The weight of his name spoken audibly by someone else was almost strange. The way they had said it felt closer to a test, a taste to see what it felt like to say his name. It matched him visibly, at least. His vibrant wings held the same white tone that his name carries. The feathers rippled downward, slowly and failing to relax all the way. It wasn't on purpose but he still had an air of edge to him. Lucius couldn't let go. Not yet.

There were, behind this fellow's eyes, thoughts and a bit of scrutiny. Lucius swallowed carefully as the Nordic demigod studied him in return with glittering eyes. It was a curious look etched in the other's face, studying him with a touch of energy and enthusiasm. Lucius wasn't quite sure what to think of them yet. Or if he could think at all as the being leaned forward ever so slightly and their features rippled.

The Greek demigod felt his heart stop. He took a careful and minute step back. Slowly, the features shifted toward a reflection of himself. It was almost like looking through a mirror at a version of himself. His own soft golden hair, fair skin, sapphire eyes. The unfurling of white feathers cascading down through the air along his back. Lucius wasn't sure what to think about the entire ordeal. Was this a mimic? Was it more of a siren? A being who could copy looks and lure another elsewhere? That would make sense as to why they chased off the previous aggressor and left him alone with them. Briefly, he figured he would like to have had Milo there to explain what was happening or break the spell. The allure of himself, reflected almost entirely by another being like a living mirror was a dangerously powerful force. He could see himself the way others saw him, truly.

The inner, perhaps vain, part of himself was immediately pleased. This what was they saw? That was wonderful. Everything was placed neatly and carefully. His feathers fell loosely along his back but a golden lock of hair strayed just slightly. But even then, it didn't look terrible. It looked right at place.

Lucius tilted his head to the side, hesitating before he nearly reached out. A shift of skin tone reminded him that this was another person and his hand immediately retracted, a flush of color tinging his face, ears and nose.

"I--I am so sorry," he winced, closing his eyes and reached up to run his hand up and down over the back of his neck.

Feo remained as he was for a moment longer, watching Lucius in the half-light, the faint glow of the library playing across their faces. He had no choice but to watch, to feel what it felt like to be Lucius. The very air around him felt different now—tense, laden with the weight of impending decision.

But it wasn’t just the weight of the room that struck Feo—it was the sensation of the wings on his back. The wings. Feo wasn’t used to this. His own body was, well, barely corporeal at times, flickering and shifting in strange, often unpredictable ways, but Lucius’s form was solid, and he carried the weight of those wings with an ease that made Feo feel all the more alien in his own skin. The sensation was strange, almost overwhelming—like his own bones were far too heavy for his body, and his muscles too taut.

He realized he could only sense the wings now, but that wasn’t enough. He hadn’t actually felt them, not the full weight, not the softness of the feathers that made them look so inviting, even comforting, in their own way. He knew it would be strange to reach out and touch them—stranger still to pet them, as if they were some fragile thing that required gentleness. It seemed ridiculous to even consider it. Even though the idea had crossed his mind.

Feo tried to focus his attention elsewhere, but the temptation to know more about Lucius’s wings was persistent. He found himself staring at them again.

And then Lucius reached out to him.

Feo’s stomach twisted. His breath caught in his throat, and his heart thundered against his ribcage as a spike of panic shot through him. His form flickered—his physical self—a brief shimmering of light and shadow, his body warping instinctively in response to the overwhelming instinct to pull back, to retreat, to get away from what felt like a threat. Why was he so afraid? It was only a gesture, a friendly gesture, wasn’t it? A touch. A simple reach.

No. It was more than that, and Feo knew it. Touch was never that simple for him. It never had been.

It took him a full moment to quell the flicker in his form, to regain control over himself. The instinct to shift away—to dissolve into smoke and shadow—was so strong that Feo could almost taste it. But it wasn’t that easy. It took him a moment to melt the transformation, but it wasn't too long before he was back. His pale skin felt paler than it had before, as if some invisible weight had been pressed upon him, leaving him more fragile, more exposed than ever.

Feo didn’t want to show fear. He never did. His mind raced with the sensation of his own heartbeat as he tried desperately to keep his outward appearance stable. He couldn’t let Lucius see that his skin felt too tight, that the mere thought of physical proximity was enough to make his entire body recoil.

But why?

Why did it matter?

Why, of all things, was touch so terrifying to him? And worse, why did he have this strange impulse to... accept it?

Feo barely had time to consider the question before he felt the crackling tension in the air, the desperate need to flee or to freeze. But the moment of hesitation was fleeting. Before he knew it, he had already taken a step back, his body shifting, pulling away from Lucius, from the warmth and the proximity of another person.

He could feel the panic bubbling beneath the surface, and it made him want to do something—anything—to regain control. He couldn’t let anyone see this. Not now. Not ever.

The words that followed were quiet, strained, his voice barely above a whisper. But even then, they felt like the wrong words, too hasty. Too dismissive.

"You should go back to your dorm," Feo muttered, his voice thick, almost as if the words themselves were struggling to leave his throat. "Stay with someone. Find Milo. Or someone. Stay with... someone." His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, and he forced himself not to wince. He hated how his words stumbled over themselves. This wasn’t how he wanted to say it, wasn’t how he wanted to sound. But the words kept spilling out, one after the other, like a dam that couldn’t hold back the flood. "And stay away from the dark-aligned. Especially children of Kakia, or Ares."

Feo hesitated. He knew he should stop there. He should let Lucius leave, should let the tension between them dissipate. But the words were already clawing at him, pushing him to say something more. And something more was already on his tongue before he could stop it.

"Or Loki," he added, his voice rougher than he would have liked, as if the very name of the god tasted sour in his mouth.

He bit his tongue as soon as the last words left his lips. Stupid. Too much. He shouldn’t have said that.

The living mirror that looked back at him was strange. It was fluid and uncomfortable in the way he wore his skin. Lucius was far more comfortable in his own skin and this being... seemed uncomfortable. Was there a burden that he wasn't sure about? Something that he wasn't aware of that he should have been? The wings were there but the way he knew that it was a weight to be borne--especially by someone who wasn't used to it. He had grown up with the wings, they were simply another piece of him and he carried them like he carried his neck and head.

It wasn't a weight he consciously thought about but perhaps that was what had this portrayal uncomfortable. He wasn't particularly sure.

Lucius took a step back as the mirror rippled, the form shaping back and forth between his reflection and the former appearance of the shapeshifting demigod that looked back at him. Feo took a step back from Lucius just as Lucius took a step back from him as well.

Stay with someone, he insisted. Find Milo, his friend, stay with someone--anyone. There was safety in numbers, as Lucius was learning. But it left such a bad taste in his mouth. Why did he have to worry about his safety? He hadn't done anything to anyone, no one was predestined to do anything wrong--no--it was up to their parents and the village around them. No child was predestined for evil, but the circumstances they were given swayed it one way or another.

The dark-aligned drew his focus back to the demigod in front of him. Kakia, the name was unfamiliar. Ares, he knew. He knew the name of Ares well.

Or Loki. The name of the god was tart and vicious in the mouth of the demigod in front of him. It was said with sour and a rough note, emotion lingering on his tongue.

Lucius opened and closed his mouth before shaking his head. "You aren't them," he finally said, voice low and breathless. "You could've done anything--finished the job, helped," he added with his voice shaking. "Clearly, you're not what they think that you are..."

Lucius hesitated to speak more but shook his head. "I'm not like... them either," he whispered quietly, "you don't have to be either. No one is forcing you to be anything... your heritage doesn't determine who you are--"

He glanced back at the shout of Milo, calling his name outside the library. A sense of urgency piqued in his chest as he looked back at the shapeshifting Norse in front of him before he shook his head. "You're not what you think are," he added before slipping behind the bookshelf to slip outside, racing down the stairs with his hand on his chest.

"Lucius!" Milo cried out, shaking his shoulders. "Are you good? You're okay?"

"I'm okay," Lucius soothed, one hand on his collar. "I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life. Let's..." he hesitated, glancing back, "let's just head back to the dorms. That was way more fun than I need for one day."

"Fun?" Milo said incredulously, launching into a rant about how it was not fun, nor a game. How the Dark-aligned and the Light-aligned were a powerful tradition and long standing hatred that boiled even after centuries of conflict. He lasted the entire way back to the dorms.

Not that Lucius was listening at all. He was too busy thinking about the demigod who had spared him, reflected his looks but shied away when Lucius had reached out to touch him. He couldn't blame him. But at the same time, there was a loathing etched in his tone. Loki... Loki--but that demigod wasn't Loki. Why did it matter so much?

"You're not listening to me at all, are you?" There was a touch of disbelief in Milo's voice as they neared the dorms. The demigod of Hephaestus paused and stepped back, dragging the winged demigod with him with his hands on his shoulders. "Lucius, did you listen to a single thing I said at all?" His intense brown eyes focused on his friend, studying his fair skin and sapphire eyes.

Lucius brushed his hands off of his shoulders. "I listened good enough--"

"Good enough? Lucius, you don't understand," Milo insisted, his voice shaking and trembling. "Not everyone is good. In fact, most of us aren't, we're just thinly veiled under the guise of being somewhat 'good' or whatever."

"That's not true--" Lucius responded hotly, huffing in return.

Why should it matter? One's heritage didn't matter at all--most of the time the gods hardly cared about their children. Those that did had ulterior motives and the children couldn't be blamed at all.

Milo shook his head lightly. "You--ugh," he stepped back and shoved one hand through brown hair that flopped over his face again. "You're not understanding--you're just like your father. Carefree, drifting with the wind, nothing matters to you--"

"That's not true," Lucius protested. A twist in his chest became rather painful at the thought that he just didn't care. That somehow he was like his nonexistent father. How could he? He cared about everyone, perhaps too much, but that wasn't a bad thing was it? He wasn't sure how it could be translated to not caring, drifting on the wind and the breeze.

Lucius scowled and shook his head, waving both of his hands. He took a step back as well and looked back at Milo. "Y'know what? I don't have the time or the energy to be pulled into pathetic petty arguments and fights simply because one is 'dark-aligned' or whatever garbage is going on here," his hands waved to the whole campus. "I'm here to get a degree and get out."

Milo's expression shifted, swiveling between anguish, frustration and perhaps a touch of fear. "Lucius--"

"No," he snapped at him, "I'm not playing any stupid games--"

"Then this place will be your tomb," Milo cut him off with a weary noise. "You saw how close you got. You noticed how nobody cares anymore. It isn't a game, it's real and it's powerful--"

"It's petty and childish," Lucius responded tartly, "and I won't have any of it."

Milo sighed quietly. "When will you learn?"

"When will you let go?" Lucius responded shortly, "let go of this silly notion that somehow children are predestined to be evil or whatever garbage that the gods have fed you? Hephaestus wasn't predestined to be thrown from the mount was he? No. That was a choice made by his mother, Hera. Medusa wasn't predestined to be a monster. That was a choice made by Poseidon and Athena. The sooner we realize that the gods are nothing more than petty immortal children, the better off we are."

He turned, spreading his wings and taking off into the sky with a sharp huff of emotion, leaving his neutral friend on the ground watching him take off. Milo let out a weary noise and sighed. He was going to need some help to get his feathered friend to understand the gravity of the situation. This wasn't the same like frat rivals. This was ... a war.

((Let me know if you want to timeskip at all ^^ or just do it. XD))

The empty dorm room was dark when the winged demigod pushed inside, closing the large wooden door and locking the brass door lock. His chin lifted upward, taking in a deep breath and letting it out again. Surely it wasn't that hard to just accept that he wanted no part of the whole mess, right? Even still, despite his internal dialogue going off on him about making light of situations and the likes, a part of him was still focused on the interaction at the library.

He had run into him, the demigod hadn't moved at all. He had all the right to finish the job that the other dark-aligned had started or intended to start. But he hadn't. In fact, he had pushed Lucius aside to attack the aggressor. Why? He had then turned around and for whatever reason, mirrored his appearance back to Lucius.

The hair, the eyes, his expression and wings. Everything was mirrored back at him for just a minute or two at the least. What was he doing? Was it an attempt to throw him off, get him to see himself and what a fool he was?

No. There was curiosity in the demigod's gaze.

But he had broken the spell. Lucius had broken it, shattered the glass silence, when he had reached out. Only an idiot would be dumb enough to do something like that and he was fully aware of that fact.

Milo had chewed him out for it for over ten minutes on the walk back from the large library and in the grassy lawn just outside of the dorm.

But the chill ran down his spine. It was engraved in the stone of his heart. Gods didn't care about children, especially not the children who were as useless as he was. He was nobody with nothing special. He had no special powers, no special abilities or even a title to hold to his name. The idea that somehow, he could be entangled up in something as vast as a war because of his nonexistent father was wild. It simply just could not compute in his mind.

But that was the moment he realized the reason behind why he had reached out for the mirror. He had seen himself, and he looked... uncomfortable in his own skin. The demigod looked uncomfortable in his skin and Lucius felt a small jolt of realization that he, indeed, did feel uncomfortable in his own skin. It was compared to all of these other demigods who had powers, abilities, titles and parents that showed up. They didn't have to rely on a village. They had just one or sometimes two parents. Right there.

He had wanted to comfort the vision he had seen, tell him it was alright. Instead, he hadn't. He had apologized. He knew.

He had apologized to himself, knowing full well he couldn't solve that inner issue. Lucius had given the shapeshifting demigod a line of attempted comfort, telling him that he didn't have to be that.

But he couldn't tell himself that. Looking in the mirror and telling himself that it would be alright, that he could be more than nothing? No. Never.

It was not the sort of idea that settled in the cracks of his heart. Lucius groaned lightly and sank down onto the circular bed, his wings splayed outward.

"Ughh," he grumbled shortly, "this whole year is going to suck."

Lucius flopped around the bed for a few moments, struggling to find a comfortable position for the rest of the night. It was only for a few hours before he reluctantly was woken up by his alarm clock, ringing back at him. He stretched his hand out and tapped the button, resetting the alarm. Orientation. Woohoo. This was so fun. It was a one time incident, that was all. A one time incident... but the looks and the stares. If nothing else, maybe he'd stick around the light-aligned.

Zephyrus wasn't that bad right? Well, he certainly hadn't done anything real bad. In fact, most of his father's stories were of him helping others. Zephyrus was the West wind, the gentle spring breeze that brought flowers and blew the harsh cold of winter away with the bright sun. He had guided Odysseus until the idiot opened the bag of the wind, in which, Zephyrus couldn't do anything else. Zephyrus had relit the funeral pyre of Patroclus when it had gone out and refused to light. He had played for Demeter. he had transported Pysche to Eros instead of letting her die. He urged the swans to sing when they lamented the fallen.

He wasn't perfect, but realistically no pantheon god was. It was the allure of the immortal. He had his faults with Hyacinthus--before Apollo took him on as a lover.

Lucius reluctantly sat up from the bed, dragging himself around to get dressed. He was sure Milo would be there ready to help him but at the same time, he was tired of that whole thing.

If he was going to pick a side, he'd at least play their stupid game.

A short chuff of air escaped him as he rolled his sapphire eyes, buttoning up the back of his shirt, careful not to catch any stray feathers. A pillow? Jacket? Please. He shed enough feathers for that--after all he was already collecting. Every so often, he'd give them away.

He let out a small breath and shook his head, tossing golden hair before stepping outside of the room with his bag on his shoulder. The young man stepped to the balcony and paused briefly. Orientation was in the lecture hall which wasn't too far away. He stood at the balcony, letting the faint breeze toy with his hair and feathers, stretching his wings out to gather the air in the gentle feathers. Briefly, his eyes caught the flash of blue hair in the crowd but he really didn't pay her much mind as he took off into the air, sweeping upward to relish the freedom of being in the air before twisting and circling downward to take a gentle landing on the grass below.

Milo was one of the first to greet him and even then, Lucius was cordial. "Have you thought about--"

"If you're going to ask about what I said yesterday," Lucius responded tightly, "do us both a favor and let the question die," he flashed him a short and sharp smile that rang more than just calm and quiet, "I made my decision, do you understand? And besides, the 'Light-aligned' shouldn't really be doing whatnot with others, right?"

"We're neutral, we go where we want," Milo said flatly and rolled his eyes.

"Well, then that's settled. I'm going to orientation and you can either come with me or shove your opinion where it belongs eh?" Lucius kept his tone bright and bouncy, leaning between a jilted tease and a sharp retort. His smile was pleasant and hardly reminiscent of his tone. "Besides, Zephyrus isn't neutral. I did some... searching and whatnot, he's Light-aligned, Milo. You might want to brush up on your history."