Paramythi III: Prometheus

The day Psykhe Trezla decided to join the Rebellion was the day of her eighteenth birthday.

She had woken late, with no particular interest on what might or might not be waiting for her downstairs. She had no family; Merine was in prison and their parents were dead. The only company she had were the servants who went about their business while Psykhe packed for school. The biggest present that day was supposed to be her family fortune. Supposed to be.

She had dressed in her usual; a pair of shorts and stockings with a spaghetti-strap shirt and a denim jacket. She packed her lunch and sat down for breakfast, pouring a hefty amount of maple syrup over the surface of her warm pancakes.

Psykhe never strived for anything. She repeated every day like the last. Wake, eat, study, eat, sleep and repeat. She listened to the same music, ate the same meals and wore the same clothes in accordance to every day, season and weather.

She washed her own plates, dried her own clothes and tidied her own room. She gave her servants the duties of the garden, simply because she could never seem to keep a plant alive longer than a day.

Now she was eighteen. Now the pendulum of her life began swinging and the estate fell into her hands. 'The responsibilities of a Trezla' had never been a phrase she was attracted to. She would rather continue her violin practice or calligraphy. She liked to write. It made her feel like she went on an adventure, like she was actually doing something.

Psykhe had never planned to join the Rebellion. She just joined. It was the first impulsive thing she ever did. If she had not run out of maple syrup that morning, she would have never gone into town and seen the sign. ’Sign up today, Rebellion’s the way!”

She stared at that sign for what felt like hours. The Rebellion had arrested her brother six years ago, after he was sentenced with the crimes of committing murder and using the Church to his benefit. She never liked Merine. The Rebellion did not like him, either.

“Name?”

Psykhe blinked. She had no recollection of stepping closer or even joining the line. It was instinctual; subconscious.

“Ma’am?” The woman behind the sign-in booth smiled. Her hair and eyes were as blue as the sky. “Hey, what’s your name?”

“Psykhe,” her throat tensed. “Psykhe… Eros.”

“Oh, cool!” The woman wrote the name in a scruffy hand. “Eros, like the Legend of the Masked Maiden?”

Psykhe nodded.

“You’ll fit right in.”

Taking the torn paper, Psykhe moved along and followed the line into the pub. She read the name hanging above the entrance and felt her throat tighten. Liar’s Mouth. Blinking, the words rearranged themselves to the pub’s actual name, Lion’s Mouth. She ran inside.

The day Psykhe Trezla decided to join the Rebellion, she had no clue what she was doing. She was not a serious, cold girl who did not want to socialise. She was a clueless girl with a lack of emotion and social awkwardness.

She wished she could have been as outgoing as the young boy sat at the bar, conversing with the barmaid and her daughter. Someone like him knew how to be human. It was unknown to her just how wrong she was.

Anima had been standing at the village entrance when Hermes appeared with Styx. She had not asked what had happened and only turned away as the moon continued to shine through every cloud around them.

“They left the kingdom, didn’t they?” Hecate came up beside Anima once the excitement had died down.

Anima raised her chin. “Why not ask Hermes? He would have seen them off past the wall.”

“Hermes is occupied with sitting by Styx’s bedside, telling the Chief what happened to his son.”

“What did happen?”

“Cursed, apparently.” Hecate groaned, unravelling his crossed arms to rub the back of his neck. “Sytry exorcised him, all I had to do was patch up his hand and shoulder. He’ll be fine. Just won’t be able to clap his hands for a while.”

Anima snorted. Hecate smiled. They stood, watching the grass sway and animals dart across the fields outside of the village. It was a peaceful silence, only broken with the scuff of Anima’s shoes against the ground.

“You’re going?” Hecate asked. “If you bump into Selene, tell her I expect her to come home in one piece.”

“You’re not worried for your daughter?”

“Worried? Of course, I am. I’m worried for Helios, for Riyo. Gods, I’m even worried about Damara, who just so happened to have mysteriously disappeared.” He threw his arms above his head, clasping his hands together as he leant back, eyes turning to the sky. “But I also know I can’t stop them. Trouble is, I don’t think anyone else but Riyo can get Helios out of Emvolo.”

Anima nodded solemnly. She stared at the ground, tightening her fist around Atlas’ shaft. “I don’t even know why I’m going.”

“Because you can?” Hecate offered. He turned his attention back to the woman, nudging her shoulder with a closed fist. “Because no matter what name you choose, you’re always gonna be spontaneous.”

Anima lifted her head. Her eyes narrowed behind her mask. She felt offended and nostalgic, baffled and sensitive. When she parted her lips to say something, Hecate was already waving her off and turning back to the village.

“Just go be a hero,” the man chuckled. “I’m too old to join in, I’m just gonna retire here, I think.”

Anima bowed her head. “I’ll be sure to pass that on to Selene, should I cross paths with her.”

“Yeah, and tell Damara she better think about popping the big question. I don’t want any bastard grandkids when the time comes.”

“Consider it done.”

Riyo could remember the first time they had ever socialised with Elias and the others after classes. They had always been invited by the likes of Helios or Eris to the cafeteria, but a decline was always made and Riyo would slink off to eat their packed lunches in their room, dwelling on the fear of sitting and having to make conversation.

Only months before this, they were relying on the claw in their prison to feed them. It had been animalistic, but they knew no better. It was an honest miracle they had come this far without some kind of massive social incident to single them out of the Rebellion for good.

The day they socialised had been an accident. They had been exploring the Rebel Base after an independent study lesson offered by Quincy in one of the empty classrooms in the south-wing. After that they had tiptoed along the corridors, keeping close to the windows where they could watch the view below as the base flew over Tentrail cliffs.

It had been the heavy smell of smoke which stopped them in their tracks. Their first thought had been fire and their stomach turned at the idea of the Rebel Base crashing into the ground below. Then they heard the voices, Helios and Psykhe.

“I dunno, it just makes my throat super dry and scratchy.”

“Then don’t do it. It’s bad for you, anyway.”

Riyo peeked around the corner, watching as Psykhe, Helios and Elias passed a cigarette between them. The group was stood outside on one of the many balconies littered around the base, the wind was calm and caused their hair to flutter against their faces and smoke to evaporate as quickly as it showed.

Elias was the first to notice the cold eyes staring at them. “Oh, hey, Riyo!” His smile was soft, always having been nervous around the half-breed. He handed the cigarette back to Psykhe and turned to Helios. “Did you invite them?”

Helios pulled his lips back into a big smile. “Who cares who invited them. Hey, Ri, you wanna join?”

“That’s peer pressure.” Elias frowned, offering Riyo a sympathetic gaze as they stepped out of the shadows and onto the balcony. “You don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

“What is it?” Riyo mumbled, crossing their arms over their chest.

“It’s a cigarette!” Helios exclaimed, taking the rollie from Psykhe. He placed it between his own lips and inhaled, only to cough until his eyes watered. “Oh, man! It hates my throat!”

“Then don’t do it,” Psykhe shook her head, leaning against the balcony railing. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Yeah, well, you only live once, right?” Helios cackled, extending his hands as he spoke.

Riyo reached out, taking the cigarette with bony fingers. They narrowed their eyes at the burning paper and minty filter before taking it in their mouth and inhaling. Their throat burnt and their eyes watered. They muffled a cough as they handed it back to Helios. He handed it to Elias, who turned to share the last puffs with Psykhe.

“Hey, Ri, you okay?” Helios reached out, rubbing a tentative hand across the half-breed’s back.

Riyo had stiffened, eyes wide as Helios offered his comforts. A small growl threatened to leave their lips, it was instinctual after all those scalpels and needles they had experienced. But Helios was warm and soft. There was wind around them, with casual conversation offered by Psykhe and Elias while Helios laughed and babbled on about whatever he had been talking about before Riyo showed. That growl did not escape. Riyo relaxed.

It became a tradition. They would sneak to a balcony and smoke a single cigarette between them before grabbing lunch at the cafeteria. Eris would join them sometimes, but only if she was completely convinced their superiors were not around. The idea of getting caught weighed heavy on her shoulders.

After graduating, they did not have time to sneak off and smoke hand-rolled cigarettes. They were assigned to teams and began their new life as fully-fledged Rebels. It made Riyo smile thinking their biggest problems had been Neoma and Tovi finding out their stash was being stolen by student rebels.

It saddened Riyo as they walked along the rocky tracks of Minoas’ border to think they had been so close once.

“You have some nice memories.” Damara cooed, arm slung around Selene. “You should really hold on to those.”

“I feel like they’re fading,” Riyo snorted, leaning against Sytry’s trident as they forced their way through the terrain. “These days, they don’t feel real.”

Selene snuggled up to Damara with a hum. “Oh, Riyo. Don’t put such a sour mood on our adventure! You and Helios will soon reunite and after I’ve pampered him with my own affections, you and he can relive the memories of youth together~”

“Hush,” Damara smothered Selene’s face with her hand. “You shan’t see Helios before Riyo.”

“What?” Selene tugged Damara’s arm away and frowned, darting her mismatched eyes in Riyo’s direction. She pouted. “Please don’t tell me you wish for us to stay behind? That’s so mean! Especially after everything we’ve been through together!”

“Don’t shout, you’re annoying.” Riyo grumbled. They shoved Sytry’s trident into the ground and sighed, crossing their arms. “You asked me earlier if I had a plan. Now we do. Dite and Peitho are going to meet us in the valley below. Specifically, they are going to meet you and Damara while I go on ahead. After I’ve gone far enough, I’ll come back and rendezvous with the four of you, by that time Hermes should have joined.”

Selene whined. “But why scout ahead when we could all stay together? It’s far safer that way!”

Damara shook her head. “Riyo, you can feel him, can’t you? Remiel, I mean.”

Riyo said nothing. They un-wedged Sytry’s trident from the ground and strode forward into the rocky valley below. Damara and Selene followed, albeit reluctantly.

Helios remembered the most out of everyone. There had never been anything to plague his mind other than his own anxieties. There was never a voice whispering to him in the dark, never a dark urge to succumb to, and never a false persona to unite with. He was Helios Artemis, always had been, always will be.

His favourite memory would have been graduation day. He was so excited to dress up all proper with a suit and tie to match! He even brushed his hair all neat and put on the littlest bit of make-up, just so his pictures looked good.

He could remember standing in front of his mirror, shaving the fine hairs on his chin. He decided he was too young for facial hair but had always aspired to have a beard to tie golden hoops and stuff. Smiling at his reflection, he brushed his teeth and changed his earrings; small golden stars joining along the shell of his ear.

Helios would have never called himself fashionable. He only knew what to wear and how to prep himself because of his life as an entertainer. Granted, he learnt how to straighten his hair, curl his lashes and apply lipstick long before his tenth birthday. It was second nature now.

He pulled on his slacks and turned, studying the way the pastel grey outfit fit around his waist. The long scars etched across his back made him turn up his nose. He muttered something under his breath and pulled on his dress-shirt, buttoning it with fast fingers and tucking the ends into his trousers. After slipping on a belt and tugging the suit over his shirt, he looked back into the mirror.

He was happy. He was free. And he was nervous since he had never tied a tie before.

A knock at the door had his heart jump into his throat. “Coming!” The call was blurted, and Helios hurriedly picked up the discarded clothes and towels from the floor. He stuffed it all under his bed and jumped the span of his mattress, opening the door with a big smile. “Hey, Elias!”

Elias had tried to return the smile. “Hey, ugh… you ready to go?”

“Nearly, nearly,” Helios swatted his hands through the air and stepped back, pulling the door open. “Just gotta put my tie on, then I’ll be ready. But, hey! You look good, man.”

“Oh, thanks.” Elias had a habit of mumbling when he was nervous, Helios noticed. But the kid looked good! He had his own suit; a light blue shade adorned the jacket and trousers. He had a black and white chequered waistcoat underneath and a tie to match. “I’ll wait for you. I hate going to big events on my own.”

“You mean like showing up without a friend? Yeah, it’s the worst.” Helios laughed, picking up his tie. “…do you mind giving me hand?”

Elias had not moved from the hallway. He nearly missed the request if not for Helios’ pleading tone. When he raised his eyes, he saw the Faeman standing helplessly, holding his tie out with a pout. Elias could have laughed.

“Sure,” the boy stepped inside and took the tie. He threw it around Helios’ neck, having to stand on his toes to avoid messing with Helios’ neat hair. “My sister taught me how to do a tie when I was six.”

“Special occasion?”

“Funeral.”

Silence.

Elias’ concentration was not in vain. The effort of his skills left Helios grateful and he beamed, playfully punching Elias in the shoulder when the tie tightened around his neck. It tightened. So tight, he could hardly breathe. He could not ask Elias to stop, because Elias was not standing in front of him. It was Remiel.

Helios could only struggle as he was dragged along by Remiel’s hand. They had crossed Emvolo’s border hours ago and Remiel had not shown any mercy or kindness since their dining session. Helios could barely keep up, tripping over every rock and slipping on the mud which was strewn across Emvolo’s fields.

Remiel dragged him, tugging the dark chain he had so carefully laced into the choker around Helios’ neck. Whenever the Faeman fell, Remiel would pull, dragging him through the mud. They did not stop for miles and only stopped when Helios landed face-first into the mud.

“Please… can we take a break…?” Helios wheezed, raising himself on his arms. He froze when he took note of the wreckage around his hands, the sign which lay in ruin among the mud. Theia. “What...?”

Remiel tugged, pulling Helios back onto his knees. “This is your little village, Faeman. The one you grew up in? Only, you grew up in the beds of strangers and the cold depths of gold mines, didn’t you?”

Helios reached for Theia’s sign and clutched it to his chest. He was shaking, wondering if this would be it. Would Remiel kill him here? Leave him to curl up in the ruin of Theia along with the Shema pens, log cabins and wishing well? He cried, leaning forward as his stomach did flips. He could do nothing else.

If Remiel was sympathetic, he did not show it. The veil over his eyes rolled back, watching the air shifting across the cottage ruins and wooden panels strewn across the terrain. His coal eyes narrowed, watching a figure step out of the mist.

Helios raised his head and frowned. The figure was most certainly woman, with a staff held in her hand and a white mask adorning her face; made up of three eyes and red lips. When she moved to tug the mask back over her forehead, his heart dropped.

“Psykhe…!”

Anima grit her teeth. She paid no mind to the Faeman kneeling at Remiel’s side. She was far more fixated on the God himself, standing among ruin. He was everything she had ever thought; sickly, dark and terrifying.

“Helios.”

Helios lifted his chin. He heard his name, but the masked woman’s mouth had not moved. Tears began cascading down his cheeks when a fourth figure appeared, slinking through the mist with golden wings and a trident. Helios wondered if Remiel had already killed him and this was the afterlife.

“Ri…” Helios exhaled shakily. “Gods, you’re okay.”

Riyo swallowed the tension in their throat.

Seconds rolled by, turning to minutes. Everyone’s heart beat hammered into one, flittering between Remiel’s deathly gaze upon Sytry’s host, Anima glaring at the God of Wrath, Helios kneeling in the ruin of his village and Riyo shaking as Sytry fought for control.

Anima drew first, pointing Atlas in Remiel’s direction. Remiel followed, shoving Helios to the ground as he raised his knives towards both opponents, and Sytry took over, holding his trident out in defence on both sides.

The mist cleared. The three fought. Helios cried.