37. The Lie of The Fates
Kheos, Theos, Regos
The bond was pulsating in his chest. Long gone were the familiar, rhythmic pulses of shared emotion. In their place, there were lightning jolts of pain. It was straining, aching, falling to pieces. Theos knew it.
As soon as he closed the door to his room behind him, darkness surged around him in the hallway. Regos was here, but the universe was encased in a stubborn silence that felt completely void of The Fates’ usual foreboding, relentless presence. The walk to the throne room was silent. The shattered glass of the castle’s ceiling glittered, barely discernible on the pale marble floors. The yawning blustering cold of the universe filled every place around him. His boots crunched, breaking slivers of the glass under his feet as he walked.
The destruction in the once magnificent throne room made his breathing grind to a halt. The fallen Corinthian pillars – massive pieces of the limestone and marble strewn around like a wasteland of boulders. The crack in his throne. The dull, hardly burning suns behind it. Broken glass floors, gaps where the universe bled into the air of the castle. Entirely too cold, entirely too silent. The slumped form of his brother at the foot of the throne, Regos standing over him.
Kheos. Limp. Not moving. Regos, red eyes, staring down at his body. Gods no.
“Kheos!” Theos cried as he rushed forward.
Regos’ attention shifted to him as he moved. The whites of his eyes had descended into blackness. The ridged horns on his head were ones Theos hadn’t seen in eons. He never took that ancient form save to cart off deities and powers unseen to The Hells. His posture was stiff, his hands buried into the invisible folds of the black swathes of cloth that concealed the rest of his monstrous form.
Theos dived, glass piercing into his knees as he reached for Kheos. Rolling him over onto his back, he hauled him upright, searching through his body with his eyes. When it dawned on him what his brother had done, Theos heard himself release a whimper of desperation.
“Why?” he asked aloud. “Why would you do this to yourself?”
“Why do you think?” came Regos’ growling. “What is your verdict?” he continued.
Theos turned to glare at him.
Regos ignored his expression. “He is lost to the worlds – drifting about in the unconsciousness of the ether, waiting for either death or life to pull him back into reality.” Regos let himself take in Theos’ battered features. “Will you?” He looked back down at Kheos. “Or will I.”
Theos’ eyes narrowed. “There is no question about his fate.”
Regos shook his head slightly, a sorrowful smile pulling at his black lips. “He has engineered a way for the fates of the worlds to continue without him, in case you had eventually wanted to be rid of him. Now’s your chance. ”
Theos shook his head without hesitating. “ No .”
“He lied,” Regos continued, his voice was now a whisper. “If he dies, she won’t die. Their souls are entirely separate. I checked.”
Theos’ brows pulled together, hesitation clouding his mind.
“I don’t understand,” Theos heard himself say. He turned to look down at Kheos’ grey, pallid skin.
Regos shook his head again. “Neither do I.”
Silence stretched, Theos considering all of his options. Kheos had known that handling Theos’ energy would destroy him. It was an impossible feat for any other god to do. Their powers were all dependent on his – for Kheos, manipulation from life and light to destiny. For Regos, erasure of life and destiny to death. And for the rest of the pantheon, in some much more removed way. Kheos’ attempt to hold up the falling fragments of the universe and reform its structure had been foolish. He’d had to have absorbed all the decaying life energy and manipulate it back into something that resembled Theos’ energy. Theos’ heart trembled just thinking of the pain he must have borne in those moments. Gods no.
There was nothing for him to have gained. With the world crumbling around him, and his bond to Haera unconsummated, Kheos would have gotten exactly what he wanted. He would have proven his own predictions and warnings correct. The Fates were always right. Theos searched through Kheos’ body again, for the silver of blue light that lived there. It faded even as he watched. He could delay his decision until it snuffed itself out. He could hand him over to Regos – to death. Kheos knew what he’d done. The Fates were always right, and for some reason, Kheos had made himself wrong. For his sake. Theos felt tears burn through his skull as they pooled in his eyes.
“Decide first primordial, before the decision is taken away from you.” Came Regos’ voice.
White, hot light filled the room in a burning glow. Regos hissed, shielding himself in a defence of darkness. As the light intensified, it channelled through the fists crumpled in Kheos’ collar. The life light in his heart shuddered from the intimate caress of Theos’ light, and then, it bloomed. Theos’ light retreated.
His grip ghosted away from Kheos’ crumpled clothing as he stood. In silence, Theos and Regos watched Kheos’ skin return to its warm, golden hue as life took hold in his veins once more. A ragged gasp of air, then an annoyed groan. Then, utter shock and confusion lay siege to his features.
Theos watched Kheos’ brows pull together as he tried to understand what was happening – what Theos had done .
“Thank you for intercepting the disaster,” Theos echoed, the words flat and bitter on his tongue.
Kheos stood slowly, wincing as he put weight on his right hip. “Your bond is, –” he began.
Theos turned away. “I know.” Glancing back at Regos, he let the disgust in his red eyes filter over him. “When I return, I request audience with you.”
Regos eyes darkened, his lip twitching slightly as he suppressed a sneer. His voice melded with Kheos’ when Theos disappeared.
“Long live the King.”
“We hope the King will get it together.” Regos added.
Behind him, Kheos eyes darkened.