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In practice, peace feels a lot less… peaceful than it does in theory.
The epic saga of Amphoreus has finally come to an end, their peaceful epilogue bound by the endless depths of a friend’s love for the world. There are no more enemies to be faced, no more sacrifices to be made, no more goodbyes to be said. At the end of the west wind, they have all come home, from the first demigod to the only one who would face the new dawn, reunited in a frozen moment stretched into eternity.
This should be their happy ending, a short final page to reassure the readers that everything has gone well and the heroes will live the rest of their lives out in blissful peace, basking in their hard-earned victory. The Imperator has even thrown a banquet, the fountain flowing with endless honey brew, the lost and the sacrificed gathering around the table to celebrate their final victory.
Dux Brumalis is here, more than a little bit unhappy that the Imperator whom she had disagreed with had attained true victory. She is, as she had often been in life, engaged in a drunken squabble with Dux Fragoris, who, despite having been sacrificed like a pawn, retained his fierce loyalty and was delighted to be able to drink to her success. Even the child Elder Caenis had tried to use against her, in the first cycle the Trailblazer arrived on Amphoreus, is among the celebrants, smiling nervously as another child drags her by the hand.
Aglaea should be happy. Everyone else seems to be, their bottomless cups raised to their lips. But here she stands, more relieved than happy, more anxious than relieved, her little pinhole of sight focused on a single figure.
Cifera.
She is laughing with Hysilens, goblet in hand, her tail held high and curled in a question-mark shape. It seems that Hysilens has brought some snacks with her, a variety of dried fish that Cifera seems very pleased with, and conversation flows smoothly and easily between them.
The sight makes her feel… uneasy. Like she’s stuck inside a really narrow box, the length too short for her to lie down, the height not enough for her to stand up. So she’s forced to crouch in a really awkward position, her muscles aching all over, frustration and exhaustion building steadily beneath her skin.
“The war may be over, but I would still prefer it if you refrained from trying to kill my Knight-Commander.”
An amused voice rings from somewhere to her left, nearly scaring Aglaea out of her skin. It has been a long time since Aglaea has been caught by surprise, and an even longer time since the golden threads have coalesced so completely on a single subject, they fail to see the rest of the world.
“I-Imperator,” she stutters, her heart on the verge of rolling out of her mouth, “I have no idea what you mean-”
“Your eyes,” the Imperator interrupts, still greatly amused, “they were so intense, I would not be surprised if Dux Gladorium lit on fire.”
She blushes, startled at being seen through so easily, overwhelmed by the human heart she has only just gotten back. She has no idea how she used to control her emotions, before she became a demigod, when emotions are so powerful and visceral that they can make you do things you don’t even realize you’re doing.
“I…”
Cerydra raises her hand, dismissive. “There is no need to apologize, Dux Goldweaver. Though I would recommend that you at least attempt to speak to Dux Celeripes before trying to immolate her conversation partners.”
Has embarrassment always felt this sharp, this cold, like a bucket of ice water over the head? Aglaea feels almost like a teenager again, her cheeks blazing and her ears ringing, and she wants to dig a hole beneath her feet to hide herself in.
“I am unsure if she would be comfortable with that,” Aglaea says, trying her best to sound cool and formal and unaffected.
Judging by the almost pitying look that the Imperator gives her, it does not work. It seems that controlling one’s newly returned feelings, when one has lived longer without them than with, will be much more challenging than Aglaea had initially assumed.
With a sigh, Cerydra picks up two glasses from the nearest table - juice for herself, predictably, and a glass of Hysilens’ special honey brew from the bottom of the ocean for Aglaea. Pressing the intricately carved glass into Aglaea’s hand, the Imperator proceeds to walk straight toward Hysilens and Cifera, less a ruler leading her subject and more a sheepdog herding a single, hesitant, wayward sheep.
Aglaea makes a single, strangled squeak of terror before biting the inside of her cheek, gripping onto the glass so tightly that she fears she might break it. She’s shaking a little, her knees touching, and part of her regrets making that slit in her dress so damn high, because she’s pretty sure everyone can see it.
As if seeking to lead by example, Cerydra slots herself easily into the space by Hysilens’ side, like matching puzzle pieces. The siren smiles immediately, softly, her posture relaxing just enough to be noticeable to Aglaea’s golden threads.
“Hysilens,” Cerydra greets, warm, fond. Then she turns to Cifera, her regal mask back in place, switching effortlessly from equal to ruler. “Dux Celeripes. I hope that you have been enjoying the festivities?”
Cifera has gone tense, her ears sticking out sideways and her tail fluffed up to its maximum size. She looks at Aglaea once, meets her eyes for about half a second, and then turns away sharply, putting on a smile as she raises her glass to the Imperator.
“Great Imperator,” she replies, her tone so light and playful that it is difficult to tell if she is teasing or truly being respectful. “The drinks are divine - it’s taking all my self-control not to run off with every last bottle.”
“I greatly appreciate your continued restraint,” Hysilens says dryly, with a kind of fond exasperation that makes Aglaea’s stomach twist. “And how about you, golden trout? I hope Phagousa’s collection is to your liking.”
“It is,” Aglaea lies through gritted teeth, raising her glass to her lips and taking a sip in an attempt to diffuse the tension in her jaw.
This honey brew burns a lot less than the alcohol Aglaea is accustomed to, with an almost salty, icy aftertaste that reminds her of the sea. She can see why Cifera would like it, and for some reason, that fact makes her stomach twist even harder.
She sneaks a glance at the other woman, who is still looking away. Her hands ache with the desperate desire to reach out, to tangle in soft silver hair and pull her close, to wrap her arms and legs and every single golden thread she still has around Cifera, trapping her so that she will never be able to run away again.
Cerydra signs again, the tip of her boot nudging the back of Aglaea’s heel. Cut it out, she seems to be saying, but she still looks rather amused, and now, so does Hysilens. The matching smiles on their faces are quite confusing; they aren’t exactly teasing Aglaea, but they’re definitely smiling about something she’s done.
“And how does it compare to Mnestia’s divine brew?” Hysilens asks, “I’ve heard interesting things about it from our little catshark.”
Cifera talked about the Dew of Divine Blood? Does she still remember how it tasted, the richness of it, the surprising tartness that spread across the mouth before fading into a gentle, aching sweetness? Most importantly, does she still remember the first time they had drank it together, Cifera’s hesitance at accepting a gift so grand, Aglaea’s insistence of sharing Mnestia’s blood with her and her alone?
“She asked you a question, Dux Goldweaver,” Cerydra nudges her, still smirking.
“Ah,” she blinks, startled. “This is… gentler. Like the sea on a windless night. Dark, deep, but also calm. Mnestia’s Divine Blood tastes like…”
“Like first love,” Cifera whispers, so soft that Aglaea only catches it because every last golden thread she has is hyper focused on Cifera and only Cifera.
Their eyes meet briefly, and in the moment before Cifera’s walls go back up, she finds an endless river of grief, emptying into a dark ocean of fear.
Cifera is afraid of her.
The thought strikes her like lightning, a horrible, painful bolt that sears up her spine and slams, sharp and heavy, into the center of her brain.
“Like first love,” she echoes, and it feels like her soul is collapsing.
“And what does first love taste like?” Cerydra asks, intrigued.
Aglaea takes a moment to steady her breathing before responding. “I assume it would differ based on the person.”
Turning to Cifera, Hysilens asks, “What did you say it was like, little catshark?”
“Spicy,” comes the reply, as lighthearted as always - it seems that, at the end of the world, Cifera is a lot better at keeping her emotions in check than Aglaea is. “And it’s got an aftertaste that lingers like heartburn.”
“I do enjoy a good burn with my drink,” Hysilens hums, thoughtful. “Would you allow me to have a sip someday, Aglaea?”
Protectiveness surges through her, dark and angry. No, the right word should be possessiveness, wild and feral, twisting and tearing at the curve of her ribs like a caged beast, demanding that Hysilens stay away from Cifera, from any of the experiences they have shared.
She wrestles with it, tries to force it into submission within her aching chest. It doesn’t quite work out, but she at least manages to turn that aggressive, angry heat into something cold and distant.
“I am afraid that the final bottle is now in the Trailblazer’s hands. If you would like to try some, you will have to ask her the next time she visits.”
She can feel Cifera’s gaze on her, a little bit concerned, a little bit confused. It seems that she, too, cannot quite recognize the Aglaea that exists in this epilogue, a woman trapped somewhere between who she once was and who she had to become.
“I shall have to hope she hasn’t already finished it, then.”
The warmth of Cifera’s attention lingers. Aglaea pretends not to have noticed it, afraid that any acknowledgement would cause her to retreat, to once again flee to where Aglaea cannot reach her.
“No worries there,” Cifera chips in fondly, “Gray Mystery’s a surprising stickler for the rules when it comes to drinking. There’s no way she would’ve even opened it yet.”
Possessiveness flares within her again - why is Cifera talking about someone else with such gentle warmth, why are those beautiful blue eyes going soft for a person that isn’t Aglaea? It twists within her, a dragon of rage and insecurity, flaming jaws closing around her heart.
Struggling with her wayward emotions, Aglaea cannot find the words with which to continue the conversation. And so an awkward silence falls, Hysilens and Cerydra exchanging even more knowing, pitying looks, before Cifera excuses herself to go and play tag with Trianne, Trinnon, and the other fragments of Tribios scattered across the eternal page.
“Have fun,” Aglaea calls after her, but she is already gone.
By her side, the Imperator snickers, the sound almost childish in its amusement.
“That was a lot more pathetic than I thought it would be,” Cerydra remarks, crossing her arms. “I am almost impressed.”
“E-excuse me?”
“Give her time,” Hysilens says, but she’s clearly trying not to laugh. “When you’ve lived countless years in survival mode, it becomes very difficult to adjust to being safe.”
Cerydra huffs, somewhere between teasing and taunting.
“And when you’ve suppressed thirty billion cycles worth of desperate yearning, it will come back to bite you where it hurts.”
Aglaea does not deign to respond.
Rebuilding the weave shop turns out to be a mistake.
It is supposed to have been the continuation of her life, the fulfilling of a dream she had given up for the sake of the Flame-Chase, her first step forward on this blissful, endless epilogue. However, it has become the exact opposite; her footsteps have come to a stop as she lingers, heart aching, at a monument dedicated to the past she can never return to.
The weave shop has become her prison, with bars made of memoria instead of iron. Ghosts of the past wander through the familiar halls, lounging in warm sunbeams and dancing at the very corners of Aglaea’s blurry vision. Her golden threads begin to malfunction, straddling the line between past and present, dragging her beneath the waves of increasingly realistic dreams of days long gone.
A quiet morning during the Month of Balance, the delightful scent of honey and baking bread, Cifera humming as she boils some water to make tea. A warm, cozy evening during the Month of Weaving, Cifera asleep in a heap of blankets by the fire while Aglaea weaves a new tapestry for Kephale’s head priest. A sweltering afternoon during the Month of Everday, Cifera pouting as Aglaea bundles her into the shower, careful to keep the cool water from getting into her ears.
Logically, she knows that these images are not real, that the feeling of silk against her fingertips or the stickiness of sweat against her skin are but replications of old memories. Even so, Aglaea cannot help but embrace them, those days she misses so desperately, indulging in the gentle lies of her golden thread and hiding from the world.
She sits with the ghosts of her past, offers them warm cups of tea and warmer smiles, clinging on to what she knows she has already lost. Instead of attempting to face the wounded beast her heart has become, to acknowledge just how awkward her interactions with Cifera have become, Aglaea simply hides in the warmth of honeyed lies, in the shadows of memories that can do her no harm.
Here, she does not have to fear saying the wrong thing and driving Cifera even further from her. She does not have to wonder what she did wrong, to drown in guilt and uncertainty and painful, trembling longing. She does not have to face her own mutated feelings, to attempt to put names to them, to understand them, to unravel them. She does not have to acknowledge the trauma thirty billion lifetimes have inflicted upon her, the fear of abandonment, the aching loneliness, the endless field of graves embedded in her weary heart.
She knows that it is not the right thing to do, to be paralyzed by sweet lies and to turn her back on the present. But once that choice had been given to her, how could she possibly resist?
She sketches by the window, taking inspiration from the people that pass by, the butterflies that dance through the air, the way the sunlight casts stripes of gold across the living room floor. Cifera wanders in at some point, collapses into a heap in the biggest sunbeam, worn out. Aglaea cannot help but smile as she closes her sketchbook, padding over to Cifera and sitting by her side.
“Long day?” Aglaea asks, impossibly fond.
“Combat practice,” Cifera grumbles in response, her tail curling in delight when Aglaea gently rests one hand between her ears. “Why isn’t “running away” a legitimate option all the time?”
“Learning self-defense is important,” she chides, but she’s petting Cifera anyway, rubbing at the base of her ears in that particular way she likes.
Cifera purrs, relaxing, her eyes closed.
“But what’s the point of learning how to win fights if you won’t ever get into any?”
“Well, one day, you might run into someone fast enough to catch you. Or someone with the ability to trap you in place. Or a situation where you have a wounded ally you cannot just leave behind.”
Cifera pouts. She doesn’t like it when Aglaea explains things to her and makes sense, especially when she’s just trying to have a sulk.
“How about,” Aglaea suggests, having picked up on her sour mood, “I give you a reward for every training session you attend?”
“Reward?” Her ears perk up adorably against Aglaea’s hand, her eyes large and round and hopeful. “What kind of reward?”
What had she said back then, in that one lifetime where she had bribed Cifera into taking combat lessons? She can’t remember the exact words, just the feel of it, how happy Cifera had been and how warm her own chest had felt. She can still see the grin on Cifera’s face, all smug like a cat that got the canary, confident that she got the better end of the deal.
The memory fades, the softness of Cifera’s hair and the delicate silk of her ears slipping between her fingers. Aglaea finds herself back in her chair, staring at her sketchbook, her pencil resting against the loose cage of her hand.
She looks at her ideas - not bad, sure, but nothing that quite stands out to her yet. She remembers when she first tailored Cifera’s current outfit, the dizzy burst of inspiration that filled her, the heady triumph that pulsed through her veins as she cut and measured and sewed.
She can feel it again, the bolts of cloth cool beneath her palms. The smooth glide of the scissors, the scratch of her pencil, the resistance of her needle piercing through fabric. The skipping of her heart, a jackrabbit bouncing through the snow, dizzy with the euphoria of creation.
On that day, she had worked through the night and straight into the next morning, too focused to even notice the sunlight lancing through the windows. Her body feels no hunger, no exhaustion, no mortal limitations, her mind too “in the zone” to think of anything but the outfit taking shape in her hands.
She hems the edges of the black bodysuit, imagines the way it will cradle Cifera’s body, wrapping around her like a constant hug. She attaches the gold accessories to each glove, imagines the shape of Cifera’s hands in them, how it might feel if they were to intertwine their fingers. She carefully measures and cuts out the window for Cifera’s tail, lining it in a smooth, cool fabric that should not catch on her fur or chafe against her skin. She carefully measures and cuts the leather for the straps that extend from the bodysuit and wrap over the white fabric of the shorts, carefully ties off the decorative ribbon and attaches the bell. She makes sure that she has removed the ball from inside it, so that it won’t make much of a sound, so that Cifera can still sneak around quietly instead of having to worry about jingling like a collared cat.
When Cifera comes down in the morning to a very tired but proud Aglaea, she bursts into tears.
She cries too hard to say anything, her words rendered incomprehensible by her heaving sobs and soft whimpers. Aglaea holds her close, smiling through her own tears, the words that she can’t quite find the courage to say spelled out clearly in every stitch.
I want to show you just how much you mean to me.
All my life, I have sought romance, and I have found it in you.
When you are with me, even the most mundane things become beautiful.
They cry into each other’s shoulders, pressed so close together that they can feel each other’s every breath. She doesn’t remember how long they sit like that, Cifera knelt in her lap, their arms wrapped tight around each other. She can’t find the memory of them untangling their limbs, wiping their tears and actually getting Cifera into those clothes. It probably hasn’t happened too many times, because the image hasn’t been sharpened by sheer repetition, the colors fading into shades of gray.
Aglaea is back in her chair, her hand limp against the surface of the table. She has lost her pencil - it has probably fallen onto the floor somewhere, and her sketchbook is coated in a thin layer of dust.
She hears a faint whistle, the sound of ceramic against metal. Something delicate and floral fills the air, the familiar warmth of Cifera’s presence brushing against the golden threads.
Cifera doesn’t talk this time, her footsteps practically soundless against the wooden floor. She’s holding her teleslate in one hand, a mug of hot tea in the other, an absent smile on her face as she reads whatever is on her screen. Without acknowledging Aglaea, she goes back up the stairs with her drink - probably texting a friend or scrolling through the web.
Aglaea sketches for a little while longer, enjoying the peaceful silence. Cifera comes down one more time, rustles around the kitchen drawers, and retreats to her room with some of those dried fish snacks that Hysilens enjoys bringing for her. The day plays out, a perfect rubber stamp of the day before, the kind of simple, everyday happiness that people tend to take for granted, but end up missing the most when the world is on fire.
She has no idea how much time passes in that chain of dreams, if time still exists at all. The eternal page is a frozen moment, a world formed in the gap between space and time, a tiny bubble in an endless sea. Surrounded by memories, Aglaea simply drowns, her lungs filled with the gentle golden light of happiness.
A knock at the door. Aglaea wants to move to answer it, but her body does not respond to her. She calls out to Cifera to help her, but her voice does not come out, her throat dry and her lips cracked.
“Laea?”
The door opens a crack, and Cifera calls through the gap. Aglaea wants to ask if there is something she needs, but again, her body does not respond to her. She wonders if this means the memoria she’s been hiding in is starting to run out, if she’s slowly being cut off from the illusions she’s been relying on.
“Laea? Shit, what—”
She hears movement, feels Cifera’s arms waving in the air. The world around her shakes violently, the golden threads offering little resistance as Cifera brushes them aside and cuts through them like cobwebs. Aglaea’s vision gradually fades to static, a painful throbbing settling in her temples as she is forcibly dragged back to the present.
Cifera has one hand on her shoulder, the other still clawing frantically at the air around her arms. It seems that the golden thread has manifested physically, entangling her in a cocoon, and Cifera is desperately trying to tear her out of it, her entire soul radiating with guilt and panic.
“Aglaea, hey,” she is close, so close, but Aglaea doesn’t have the strength to reach out and touch her. “Can you hear me? Here.”
She slides her hand into Aglaea’s, the touch of her skin hotter than an iron brand.
“Squeeze my hand if you hear and understand me.”
She tries her best to obey, fighting through the layer of white noise that seems to separate her mind from her body. She feels her fingers twitch, just barely, but Cifera is so focused on her that she feels it right away.
“I’m going to move you, okay?” A gentle hand between her shoulderblades, warm, steady. “Squeeze my hand if that’s alright.”
She squeezes again.
It seems that her golden threads are no longer functioning, because she can barely see. She hears the sound of Cifera clawing through something, her panicked breathing as she tries to pry Aglaea out of her chair.
She’s talking again, but her words are too fast for Aglaea’s exhausted brain to process. There is a rhythm to the conversation, a lull between Cifera’s words as she waits for a response, which makes Aglaea think she’s probably speaking on the teleslate. Once the conversation is over, she picks Aglaea up with surprising ease, one hand supporting her while the other continues to claw away the final threads. They are so close that Aglaea can feel every single word rumbling through Cifera’s chest, warm and comforting.
“I’ve got you,” Cifera whispers into her hair, the closest she’s been since the world ended. “I’ve got you.”
Thank you, Aglaea wants to say, but she can’t even find the strength to keep her eyes open anymore.
Safe within Cifera’s arms, she sinks into the depths of sleep.
Aglaea has not seen Cifera since.
She isn’t sure if she wants to, because there is a large part of her that is so horribly embarrassed, she wants to dig a hole and hide from the world forever. From what Hyacine has told her, it seems that Cifera had found her tangled within golden threads, encased in a cocoon so thick that Cifera struggled to tear her free. It is horrifying, to lose control of her own powers and her own feelings so spectacularly, and for it to be Cifera who found her…
It might take her a few thousand years to recover from the shame.
Most of the other Heirs pay a visit - Phainon and Mydeimos arrive bearing gifts of home-cooked food, arguing with each other over what would be better for someone who is still recovering their strength. Phainon insists that a light salad, which is easy on the stomach while being relatively nutritious, is best, while Mydeimos insists that something more substantial is necessary. Aglaea smiles faintly as she watches them squabble, accepting the food with a polite thank you.
Castorice and Polyxia show up with a bouquet of flowers they grew together. It seems they have been providing fresh flowers to the Twilight Courtyard for a while now, the gentle blooms helping to soothe the hearts of patients and staff alike. Aglaea asks them how the epilogue has been treating them, listens to them talk about soil conditions and sunlight and how the lack of rain has made it a little more tedious to tend to a garden as big as theirs.
Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon come together, talking over each other in their panic and concern. Tribbie has an entire pot of oatmeal with her, with wheels attached to the base of the pot, and provides strict instructions to Hyacine and the other staff members of the Twilight Courtyard to ensure that Aglaea eats three meals a day. The taste of her childhood brings her much comfort, and she accepts their gift with genuine gratitude.
Hysilens comes alone, bearing some non-alcoholic honey brew. She doesn’t ask what happened, probably because she understands what it’s like to drown yourself in gentle illusions, to bury reality with your own hands in a desperate attempt to protect your wounded heart. All she says is, things are never as bad as we think they are, and then they drink in companionable silence.
Initially, Aglaea appreciates the constant stream of visitors - it gives her something to do, to think about, to engage with, that isn’t the mortifying memory of how vulnerable and pathetic she had been in front of Cifera. Everyone is more than happy to talk about how they have been living out their peaceful epilogue, catching up with old friends, chasing once-abandoned dreams and rebuilding the lives they had sacrificed for the sake of the Flame Chase. However, the more she listens to them, the worse she ends up feeling, a powerful insecurity growing beneath her skin.
The other Heirs seem to be perfectly happy, unaffected by the thirty billion cycles worth of memories that have been thrust upon them. Despite having been cast to his death in the River Styx by his father in most lifetimes, Mydeimos is able to converse with him, to have dinner with him, to take walks across the market with both his parents. Despite having the memories of a thousand deaths experienced thirty billion times over, Tribios is still smiling, sharing a drink with Hysilens as she watches the fractured versions of her soul run across the courtyard. Despite the countless betrayals that have burned the bridges between them, the faith and trust that Cerydra and Hysilens have in each other remains strong, their conversations devoid of any of the tension one might expect after thirty billion cycles of one stabbing the other in the back. Despite having shouldered the weight of killing his allies and betraying his friends over and over again, Phainon is able to speak easily with everyone, to stage pointless contests with Mydeimos, to join Hyacine in teasing Anaxagoras when he’s holding a lecture, to help the twins water their massive flower field.
So why is Aglaea the only one struggling with the weight of her own heart?
Why is it so hard for her to return to the person she used to be, the golden haired seamstress with stars in her eyes? Why is she consumed by fear and guilt and crippling insecurity, why do her hands ache with the desire to possess everything that she ever held dear, why has her love mutated into the high walls and iron bars of a prison?
“For someone who’s trying so hard to think, you’re doing surprisingly little of it,” Cerydra remarks, taking Aglaea by surprise yet again.
“My Imperator,” she acknowledges, scrambling to get the tangled golden threads into some semblance of order, “I apologize, I did not hear you come in.”
She makes a noise of amusement, settling easily into the chair by Aglaea’s bed. The epilogue has changed her slightly, made her feel a little more reachable, a little less frightening, a little more human. The way she smiles at Aglaea is almost gentle, like a teacher watching as a treasured student slowly stumbles and strains to grow into herself.
“Hysilens believes that you will get there yourself,” Cerydra says, not at all bothered that Aglaea has no idea what she is talking about. “Dux Fa– Tribios thinks it will be better to interfere directly.”
Get where, she wants to ask, interfere with what? Is there something Aglaea isn’t doing right, a hint she hasn’t been getting that has resulted in some sort of unacceptable behavior?
“Personally, I just have one piece of advice I would like to give you,” the Imperator continues, her tone as serious as a priest giving a sermon, or a leader lecturing her chosen heir. “You cannot understand anything by avoiding it.”
Everything clicks into place with that one sentence, even more embarrassment rising in her chest. She doesn’t think she’s been avoiding Cifera, certainly not obviously - she approached Cifera to ask her to join her in rebuilding the weave shop, after all, and granny Annas has invited her over to lunch several times. Sure, she didn’t accept every single invite, but that was so she wouldn’t appear overeager, like a lovestruck teenager sitting on her teleslate just waiting for it to ring…
Weakly, Aglaea protests, “I’m not avoiding anyone.”
“There is a window to your left. Use your threads, Goldweaver, and tell me what you see.”
She obeys, tangling her fingers in golden thread and taking in the world outside.
As expected of a garden in the Twilight Courtyard, it is beautiful, a field of neat, green grass surrounded by tidy hedges bursting with colorful flowers, dotted with trees that provide pockets of shade to hide from the warmth of the ever-present sun.
There are six, seven, eight children running barefoot across the grass, their laughter light and carefree. It takes Aglaea a moment to recognize them - Tribbie, Trianne, Trinnon, Trissha, and other fragments of Tribios she does not recognize. They appear to be in a game of tag, scattering in different directions with shrieks of excitement, a school of bright red fish being hunted by a dark, blue-gold shadow.
Cifera.
An invisible hand wraps around Aglaea’s chest, squeezing so hard that her ribs start to crack.
Cifera is running at a human speed, both hands outstretched, getting close enough to the girls to make them shriek in delight, but not close enough to actually catch any one of them. She changes targets often, with barely any warning, doing quick pivots on her heel to run after another fragment of Tribios, relishing in the squeals of panic that ensue as they scramble to get away.
The game goes on for several minutes, their simple, innocent happiness sinking into Aglaea like several arrows. Her stomach twists, her heart sinks - Cifera is so close, barely a five minute walk away, and she still refuses to pay Aglaea a short visit.
As if sensing the weight of Aglaea’s gaze, Cifera comes to a sudden stop. Her eyes travel from window to window as if counting them, sweeping across the building until they finally meet Aglaea’s.
A flash of lightning, the shiver of an electric shock tearing up her spine. Cifera’s eyes widen, her pupils narrowing, but this time, she doesn’t look away. She just stands there, staring, time slowing to a halt as they drown wordlessly in each other’s eyes.
It is Aglaea who looks away first, her emotions a violent whirlpool in her chest. When she looks a second time, Cifera is running again, calling out a warning as she swoops down on an unsuspecting Trinnon.
Cerydra sighs.
“She’s been here every single day, questioning your visitors about your condition. Dux Fatorum has been encouraging her to ask you herself, but…”
She trails off, shaking her head in disappointment.
“Under the guise of giving her space, you are avoiding her. And she misreads that avoidance as you no longer having a place for you in her life, and so she avoids you. You misread that avoidance as a need for more space, more time, and so the both of you are trapped in an endless cycle of pining after each other like idiots.”
There was no way in hell things were that simple. Cifera had avoided her long before Aglaea started giving her space, rebuffing any attempts to contact by running even further away. Over the cycles, she has fled for a multitude of different reasons, has even died for Aglaea and left her in a more permanent way, but the core fact does not change: something Aglaea does makes Cifera leave her. And until Cifera is ready to tell her what that is, to try to open her heart and forgive, all Aglaea can do is wait (and try not to scare her away with the sudden intensity of her emotions).
“But… she fears me. Every time I get close to her, I can feel it. She gets so frightened she can’t breathe.”
“There is a possibility that, instead of fearing you, that little cat fears hearing the truth from you. That you have learned to live life without her, and there is no longer a place for her by your side.”
Aglaea hesitates, struggling to contain the frantic pounding of her heart.
“But it could also be something else entirely.”
“And you will never know,” Cerydra sighs, looking about this close to grabbing Aglaea by the neck and tossing her out the window, “until you find the courage to ask her.”
Aglaea hates how that makes sense, hates how simple the Imperator makes the solution to her existential emotional struggle appear to be.
“She is here. At the very least, that should count for something, shouldn’t it?”
Aglaea stares back out over the garden, warm, innocent laughter ringing through her threads. Cifera is still there, relatively relaxed, tackling Trianne to the ground with enthusiastic tickles as the smaller girl yelps and struggles. The other girls take a moment to convene before deciding to stage a rescue operation, dogpiling onto Cifera and knocking the air out of her lungs with a surprised oomph.
Cifera may not have visited her, but she is still right outside Aglaea’s room, searching for her window in between games of tag. And Cerydra is absolutely right - that should count for something.
Aglaea just has to figure out what that something means.
Aglaea is spiraling.
Slumped against the door to the replica of Cifera’s bedroom, she rests her head against her own knees, struggling to breathe.
She should not have come back. Her stay at the Twilight Courtyard may have helped her regain her physical strength, but her mental state remains fragile.
She still hears the pad of bare feet against wooden stairs, the whistle of the kettle in the kitchen, the rumble of Cifera’s content purring as she stretches out in a sunbeam. Hovering the thin line between past and present, her golden threads continue to malfunction, but this time, Aglaea refuses to indulge in the illusion.
It’s not real, she repeats, over and over again, it’s not real it’s not real it’s not real–
And yet the illusions do not stop. The sounds and smells and sights of the past continue to haunt her, a particularly persistent ghost, and her desperate denials only serve to make them hurt more.
This was real, once. More than once; thirty billion times over. So why isn’t it real now? What has she done to ruin the happiness that they once shared? How has she managed to destroy Cifera’s trust in her without even noticing? Can she even hope to deserve Cifera’s forgiveness if she doesn’t know what she’s done wrong in the first place?
The silky warmth of Cifera’s ears between her fingers.
It’s not real.
The chime of the bell on the weave shop counter.
It’s not real.
The rich scent of baking bread.
It’s not real.
The creak of the front door opening.
It’s not real.
“Laea, are you in?”
It’s not real.
Footsteps come up the stairs.
It’s not real.
A cry of shock, the footsteps approaching her at a rapid speed. Gentle hands rest on her arms, move to her cheeks, forcing her to look up into frightened blue eyes.
“T-Teacher…?”
Tribios. It is Tribios who stands before her, brows furrowed in a familiar look of concern. Reality sweeps the cobwebs of fantasy away, the whispers of the past cutting off abruptly as Tribios speaks to her again.
“We haven’t heard from you in a few days,” she explains, her hands tracing over Aglaea’s neck and shoulders, probably in search of any golden threads. “Cifera was insistent that someone check up on you, so here we are.”
We?
Her muddled senses readjust to the present - the shadowed hallway between their bedrooms, Tribios kneeling right next to her, and Cifera, hesitant and concerned, lingering at the top of the stairs.
Mortified, Aglaea ducks her head back between her knees, desperate for a hole to form in the ground and just swallow her. She hears a single step, the click of heels on wood. Tribios sighs, getting up and marching across the stairs so quickly, Cifera yelps in surprise.
“Come here,” she says, and Aglaea can hear the sound of something dragging against the floor- it seems Tribios has just picked Cifera up by the hood and lifted her like an uncooperative pet cat. “Aglaea, please sit up properly. You too, Cifera.”
At the sound of their full names, the two of them do exactly as they are told, eyes wide. They sit side by side, legs crossed, facing Tribios with their backs straight and their hands neatly folded in their laps, like a pair of children obediently awaiting instruction.
“I’m sick and tired of watching both of you choose to self-destruct instead of talking to each other!”
Are they… getting scolded?
Startled by the change in mood, Aglaea can only stare, trying to focus the tiny patch of real vision she has left on Tribios’ face. She doesn’t seem to be joking, and from what the golden threads can tell, her frustration is genuine, and there is a pretty well formed image in her head of her slamming Cifera and Aglaea’s foreheads into each other with enough force to rattle teeth.
“I know that conflict is scary, but this has gone way out of hand. The two of you are going to talk to each other, right now, and I will not let either of you go until you finally understand each other. Do you hear me?”
“Yes ma’am,” Aglaea replies, automatic.
Cifera salutes, her usual cheeky grin just a little weaker than usual. “Aye aye, Cap’n.”
Tribios plonks down in front of them without once moving her hands from her hips. Aglaea feels a little bit like a child being made to join a sharing circle, just with a lot fewer kids, and with a much heavier topic. The tension builds in the awkward silence, neither of them willing to start first, their attention trained on Tribios to help guide them through this mess.
“Right,” Tribios says, having fully gone into teacher mode, “Aglaea, you will go first. Cifera, we will put our listening ears on and save any questions for when she is finished. Alright?”
Cifera nods, mouth obediently shut. She’s got a very strong grip on her emotions, choking them down behind a layer of superficial, light thoughts about Hysilens’ fish jerky, the cold jellyfish salad that Dan Heng brought to share that one time, and the strange golden trophy of a weight balance with a muscular figure giving a thumbs up grafted to it that Stelle claimed was one of her more valuable treasures. Even so, her fear is evident, a dark, rough sea roiling just beneath the surface of her mind, tugging at Aglaea’s heart.
What should she say, what can she say that would take that fear away? Is Cifera avoiding her because she thinks that Aglaea might bug her again, spy on her with a mixture of nymphs and golden thread, suffocate her with the relentless pressure of control? If that is the case, then Aglaea will have to lie to her, because honestly, there’s a huge part of her that wants to control Cifera even more than she ever had before, to bind and shackle and collar her—
“Why don’t we start with why you’re avoiding her, Laea?”
The look on Tribios’ face is both gentle and pointed, a helpful nudge but also an unspoken warning of, I know what the right answer is, so if you try to lie to her I will gut you like a fish.
She takes a deep breath, going over the words she would like to say inside her head. She doesn’t have enough time to check through them like a child doing an exam, but she can still try her best to ensure she’s thought through every word at least once.
“I am afraid of pushing you further away,” she says, dragging out each word to buy herself a little more time to think. “I know that I’ve done something to make you leave me many, many times, and I fear that… if I get too close, I will come off as trying to pressure you to forgive me.”
Cifera’s eyes widen, her ears sticking out sideways like they usually do when she is distressed. Nervously, she raises her hand, her eyes darting rapidly between Aglaea and Tribios as she awaits permission to speak.
“Laea, is that your full answer?”
Heart in her throat, Aglaea nods.
“Alright, ask away, Ciphy.”
Her mouth opens and closes repeatedly, but nothing comes out. She makes a face, clearly frustrated with herself, the shield around her mind dropping momentarily.
Wait. Wait a second. What did she say?
“I am afraid of pushing you further away.”
She said that, right? I’m not mishearing anything? She’s not…
At last, Cifera finds her voice, small and frightened. “You… you aren’t avoiding me because you don’t need me anymore?”
Aglaea answers without thinking.
“Don’t need you anymore? Why would you think something like that?”
She looks over at Tribios, who seems content not to step in just yet.
Gathering her courage, Cifera looks straight into Aglaea’s eyes as she replies, “Well… I left you. When you were struggling with the weight of the prophecy and the Holy City, I wasn’t there. There was a whole new generation of Chrysos Heirs by your side and…”
Her eyes dart away for a moment, guilty, hurt.
“I thought that… there might not be a place for me by your side anymore. And that you were ignoring me because you were trying to let me down easy.”
Ah, it seems that the Imperator was right after all.
“Cifera, I literally built a replica of your bedroom,” she laughs, incredulous. “Of course there is a place for you by my side.”
“Well, I didn’t know that,” she whines, but she’s smiling a little now, her ears perking up and her shoulders relaxing.
“I… I really, really want you next to me.” She feels the weight of Tribios’ gaze, that unspoken warning echoing in her ears. “So much that… part of me wants to capture you. To lock you up. To put you on a leash so you’ll never leave me again.”
She can feel Cifera’s shock, her hesitation, her tail flying up in alarm. Cifera is, after all, an outdoor cat, one of those neighborhood strays that values their freedom and independence. The thought of being restricted, being owned, must terrify and disgust her.
“I know that it’s wrong,” she says quickly, “I would never forgive myself if I imposed my feelings on you like that. But that’s why… I’m afraid of getting too close to you. I’m afraid that I’ll start watching you again, trying to manipulate you into doing what I want, treating you like a puppet instead of a person…”
The surprise morphs into something else, something warmer, almost amused.
“I didn’t think you were the clingy type,” Cifera chuckles, as if that admission doesn’t bother her at all.
Stunned, Aglaea can only stare at her, her jaw slightly agape. Is this really it, is this how the conversation she had dreaded for this entire epilogue will come to an end? Casual acceptance, a cheeky grin, with just a little bit of shock and bemusement?
Eyes sparkling, Tribios reaches out to punch her shoulder lightly. “I promised the Imperator that I would deliver her I told you so in her place.”
“Now,” she continues, “it’s your turn, Ciphy.”
Bolstered by Aglaea’s admission, the anxiety in Cifera’s chest wavers, transforms into just a little bit of confidence. She knows now that Aglaea doesn’t hate her, that she hasn’t replaced her with another Flame Chaser, that she hasn’t been cast aside and forgotten in the years they have been apart.
“I need you to know that you didn’t hurt me,” she starts, the words spilling out from her in a thoughtless rush. “I ran because I used Zagreus’ powers to tell a lie. A lie that was so big, if anyone found out, the world would end.”
The words are like bombshells dropped off the back of a Pegasus, shaking the ground so violently that she is tossed about like a rag doll. She knows that Cifera can turn lies into the truth, but they have mostly been small lies, ones with as few people involved as possible, so that there won’t be many who can question it.
A lie powerful enough to change the world, yet small enough to not get found out immediately. What kind of lie would that be, just what did Cifera do?
As if sensing her confusion, Tribios gently prods Cifera with a follow-up question.
“Have you got some examples?”
A faint laugh, shaky with fear.
“I… most of the time, I lied that the Dawn Device would last forever, when the truth is… it had only three hundred years from when Atticus made his announcement."
Atticus. It is a name Aglaea remembers, though she cannot put a face to it. What she does remember are countless feasts, endlessly flowing wine, loud music and drunken singing, a hundred day banquet celebrating Aquila’s eternal gift.
“That… was a lie all along…?”
Cifera smiles, but it is sad.
“I couldn’t let that happen. Three hundred years is nothing in the eyes of a Chrysos Heir, so I had to do something to buy us more time. So, when the Elder who heard the prophecy passed away, I told a lie only he could see through. Using Atticus’ authority, I encouraged the people to believe in it, to make it the truth.”
Understanding dawns upon her like a cold bucket of water to the head. A gentle lie, how very like Cifera, to use honeyed words to soothe another’s suffering, but on a much grander scale. A lie to protect all of humanity, a lie that would have catastrophic consequences should it be revealed.
“No one could question it,” Aglaea whispers, almost to herself. “If anyone knew it was a lie, the magic would come undone, and the world would collapse.”
“That’s right,” Cifera laughs softly, bitterly. “In some years, it was a lie that Phagousa was still holding the line against the Black Tide, deep under the ocean. Once, I lied that Aquila had granted the world a new Sun with his dying breath, so when the Dawn Device ceased to shine, a new Sun descended from the broken sky to watch over the world. But no matter what form my lie took, I had to protect it until the start of Era Nova.”
Relief and sorrow floods through Aglaea’s chest, a tsunami of swirling emotion. She had truly done nothing wrong, she hadn’t hurt Cifera over and over and over again without realizing it, Cifera was not just being polite and thoughtful when she said Aglaea had not hurt her.
“And well… you always, always, always, knew me too well for me to hide anything from you. So I had no choice… but to get as far away from you as I could.”
Her chest aches, her hands trembling with the desperate desire to reach out, to drag Cifera into her lap and wrap her arms around her and trace aimless patterns into her back. To press her lips to one soft, furry ear and whisper softly to her - it’s alright, I understand now. You had no choice but to leave, you had to put the world first, I know that. I would never blame you for that.
Tribios squeezes her knee again, drawing a shaky smile from her.
“And you feel that way even now, don’t you, Ciphy?”
“I do,” she admits, looking down at her own hands, and then back up at Aglaea’s face. “I know that it’s over, but… my body hasn’t caught up with my mind. I’ve spent so much of my life running, it’s been carved into my soul. If you get too close to Aglaea, the world will end.”
A burning sensation over the bridge of her nose. Warm tears rolling down her cheeks, her hands reaching out automatically for Cifera. To her surprise, the other demigod closes the gap herself, melting into Aglaea’s arms with a shaky sob of her own.
“But the world has already ended,” Aglaea whispers, her lips brushing against silken fur. “So please, come closer, stay with me.”
Cifera sobs harder in response, her hands tangled in the fabric of Aglaea’s dress.
Smiling faintly, Tribios watches, triumph and self-satisfaction written all over her face.