155. Pallas’s Amber Eyes Shone
Pallas’s Amber Eyes Shone
so bright, they looked like the sun.
I realized I had never seen him shed tears.
Most Gods did not. They saw
tears and grief as the actions
of lesser deities, Goddesses, and mortals.
But Pallas in that moment could not have been
more powerful than when he placed
his hand on his son’s small head,
his other holding Styx’s hand tight,
a slight tremble in his fingers.
‘A child of zeal.’ His voice deepened.
‘A God of dedication and emulation.
Rivals will pray to him. He will inspire
the competition and envy of the world.’
They were fearsome and powerful gifts.
And it was clear that this child in temperament
would be more like his mother than his father.
Styx had finally caught her breath,
her face still covered in a sheen
of holy perspiration, the exertion
of childbirth having not left her easily.
She clutched the baby to her chest,
her split eyes full of something
I never thought I would see in her:
pure, unadulterated love. Gone was her spite,
her grief, her sadness. I asked
the question we all wanted to:
‘What is the child’s name?’
Styx looked up at Pallas as she answered,
squeezing his hand tight.
‘His name is Zelus. Our child made
of zeal and surprise.’