Paramythi III: Prometheus

A woman adorning a mask was not unheard of in trying times such as these. Masks were a visage of defence; a stoic face which never left the owner. The woman behind the mask would matter not, unless her face were to crack and fall to her feet. For a woman was strength, kindness and maternal instinct coiled within the comforts of silk linen and smooth skin.

Alas, this woman was neither coiled in comfort nor had she come to the point of her life to indulge in maternal instincts. Her masks were worn for protection. Not for herself, but rather for those around her.

Psykhe Trezla. A name which strangers had begun to use in her presence. Their concerned smiles and wide eyes bore through her mask every time they walked by. But she was not Psykhe Trezla. Anima Eros was the only name she went by.

For the last two years, since she had found Prince Sytry and had taken him to the gates of Minoas, Anima had been playing the role of distant. Whoever these people were had no clue what they were talking about! She would merely shake her head or wave a hand whenever she came across the Feral, Damara.

If they had known each other in a previous life; there would be no doubting it. The way Damara seemed to know everything – those yellow eyes always seemed to be analysing more than just thoughts. It was as if she was asking why? Rather than what?

Honestly, the whole thing seemed out of loop.

Heightened by the smell of pollen and warm soil beneath her shoes, Anima took the path weaving through long strands of grass and wheat. A fork in the road would lead her towards a lake, tucked away in the cloaks of pussy willow trees and moss.

The light down here was always dim and blue, a glow from wafting dandelions and spider webs. It sprung to mind whether she was looking at dust or fireflies. The latter always seemed comforting. Weeping Wells; the name given by the children of Minoas. Ironic, since children were no longer allowed to wander into the Wells.

She came to a stop, climbing up to the mossy boulder she had claimed last time she visited. The fabric of her leggings were too thin to fight against the dew upon the boulder’s surface. But she was not concerned for the damp feeling, it was almost a comfort as she got comfortable and planted her staff against the ground. Most would question the purpose of Atlas, her walking stick. There was nothing of great importance to it. It had merely been her companion since she woke up on the side of Minoas’ kingdom, swept up by Lake Apuleius.

It felt like a lifetime ago. Now, as she sat upon a boulder in the Weeping Wells, she did not even begin to question her prior life. Instead, she allowed her eyes to scan the area, wandering towards the glimpse of the lake pooling at the foot of a trickling waterfall. It was the only sound echoing around her; asides the mumbles and whispers of people talking in the distance.

“…-Emvolo is too guarded, there’s no way to approach it. Honestly, whatever Remiel does is no concern of ours. We’re here, in Minoas. Why bring war past these walls?” The voice belonged to the Chief’s son, Styx. Since the curse had been lifted from his father, he had truly come out of his shell. “We can be happy here.”

Styx walked along the edge of the lake. His back was turned to Anima as he knelt, dipping his fingers against the cold water’s edge. His shoulders were damp, and his greenish hair stuck to the blades of his back. He looked ready to dive back in but seemed hesitant as he watched his companion.

Anima’s brows rose beneath her mask. She had heard rumours, knew that Styx had grown closer to one specific person within Minoas, but she had never been one for gossip. Watching as Prince Sytry peaked up from the lake, water cascading over his long hair. Anima began to descend from her boulder. The Prince gave her bad vibes, to say the least.

“Happiness is not an end game,” Sytry said. His long fingers pushed the tangled knots from his face and back over his shoulders. A God, in every sense of the word. Yet there never seemed anything Holy about him. “Remiel is nothing but petty. He will grow tired of his own kingdom in due time. Minoas is the second kingdom, only a handful of miles and terrain separate it from Emvolo. There is nothing to stop Remiel from tearing down the walls that separate us.”

“Our walls have been standing for many years,” Styx shook his head. “Should Remiel attempt to start a war, we have plenty of firepower for a counter attack.”

“My dear,” Sytry laughed. It was a cold sound, trapped in the voice of his host. His eyes were wide with humour and filled with sorrow all at once. “You have no idea who you’re talking about. Remiel is a God, as am I.”

A snap in the distance had both men tear their gaze towards the pussy willows and dandelions. Sytry was the first to move, raising himself from the lake. He tugged his trident from its spot in the ground and strode forward, swatting through the hanging branches and riling dandelions to burst and flutter.

Sytry’s trident was met with Atlas. A sharp clang rang out, wafting through fireflies and blue dust.

“Eavesdropping is so crude,” Sytry could only smile, pulling away his trident. He leant against its shaft, giving Anima a sharp eye-over.

“Minoas is not your kingdom, Sytry.” Anima tutted, taking back her staff. She exchanged glances with Styx and pointed Atlas towards the village. “I hear Hermes has returned.”

Styx had barely opened his mouth before Sytry darted forward. Anima merely stepped aside to allow the Prince to pass. Dandelions flew up in his descent and Styx was left to try and read Anima’s masked face. There was silence before Anima spoke.

“Be wary, Chief’s son.”

Styx pursed his lips together, turning back to the lake. “You must not dismiss the good Sytry has done for the kingdom since his arrival. Secondly, his arrival would not have happened if it were not for your own kindness, Anima.”

“It was not Sytry I had found that night,” Anima replied. “It was the Prince’s host. Someone scared and alone. But where are they now? Has Sytry swallowed them whole? Do you ever consider that perhaps Sytry is keeping them hostage?”

“Please, Anima, you just need to give him time.” Styx exhaled. It was shaky, full of nerves and anxiety. “Plus, the host was not alone. You bought the Prince and three others to Minoas. Within the last two years all four of them have made excellent contributions to the kingdom.”

“If you’re thanking me, there is no need.” Came the reply. “Just be wary. That is all I ask.”

The road from the Weeping Wells transformed from a damp track to an open field leading to the middle of the kingdom. Wheats and crops wafted under the setting sun, casting an array of wholesome acceptance as the Prince of Moons raced through the crowds.

Hermes was settled with Dite and Peitho, sat around a wooden table outside of Huntress’ Cavern, Hermes’ favourite pub. They had been laughing over their pints of ale and bowls of soup when Sytry came skidding to a halt.

“Hermes,” the short gasp that left their mouth no longer belonged to Sytry; but rather his host. Riyo Midas. They knelt beside the table, hands gripping the edge of the bench Hermes sat on. “Did you see him? Tell me!”

Hermes was visibly nervous. Beads of sweat had already peaked upon his forehead as he dabbed his mouth clean of stew and forced a smile. “Your highness, I come with good news!” He cheered, momentarily glancing towards Dite and Peitho. “Mister Artemis is safe and well. He wishes he could see you but the cruel reality of Emvolo’s current state stops him from doing just that. But he wrote you a letter, he insisted I sit while he wrote it because he did not wish to let you down.”

Riyo choked a laugh. “That idiot could never let me down,” they grumbled, accepting the letter with shaky hands. They pressed the envelope to their lips and exhaled lowly. “Thank you so much, Hermes. I apologise for putting you in any harm.”

“Oh, please, don’t think you put me in any difficult situation, your highness!” Hermes nearly stood from his seat, hands fluttering. “Mister Artemis is a hero, you’re a hero. My friends and I can never be a part of Galaxis’ history like you were, but we can at least do this much.”

“It’s true,” Dite piped up. “Man, Mister Artemis seems like such a cool guy. I really wanna meet him someday. Kinda sucks that only Hermes gets to meet him.”

Peitho nodded. “I would love to shake his hand, just for the sake of him being so damn open about everyone and everything. Like, where does he even get the energy to be so positive?”

“It is certainly admirable, considering what he went through.” Hermes added, turning from his friends and back to Riyo. He smiled and offered a bow of his head. “Please, consider us again when you wish to make contact with Mister Artemis. I offered to return within a month’s time.”

Riyo pushed up from the ground and stood on shaky legs, conscious of the damp leggings being the only thing which clung to their skin. They watched the trio with distant eyes.

They were suddenly standing outside of a tavern in Emvolo, reliving the memories of long ago. The days where they would spend time with Helios, Psykhe and Elias. The four of them had spoken of Kane Ruskin and his merry men of rebels with such hopes and admiration, and here was the next generation speaking of Helios as if he was a retired soldier who fought in an epic war.

As refreshing as it was, the war was far from over. Riyo did not need Sytry whispering in their head at all times to know that. Nor did they need memories interfering with what mattered now. They clicked their tongue and stepped away, balling their hand against their hip.

“Thank you,” it was a hiss. An unintentional hiss, but a hiss nonetheless. “Excuse me.”

“Like a damn cycle,” Peitho grunted the moment Riyo was clear from earshot.

“Yeah, totally,” Dite blew on her spoonful of soup and shovelled it into her mouth. “Gotta be tough with like five personalities in your head at all times though.”

Hermes wrinkled his nose. “Please don’t talk with your mouth full.” He sipped from his pint. “Bonus please; try not to speak about his highness… or his host. It’s just rude.”

“Sorry, boss.”

“Sorry, dude.”

Riyo despised Minoas. It was a cruel outlook, since Minoas’ people seemed to love them so much – or rather, love Sytry so much. Hence why they hated the kingdom.

Minoas and its people were hypocrites, dismissing their own God, Nike. Instead they were very much in love with Sytry, a demi-God who flaunts himself as “Holy” in the eyes of his lovers and enemies. Riyo despised Sytry more than Minoas.

Upon being accepted by the Chief, Riyo was given a hut towards the peak of the village. It overlooked the whole kingdom and captured the rays of sunshine during sunset. It was never cold, despite the architectural work leaving no actual door, but instead an archway. Riyo had insisted on having curtains hanging in the doorway, adamant on leaving the kingdom altogether if they were not given at least some privacy.

Now they cursed the hanging décor of silk as they tore away every obstacle. Huffing, they climbed into their hut and tossed their ridiculous staff against the mudded ground. A whine of frustration left their lips as they dropped themselves upon the bedding in the middle of the room and pulled off the damp clothes Sytry had left them in from his previous dip in the lake.

Low, shallow breaths left their lips. It was a hellish attempt to stop the feeling of panic rising in their throat as they opened the letter Helios had written. The paper was quickly covered in tears as Riyo read the neatly scribbled handwriting over and over, quite literally to the point the sun had disappeared, and night dragged on. The only reason they stopped reading was because they had no light to see.

“I was in love, once.”

Riyo squeezed their eyes shut, rolling onto their side. Sytry’s voice was as familiar as chirping animals in the background. It would be unnatural for the demi-God to leave them alone for twenty-four hours.

“Did you ever read that in the history books?” Sytry added.

Riyo exhaled. “I only read the important parts. Didn’t have time for the lovey-dovey nonsense.”

“You call these people of Minoas hypocrites, yet you are the biggest hypocrite of them all.”

“…a Feral, wasn’t it?” Riyo said, tensing at the feeling of ghostly touches running along their shoulders. Sytry tended to dismiss personal space. But it was not real; it was simply a feeling only Riyo could ever experience. “She betrayed you.”

“Arke was a Feral, indeed. It was the very blood of her race which caused me so much heartbreak.” Sytry’s voice was low. Riyo was sure they could feel the demi-God’s breath tickle the skin behind their ear. “She arrived in my kingdom, so mysterious and wonderful. How could I avoid such grace? We shared many a night together and I become so enchanted. It felt as though I forgot how to breathe unless she was by my side.”

Riyo offered nothing but silence. There was an ache in the pit of their stomach. A particular Faeman sprung to mind, yet their tongue remained still behind pursed lips. Sytry would read their thoughts anyway. There were no secrets on Riyo’s side.

Sytry continued, chanting the words slowly against Riyo’s ear. “Then one night, my loyal servant came to my quarters and told me of Arke’s true nature. Blood was shed and there she stood, covered in that awful colour of green. I realised she did not love me, she never had nor could she. Understand? Feral will always see the ugliness behind our masks. They know who we really are. Arke knew who I was, she picked apart my brain and made me fall for her. It was all false, just a Feral playing a game.”

Riyo shifted, feeling a hand run along their cheek to dismiss the tears rolling from their eyes. Reality came in quick and they sat up, stomach turning at the sight of Styx kneeling beside them on their bed.

“What are you doing in here?!” Riyo snapped.

Styx's face turned blue. The creatures of Minoas had a complexion similar to chameleon; constantly changing colour to match their feelings. From what Riyo had gathered so far, blue meant frightened.

“I-I apologise, your Highness!” Styx shuffled away and bowed his head. “You were crying, I just wanted to make sure you were alright!”

Riyo grabbed for the sheets strewn across their bed and held it up to their chest, covering their naked body with a low growl.

Styx frowned. “You… you are Sytry’s host? Ah! I apologise greatly!” Another bow and his skin returned to its usual olive-tone. “We have only met a handful of times, I almost did not recognise you! Please, forgive my intrusion, I was merely worried for the Prince, he left in such a rush earlier after Hermes and the others had returned.”

Riyo grit their teeth. “Yeah, well, that was me.” They could feel their cheeks flare. Why? Jealousy, perhaps? It was difficult to ignore Styx’s choice of words and how he was concerned for Sytry. “I needed to know if Hermes got to Emvolo okay.”

Styx wore a wide smile. “Oh, you’re so kind-hearted. You and the Prince are so alike!”

Riyo felt their throat tense. “You think he is kind-hearted?” They knelt forward, cocking their head to the side. “You think the Prince of Moons, the demi-God of Trickery and Lust, is kind-hearted? After everything he did all those years ago? Tearing tongues out of mouths, laying strangers upon his bed and killing those who he gained no profit from? Yeah, kind-fucking-hearted.”

Styx was taken aback. His eyes were wide, his shoulders had tensed. His large ears had flapped, utterly shocked at Riyo’s comment. Anxiety riddled his body as he stood on shaky legs, bowing despite the obvious shake in his posture. He was afraid, and not of Sytry.

“I apologise for interrupting you again!” Styx’s words left in breathy waves. He was panicking – something not totally unheard of as the Chief’s son. He had always been an anxious young man. “Please, just let Sytry know I was here!”

Riyo could neither confirm or deny such a request as Styx threw himself out of the hut and down the trail back into the village below. He left such a sting in the air that Riyo had to stand, had to move to avoid the feeling of guilt climbing up their back.

That feeling would always be associated to Sytry. Riyo had to remind themselves time and time again not to feel guilty about stuff like this. No. This was their body, not his.

“But, dear one, you were created simply to be my host,” Sytry had whispered the night they first arrived in Minoas. “Your body was meant for me; therefore it is mine.”

Riyo had been tired at this point; tired before they had even woken up to the reality of this hellish world. They had been laying on their side, watching the light of the moon through the doorframe, having just made the last-minute decision for curtains which the Chief’s son had promised by sundown tomorrow.

It was difficult to think they had parted ways with Helios only hours before. It was difficult to think about a lot of things.

“You can just disappear.”

The words sounded like sweet release; a nostalgia Riyo had lived in once – constantly on a loop of wanting to be freed and never bothered again. They had tried to grant themselves that same release, many a time had they been crafty enough to steal a scalpel from the scientists and surgeons keeping them captive.

Yet no matter how many times they tried to end it, no matter how much blood would sink into the floorboards and grant them hideous lifetime scars, it would never end. A constant loop. Towards the final years of captivity, they supposed it just became habit. A simple reminder that they were alive. Torture.

“That was me,” Sytry’s voice had been soft. The golden wings which wrapped around Riyo’s curled frame was softer. “I decided to stop you before you could take your selfish whims to the full. After all, you would not have been killing one, but two. You don’t want to be a murderer, do you?”

Riyo had tensed. They stopped, pondering that sentence in their head. Had they killed anyone before? It was a laughable thought, as Sytry was so keen to play out. No. Murder would have never left their conscious. Injuring others and defending themselves could be ticked, but killing? No. Never.

“So, let’s tuck you away before you can ever become such a monster.” Sytry would appear when Riyo closed their eyes. There was no escape. A pale hand would extend and Riyo would not hesitate. Not now. “Here in Minoas, you do not exist, Icarus Riyo Midas. There is me and only me who shall walk the earth and reclaim all I had lost when I left this world years ago.”

A speech would not have egged Riyo on. They were already allowing themselves to be pulled into Sytry’s arms before the demi-God could even begin babbling on about his wishes and desires. It should have ended that night; it should have been finished at long last.

Alas, even a God could not kill Riyo Midas. Not forever.

Riyo had been in limbo after that, floating on ecstasy with a false world of sunlight and their team from the Rebellion. Elias Kara was there, keeping his comments light in comparison to his ever-cold bluntness he had been so famous for portraying. His eyes shone bluer than the ocean whenever Psykhe Trezla would pass by.

The Trezla girl had always been an interesting individual in Riyo’s eyes. Way back when they had met, Psykhe had been the cool, mysterious type. She was so natural at it. Riyo supposed they were jealous, having made up the idea in their head that only one of them could possibly be the ‘edgy’ one of the group.

Then there was Artemis. Helios Artemis. The boy with a big smile, warm heart and a shit ton of baggage. Riyo supposed Helios was the definition of a ‘hero.’ Because heroes are not defined by their strength or invincibility. They are defined by the way they keep everyone else happy when they are breaking inside. They are defined by the scars of their past, the trauma they were given after surviving their demons, and the mortality they hold.

Helios was not selfish – and that was why Riyo could no longer stay in limbo.

Months had passed by when Riyo took control of their body again. They ached and cried for hours, akin to a baby springing into this world for the first time. Sytry did not seem threatened and allowed Riyo the freedom to venture into the village and explore Minoas on their own.

These sessions only lasted for an hour and then Riyo would disappear again. Sytry was always truly in control, leaving pockets of space for Riyo to fill whenever they felt the need. It was an unspoken routine they shared until Riyo decided to save Helios Artemis.

Hermes had been terrified of Sytry the moment of his arrival. Many a time the Feral would avoid the prince’s eyes; utterly aware of Sytry’s particular distaste to his race. Yet, Riyo’s approach was different. Gentle and slow, with very little to say and an uncertainty in the way they moved. Hermes was kind to allow such a plan to go forward, especially since the request came from Prince Sytry’s host themselves.

It had all led up to this. To Riyo sitting in the middle of their bed, clutching the pages of a tear-stained letter written by Helios. He was alive. He was okay. He was in Emvolo.

Glancing down, Riyo felt their cheeks burning. It had been two years ago since they had last seen each other. It ended in tears and their very first kiss. Riyo could still feel the soft traces of Helios against their mouth if they daydreamed long enough.

“I promise I’ll save you.”

“I know you will.”

Riyo bared their teeth and stood. Their bedsheets trailed down their front and pooled at their feet. Golden wings fluttered, casting feathers around them.

Damara and Selene would be in for a surprise tonight. Riyo was not kind enough to wait until dawn and Selene would only match their enthusiasm to save him. To save Helios Artemis.