Kallan didn’t like parties. Especially ones filled with his fellow gods who all only cared about power and wealth and fame. The only things giving them said power were measly mortals who gave up their very essence to the great and wondrous deities. It was sickening. Maybe that was just the case for Kallan, but watching someone take over your parent’s job isn’t the most pleasant thing. Recently, his father and uncles had both faded on the same day. Kallan was the heir for Hades, and Trini, his sister, had become the new goddess of the seas.

He was grumbling to himself about how the festivities were horrid when his sister wandered over with a glass of wine. She handed it over with no words and only a raised eyebrow. “What’s got your feathers in a clump brother?” He glared at her out of the corner of his eyes. She should know. Out of everyone she should know. Trini had been with Kallan when they had watched their goddamn parents die in front of their goddamn eyes. He had always been the more emotional one. The one who actually felt emotions to a human level. Trini had called that his “Achilles Heel”. She told him sternly to fix himself up and make good standings with the others. By the end of her little speech he had wandered off with the wine glass still in hand. He found he didn’t like alcohol unless he was surrounded by irritating distractions.

Which was the current time.

Rubbing his eyes, he made his way to a more shaded area, where not as many gods laughed and boasted in boisterous tones. He felt tired. Tired beyond his years, which would last much longer considering his obnoxious immortality. Sometimes Kallan wondered what would happen if he could die. He wanted to, somedays. End it all with one simple action. It didn’t have to hurt him. Just a small little-

“Oh Kallan! I didn’t know you would be here! You usually hate these parties on Olympus. Just like Hades, hah! I guess it’s a part of the job description, no?”

Hunter. The golden, wondrous son and heir of Apollo, with Hunter being worse than his father by tenfold. Him and Khiiral, heir of Nike, were close competitors and companions. They were also both the biggest annoyances together. Thank the gods Khiirral was off with some other group. Time to be social I guess. Personally, Kallan strongly disliked Hunter, both for his too cliche name, and for his horribly dishonest self. He could barely keep his facts straight, which irritated Kallan beyond measure. “Hunter! It’s been a while. Sorry, I can’t talk, I have to, er,” Kallan quickly began glancing around for some excuse. Someone he didn’t dislike and was on good terms with. His eyes made contact, or he thought his eyes met Cyril's features. They were sculpted to god-like, ethereal beauty. He had never been on bad terms with Cyril or his two parents. “Cyril. I was just going to meet him.”

Hunter didn’t even look disappointed as he stated in a false cheery voice, “Oh no, I understand! I was just on my way to talk to your sister! I just wanted to say hi.” And with those words, he stalked away. Kallan couldn’t tell if Hunter just got under your skin easily, or if he was trying to, but either way, he didn’t really care. He had to keep up the act. Hunter had eagle eyes, after all.

Kallan began making a false confident step towards Cyril. His forefinger and thumb fidgeted together, rubbing the tips of his digits together in a slightly uneasy manner. Cyril had always been a wild card. He was pretty sure Persephone and Aprodite had been on good terms though, and Kallan himself had never done anything wrong against them. Kallan halted in front of Cyril, immediately adopting a rather civil and formal tone. “Hello Cyril. How are you?”

His voice felt stiff and uncomfortable in itself. Why was he so uneasy around Cyril? Kallan hesitantly took a drink out of his wine glass, trying to avert his eyes in the best way possible. His eyes. It was his eyes. They held some sort of… aura, like how Ares had always stared down everyone on a moody day.

Kallan felt ever so slightly more relaxed at the moment when Cyril had responded, but that didn’t really mean anything. The heir of Aphrodite had an almost pretentious aura about him, though his eyes were ever so cunning. The twin orbs’ simple elegance radiated. They were unnaturally colored, clear and shimmering. He wasn’t necessarily trying to keep constant eye contact with Cyril, but his eyes kept drawing him in. They were rather glorious. A quite morbid thought began crossing his mind continuously.

Could I make those eyes my own?

It’d be more practical to change just the eye part of his form instead of physically removing them, but they kept catching the light, and Kallan’s eyes. Quickly the son of Poseidon glanced away to the forehead of Cyril. It might make it a bit odd to constantly stare into said eyes. Eyes of a predator. Hopefully, Cyril couldn’t read Kallan's expression or thoughts. Hopefully. His voice started loosening up as he took a half step forward closer to Cyril to speak his works quietly but more clearly. He took a drink of his wine to make himself more heard.

“I would say the same thing. There’s no good banquet without wine,” he glanced outward at the ballroom and took another sip before quietly muttering his next words. “And there’s no such thing as good festivities without a good method to escape.”

Kallan could feel that Cyril had to be a rather extravagant person, but the way he was observing the proceedings was as if he was clearly above everyone else. The air of him was obvious, at least to Kallan’s bland eyes. He agreed, though. Most of the heirs in the room were inexperienced and pathetic. He could already imagine the arguments brewing of how to rule Olympus and govern the mortals below, and their world, of course. Thankfully, Kallan would mainly reside in the Underworld with the blank slates called spirits.

“I don’t know about you, Cyril,” he muttered, liking the way the other’s name tasted, “but I plan on making a rather discreet exit. This party just isn’t very suitable for me. I'll probably be on my way soon after I get another glass of wine.”

He finished off the glass of wine with a bored expression. Normally, he would smirk a challenge at Cyril, but Cyril was Cyril, and not the type to be messed with unless by one of his comrades. Hades had told Kallan to mingle and meet potential allies, and choose who not to partner with, who not to mess around with. Kallan found it rather stupid and could already tell most would not want to work in the oconfinements of the Underworld.

It was fine by him. It would be much easier to make renovations to the Underworld to modernize ir and organize it when there were less deities roaming about with their irritating personalities.

His eyes caught the light as he glanced at each of the varying entrances in all of their glory. Exit. Kallan didn’t necessarily dislike all parties, and he believed that the privacy of solitude was far more immaculate than most things, but he did rather enjoy getting out and meeting new folk. Kallan liked socializing when it wouldn’t really affect him. This banquet affected him. He would be forced to work with a majority of them for quite a while, though it was simpler as he was probably going to be stuck mainly in the Underworld depths.

Would he lose so much unturning his soul to the son of Aphrodite? He could. Cyril didn’t seem too horrible yet though. Kallan was just glad that he wasn’t stuck with some other stuck-up, bastard of an immortal. He placed his glass down on a nearby table, sliding his tongue across his sharpest canine. A thoughtful expression entered his features. A floating tray of more wine glasses floated by, almost out of Kallan’s reach. He plucked one out of the tray with a delicate hand and inspected the drink. It was bright, bloodred, with a shining of gold in them, a symbol of it being a godly drink. He took a sip, though suddenly didn’t feel as thirsty for the alcoholic beverage. His reflection in the glass was pristine, as was only expected of the gods. He didn’t seem particularly stunning, especially beside a deity whose mother was the goddess of love. Kallan didn’t seem inclined to improve his appearance. He merely dressed in an outfit befitting for an immortal of Olympus and had set off.

He snorted at Cyril’s response half-heartedly. “I daresay you won’t have a better opportunity without me. Most gods here will begin noticing after more than one has left. They like saving the… funner festivities for the more ending times of the banquets, as it should be.” Though he didn’t know the other very well, he could tell the two could get on in a rather well suited manner if they didn’t have a horrible falling out, as was common amongst most of the other, petty gods.

Cyril leaned closer and Kallan raised an eyebrow at his words. Now that’s the plan that sounds reasonable. He smirked, the light of innocence bashfully being brought into his eyes. Normally, he would have left alone without a care about what the others thought, but most liked paltry gossip, despite having no evidence. They would notice Kallan and Cyril exiting together as a duo. It was a rather splendid idea, though Kallan would have never suggested it. There was the point of Cyril declining if he had, or the part where Cyril thought Kallan was an idiot.

It felt like the start of a fairytale, of sorts. Where two members of nobility decide to make their majestic escape from the festivities that are oh so terribly dull. He had always been told the same types of stories from his mother as a younger child. He could never forget those moments. They had typically been the highlight of his evening, after all.

It could also be the beginning of a rather grand adventure. Two protagonists making the journey to become the fated villains or the shocking heroes of the grand story. However cliche they were, Kallan had adored fantasies like them. They were beautiful and always intricately weaved stories.

Kallan stepped ever so slightly back to glance in Cyril’s eyes again. “Hm, I like the idea, magic man. Would you take my hand? Don’t worry. It’s not a bonding of souls or a marriage proposal. Nothing as extravagant.” His grin widened as he held out a hand delicately. An offering that marked an agreement. He raised an eyebrow lightly and his face became smug once again.

“Come, monsieur. Let’s get a move on, shall we?”

In all ways it could be interpreted, Kallan didn’t have many companions. Sure he had Ethan and Io, but he couldn’t necessarily speak to them. They both sort of represented his godly hierarchy, Io having been a gift from his mother, and Ethan having been raised by Persephone and Hades. If Io was a little energetic butterfly of the sea, then Ethan was the gentleman hellhound who roamed the Underworld. They were the two closest companions he could think of, which was rather sad, but at least he had someone.

It wasn’t that he was antisocial or something of the like, but then again, he would much rather prefer watching blank souls be herded like sheep then have to sit through one more damned banquet. Cyril seemed decent. Kallan kept repeating that to himself. Shockingly, there weren’t many deities anymore who were genuine. There was no guarantee Cyril was, but he seemed like a nice enough person. He was immortal as well. He wouldn’t live forever, but for a long while was good enough for Kallan. Befriending mortals always saddened him when he thought of their deaths.

Kallan’s face warmed as the two’s fingers weaved together. Cyril’s flirtatious voice wasn’t helping either. The two made their great escape. Voices could be heard following them. Some heads turned, but it was mostly over paltry gossip, Kallan told himself.

He didn’t really have very high expectations for himself, but the Big Three were always respected, and he was taking over one of them. Some might see that as an opportunity, but Cyril seemed like the type that was accidentally powerful. The type to capture many folks and their attention with no effort at all.

The world seemed so much brighter without the claustrophobic closing in of the walls. The way the lights had shined in the festival areas was sickening and too fake to ignore. It was fancy and extra, far too much for the likes of Kallan. It was so much duller compared to the shine of the falling sun. Cyril squeezed Kallan’s hand, and he clutched the other’s hand a bit tighter with a warm feeling in his chest. He thought not much of it, glancing out to the landscape.

Cyril quickly let go and Kallan looked up at his eyes. A bit of coloring entered Cyril’s cheeks, Kallan beginning to smirk lightly.

Cyril was undeniably gorgeous, but he seemed to have a boyish charm, chuckling softly. Kallan hadn’t noticed it before, but his voice was alluring. It wasn’t as entrancing as his eyes, but the tone of his words was soothing and very attractive.

“We still have some daylight to spare, and even more of the night I’d say. What do you suggest we kill time with?” Kallan cocked his head, a smile continuing to touch the tips of his lips. His eyes were shining, even more so with the reflection of the sun. “We could take a voyage to the mortal world, perhaps? Or I could show you around the Underworld.” His offerings were utterly genuine. It wasn’t the most common for Kallan to be gallanting about and handing out invitations to see his little corner of the world, however a mess it was.

The thought of Ethan and Io’s thoughts on Cyril flashed his mind briefly.

"Or we could leave it here and be on our own ways," he laughed lightly. The prospect had been momentarily bothering him. "Either way, it was nice meeting you, Cyril."