix of pride and embarrassment. "I didn't exactly plan any of this..."

"Best things in life rarely follow plans!" Hermes was suddenly by the window, then back at the desk in a blink. "Look at me - was supposed to just deliver messages, ended up becoming your divine relationship counselor. Speaking of which, want to hear what Dionysus said when I told him about Than's newfound appreciation for mortal worship?"

"Actually," Safron smiled, the mark humming with mischief, "speaking of gossip... I heard something interesting about you and that visiting wind spirit last week. Something about rose petals and racing through the clouds?"

For once, Hermes actually paused his perpetual motion. "Who- wait, did Dionysus tell you that? After all the dirt I kept quiet about him and those 'private wine tastings' with Anthius?"

"Maybe I have my own sources," Safron teased, enjoying the rare sight of the swift god caught off guard. "Something about you being spotted doing loops around Olympus, showing off your speed while trailing love-struck breezes behind you?"

"Ha! And here I thought I was the gossip expert!" Hermes' wings fluttered with what might have been embarrassment. "Though if we're sharing stories, you should hear what Dionysus accidentally confessed after his third batch of divine wine. Did you know he actually practices his 'casual lean' poses before visiting Anthius? Something about wanting to look 'effortlessly seductive' while appearing in the garden."

"No way!"

"Oh yes! Even got Aphrodite to advise him on the perfect angle for his thyrsus. You know, for maximum dramatic effect when he materializes among the flowers. Though don't tell him I told you - he's still pretending those entrances are completely spontaneous."

"Speaking of divine romances," Safron's mark pulsed with curiosity, "whatever happened with Dryope? I remember the stories about you and her..."

Hermes' constant motion stilled completely - a rare sight that spoke volumes. "Ah... she... that's an old tale, mate." His usual rapid-fire speech slowed to something more thoughtful. "Beautiful thing about nymphs - they become part of nature itself. She's a lotus flower now, you know. Sometimes I still visit, leave messages in the breeze..."

There was a weight of genuine emotion beneath his usual quicksilver demeanor. "That's the thing about immortality - you learn to love what changes, what transforms. Like her. Like you, in your own way."

"I didn't mean to bring up-"

"No, no, it's good!" Hermes was suddenly back to his swift self, though his smile held more warmth than mischief. "Besides, who better to understand loving what changes than someone caught between Than's eternal frost and Zag's endless flame? Speaking of which, did I tell you about the bet Artemis and Apollo have going about which one of them you prefer?"

"At least I didn't end up with a son like Pan," Safron mused, immediately regretting his words when Hermes' perpetual motion stilled completely.

"Ah... Pan." Hermes' voice held a complex mix of pride and melancholy. "Mine and Dryope's boy. Wild as nature itself." His usual quicksilver energy dimmed slightly. "Sometimes I see her in him, you know? That same connection to the natural world. Before she became the lotus flower..."

The mark pulsed with sympathy at the rare display of vulnerability from the swift god.

"He's got her spirit," Hermes continued, his words slower than usual. "Though he certainly got my talent for causing divine chaos. Remember that incident with Echo? Took ages to sort that one out." His smile held both fondness and old pain. "Love's funny that way - it leaves marks that last beyond transformation. Like Dryope in her flower form, like Pan in his wild ways..."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"No, no, it's good!" Hermes was suddenly back to his swift self, though his smile remained soft. "Besides, isn't that what we're all about? Gods, mortals, love, transformation... speaking of which, wait till you hear what Pan did at the last Olympian gathering!"

"Are you and Pan..." Safron hesitated, the mark pulsing with gentle curiosity. "I mean, do you get along? As father and son?"

"It's... complicated," Hermes' perpetual motion slowed to something more thoughtful. "We're better now than we used to be. Took some time - and several diplomatic incidents involving panicked nymphs - but we figured it out. He's wild, yeah, but he's got a good heart. Gets that from his mother."

A soft smile played across his usually mischievous features. "You should see him with the herds. All that chaos and energy just... settles. Reminds me of Dryope, how she could be so still among her trees. He visits her too, you know? Plays his pipes by the lotus flower, tells her about his adventures."

"That's... actually really sweet."

"Don't let him hear you say that!" Hermes was back to his quick grin. "He's got a reputation to maintain! But yeah, we're good. Have our moments, like any divine family. Though at least he's never challenged me to a proper race - unlike SOME sun gods I could mention..."

"You know," Safron said with a slight smirk, watching Hermes zip around, "instead of all this gossip, we could talk about that chiton of yours. Or should I say, that scrap of fabric barely qualifying as clothes?"

Hermes actually stumbled mid-flight, catching himself with a laugh. "Hey now! This is a perfectly respectable length for a messenger god! Need freedom of movement for all that swift delivery action."

"It's shorter than Dionysus's party wear," Safron pointed out as his mark pulsed with amusement. "And that's saying something."

"Listen, when you're the fastest god alive, wind resistance is a serious consideration!" Hermes defended, though his grin was infectious. "Besides, have you seen Than's work chiton lately? At least mine stays in place during flight. His keeps doing that dramatic billowing thing - totally impractical for soul collection."

"Are we really comparing divine fashion choices?"

"Better than you exposing all my carefully curated gossip sources! A messenger has to maintain some mysteries, you know. Even if those mysteries don't include much fabric."

"You know," Safron started, then suddenly clamped his mouth shut as the mark pulsed with mischievous energy. But it was too late - the enhancement power had already loosened his tongue. "I've actually tried to peek under that chiton of yours a few times, but you're always too quick-" He stopped, mortified.

Hermes froze mid-air, then burst into delighted laughter. "HA! Finally, the truth comes out! And here I thought I was imagining those lingering glances during message deliveries."

"I didn't mean to say that," Safron groaned, face burning. "It's the mark, sometimes it makes me too honest and-"

"Oh no, this is perfect!" Hermes zipped around him with extra flair, his short chiton fluttering tantalizingly. "Tell me, just how many times have you tried to catch a glimpse? And here I was, putting on a show for nothing!"

"You were doing it on purpose?!"

"Please, I'm the god of athletics among other things. I know exactly how this chiton moves when I fly. Though I must say," he grinned wickedly, "it's flattering to know death's favorite mortal has been admiring the view."

The mark pulsed with unstoppable honesty as Safron desperately tried to cover his mouth. "Gods, no- I mean, you were always my second favorite in the game after Zagreus, I had your statue right next to his on my shelf and-" He grabbed a nearby scroll, physically stopping the flow of enhanced truth.

Hermes actually dropped a few feet in altitude, his wings stuttering with surprise before a massive grin spread across his face. "Second favorite? After Zag? Even above Than?" He zipped closer, radiating delighted curiosity. "Oh, this is PRECIOUS! Wait till I tell death about this!"

"Don't you dare," Safron mumbled around the scroll, but the mark wasn't done betraying him. "I even had your character poster above my bed before I got here and-" He shoved the scroll deeper against his lips.

"A poster? Above your bed?" Hermes was practically vibrating with glee. "Oh, this is better than any gossip I could've imagined! Tell me more about this fanboy shrine of yours. Did you have my trading cards too? The limited edition ones with the wing details?"

Safron just whimpered, looking desperately for something more substantial to gag himself with before the mark could reveal any more embarrassing truths about his former gaming obsession.

"No, only your naked fan a-" Safron slammed both hands over his mouth, but too late. The mark's enhanced honesty had already betrayed him completely.

Hermes actually crashed into the ceiling in shock before recovering his flight. "My WHAT?!" For once, the swift god was almost speechless. Almost. "You had- wait, there's naked fan art of me? How accurate was it? Did they get the wing positions right? These are important divine details!"

Safron was now trying to crawl under his desk, but the mark just kept pulsing with embarrassing truths. "The anatomically correct ones were my favorite-" He banged his head against the desk, hoping to knock himself out before he could say more.

"Anatomically correct?!" Hermes zipped down to peer under the desk, his grin wider than ever. "By all the gods, this is fantastic! Tell me you still have copies. No, wait - tell me where to FIND copies. This is vital messenger god business!"

"Please just kill me now," Safron groaned into the floor. "Or get Than to do it. Death would be less embarrassing than this conversation."

"Oh no," Hermes laughed, his wings fluttering with delight. "You're not getting out of this that easily. I want to hear ALL about this fan art collection. For... official Olympian record-keeping purposes, of course."

"Right!" Hermes announced, suddenly grabbing Safron and zipping them both to his chambers in a blur of divine speed. "Where would a devoted fan keep such important artistic documentation?"

"Hermes, no-" but the mark was already pulsing with truth, making Safron's eyes drift to a particular chest near his bed.

"Aha!" In a flash, Hermes was at the chest, rummaging through with godly speed. "Let's see what we have here- oh my GODS." He held up several pieces of parchment, his wings fluttering with increasing amusement. "These are... wow. I must say, your artistic tastes are quite... thorough."

"Can we please pretend this never happened?" Safron begged, but Hermes was already examining the artwork with professional interest.

"The wing anatomy is surprisingly accurate! Though I think they may have been a bit generous with certain... other anatomical details. Not that I'm complaining, mind you. Rather flattering, actually. Oh look, there's one with my caduceus positioned rather... creatively."

"Just let Thanatos take me now," Safron groaned, burying his face in his hands while the mark continued to pulse with mortifying honesty.

The mark pulsed with unstoppable honesty again, making Safron blurt out: "I mean... you could just show me if the art is accurate rather than-" He clapped his hands over his mouth, eyes wide with horror at his own boldness.

Hermes actually stilled completely in mid-air, the fan art floating forgotten around him. For once, the swift god seemed genuinely caught off guard. "Well, well..." his usual quicksilver grin turned intrigued. "Is that an invitation from death's devoted servant?"

"I didn't mean to- it's the mark- I-" Safron stammered, but his eyes couldn't help tracking the hem of that tantalizingly short chiton.

"Careful there," Hermes' voice carried both amusement and warning. "Than might not appreciate you admiring other divine forms quite so... thoroughly. Though I must say," he zipped closer, "your honesty is rather refreshing. Most mortals aren't quite so direct about their interest in divine anatomy."

"Well then," Hermes' voice carried that quicksilver mischief as his fingers found the clasp of his chiton. "Let's satisfy that artistic curiosity of yours..."

The mark pulsed with anticipation as the minimal fabric fell away, revealing that even in stillness, Hermes seemed to vibrate with constant motion. His wings created soft currents in the air, catching the eternal twilight.

"Better than the artwork?" he grinned, hovering just out of reach.

"I... um..." Safron's mouth went dry. The fan art definitely hadn't done justice to the reality.

"Speechless? That's new," Hermes laughed, doing a slow aerial turn. "Though I notice you're not looking away. What would Than say about such devoted attention to another god's form?"

"We're all in polygamy relationships anyway," Safron pointed out, his eyes still tracking Hermes' aerial display while fumbling for the three rivers potion. "Though I should probably take this before my enhancement power-"

"Oh no," Hermes zipped down, snatching the potion away with divine speed. "Let's see what happens when that mark of yours responds to swift divine energy instead of death's cool dominance."

The mark was already beginning to pulse stronger, making the air itself seem to vibrate with potential. "Hermes, last time I enhanced someone without the potion, the entire administrative chamber ended up-"

"Becoming poetically aroused? Writing passionate odes to proper filing? Trust me," Hermes grinned, hovering just out of reach, "I can handle a little enhanced mortal appreciation. Besides," his wings created teasing currents of air, "I'm curious to see just how that power responds to speed rather than authority."

With divine speed, Hermes caught Safron's hands and placed them on his hips. The contact made the mark pulse immediately, responding to the constant vibration of swift energy under his palms.

"See?" Hermes' quicksilver grin turned knowing. "Different from death's cool command, isn't it? All that speed and motion just waiting to be enhanced..."

"I should really take that potion," Safron managed, though his hands stayed where Hermes had placed them, feeling the subtle buzz of divine swiftness beneath warm skin.

"You keep saying that," Hermes traced a finger along the mark, making it flare with response, "but I notice you're not actually trying to get the potion back. Besides," his wings created soft currents around them both, "aren't you curious what happens when speed meets enhancement?"

The mark's power was already beginning to flow, making Hermes' natural swift energy even more intense. The air around them seemed to shimmer with potential.

With divine swiftness, Hermes guided Safron's hand lower, his eternal motion making every touch vibrate with potential. The mark pulsed with enhancement power, responding to this new kind of divine energy - so different from Than's cool dominance or Zagreus's fire.

"Curious about the accuracy of your art collection?" Hermes' voice carried that quicksilver mischief, though his breath caught slightly as the enhancement power flowed between them. "I must say, your attention to divine detail is... admirable."

The mark's power made every point of contact buzz with intensified speed-force, turning simple touches into something that seemed to bend time itself. Hermes' constant motion became even more pronounced under the enhancement.

"Different from serving death, isn't it?" Hermes breathed, his wings creating swift currents around them. "No cool command, no eternal authority. Just pure speed and..." he gasped as Safron's enhanced touch made his divine energy spike, "motion..."

In a blur of motion, Hermes playfully slapped Safron's rear, planted a swift kiss on his cheek, and zipped back into the air, snatching his chiton up in one fluid movement.

"Okay, enough of that!" he laughed, redressing with divine speed. "Just teasing you, mate. Though I must say," he winked, still hovering overhead, "your enhanced appreciation for swift divine forms is quite flattering."

The mark pulsed with a mix of arousal and embarrassment as Safron tried to process what just happened. "You're terrible."

"Swift god of mischief, remember?" Hermes grinned, now fully dressed and doing aerial loops. "Besides, can't let Than have all the fun with his mortal devotee. Though maybe don't mention this little artistic appreciation session to him? Death can be so serious about these things."

"I hate you," Safron muttered, though his mark's continued pulsing suggested otherwise.

"No you don't!" Hermes sang out, zipping toward the door. "I'm your second favorite, remember? Right after Zag, according to that fascinating fan art collection of yours!"

"Yes, yes, I love you, just hold me already, best bro-" The mark's honesty made Safron blurt out before he could stop himself. He froze in horror at his own outburst.

Hermes actually stopped mid-flight again, then burst into delighted laughter before zipping back to wrap Safron in a swift, warm hug. "Aww, look who's getting sentimental! And here I thought I was just your divine eye candy."

"Shut up," Safron mumbled into Hermes' shoulder, but wrapped his arms around him anyway. The mark hummed contentedly at the friendly contact.

"Best bro, huh?" Hermes' voice was warm with genuine affection beneath the teasing. "Does that mean I get to give Than and Zag the 'if you hurt him, I'll deliver your souls to particularly unpleasant places' talk?"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me! I'm your second favorite, according to that very detailed art collection. That comes with certain brotherly obligations." He squeezed tighter before adding with characteristic mischief, "Though maybe we should burn those drawings before Than finds them. Or at least the ones with the creatively positioned caduceus..."

"Take them," Safron sighed, still wrapped in the friendly hug. "The drawings. They're yours anyway... in a way."

"Really?" Hermes pulled back with that quicksilver grin. "My own personal collection of devoted fan art? This is the best gift ever!" He zipped to the chest, gathering the parchments with divine speed. "Though I might need to show these to Apollo - he's always bragging about his artistic followers, but I bet none of them got his anatomy this accurate..."

"Please don't turn this into an Olympian art exhibition."

"Too late! Though maybe I'll keep the more... creative poses for private appreciation." His wings fluttered with amusement as he tucked the drawings away. "You know, for a mortal with such artistic interests, you turned out to be a pretty good best bro."

"Just go before I die of embarrassment," Safron groaned, but the mark pulsed with warm affection.

"Fine, fine! Though this definitely isn't the last you'll hear about your excellent taste in divine subjects!" With a last swift hug and a wink, Hermes vanished in a blur of motion, taking the incriminating artwork with him.

Chapter Text

The mark had been acting strangely since the incident with Hermes, pulsing with uncomfortable honesty at the worst possible moments. Safron had barely left his chambers in days, afraid of what truths might spill out next.

"I've been drawing Thanatos since I was sixteen," he'd blurted out to Nyx yesterday, much to the Night Mother's carefully concealed amusement. The three rivers potion didn't seem to help with this new... development.

Now he sat in his room, surrounded by administrative scrolls he'd requested to work on remotely. At least parchment couldn't be scandalized by unexpected confessions about divine appreciation.

A knock at his door made him tense. "Who is it?"

"Just me," Zagreus's voice carried through, accompanied by the soft crackle of flames. "Dusa says you haven't left your room in three days. Something about accidentally telling her how cute her snake curls are when they're flustered?"

The mark pulsed traitorously. "I'm fine! Just... very busy. With work. Important administrative... things."

"Really?" Amusement colored Zagreus's tone. "Because Hermes was just telling some very interesting stories about fan art..."

"No, no, no," Safron muttered, diving under his desk just as Zagreus entered. The mark was already pulsing with potential confessions.

"Are you really hiding under the desk?" Zagreus's flaming feet came into view. "That's... actually adorable."

"I had a dream about those feet," the mark made Safron blurt out. "Before I even got here, I used to wonder if they'd feel warm or just burn and-" He banged his head against the desk, trying to stop the flow of honesty.

"Oh?" The flames flickered with interest. "Do tell me more about these dreams."

"No! I'm not coming out until this... whatever it is... wears off. Did you know I used to practice your dialogue in the mirror? With the accent and everything? Gods, make it stop..."

Zagreus crouched down, his mismatched eyes dancing with amusement as he peered under the desk. "You practiced my accent? That's new information. Any other fan behaviors I should know about?"

"I had your poster on my ceiling so you'd be the last thing I saw before sleep and- please just kill me now. Or get Than. Death would be less embarrassing than this."

"I'm not leaving you under there," Zagreus grinned, flames dancing with amusement. "Besides, these confessions are fascinating. Tell me more about this ceiling poster?"

"It was the one where you're leaning on your sword with that cocky smile," the mark forced out as Safron tried to crawl deeper under the desk. "I used to practice that pose too, but I could never get it right and- oh gods, I also had a body pillow with your image-"

"A what now?"

"It's a mortal thing and I'm NOT explaining it!" Safron's voice went up an octave. "Just like I'm not telling you about the time I spent three hours trying to recreate your hairstyle or how I have your combat moves memorized or- stop laughing!"

Zagreus was indeed laughing, the sound warm and delighted. "This is better than the time Hypnos sleep-talked about his crush on Meg! Come on out, love. Let's hear all about this devoted fan behavior."

"No! The last time this happened I told Hermes about his fan art and now he keeps sending me winky faces via message scroll!"

"Fine," Zagreus said, crawling under the desk to join Safron in his hiding spot. The small space filled with warm light from his flames. "If you won't come out, I'll just join you down here."

"I used to imagine this," the mark made Safron confess immediately. "Being in small spaces with you, though usually it was more romantic and less mortifying and- stop grinning like that!"

"Like what?" Zagreus's smile grew wider as he settled beside Safron, their shoulders touching.

"Like you're the most adorable thing you've ever seen which is exactly what I thought the first time I saw you in the game and- this is worse than the time I accidentally told Than about practicing death poses in the mirror."

"You did what now?"

"I was trying to capture his dramatic flourishes!" Safron groaned, leaning his head against Zagreus's shoulder despite his embarrassment. "The way he appears and disappears, all cool and eternal, but I just looked like I was having a seizure and- why can't I stop talking?"

"Because it's adorable," Zagreus wrapped an arm around him, his warmth comforting. "My devoted little fan, hiding under a desk spilling all his secrets."

"I have your trading cards organized by rarity in alphabetical order..."

"And now you're between Than and me on some nights," Zagreus said softly, his flames casting warm shadows in their hiding spot. "Better than fan fiction?"

"So much better," the mark pulsed with unstoppable honesty. "Though sometimes I still can't believe it's real. I mean, I used to write about you two, and now I'm actually- oh no..." Safron's eyes went wide with realization.

"What?"

"I just remembered. I wrote this really detailed story about you and Than, and now that I've actually experienced it, some of the things I wrote were completely wrong! Like how I thought Than would be all gentle and soft but he's actually so commanding and- please kill me now."

Zagreus was shaking with laughter. "You'll have to show me these stories sometime. Compare notes, so to speak."

"Absolutely not! Besides, I think Hermes already stole my entire collection of... everything. Which reminds me, I should probably warn you about the fan art he took. Some of the poses were quite... creative."

"Now I'm really curious," Zagreus's grin turned wicked. "Maybe we should try recreating some of them? For accuracy's sake, of course."

"You're terrible,"

"Honestly though," Safron looked up at Zagreus with pleading eyes, the mark pulsing with genuine vulnerability, "please don't let anyone else come in here. I can't handle more truth spilling. Yesterday I told Hypnos he looks cute when he drools while sleeping, and Dusa still won't look at me after I listed all the reasons her nervous cleaning is adorable."

"Puppy eyes? Really?" Zagreus laughed softly, but pulled him closer. "That's not fair. You know I can't resist when you look at me like that. Just like in all those fan expressions I apparently inspired."

"I'm serious!" Safron buried his face in Zagreus's chest. "What if Hades comes by for an administrative update and I accidentally tell him I used to practice his 'boy' speech in the mirror? Or if Meg visits and finds out I have opinions about her whip techniques? Or worse - what if Chaos shows up and I start listing all the times I got lost in their realm in the game?"

"Alright, alright," Zagreus pressed a warm kiss to his forehead. "I'll guard your door personally. No more unexpected visitors until this... honesty enhancement wears off."

"Promise?"

"Cross my eternally burning heart," Zagreus smiled. "Though I must say, I'm rather enjoying these fan confessions..."

The mark pulsed with another unstoppable truth. "Speaking of fans... why have you never invited the Red Shade? He was your biggest admirer in the game, always watching your training, trying to copy your moves..."

Zagreus's flames flickered with surprise. "The Red... oh! You mean that peculiar shade who used to follow me around? I didn't realize you knew about him."

"Knew about him? The fandom loved him! There were theories about his identity, fan art of him cheering you on... People called him your number one fan before I somehow ended up here." The mark wouldn't let Safron stop. "He was like me, but... you know, dead. And red. And silent. But just as devoted!"

"I hadn't thought about him in a while," Zagreus admitted, looking thoughtful. "He did seem rather enthusiastic about my training sessions. Always trying to mirror my sword techniques..."

"He was adorable! The way he'd pop up in different chambers just to watch you fight? Pure fan dedication! I mean, I get it - I used to rewatch your battle animations for hours just to study your movement patterns and- oh gods, I'm doing it again..."

"Actually," the mark made Safron sit up straighter under the desk, "you're not being fair to him. Red Shade supported you before anyone else believed in you. Before Nyx helped, before Than understood, even before Meg stopped trying to kill you - he was there, watching, believing."

Zagreus's flames dimmed slightly with realization. "I... hadn't thought of it that way."

"Of course you hadn't," Safron couldn't stop the honest criticism. "You just accepted his admiration as normal, never even stopped to talk to him. Do you know how many fans related to him? Watching from afar, supporting silently, never getting acknowledged..."

"I'm starting to feel rather guilty."

"Good! Because he deserved better. He wasn't just some random shade - he was your first real fan. And now you have me here, getting all this attention, while he's probably still watching from some corner, doing his little victory pose whenever you succeed..."

"His victory pose?"

"Yes! That adorable little arm pump he'd do when you cleared a chamber! Which, by the way, half the fandom copied in real life whenever they beat a boss and- no, don't distract me, I'm still disappointed in you about Red Shade!"

"And another thing about Red Shade-" Safron started, but suddenly the mark pulsed with a different kind of honesty. Before he could stop himself, he grabbed Zagreus's chiton and pulled him into a passionate kiss.

When they finally broke apart, Zagreus blinked in surprise, his flames flickering higher. "Not that I'm complaining, but what was that for?"

"Because even when I'm mad at you, you're still ridiculously attractive and I keep remembering all those hours I spent staring at your character model and- oh no, here comes more truth..." Safron tried to pull away but Zagreus held him close, grinning.

"No, no, please continue. Tell me more about these hours spent admiring my character model."

"I had a favorite animation of yours," the mark forced out. "That thing you do with your sword when you're idle, spinning it in your hand. I used to rewatch it just to see the way your muscles moved and- stop looking so smug!"

"Can't help it," Zagreus pulled him closer under the desk. "It's not every day I learn about my biggest fan's detailed appreciation of my... animations."

The renewed kiss was deeper, more heated, as Zagreus pulled Safron closer in their cramped hiding spot. The mark pulsed with intense honesty between each breath.

"I used to dream about this," Safron gasped against Zagreus's lips. "Though usually we weren't under a desk and I wasn't spilling embarrassing truths about my fan obsession and- mmph!"

Zagreus cut off the stream of confessions with another kiss, his flames casting dancing shadows in their small space. The mark's energy made every touch more intense, enhancing not just sensation but the pure truth of how long Safron had wanted this.

"You're adorable when you can't stop being honest," Zagreus murmured, trailing warm kisses along Safron's jaw. "My devoted little fan, hiding under a desk with me..."

"I had a list of places I imagined kissing you," the mark forced out between kisses. "The training grounds, the lounge, that balcony over the Styx- why can't I stop talking?"

"Don't stop," Zagreus grinned against his lips. "I want to hear every fantasy you had about me..."

"The way you move in battle," Safron breathed between increasingly heated kisses, "I used to study every detail. The grace in your strikes, how your flames follow each motion..." The mark pulsed with years of stored appreciation finally finding voice.

"And now?" Zagreus's flames cast intimate shadows as he pulled Safron practically into his lap under the desk.

"Now it's better than any fan dream because it's real and you're real and- oh gods, remember when I first arrived and could barely look at you without blushing?"

"You still blush," Zagreus pointed out fondly, tracing the current flush on Safron's cheeks. "My shy fan turned lover..."

The mark hummed with contentment as they shared one final, deep kiss. When they finally separated, Safron stayed close, head resting against Zagreus's shoulder.

"So," Zagreus smiled, his flames settled to a warm glow, "about that list of places you wanted to kiss me..."

"Don't you dare," Safron warned, but couldn't help adding, "though the balcony at sunset is still on that list..."

"Noted," Zagreus grinned, holding his blushing fan close under their desk sanctuary. "Though maybe we should work on this truth enhancement first. Not that I don't enjoy learning about all your fan fantasies..."

"Just... don't let anyone else in until it wears off?"

"Promise. Though you might want to avoid Than for a while. Hermes may have already shared some of that fan art with him..."

"Oh gods."

Chapter Text

The mark had finally settled back to its normal behavior, no longer forcing uncomfortable truths from Safron's lips. Even Nyx seemed puzzled by the whole episode.

"Fascinating," she mused, examining the now-calm sigil. "The mark seems to have gone through some kind of... evolution. Perhaps triggered by your complete honesty with Hermes."

"So it's not going to make me blurt out any more embarrassing fan confessions?" Safron asked hopefully. The past week of hiding in his room had been... eventful.

"It appears not," Nyx's eternal darkness swirled thoughtfully. "Though the experience has left its mark, so to speak. Your connection to divine energies seems... clearer now."

"Please tell me that doesn't mean more enhanced poetry in the administrative chamber."

"No," her lips curved slightly. "But perhaps you might find other aspects of your power have... evolved. The mark responds to truth now, even without forcing it."

Want me to continue exploring the aftermath of Safron's truth-telling episode?

"Speaking of truth," Zagreus's voice came from the doorway, accompanied by his familiar warmth, "I've been doing some thinking about what you said. About Red Shade."

The mark pulsed gently - no forced confessions this time, just honest recognition.

"I found him," Zagreus continued, looking slightly sheepish. "He was in his usual spot near the training grounds. You were right - he's been there this whole time, still practicing my sword techniques."

Nyx's darkness rippled with interest. "The silent admirer. I remember him from your early training days."

"I invited him to join the administrative staff," Zagreus said. "Thought he might enjoy being more involved, instead of just watching from the shadows. Plus," he grinned at Safron, "now I have two dedicated fans helping run the House."

"You didn't," Safron's eyes widened.

"I did. He's with Hypnos now, learning the ropes. Though I think he's more interested in copying my signature on the forms than actually filing them..."

The mark hummed with approval - no forced truth this time, just genuine appreciation for Zagreus making things right.

"You should see him," Zagreus continued, smiling. "Every time I pass through the administrative chamber, he does that little victory pose you mentioned. Got Hypnos doing it too now, though he usually falls asleep halfway through."

"The House's energy has shifted," Nyx observed, her darkness swirling thoughtfully. "Two devoted admirers of my son, each serving in their own way. One vocal," she nodded to Safron, "one silent. Both changing how things work here."

"Speaking of changes," Zagreus's flames flickered with amusement, "Father actually stopped to watch Red Shade practicing my sword moves in the hall. I swear I saw him almost smile when the shade tried to copy my flame-dash. Didn't work, of course, but points for effort."

The mark pulsed warmly as Safron imagined the scene. "Does he still follow you around?"

"Not as much. Now he splits his time between actual work and what he calls 'movement study.' Though yesterday I caught him trying to teach other shades my fighting style. Created quite the scene in the lounge - a whole group of shades attempting to spin spectral swords..."

The mark pulsed with curiosity as Safron voiced the question that the fandom had debated endlessly. "Do you know who he actually was? When he was alive?"

"Ah," Zagreus's flames dimmed slightly. "That's the interesting part. According to the records Hypnos finally dug up... he was a warrior who died watching a prince train. Not just any prince - one who would later become a legendary hero."

"Like you," Safron breathed.

"Not exactly. He was mortal, serving in a palace guard. Spent years watching the prince perfect his techniques, learning from afar, never speaking up. When raiders attacked the palace, he died using those learned moves to protect the royal family." Zagreus's voice softened. "He carried that admiration into death itself."

"So when he found you here..." Safron started.

"History repeated itself," Nyx finished. "Some souls carry their patterns through eternity. A silent guardian, always watching, always learning, always supporting from the shadows."

"That's why he never spoke," Zagreus added. "Even in life, he believed actions meant more than words. His devotion was in the watching, the learning, the quiet support."

The mark hummed with understanding - some fans expressed their love through loud confessions, others through silent dedication. Both were equally meaningful.

"Though now," Zagreus smiled, "he's found someone who understands his dedication. Saw him and Dusa yesterday, her teaching him proper filing techniques while he showed her my dodge-roll. Neither of them spoke a word - just kept nodding and gesturing. Somehow they understood each other perfectly."

"Silent supporters finding each other," Nyx observed. "Like calls to like in the House."

"It's more than that," Safron said, the mark pulsing with gentle insight rather than forced truth. "He's found his place. Not just watching anymore, but being part of things. Like I did."

"Yes and no," Zagreus's flames flickered thoughtfully. "You crashed into our world with enhanced poetry and fan art collections. He... he brings a different kind of energy. Quiet, steady, eternal. When he does his victory pose now, other shades join in. It's becoming a thing in the administrative chamber - complete a difficult filing? Victory pose. Successfully process a complicated soul? Victory pose."

"Even Thanatos noticed," Nyx added, a rare smile touching her lips. "Said the silent celebration was oddly fitting for the House."

"Though he drew the line at Hypnos trying to teach the pose to Cerberus," Zagreus grinned. "Some things are better left unattempted."

"Speaking of unattempted things," Zagreus's flames flickered with sudden mischief, "now that your truth-telling episode is over, maybe we can talk about that balcony kiss you mentioned? The one on your fantasy list?"

The mark pulsed with interest, but before Safron could respond, a familiar chill swept through the chamber.

"If you're done discussing fan behavior," Than materialized with his usual green flash, "we have a situation in Elysium. Apparently Dionysus and Anthius's latest 'garden enhancement' project has resulted in some... interesting developments."

"Define interesting," Safron said, already dreading the answer.

"The flowers are singing. Love songs. In multiple harmonies. And they're apparently very... suggestive songs." Than's golden eyes held rare amusement. "Theseus is particularly offended by a rather creative rhyme about divine wine and intimate moments."

"Oh no," Zagreus laughed. "Please tell me someone's documenting this."

"Hermes is already taking notes. Something about 'adding musical numbers to his fan art collection.'"

The mark hummed with relief - at least it wasn't causing the chaos this time.

Chapter Text

"You've been away a lot lately," Safron said, the mark pulsing with gentle inquiry rather than forced confession now. "More than usual."

Than's golden eyes flickered with something unreadable. "Death's duties have been... complex. The surface world moves in cycles we don't always anticipate."

"He means there's been trouble up there," Zagreus translated, his flames dimming slightly. "Mother mentioned something about unusual patterns in mortal passages."

"Souls arriving in unexpected ways," Than confirmed, his eternal voice carrying rare weight. "It keeps death... occupied. Though," his cool gaze softened slightly as it fell on Safron, "I hear you've been rather occupied yourself. Something about enhanced honesty and fan confessions?"

"Please don't," Safron groaned. "I assume Hermes shared those drawings with you?"

"Indeed. Your attention to divine detail is... thorough." Was that actually amusement in Death's voice? "Though perhaps we should focus on the Elysium situation before Dionysus's singing flowers start composing epic poems about their god's private garden activities."

The mark pulsed with sudden insight as Safron voiced his thought. "Wait... I always thought you spent most of your time dealing with deaths on Olympus and the surrounding mountains. In the ga-" he caught himself, "I mean, that was the common belief."

Than's eternal gaze turned somber. "Death goes where it is needed most. Lately, that has been... elsewhere. Places where mortals gather in greater numbers, where endings come too swiftly, too unexpectedly."

"Cities?" Safron asked softly, understanding dawning.

"Yes." Than's voice carried the weight of countless collected souls. "Mortals build their great settlements, and with them come new ways of... passing. Disease spreads faster, accidents multiply, conflicts escalate. Death must adapt."

"That's why you've been so tired," Zagreus realized, his flames flickering with concern. "You're covering more ground than ever."

"The world changes," Than said simply. "Death must change with it. Though," his cool gaze softened slightly, "having a place to return to, where some truths remain constant... it helps."

The mark hummed with understanding - Than wasn't just talking about the House itself.

"Don't you have others to help with this?" Safron asked, the mark pulsing with concern. "Other gods, shades, someone to share the burden?"

"Hermes assists with guiding souls," Than's golden eyes held ancient weariness. "Charon ferries them. But the actual act of death... that requires certain authority."

"What about Atropos?" The mark made Safron's knowledge of mythology surface naturally now, not as forced truth but as genuine curiosity. "And there were other death deities in different beliefs, weren't there?"

"The Fate who cuts the thread," Than nodded. "She determines when, but doesn't collect. As for the others..." his eternal voice carried complex emotion, "many have faded as beliefs changed. Death remains constant, but its servants... they depend on mortal memory."

"That's why you work so hard," Zagreus said softly, his flames casting gentle shadows. "You're carrying the weight of multiple death gods now."

"The modern world has fewer immortals," Than confirmed. "But no fewer deaths. Someone must maintain the balance." He paused, adding with rare vulnerability, "Though perhaps I could... delegate some duties. Train some worthy shades for simpler collections."

The mark pulsed with surprise - was Than actually considering asking for help?

"Faded?" Safron leaned forward, the mark pulsing with intense curiosity. "What do you mean faded? Gods can... disappear?"

Than was silent for a moment, his golden eyes distant. "When mortals stop believing, stop remembering... divine essence begins to thin. Like mist in sunlight. Some adapt, find new forms, new names. Others..."

"They just... cease?" The concept seemed impossible.

"Not exactly," Zagreus added, his flames flickering thoughtfully. "Mother explained it once. They become... different. Less defined. Like Hecate merging with other goddess aspects, or how some of the old death deities became more like... concepts."

"The Roman gods adapted," Than continued. "Changed names, shifted roles. But smaller gods, local deities... when their last temples fell, when their last worshippers passed..." He gestured vaguely. "This is why death remains strong. Everyone believes in death, even if they call it different names."

"That's why you're so busy," Safron realized. "You're not just Death Incarnate anymore, you're... all of them. Every death god that faded, their duties fell to you."

"Yes," Than's voice carried the weight of ages. "Modern mortals may not know my name, but they know death. And so I endure, collecting souls that once would have been gathered by many."

"No," Safron said suddenly, the mark pulsing with certainty. "That's not right. If gods needed mortal faith to exist, there'd only be a handful left. I mean, think about it - how many mortals still actively worship Zeus? Or Athena? But they're as strong as ever."

Than's golden eyes fixed on him with sharp interest. "Explain."

"In my world - before I came here - ancient gods were everywhere in culture. Books, movies, games... millions of people knew your stories, were fascinated by them, even if they didn't worship. Hades ga- I mean, just look at how many people knew about this place, about all of you, even if they didn't build temples."

"Knowledge instead of worship?" Zagreus mused, flames flickering thoughtfully.

"More than that," Safron continued, the mark glowing brighter. "People still connect with you, just differently. They relate to your stories, your personalities. They create art, write stories, share their interpretations. It's not traditional faith, but it's... something else. Something that keeps you relevant, keeps you present in mortal consciousness."

"Yet some still faded," Than noted, though he seemed intrigued.

"Maybe it's not about belief at all," Safron suggested. "Maybe it's about... resonance. Connection. The gods who faded might be the ones who lost their connection to what mortals understand, what they relate to..."

"Look at Christianity," Safron continued, the mark pulsing as he worked through the logic. "It became huge, dominated belief systems, but you're all still here. If it was just about worship, wouldn't that have affected you more dramatically?"

Than and Zagreus exchanged meaningful looks.

"The Christian god..." Than spoke carefully, "exists in his own way, as we exist in ours. Different realms, different responsibilities. The mortal world is... complex enough for multiple truths."

"Exactly!" Safron sat forward eagerly. "And in modern times, people somehow maintain connections to both. They might go to church on Sunday and read Greek mythology on Monday. Watch shows about Norse gods, play games about the Underworld... It's not about exclusive faith anymore."

"You think mortals have... evolved in how they relate to divinity?" Zagreus asked, flames flickering with interest.

"I think they've always been more complex than just 'worship or forget.' I mean, look at me - I knew all about you through a game, felt connected to your stories without ever building an altar. And now here I am, mark and all."

Than's eternal gaze grew thoughtful. "Perhaps those who faded were not victims of lost faith, but of lost relevance. Lost connection to what mortals understand..."

"While death," Safron gestured to Than, "love, wisdom, war - these fundamental concepts never lose their relevance to human experience."

"So," Safron leaned forward, the mark pulsing with scholarly curiosity, "which death deities actually faded? I mean, I know about you, about Hermes as a guide, but there were others, right?"

Than's golden eyes grew distant. "Mors, my Roman aspect, merged back into me. The Keres, spirits of violent death, grew weaker as warfare changed. Anubis..." he paused, "he still exists, but differently. More distant. The Norse Valkyries adapted, became more legend than force."

"What about Izanami? Mictlantecuhtli? Yama?" Safron's knowledge of death deities from various cultures surfaced.

"They maintain their own realms, their own responsibilities," Than explained. "We... acknowledge each other. Coordinate when necessary. But as the world became more connected, as beliefs intermingled..." He gestured vaguely. "The Greek understanding of death became more... prevalent in many places."

"So you took on more of the burden," Safron realized. "Not because they faded completely, but because the world changed in how it understood death."

"Yes. Modern mortals may not know my name, but they understand death as I represent it. Clinical. Inevitable. Neither cruel nor kind. Simply... necessary."

"Could we..." Safron hesitated, the mark pulsing with possibility. "Could my enhancement power help bring someone back? Re-fade them, or... un-fade them?"

Than's eternal stillness became even more pronounced. "That would be... complicated. And potentially dangerous."

"But not impossible?" The mark glowed brighter with interest.

"Safron," Zagreus warned, his flames flickering with concern. "Enhancement is one thing, but trying to restore faded gods..."

"Think about it though," Safron pressed on. "If it's about connection, understanding, relevance - and my power enhances essential natures... Maybe we could help some of the lesser death deities find their place again. Take some burden off Than."

Than's golden eyes fixed on him with intense focus. "Your mark does have... unique properties. But attempting to interact with faded divine essence..." He shook his head. "The risks would be significant."

"We could start small," Safron suggested, the mark humming with determination. "Maybe with one of the Keres? They're still partially here, right? And with modern warfare being what it is..."

"This is not a simple enhancement," Nyx's voice materialized from the shadows, making everyone start. "To touch what has faded... it could change you in ways we cannot predict."

"Even with Than's help?" Safron asked, looking between Death Incarnate and Night herself. "I mean, he's already connected to their essence in some way, right? And with my enhancement power working through him..."

Than's eternal gaze shifted, showing rare uncertainty. "It's... possible. The Keres were once closely tied to my duties. And your power does respond uniquely to death's essence."

"Dangerous," Nyx warned again, her darkness swirling with concern. "But... not without precedent. The mark itself bridges realms, enhances fundamental natures..."

"And you've got me," Zagreus added, his flames casting warm light. "Fire of rebirth, remember? If we're talking about bringing something back from fading..."

"A trinity of powers," Nyx mused. "Death's authority, life's flame, and a mortal bridge with enhancement abilities. It could work. Or..."

"Or it could go horribly wrong," Than finished. "The Keres were not gentle beings, Safron. They reveled in violent death, in battlefield gore. To bring that essence back, to enhance it..."

"But maybe they could adapt," Safron argued, the mark pulsing stronger. "Find a new purpose for modern times. Help with mass casualties, natural disasters... Work with Than instead of just glorifying violence."

"What about..." Safron's mark pulsed as he thought back to his mythology knowledge. "Macaria? She was gentler, wasn't she? Your sister, associated with blessed death?"

Than's eternal stillness shifted subtly. There was something softer in his golden eyes at the mention of that name. "Macaria... she helped ease peaceful passings. Made death gentle for those ready to go. When beliefs changed, she... withdrew. Not completely faded, but..."

"Like a distant echo," Nyx added, her darkness rippling thoughtfully. "She would be a safer choice than the Keres. Her nature was always about comfort, about making transition easier."

"And we could really use that now," Safron pressed gently. "With Than handling so many difficult deaths, wouldn't it help to have someone focusing on the peaceful ones? The natural endings?"

"She was kind," Than said quietly, an unusual note of tenderness in his eternal voice. "Even to mortals. Especially to mortals. When the elderly or ill were ready, she would..."

"Help them accept," Zagreus finished. "Mother mentioned her once. Said she made death feel like going home."

The mark hummed with possibility. Macaria - a gentler face of death, a forgotten goddess of blessed endings. Perhaps she was exactly what they needed.

"Wait, what?" Safron's mark pulsed with confusion. "I thought Macaria was your sister, Zag. In the myths about Heracles..."

"Ah," Zagreus's flames flickered with understanding. "You're thinking of the mortal legends. They often mixed things up. Macaria was Than's sister, one of the original death deities. Later stories sometimes confused her with Father's other children."

"The mortals had trouble keeping track," Than explained, his golden eyes holding ancient memory. "Too many children of the Underworld, too many death-related beings. They merged stories, combined figures. The Macaria in Heracles' tale was different."

"Oh..." Safron felt slightly embarrassed. "Even after all this time, I guess I'm still learning what the myths got wrong."

"Not wrong," Nyx corrected gently. "Simply... mortal understanding trying to make sense of divine complexity. The Macaria we speak of was death's gentle sister, who helped souls find peace in their final moments. The one in Heracles' story became mixed with her legacy."

"That actually makes more sense," Safron admitted. "A being of gentle death would naturally be Than's sister rather than Hades' daughter. The connection to peaceful transition rather than underworld royalty..."

The mark pulsed with new understanding - sometimes the truth was more complex than any myth could capture.

"But that doesn't make sense," Safron frowned, the mark pulsing with puzzlement. "Why would peaceful death fade? People still die peacefully in their sleep, surrounded by family. That hasn't changed. If anything, with modern medicine, hospice care... wouldn't that make Macaria more relevant than ever?"

Than's eternal stillness wavered slightly. "Perhaps... perhaps it wasn't about relevance at all."

"What do you mean?"

"She chose to withdraw," Than said softly, revealing something he'd clearly kept private. "After seeing too many who should have had peaceful endings meet violent ones instead. Wars, plagues... it wore on her. She who was meant to comfort began to... hurt."

"Oh," Safron breathed, understanding dawning. "She didn't fade from lack of belief. She... stepped back because it was too painful?"

"To be the goddess of blessed death in times of mass suffering..." Nyx's darkness swirled sympathetically. "Even divine hearts can break."

"But now," Zagreus added thoughtfully, his flames casting warm light, "with modern hospice care, with people understanding more about peaceful endings, with families having time to say goodbye..."

"She might be ready to return," Than finished, a rare note of hope in his eternal voice. "If she had help. Support. Understanding..."

Chapter Text

The preparations had been meticulous. Nyx arranged a special chamber where the barriers between faded and present were thinnest. Than brought items that held echoes of his sister - an ancient bowl used to ease passing, a wreath of now-extinct flowers she once wore.

"Are you sure about this?" Zagreus asked, his flames casting uncertain shadows as Safron positioned himself between him and Than.

The mark pulsed steadily as Safron nodded. "Three powers, like Nyx said. Death's authority, life's flame, and..." he gestured to his glowing sigil, "whatever this enhancement really is."

"Remember," Than's eternal voice carried rare emotion, "we're not forcing her back. Just... opening a way. Showing her it's safe to return, if she wishes."

"If this works," Nyx added from the shadows, "it must be her choice. Gentle calling for a gentle death."

"I should have known you'd attempt something like this," Hades' deep voice resonated through the chamber as he entered with Persephone. "Apparently it's not enough to enhance my administrative staff into poetry - now you're trying to restore faded deities."

"My Lord," Safron started nervously, but Persephone's gentle touch on her husband's arm made him pause.

"We're here to help," she said, pomegranate blossoms weaving through her hair. "A gentle death deserves a gentle return. And who better to witness than the rulers of the realm she once blessed?"

"Hmph," Hades rumbled, but his severe expression softened slightly. "I remember her. Quiet one, unlike most of my relatives. Made even the most difficult transitions... bearable."

"She used to leave flowers in the souls' registers," Persephone added softly. "White blooms that never wilted. The shades said just seeing them brought peace."

The mark pulsed stronger, responding to the gathered divine energy - Than's cool authority, Zagreus's warm flames, Hades' deep power, Persephone's life force, and Nyx's eternal darkness. All of them, ready to welcome death's gentle sister home.

"Form the circle," Nyx instructed, her darkness weaving through the chamber. "Than, you're her closest connection. Stand opposite Safron - death's current form facing its potential change. Zagreus, between them with your flames of renewal. Lord Hades, Lady Persephone..."

"We know our place," Persephone said softly, positioning herself and Hades to complete the circle around Than's ancient bowl and the wreath.

The mark began to pulse in rhythm with Than's essence as Safron focused. This wasn't like normal enhancement - he wasn't amplifying what was there, but rather reaching for what had withdrawn, trying to enhance the very memory of gentle death.

"Sister," Than's eternal voice carried unexpected tenderness. "The world has changed. There are places now dedicated to peaceful passing. Mortals who devote their lives to easing others' transitions. They may not know your name, but they do your work."

"They call them hospice nurses now," Safron added, letting the mark's power flow toward the center. "Care workers. People who sit with the dying, who make their last moments gentle..."

Zagreus's flames cast dancing shadows as he contributed, "They understand now, about dignified endings. About choosing peace over prolonged suffering."

The chamber began to tremble, not violently but in gentle waves, like calm water disturbed by a soft breeze. The mark's power flowed stronger, making the ancient bowl in the center emit a subtle glow.

"The veil thins," Nyx announced, her darkness rippling with the movement. "She hears us."

Than's eternal voice grew more urgent, though still gentle. "Sister... Macaria... they need you. I need you. Death has become... too heavy for one aspect alone."

"The world may have changed," Persephone added, pomegranate blossoms floating from her hair to join Than's wreath, "but the need for gentle passage remains. Perhaps now more than ever."

Hades' deep voice joined unexpectedly: "The House remembers you, gentle one. Your quiet steps, your merciful touch."

The trembling intensified, making the very air feel fluid. The mark pulsed in sync with it, and Safron felt something... different. Like the enhancement power was touching not just divine energy, but time itself, reaching back to when death wore a kinder face.

"Look," Zagreus breathed, his flames illuminating a strange sight - the air around the bowl was taking shape, forming what looked like the outline of a woman, translucent as morning mist...

The translucent form wavered like smoke, almost taking solid shape before fading again. The mark pulsed desperately, trying to hold onto that essence.

"She's afraid," Than realized, his golden eyes fixed on the shifting apparition. "After so long withdrawn..."

"Show her," Nyx urged softly. "Show her what she means to you."

Than reached out toward the misty form, his usual composure cracking. "Do you remember, sister? When we worked together? How you would ease their fears before I came? How you made death feel like rest instead of ending?"

The figure seemed to respond, becoming slightly more defined. A suggestion of long hair, flowing robes...

"The mortals still speak of peaceful death," Safron added, letting the mark's power flow stronger. "They say things like 'passed quietly in their sleep' or 'went gently into that good night.' They don't know it, but they're describing you, Macaria."

"Even in my gardens," Persephone stepped forward, scattering more pomegranate blossoms, "there are flowers that bloom only at life's end. Waiting for your touch again."

The trembling chamber stilled suddenly, completely. In that perfect silence, the misty form began to solidify, taking on colors - pale gold, soft white, gentle silver...

The colors swirled together, and suddenly there she was - Macaria, death's gentle sister. Her form was ethereal, like morning light through fog, but growing more solid with each breath. Long silver-gold hair floated as if underwater, her robes the color of dawn, and her eyes... they were like Than's, but softer, holding the peace of final sleep rather than its finality.

"Brother," her voice was barely a whisper, like wind through autumn leaves. "It's been so long..."

"Too long," Than's eternal voice shook slightly. The mark pulsed strongly as it witnessed death himself show such emotion.

"The pain," Macaria's form wavered. "There was so much pain, so many violent ends when there should have been peace..."

"But now there can be balance," Persephone stepped forward, her presence radiating life's gentle conclusion. "Death needs both its faces - the inevitable end and the peaceful rest."

"The mortals," Macaria turned her gentle gaze to Safron, "they've learned to accept death's approach? To prepare for it?"

"Yes," Safron let the mark's power reach toward her, showing her images of modern hospice care, of families gathering to say goodbye, of peaceful transitions surrounded by love. "They even train people specifically to help others die gently."

A small smile touched Macaria's ethereal features. "Perhaps... perhaps it is time to return..."

"The House has changed," Hades spoke, his deep voice unusually gentle. "As has the mortal world. There is room here for death's mercy alongside its necessity."

Macaria's form grew more solid as she turned to her brother. "You've carried this burden alone too long, Than. I felt it, even in my withdrawal. Your exhaustion, your solitude..."

"Not alone," Than glanced briefly at Safron and Zagreus. "But yes, I... I've missed your help. Your understanding."

The mark pulsed stronger as Macaria floated closer to Safron, studying him with those gentle eyes. "You bridge realms," she observed. "Life and death, mortal and divine... Your power called to me, showed me how things have changed."

"Will you stay?" Safron asked softly. "Help Than with the peaceful passings?"

"I..." Macaria's form wavered again, but this time with emotion rather than uncertainty. "Yes. Yes, I think it's time. The world needs gentle death again." She turned to her brother with a soft smile. "And you, dear brother, need someone to remind you that not every ending must be stern."

Than's eternal composure broke completely as he reached for his sister, their essences merging in what looked like a hug made of starlight and shadow.

The mark flared suddenly, blindingly bright. The power that had been holding Macaria's return stable surged through Safron like a tidal wave. Too much energy, too much divine essence...

"Safron!" Zagreus's voice sounded distant, his flames seeming to blur.

The last things Safron registered were multiple voices calling out:

Than's urgent "Hold him-" Macaria's gentle "The bridge has served-" Nyx's warning "The power rebounds-" Persephone's alarmed "His mark-" Hades' commanding "Get him to-"

Then everything went dark.

But in that darkness, just before consciousness fully fled, Safron felt something new. Like the mark had absorbed an echo of gentle death itself. Like somehow, in helping restore Macaria, he'd gained a touch of her essence...

Then even that thought faded as he collapsed into waiting arms, the chamber still trembling with the aftermath of death's gentle face returning home.