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“No, no, no, no, no,” Feo whispered under his breath, the words tumbling out in a frantic blur. His hands trembled uncontrollably, as if they had a mind of their own, unable to hold steady no matter how hard he tried. Each blink only made the images behind his eyelids sharper, more vivid—flash after flash of the boy’s face, distorted and haunting, flickering between the Asgardian he knew and Lucius. - He didn’t let himself think the other boy’s name, not even in the depths of his mind. That thought was a wellspring of panic and dread that would drown him if he let it in. His heart hammered in his chest, each thud like a drum of impending disaster. It was his fault. It had always been his fault. Lucius’s death—his inevitable death—was written in the stars. It was etched in the terrible truth of everything Feo had ever touched. - The images came faster now—his vision twisting with each breath. He saw the boy drowning, his body limp and pale beneath the cold waters, his mouth gaping open, gasping for air he would never reach. He saw Lucius, blood pouring from his mouth, clutching at his chest as his eyes clouded with pain. Then the boy again, lying in a heap, neck twisted grotesquely to the side, lifeless. Feo felt his throat tighten, the bile rising as the visions blurred into one horrific montage. Lucius on his hands and knees, wings torn from his back, blood pooling beneath him, staining the earth. - Every image felt like a dagger to the chest, every breath a struggle against the suffocating weight of fear. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think. His chest was too tight, his stomach flipping with nausea and terror. - Before he could stop himself, Feo lurched away from Lucius, disentangling from him with the kind of force that left him breathless and disoriented. His heart pounded in his ears as he stumbled toward the train car’s edge. His mind was spinning, too fast for him to keep up. The last thing he wanted was to leave Lucius’s warmth—he hated the emptiness that swept in as soon as he did—but he couldn’t keep it together anymore. Not like this. - Feo barely made it to the edge of the car before he doubled over, retching violently. The taste of bile filled his mouth as he gasped for air, his body shaking from the force of it. His hands pressed against the cold metal of the train as the world spun, a dizzying blur of grief and terror and the gut-wrenching realization that everything, everything was slipping through his fingers. - He couldn’t lose Lucius. He couldn’t. And yet, here he was—pushing him away, failing him, all while the fear of what was coming felt like a heavy weight around his neck. Feo’s hands gripped the edge of the train as he fought for control, every fiber of his being desperate to hold on, to pull himself back together. - But it wasn’t working. |
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Lightbringer
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Lucius shook his head lightly. "What--wait--" his eyes widened slightly watching Feo stumble toward the open door, toward the edge. "Feo--!" He cried out, lurching to his feet to race after him. Not that he had the slightest clue was the Nordic demigod was doing but this was not what he had expected in the slightest! His hand reached for Feo, pausing as the other retched out the side of the car. His hair whipped with the wind, howling in his ears now that they were close enough to the outside. "Feo--" His hands reached out, pulling him back from the edge to grip his shoulders. The young man shook his head, his sapphire eyes studying Feo's expression. There was worry in his own, a touch of panic and fear. Something he couldn't hide--nor could he hide the racing of his heart. It... he didn't want to say it. He didn't want to let go of it--that distant dream of being just like everyone else. Not having to worry about anything like that--but instead... be strong. He wouldn't have to worry about taking a tumble or a fall, he wouldn't have to worry about accidentally fracturing a bone or something by running into it. He could do normal person stuff--like riding a bike. But the way Feo reacted--Lucius found himself torn between the two. The desire to be like that, to have that indestructible force surrounding him. But to soothe Feo as well, to tell him it would be alright and that he wasn't going anywhere. That it was a stupid idea. But this reaction was far more visceral than any of the other ones he had seen from Feo--even in the garden. "I--I'm still here," Lucius said quickly, his voice breathless and shaking. "I'm here, I'm ..." he struggled with the words, knowing full well that if he said it... it was gone. That dream and everything that came with it, that would be gone. It left such a pit in his stomach, a wide gap that sealed his fate inevitably. Something he couldn't avoid, couldn't hide, couldn't run from. His eyes searched through Feo's. "I'm still here," he echoed the words instead. He hadn't left the car, he wasn't gone. He was still there and his hands hadn't left Feo's shoulders. His fingers clutching his shoulders, desperate to keep him there. He couldn't admit what he had thought was going to happen, but it had rattled him inside something fierce. Lucius sighed, deep and low, his head lowering. His eyes closed for a moment, struggling with the feeling in his chest before he finally choked the words out. "I'm not going anywhere." |
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Feo’s world spun in a whirlwind of panic and regret as he struggled to steady himself against the violent churn of emotions and fears that threatened to overwhelm him. His throat burned from the bile and his chest ached from the desperation clawing at him from within. He felt Lucius’s hands on his shoulders, grounding and steadying him despite the tempest raging in his mind. - Lucius’s voice, breathless and shaken, reached Feo through the chaos, his voice like a light in the middle of his raging earthquake. - Earthquake. Earthquake. He trembled. - Feo’s eyes snapped open, locking onto Lucius’s, searching desperately for some semblance of reassurance in the depths of those sapphire pools. His hands trembled as they reached out, fingers curling instinctively around Lucius’s arms, gripping onto him as if he could anchor himself in the safety of that promise. - Lucius's repition of the phrase echoed in his head. Feo’s heart clenched at the vulnerability in those words, at the raw honesty that spoke volumes of the fear they both felt. The fear of loss, of the unknown, of the vast and terrifying forces that seemed determined to tear them apart. - Feo swallowed hard, his throat tight with unshed tears and the weight of everything unsaid between them. He wanted to believe Lucius, to trust in the strength of his words. But the terror still gripped him, relentless and unforgiving. “You can’t go,” Feo whispered hoarsely, his voice barely above a ragged breath. “Not there. Not to that place.” - His grip on Lucius tightened, his fingers digging into his arms almost painfully. The wind whipped around them, carrying with it the faint scent of metal and earth, a reminder of the world hurtling past them outside the train car. But inside, in this fragile space they occupied together, Feo clung to Lucius as if he were the only solid ground left in a crumbling world. - “I can’t lose you,” Feo admitted, the words torn from him with a rawness that left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. He searched Lucius’s eyes again, pleading silently for understanding, for forgiveness for the mess he was making of everything. “I can’t…” - He couldn’t finish the thought. The ache in his chest threatened to consume him whole, to swallow him in the depths of his own fear and regret. But as he looked at Lucius, into those eyes that held a reflection of his own pain, Feo knew one thing with a startling clarity—he couldn’t bear to lose Lucius, not now, not ever. He pulled him closer, burying his face into Lucius's chest, his eyes still wide. He closed them with some difficulty, drawing in Lucius's scent again. - Lucius was a steady presence in the chaos. His promise hung in the air between them, a fragile thread of hope in the face of uncertainty. Feo closed his eyes, leaning into the warmth of Lucius’s touch, drawing strength from it. For now, in this moment, it was enough to hold onto—the reassurance that, despite everything, Lucius was still there. - Yet, Feo couldn't help himself from thinking when he wouldn't be. |
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Lightbringer
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Lucius found himself staring back into Feo's eyes, watching him for some semblance of anything--anything to show that he had heard him. His fingers gripped onto his arms, holding tightly to him. There was something. That was something. But he couldn't shake the twisting hot pain of loss in his stomach either. Feo reiterated that he couldn't go there, he just couldn't go to that place. Lucius found himself struggling to understand why. It was just the underworld, sure it was full of dead people and whatnot but ... but maybe he didn't understand? Who was he kidding, it was just the underworld. He couldn't understand and perhaps he never would. That feeling of loss twisted in his stomach as Feo spoke again. "I'm still here," Lucius echoed quietly, his chest aching. "I'm still here," he whispered again, clinging to Feo as he sank into his chest. It hurt him, somehow, to let go of the idea. The idea that he could've been something more, something strong and relentless. A powerful warrior to be respected and it would've all started with that. But now it was all being swept away. Good grief it hurt. Lucius lowered his head slightly, trying to stifle and hide that pain. It was stupidly. It was a stupid idea, it was foolish and clearly, even just by Feo's reaction, it was a really dumb decision. How could he bother with even thinking of a plan now if he couldn't get past that? He shook his head lightly and let out a weary breath, a weary sigh of sorts. He should've known it was stupid from the very start. Perhaps that was what hurt the most, it wasn't the reaction, it wasn't letting go of the dream. It was the startling realization that he was just straight up stupid. No amount of words would fix that. He'd have to figure out something. Even if part of him was throwing his hands up in the air, asking what the point was now. Why bother with more plans? The other part was scrambling. How on earth was the rest of this supposed to actually work with him... being so fragile? So breakable? The gods were hardly breakable at all. Himself? Like badly made fine china. It all depended on the Cestus. If it worked, if they could get it at all. If they couldn't? Then what? He really didn't know. His back-up plan was the river Styx and clearly that had been a rather stupid plan to begin with. So now what? Lucius shook his head as the train began to slow, the subtle rhythm of the train drawing out as the cars all collided with each other as the train came to a slow stop. |
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The slowing train jolted Feo out of his spiraling thoughts, though the ache in his chest remained as heavy as ever. He stayed where he was, pressed into Lucius’s chest, unwilling to move even as the rhythm of the wheels beneath them stuttered and faded. The world outside continued to move, but for him, it felt like time had come to a standstill—just him, Lucius, and the crushing weight of everything unsaid. - The tension in Lucius’s body was palpable. Feo could feel it in the way his hands gripped his arms, not as steady as they usually were, but trembling faintly with an unspoken turmoil. Lucius wasn’t saying much anymore, but Feo could hear the conflict in his quiet breaths and feel it in the way he clung to him. - "I heard you," Feo finally murmured, his voice soft and strained, like it had taken everything in him to speak. He lifted his head slightly, just enough to meet Lucius’s eyes again. The pain in them mirrored his own, and it made Feo’s stomach twist with guilt. He hadn’t meant to take away Lucius’s hope, his dream of being stronger, but he couldn’t let him risk it all—not like this. - “You’re still here,” he echoed Lucius’s words, as if trying to convince himself as much as Lucius had tried to reassure him. His trembling hand rose to rest against Lucius’s cheek, brushing lightly against his skin, as though he needed to confirm that he was solid, real, alive. "And that’s enough for me." - The train finally lurched to a full stop, the sound of metal groaning and hissing as it settled. The noise was loud and grating, but Feo barely noticed it. His focus remained entirely on Lucius, on the fragile line they were walking between fear and determination, on the overwhelming need to protect him no matter what it took. - Feo let out a shuddering breath, his hand slipping from Lucius’s face to clutch his shirt instead, holding onto him tightly, holding on to him to keep him there, to keep him living. "We’ll figure it out," he whispered, the words as much a promise to himself as they were to Lucius. "We’ll find a way—together. I don’t care if it’s the gods or the Cestus or whatever else comes next. Just… don’t go there. Please." - His voice cracked on the last word, and he dropped his head again, resting it against Lucius’s chest. Feo didn’t move. He couldn’t—not yet. Leaving the safety of Lucius’s arms, of this moment, felt impossible. For now, the world could wait. |
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Lightbringer
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Lucius exhaled again and nodded quietly. He was still there and he... he wasn't going anywhere. But it took everything to try and hide the pain inside, to manage a weak and weary smile. His eyes slid closed, partially leaning his cheek into Feo's hand, just enough to settle against his cool skin. That was enough for him. That was what he had insisted. But Lucius wasn't entirely sure if it was enough for himself. It meant... relying on someone else for strength. It meant letting go of the little things that he had been subtly looking forward to. It was painful but it was stupid. Dreadfully so. His eyes slid open as Feo's hand went from face to shirt, clinging to him as if to keep him there, keeping him grounded. His desperate whisper was something but it was painful as well. They were supposedly going to find a way. Another way. "I know," Lucius managed to whisper in return. His chest lifted with a much deeper breath, a sort of resignation in his inner turmoil. To say it... would be to finally let go, to bury it and everything that came with it. The crack in the demigod's voice twisted his heart as well. It was not the type of twist that he wanted either. Nor was it the sort of thing he enjoyed feeling but it was a far deeper twist in his heart. The desperate plea from Feo that had him lowering his head and swallowing back the desire to protest, the will and want to say something else to try and convince him that they could do it. He had tried that. It hadn't worked and he had scared himself and Feo without meaning to. That was a rather stupid plan. "I won't," Lucius finally answered, keeping his tone at least somewhat calm and focused. "But good gravy, Feo, you gave me a heart attack," he mumbled quietly, brushing hair from Feo's face. "What--no, not here. This is not the place for it," Lucius relented and took a mental step back. That was a behind-doors conversation, not an in-a-train-car conversation. He let out a weary breath and shook his head a couple times before looking upward toward the field. They were likely still out of town but not far from Garden City. He wasn't sure how long the train would remain stopped either. "... let's just... just find a place to stay. We can find the Cestus tomorrow," Lucius said quietly, more confidence and determination in his voice than before. He could play his little pity party later. Right now, he had to be somewhat smart. |
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Neutral
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The train had finally stopped, the metal groaning in protest, but Feo barely registered it. His mind was still spinning, the images flashing relentlessly behind his eyes. Every time he tried to push them away, they came roaring back with brutal clarity: blood, broken wings, twisted necks. A cacophony of horrors all tied together in a knot of guilt and terror that he couldn’t untangle. - He stayed where he was, curled in on himself, his hands trembling faintly as they clung to Lucius’s shirt. He felt like a child again, small and scared and powerless. He hated it. He hated himself for feeling like this, for breaking down in front of Lucius when he needed to be the one protecting him. - The air between them felt heavier now, laden with unspoken fears and impossible choices. Feo could feel Lucius’s heartbeat against him, steady but rapid, and it was enough to anchor him for a moment. The simple, human proof that Lucius was still here, still alive, was almost enough to steady his breathing. - But his thoughts still raced. What if he failed again? What if his worst fears came true? He couldn’t protect the boy back then—he hadn’t even been able to try. What made him think he could protect Lucius now? - His hands clenched tighter in the fabric of Lucius’s shirt, his knuckles white. He needed a moment to breathe, to think. To get his head straight before he completely unraveled. - "Yeah.. find.. find a place to stay," Feo muttered hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper. He pushed himself back slightly, just enough to break their contact, though it felt like a physical ache to do so. The absence of Lucius’s warmth was immediate and sharp, but Feo forced himself to take a shaky breath. - He turned toward the open door of the train car, letting the brisk wind slap against his face. The cool air helped—just enough to bring him back to the present. Kansas was making his already tight shirt stick uncomfortable to his skin. Feo leaned against the edge of the doorway, his hands gripping the metal frame as he looked out over the fields stretching into the distance. - The world felt too big all of a sudden. Too vast. He closed his eyes for a moment, forcing his thoughts to slow, to center on something other than the crushing weight of the past. - He didn’t know how long he stood there, but the sound of faint voices reminded him that they couldn’t linger here forever. He couldn't even tell if they were outside or inside his head. Feo exhaled slowly and turned back to Lucius. - "Let’s go," he said quietly, his voice steadier now, though the tension in his shoulders remained. He couldn’t let Lucius see how much he was still struggling. He had to keep moving, keep focused, if only to stop himself from falling apart completely. |
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There was something behind Feo's eyes that he could see. Something that wasn't what was around him now. Lucius couldn't do anything more than just sit there, knowing full well that ... all of it was his fault. There wasn't a part that wasn't his fault. Feo didn't have to apologize--Feo wasn't the one with the stupid idea in the first place. That was all Lucius. He had trusted Atlas. He had said that thing--he hadn't just said it, he had held onto that idea. Boy howdy was he really stupid, once it came down to it. Naive maybe but also incredibly just lacking in the smarts department. It wasn't until Feo stood up that Lucius finally moved, grabbing the green tunic. He rose to his feet and walked toward the door as well, feeling the cool crisp wind tousle his blond hair. He took in a deep breath of clean fresh air and slid past Feo, hopping down to the ground beneath them. His eyes turned back to Feo, looking up and offering his hand to help him down from the train car. It was a little bit of a walk--no more than a few dozen yards--to the rest of town. But up ahead, he could see the rising building of what was likely a hotel--yellow concrete siding or whatever they called that stuff. The orange shingles. "There is a hotel," Lucius gestured ahead, glancing back toward Feo with his shoulders set. As much as his own emotions were in inner turmoil, he had far more experience with letting them go, hiding them under a wall of confidence and a mask of unbothered smiles. It was almost definitely not healthy in the slightest but Lucius didn't bother to care. It usually meant that the other person wasn't uncomfortable with what he was feeling. Though he had... a feeling that the moment they were behind closed doors, he was going to get chewed out for that stupid idea. It was another one of those inevitable things. But better to get it over sooner with rather than later. He started forward, making sure Feo was at least nearby as he walked along the long train down toward the distant building of the hotel. It rose up from the rest of the buildings around it, mostly due to the fact that there wasn't a whole lot of buildings around it. It was in a lush little field, tucked away from the rest of the city but it looked relatively nice. There were a few cars parked in the parking lot but not enough to really worry Lucius. After all, they were in the mortals "playground" and not out in the open anymore. He could handle this part of the whole thing. He paid again for a single room--which the woman said had two beds--they had three days. A usual hotel stay and he thanked her before moving forward down the hall. A little bit farther. Just a little bit. He put the key in the door, twisting it open, held the door for Feo and closed it behind him, locking the door and sighing. |
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Feo trailed behind Lucius as they moved through the hotel lobby, his footsteps heavy and uneven. His mind felt distant, like it was running through water, slow and sluggish as the events of the day replayed in his head. He kept his eyes on Lucius's back, letting the other boy take the lead, the sight of him offering a small anchor to cling to. He barely noticed the woman at the counter or the brief exchange about the room. - Two beds. - The words slipped through Feo's ears, but something about them snagged in his chest. He didn't have the energy to unpack why it bothered him—why a faint twinge of disappointment curled low in his stomach. It was stupid, pointless. He shouldn’t care, but the thought settled there anyway, heavy and unshakable. - He followed Lucius down the hallway, his gaze flicking absently over the worn carpet and the nondescript art on the walls. It felt surreal, being in such an ordinary place after the chaos of the day. His body ached, his head throbbed, and every muscle begged him to collapse. He didn’t say a word as they reached the room. When Lucius unlocked the door and stepped aside, Feo trudged past him with little more than a mumbled, shy thanks. - The room was simple, clean, and functional. Two beds sat across from each other, separated by a small table with a lamp. There was a dresser, a chair, and a radio placed atop a nightstand, but Feo didn’t spare any of it more than a fleeting glance. His focus honed in on the nearest bed, and he staggered toward it, not caring about anything else. - His legs gave out the moment he reached it. He collapsed face-first onto the mattress, his body sinking into the slightly stiff surface. He didn’t even bother to kick off his boots or shrug out of his jacket. The exhaustion weighed too heavily on him, pinning him there like a physical force. - Grabbing the nearest blanket, Feo pulled it over himself in a rough motion, cocooning it around his shoulders. The fabric wasn’t as soft or warm as he would’ve liked, but it was enough to stave off the worst of the cold creeping through his body. Barely enough. - The chill seemed to have burrowed deep into his bones, a familiar, unrelenting kind of cold that no amount of blankets ever seemed to fix. It wasn’t the temperature of the room—it never was—but something deeper, something that gnawed at him no matter where he went. He hated it. He hated the way it made him feel fragile, the way it stole the little comfort he might have had. - Feo curled in on himself, one arm wrapping around his stomach as his eyes fluttered shut. His body trembled faintly, not quite shivering, but unable to find stillness either. His mind buzzed with thoughts, fragmented and disjointed—images of the boy, blood in the water, Lucius’s face flickering between alive and not. - His throat tightened, and he buried his face into the pillow, as if hiding could block out the memories. The train ride, the argument, the River Styx—it all churned together into a knot of anxiety and self-recrimination. Every time he tried to push it away, it only came back sharper, clearer. - Three-ish hours of sleep. That’s all he’d had. It wasn’t enough. It never felt like enough. He was so tired—of fighting, of running, of the constant weight pressing down on him. - He was so tired of himself. |
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Lightbringer
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The first thing Lucius did was cross the floor and pull the curtains closed. He stood there for a moment, breathing in through his nose and letting it out again before glancing back. At the least, he sat down and pulled Feo's boots off himself, setting them down beside the bed. He moved toward the bathroom, taking the watch from his wrist. Maybe a shower or something would be a good idea. It would at least give him a place and time to somewhat break down. That was something at the least. He stepped into the bathroom, almost surprised at the fact that he could fit all the way in. But he sank down on the floor, uncaring now as he pried his own shoes off and discarded them beside the door. His smile, his confidence--the subtle mask he wore was gone now. Lucius lowered his elbows onto his knees, his wrists onto his arms and then lowered his forehead to rest on his forearms. Somehow, he hadn't expected to be as stupid as that but there he was, astounding everybody with his stupidity. Not even astounding--he was scaring them off now. He was so confident in his plan, so desperate for it that he had bulldozed right over the initial reaction. The worst part was the fact he still didn't understand why. Why was it such a bad thing? Achilles had done it. He'd probably have to resort back to trying to find the armor of Achilles which was supposedly impenetrable. But that only covered so much--and definitely not the heel. Obviously. Reluctantly, he finally stood up and turned the water on. Perhaps he spent far longer than he really needed to under the water but there was something perhaps a little comforting about it. It was a good twenty or so minutes later when he finally stepped out of the bathroom and dragged shoes and watch toward the other bed. There was guilt swirling in his chest and stomach now. He figured it was probably best to give Feo his space for now. He sat down for a moment or two, fixing the watch on the bed-side table and then laid on his side. One white feathered wing came up, covering himself in the wash of white feathers. It was a sort of blanket--at the least he was comfortable. Comforted? Not likely. The white feathers were hardly an unfamiliar sight. He usually fell asleep encased in the feathers, woke up with the wings over him. Anything else would be... startling. Perhaps too much. He didn't really feel like sleeping either, instead just lightly picked at his feathers for a while. |
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Spring Month: 2 
Day 
Flood
