Chapter Text
Gold eyes stare down at D’var, and with his being, his soul, as thin as it is, he feels as though those eyes look through him, into him, past him. He knows those eyes, that face, that self assured crook of a smile, he knows this person, this man, this -
(don’t make him be a part of this again)
He would know Hades anywhere, in any form, whatever time and place. How cruel is fate to send him back here, to a time before the star was sundered, in search of its salvation, only to bring him face to face with... He cannot let himself follow those thoughts. This is not the same man, not the Ascian, but rather an Ancient. D’var bites his lip to try to focus and the taste of aether so thick to feel solid rather than the meat of his own flesh nearly makes him gag. He cannot show weakness, not to the -
(don’t make him watch this again)
The other Ancient, huge and towering as they all are, looks down at him, kind eyes and a blazingly bright soul, and, D’var knows, knows who this is as well, the pit in his stomach deepening as if he could fall into it. Hythlodaeus looks nothing and everything like D’var had imagined from the shade Hades had created of him, recognizes from that flicker of an imitation soul this blazing pure original. The smile is warm, his words lyrical and playful, almost. D’var hears the echo of this Ancient now in that forlorn, self-aware shade that lingers in the fading shadow of -
(please, he can’t do this again)
D’var tries to swallow down everything, but something of his weakness, his brokenness must show. Yet all Hythlodaeus merely does is to cajole Hades into fixing his form, giving him shape and substance closer to their own. The touch of Hades aether is so familiar, so achingly missed, that his knees nearly go out from under him at its first touch. It has been barely two damned years since those few days beneath the sea. Two damned years, and suddenly the wound is as raw as it had been there beneath the ocean of the First. He cannot do this, he cannot pretend, cannot hide from them, from him-
(please, not again)
But there is no one else who can do this. He has forced the sacrifice of Elidibus’s last shreds of essence to gain this, their one hope of finding the cause of the unravelling of their Star. He must be the one here. And he cannot reveal to them who he is or what he is, he cannot risk what changes that might cause. He must not falter; he must not fail-
(oh, not again)
“So, tell us, whence have you come?” D’var’s attention snaps to the man’s words. “The thinness of your essence suggests you weren’t created here...” Hythlodaeus’s words sting, though he knows the Ancient does not mean them to. Standing here, seeing them like this, he can see exactly what Hades had meant back then, how thin and ragged his soul looked compared to the whole glory that once was. D’var shakes his head, lips held tight. “You do not know... No, you cannot say.” The Seeker nods in reply. “Allow me to ask a different question then. What brings you here?”
If the fate of his world, of the star itself did not hang in the balance, D’var would have laughed in the Ancient’s face. The cruelty of fate, he wants to answer, but bites back the words. Instead, he remembers the lesson Hades had taught him, indirectly enough, and answers only the truth. “I have been sent to learn about Elpis, and find Hermes.”
“Ah, perhaps Azem did wish to come, after all,” Hythlodaeus says, something knowing in that smile as he speaks to Hades. “You did say he was too busy, so perhaps he settled for this familiar to accompany us instead?”
“If he truly wished to be here, then he would be.” Hades’s voice is sharp with a tone D’var recognizes as hurt paved over with annoyance. D’var has to look somewhere other than at Hades, lest he give himself away. “Given how busy he supposedly is, he would not have bothered with this,” D’var shivers as again those golden eyes seem to look into him and through him, “badly patched together thing.” The disgust curls the Ancient’s lips into a sneer. Twelve preserve him, the man’s body language is nearly the same, even if the way he carries himself is so very different. The disjoint between familiarity and alien threatens to unseat D’var’s reason completely in that moment.
D’var must make some sort of noise, something that redirects the attention of the other Ancient back towards him. “My apologies if we've given offense.” His ears flick back at the heat he feels in Hades’s glance towards the other, pressing down tight only for a second. “The two of us can discern the colour of souls, you see, and yours happens to resemble that of a friend. And with your purpose seeming to match our own besides, we jumped to a hasty conclusion.” Panic flares within him. Has he been made already, seen through so easily? “We, too, are here to speak with Hermes who is chief overseer of this facility, and to learn more about the work done here.”
His anxiety collapses at the words like the burning embers of a bonfire. All the miqo’te can do is nod with a single-shouldered shrug, aware that Hades’s eyes have not left him. D’var feels his eyes like electrical arcs skittering over his skin. How could he have hoped to hide anything from any Ancient, let alone the last holder of the seat of Emet-Selch? He is a fool.
That makes us both fools, I guess.
He winces at the flash of memory, blinking his eyes closed against the pain only for a second, only to open them to see those bright, clear yellow eyes watching him intently. Nymeia’s cruelty knows no bounds, he thinks, and it is all D’var can do not to swear at the goddess out loud in the face of those same yet not eyes.
“Wait,” Hades almost seems to blanch, turning towards Hythlodaeus in surprise, “are you actually suggesting that we bring this,” he gestures at D’var, “along on official business of the Convocation? This construct that we know next to nothing about, including its origin?”
“Would you rather take the time to take it to a proper isolation facility, and start the investigation into its origins? I do know how much you enjoy those concept investigative committee meetings.” The glare Hades gives his companion’s laughing comment makes D’var’s heart hurt with its familiarity. Hythlodaeus merely shrugs. “If you harbour suspicions, better to keep it close than leave it to its own devices, wouldn't you agree? Besides, having a mysterious life-form in tow is the norm rather than the exception here. You will hardly be out of place.” With those words, Hythlodaeus is already starting to move away from them towards the great doors. They swing open with a feather-light touch, and D’var turns to follow after, daring not to be left behind this unexpected ally. The taller Ancient’s voice is alive with the joy of showing this place to new eyes, “Welcome, my friends, to the testing ground of creation at heavens' edge: Elpis!”
From behind D’var’s shoulder, he hears the light rumble of Hade’s voice mutter, “What secrets are you hiding, I wonder.”
I’ve never been able to hide anything from you, D’var answers, though he knows the question was never his to answer.