Epilogue
Aion & Charon
The silver-blue mists of Asphodelia drifted across the path of the sphinx’s garden. I stood beside Medea, my fingers laced gently through hers. The quiet of the city had returned, wrapping around the towering spires and the dark waters below.
Inside my chest, the mortal heart kept a steady, quiet pace. It was a grounded reality, tying me to the woman standing at my side and to the earth beneath my feet.
This heart had belonged to a necromancer. Now, it had given me a thread, the right to a fate I’d share with my mate. But it had come at a price.
We stopped before a dense, shimmering circle of asphodels.
The ghostly white petals in this specific patch burned with a fierce, blinding glow, outshining the rest of the sprawling terrace.
It was the exact spot where Skaros had dissolved.
My brother-in-arms had unwoven on these stones, his thread severed in the chaos.
Medea leaned her shoulder against my arm. “He stepped in as a proxy to help us,” she whispered. Her voice carried a heavy, lingering guilt. “And then the surge… the magic I couldn’t hold back unwove him. He died because of me.”
I squeezed her hand. For me, the world had always been a narrow place. I’d spent my years with very few ties. Skaros had been one of them. Though harsh and fiercely loyal, he had treated me as an equal when others saw only a vessel.
“I miss him,” I said. The admission felt tight in my chest. “But he understood the volatility of death energy better than anyone, and he made his choice to help us. This was an accident of the surge, not a conscious strike.”
“You mourn him with the narrow vision of the living lands.”
The calm voice rolled smoothly over the stones.
We turned to find Phix sitting gracefully upon a low basalt wall.
The sphinx looked pristine. Her sleek lioness body rested in quiet repose, and her wings were tucked neatly against her golden flanks.
The ancient intelligence in her gaze seemed to catch the bright glow of the asphodel patch.
She had healed since Jason’s attack and was once again the picture of perfect, unbothered serenity.
Medea straightened, though she kept her hand in mine. “Phix. I wanted to apologize. For what I did. For Skaros, and the harm I caused you.”
Phix tilted her regal head, a faint smile touching her lips. “Apologies are for mistakes, Medea. I told you already. There was no error here.”
Shaking, Medea bit her lower lip. “Yes, but… I still feel…”
The sphinx hopped down from the wall, her heavy paws making no sound. She walked toward us, stopping at the edge of the blinding white flowers. She looked down at the blooms with a hint of melancholy.
“Guilty?” she murmured. “I understand, child. But you will learn, in time, that you need not feel regret.
“Skaros agreed to the proxy to ensure you could remain in this city safely. That choice allowed you to save the guardian standing beside you. He’d never regret it, or his fate. It was a magnificent unweaving.”
“Do you miss him?” Medea asked.
“In Asphodelia, we simply transform,” the sphinx answered.
“The energy that formed Skaros now feeds this earth. It lingers in the air. It lights the lamps of the Agora.” Phix shifted her gaze to me, her pupilless eyes catching the amber glow of the distant braziers.
“You feel the weight of your new heart, Aion, but you also know the truth of the weave.”
I looked at the glowing flowers. I felt the sadness of losing my friend, but beneath the grief, the quiet, humming strength of the city remained. Phix was right. Skaros was not a void. He was the foundation beneath our feet.
“As for the rest,” Phix continued, “Medea, you are not to blame for your father’s choices. No, you should be proud. You destroyed a binding to forge a bond. Asphodelia did not anticipate you, but it accepts you.”
Without another word, the sphinx walked away, her golden tail swishing smoothly behind her as she disappeared into the deep shadows.
The sprawling garden settled into a comfortable silence.
The damp wind blowing off Lake Acheron carried the scent of crushed petals and cold stone.
I pulled Medea against my chest. My bronze arms wrapped around her, shielding her from the mist. She leaned into my heat, resting her palm flat against the metal plates hiding my heart.
“Jason is gone,” Medea whispered, a small tremor rushing over her body. “I don’t have to look over my shoulder anymore. We are actually safe.”
“We are,” I promised.
“I have a home here.”
I held her more tightly, thinking about the soft warmth of my quarters and the bed already waiting for us. “You do. With me.”
“And the bride market?” Medea grabbed my arm, death energy dancing along her fingertips. “Do you suppose… I’ll have to go through it again?”
I didn’t know. The Moirae had made no note of it, and everyone seemed happy to accept that I was now caring for my best friend’s former bride.
“Perhaps one day,” I admitted, “but make no mistake. No one can get in the way of our bond.”
Medea smiled up at me with a genuine, radiant expression that lit up her face. “Of course not. How could they?”
On the back of her hand, my brand glowed slightly with a steady light. The thick patch of asphodels at our feet flared. It felt like my friend was giving us his final blessing.
Rest well, Skaros. And thank you. We’ll never forget you.
The dark water of Acheron had felt… satisfied since the end of Jason’s attack. It was strange to feel that kind of emotion from the lake, but after so many years spent guarding these shores, I was prepared for everything.
I stood at the edge of the Stygian Docks, resting my weight against my ferry pole. Whenever I looked below into the water, I could catch a glimpse of my son.
“You brought him a mate,” I told the lake. It didn’t answer. Whatever its reasoning had been, it had no desire to explain. I couldn’t bring myself to mind.
A quiet, steady pride settled in my chest. My son had grown. Aion had always possessed a soul, but now he held a Thread. He was anchored to a mate, recognized by the very fabric of the city, and stepping into a future he had chosen for himself.
I wished it hadn’t come at such a heavy price, but everything had a toll. Especially in Asphodelia.
“It’s not like you to care about anyone save your loved ones, Charon. Do you really find the manticore’s loss so regrettable?”
Familiar with the sudden chill that signaled the arrival of the Moirae, I kept my gaze on the black water. The three sisters stepped onto the docks, their forms wrapped in shifting silver light.
“Perhaps I merely care for my son’s grief.”
Clotho let out a soft huff. “Grief is not something the children of Thanatos should feel. But… I suppose they do, anyway.”
The Moirae would never admit it, but there had always been a flaw in their thinking. How could an Asphodelian not feel grief, when they were meant to have a soul mate?
The loss of a friend was not the same, though Aion had always been special. He’d always seen things differently. My fault, perhaps, since I’d tried so hard to make him understand humanity. But I didn’t regret it.
“Skaros isn’t someone I mourn. But I can’t help but wonder… you knew his thread would be severed.”
“Of course we knew.” Lachesis hummed under her breath, her figure seeming strikingly human for once. “It was his time. It was what he wanted. He and Phix should have asked for it long ago.”
I narrowed my eyes at her. “Do you mean to gather it? Create something else?”
“Sometimes, a thread resists being rewoven,” Lachesis replied, shaking her head. “We will not touch his energy.”
I frowned, the freezing air around me shifting. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d have thought the Moirae had a plan for Skaros. But rebirth was anathema in Asphodelia. The dead did not return, and the Moirae did not repeat their patterns. “What are you scheming, Revered Moirae?”
No one else would have been allowed such a comment, but I wasn’t just anyone. Atropos tilted her gaunt face, her dark eyes gleaming brightly in the shadows. “Is it a scheme if we are only pursuing what is best for our children?”
Probably. Maybe. I was a parent, too, and I’d struggled with my own choices. Especially when it came to Aion. In this, at least, I could understand the Moirae.
“The rules of Asphodelia have changed, Ferryman,” Clotho offered. “A mortal seer walks in a forged body. Your once threadless son now carries a beating heart. And a woman who commands the dead has become his mate. Sometimes… it is better to see where the Loom itself takes us.”
“You are leaving him there,” I murmured, the realization taking root. “You are waiting for another hand.”
“Some threads must eventually be pulled by hands other than ours,” Lachesis answered, her form already beginning to fade into the thick grey mist. “A new weaver must reach into the dark and pull him back to the surface.”
“Until then,” Atropos concluded, her voice fading into the fog, “we will wait patiently. And so must you.”
The three sisters vanished, leaving no trace of their presence on the docks. I looked back down at the water, in which Aion and Medea were still visible. They’d gone to pay their respects to their friend.
Their friend… who had been Medea’s groom.
“Why do I feel this story isn’t over yet?” I asked the lake.
“Because you are very clever, Charon,” the Acheron replied. “But you need not fear. The children of Asphodelia will always find refuge in our waters. Keep your barge prepared. The bride market gates will open again.”
Of that, I had no doubt. If there was anyone who could save Skaros now, it was certainly a death-touched bride.
Thank you for reading Aion and Medea's story. Skaros is waiting beneath the soil of Asphodelia… his story is next.
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