Chapter Text
Twice, the Sun shone too bright. Twice, those he reached for were burned. Twice, the world suffered the consequences of his grief. Of the one who fell helplessly in a pit of warmth and care from which he could not escape.
First, jealousy made the wind sharp and cruel, turning joy into horror, anguish, and rage over the loss of a loved one’s life. A game of discus under a clear Spartan sky ended in blood on the grass and a god’s desperate, failed medicine. In his deep sadness, and in an attempt to immortalize his lover’s memory, the Sun transformed the spilled blood into a beautiful purple flower.
Consumed by his grief, the god neglected his divine duties. Leaving the world that once housed his beloved to fend for itself.
The second time, centuries had passed. The world had already moved on from its fallen child. The Sun god, though appearing as carefree and happy as ever, still missed his dear flower deeply. Then, one day he met a young boy. A boy that had the soul of the one he wanted so much to be at his side once again.
Days passed as he managed to win the heart of his beloved again. To have his love at his side after years of wait. To get to know him all over again.
Until that youth flew too close to the Sun.
Driven by the intoxicating feeling of freedom and by winds that resented who he had chosen to love twice, his wings burned and he fell to the cold and dark embrace of the seas, sinking deeper and deeper by the weight of his wings.
The Sun god, being immobilized by The Fates’ strings, could do nothing but watch in horror as his love, once again, was ripped away from him by his own hands. As he sank and was drowned by a jealous wind because of daring to go so close to the Sun.
And the world, one more time suffered by a god's grief. By the grief of the god who loved too fiercely and shined too bright.
Later on, grief stricken after his lover’s second fall and determined to protect his beloved no matter what, the god of healing called in a favor from the Queen of the Underworld, asking for a way to know when his lover’s soul was reborn for the third and last time.
The goddess of spring, although begrudgingly, gave to him an enchanted plant, a small tree…
~~~~~
Apollo arrived in the Underworld with a soft and small golden glow. Persephone was already waiting for him seated at a small table in her garden. Honestly, it was a surprise that they allowed him to even enter considering what happened right after Hyacint– No. Focus.
Apollo took a deep breath. ‘You have a reason you're here’, he thought, ‘and it isn't to think about the past.’ Apollo clenched his Jaw.
“Apollo. You better have a good reason to be here. Or do I need to remind you that my Lord Husband doesn't take kindly to Olympians loitering too close to—”
“I’m not here to take any souls from Elysium, Persephone.” Apollo sharply interrupted her.
The Queen of the Underworld narrowed her eyes at him and raised a delicate eyebrow. “Then, what do I owe you the visit for?”
“You owe me a favor.” He said calmly. “I’m here to ask you for something.”
Something passed in the goddess of spring’s eyes. Realization, Apollo noticed. She sighed and got up gracefully from her chair.
“Walk with me?” She asked, walking further into the garden. The Sun god fell easily in step with her.
“You want a way to know when his soul gets reborn.” She more stated than asked, but he answered either way.
“Yes. Immediately after it happens. I want to know.” ‘I need to protect him this time.’
Persephone stopped at that. She studied him from the corner of her eyes, but Apollo stood his ground and didn't falter for even a second.
‘I won't fail. This is for Hyacinthus. For Icarus. They both deserve to reach adulthood in at least one life…’ He thought
After some minutes she looked ahead of them and sighed, lightly shaking her head.
The goddess plucked a medium-sized branch from one of the nearby trees and held it with both her hands, closing her eyes and murmuring some chants.
He couldn't hold the small gasp that escaped him when he caught sight of the faint line of purple and gold that was around the goddess.
“Hyacinthus’ soul…” he said so softly that there was barely a sound.
As Persephone chanted the small line of Hyacinthus soul essence entered the branch that now had started to have a soft purple glow.
Apollo couldn't see the rest of the process with Persephone now covering the plant with her body, but he could see the faint purple and gold glow that it had started to emit.
After some minutes that felt more like hours, the glow stopped and the goddess turned to him.
The god of poetry’s breath caught at the sight of the plant on her hands. It was beautiful… A small laurel tree with wood of a brown so dark it almost looked black and leaves of a beautiful shade of dark green. When the light catched the small tree just right, it seemed to have a golden hue. The tree was on a beautiful, simple, dark purple vase with petals and flowers designs on it.
She carefully gave him the plant. He took it with reverence, as if it were the most important thing in the world. And at that moment it was. The moment he touched it he felt a faint buzz of power and a soft smell of hyacinths.
Apollo was still staring at the vase with awe when Persephone took him out of his trance-like state.
“This tree has a mirror of his soul essence. It is called Laurel Hyacinthia, a hybrid of the laurel tree and the hyacinth flower. The moment that his soul is put on a mortal body, you will know.” Her lips twitched up at the last part, as if telling an inside joke that only she knows.
“Take care of it. It won’t die unless his soul is destroyed–” Apollo flinched at the idea. “and it will only give flowers when he’s alive. But that is no reason not to take care of such a beautiful and fine tree.”
“I will take care of it with my life.” Apollo said, offended at such a notion of him not taking proper care of anything related to his beloved, especially something that has a mirror of his soul’s essence in it.
She gave a small chuckle. “Now, now, no need to be so offended, nor take such drastic measures.”
“Now, go. You have a plant to worship." She smirked lightly.
Apollo smiled slightly at that.
“Yes, I should go. Thank you, Persephone. Truly.” He thanked the goddess and flashed to the sacred island of Delos, his and Artemis' birth place, to prepare a space for his Laurel Hyacinthia.
~~~~~
For centuries the Laurel Hyacinthia sat in Delos. Silent and patiently waiting for the purple and gold soul to come back to the land of the living.
Centuries bled into a millennium. Empires rose and fell to ashes, a new era taking its place. But the tree, a memory of a god's grief, remained quiet and unchanging.
That was until, thousands of years later, the tree emitted a short, soft glow. It lasted only seconds, but it was enough to give a single warning: the soul was finally ready to come back and The Fates were waiting for it.
•–«🧶🪢✂️»–•
In a shadow made room, far beyond the limits of time, three cloaked figures sat around a tapestry.
The Moirai.
“A child of the sea… Born only to die minutes later as the price for a broken oath.” One of the sisters, Atropos, The Inflexible, said, holding a fragile, sea-green thread.
“The balance is to be restored. But the loom demands a hero. We need a champion.” Lachesis, The Allotter, affirmed.
“Yes. We do.” whispered the last sister, Clotho, The Spinner, holding in her hands a small sphere of purple and golden light. A soul. “This soul waited for so long to get back to its lover’s arms. Now, it's finally time.”
Atropos hummed in consideration and Lachesis gave a small appreciative smile. “Yes. He will fit perfectly. Let the flower who once feared the sea be comforted by its embrace.” Said the latter.
“I suppose…” Atropos sighed. “Give the twice lived a third chance.”
“Yes, yes… He will still face storms. Cause them, even. But he will also see the light. All that will make him stronger, prepare him for his fate.” The Allotter mused, a small smile on her face.
“But we'll need to hide him. Until he’s ready to embrace what he's fated to do and face.” Clotho warned. “The moment the god of plagues notices that he is a candidate for the Great Prophecy, he will try to protect him. A gilded cage is still a cage after all, and the sea does not like to be restrained. That will be their doom and we can not have that, now, can we?” The Spinner gave a dark smile.
“My, of course not! But it isn’t only him we need to worry about. The paranoia and anger of the god of the skies might also cause his death.” Atropos stated.
“Then we protect him until the right time arrives. But we also prepare him. Our champion.” Lachesis smile widened
“Yes, our champion.” The other two sisters agreed.
“Zagreus will receive our order: The twice-lived soul is to be reborn into the ocean's child’s body. Perseus Ananke, the twice fallen and thrice born.” The Moirai said in unison, matching smiles on their faces.
•–«🕯🪦🕯»–•
The neonatal ward of the Manhattan hospital was quiet, at least for him. The silence only broken by the rhythmic, soft beeps of heart monitors. To the mortal nurses the air was just a bit chill, but nothing was out of the ordinary. ‘Interesting things, the Mist and human minds.’ He thought.
With a sigh, Zagreus stepped out of the shadows in the room. His dark robes a stark contrast to the white color of the ward, but fitting to the storm raging outside in the streets of New York.
As the god of rebirth, Zagreus spent most of his time in the Underworld, dealing with the souls who seek to return to the world. Essentially, his interactions with The Moirai were limited, if not non-existent. So color him surprised when the three Fates appeared and handed him a small soul that glowed purple and gold.
He was even more surprised when they spoke to him.
“Take this soul to the realm of the living, son of the Underworld," They ordered. “The twice lived is to be reborn in the body of Perseus Jackson, whose life was taken as the price of a broken oath. The balance needs to be restored, but our champion must live.” They had said.
Had he said he was surprised? Well, he didn’t expect them to speak with him, at least not directly, and he definitely didn’t expect them to actually explain the reasons behind their orders, let alone call the boy their champion.
The Moirai were quite secretive when it involved their tapestry or their plans, and the fact that they were willing to share some of it worried him to his core.
In the end, of course, they ordered him not to tell a single soul about the importance of that boy nor who his soul once was. He couldn’t even start to imagine the consequences of defying such orders from the Fates themselves.
With a shudder he walked closer to the clear plastic bassinet where a small newborn baby laid. The infant was way too still, his breaths coming off shallow and little heart slowly stopping. The poor soul barely got to live some minutes before it was cut short. All that because Poseidon had dared to break an oath on the Styx. Sadly, a life ending before it even started was a tragedy that he saw way too often, but it never failed to sour his nonexistent stomach.
It made him slightly bitter. The gods made their arrogant, petty mistakes, and the poor, young souls paid for them despite having nothing to do with them. But that was, in the end, how the world worked.
With a small gesture of his hands he manipulated the mist so that no one would notice the dying infant. The god took a deep breath and caught the soul of the dead baby with practiced ease. Then, he summoned the purple and gold soul and, gently, opened his hands.
The moment it was free,the soul floated into the air spinning with a sudden, restless energy before hovering above the baby and settling with ease in his chest. As if it always were meant to be there.
The change was immediate, the heart monitor spiked and the newborn let out a sharp gasp, his cheeks flushing a healthy shade of pink and tiny fists clenching as he moved slightly. Then, he opened his eyes and a striking sea-green with traces of familiar purple and gold stared back at the shocked god.
Zagreus shook his head, snapping out of his shock.
“How… Interesting. The soul behaved as if you were already his… Maybe the Moirai did something–” The god of rebirth stiffened, his eyes widening slightly in realization.
“Oh, you sly, cruel woman…” He let out a dark chuckle, shaking his head.
The god turned back to the shadows, but not without one last look at the now healthy baby.
“Perseus Jackson… You will face horrors in this life, but I wish you luck in whatever plans The Fates have for you… Live a long life and brave the storm, little flower.” He said with a small, soft smile playing on his lips, before transporting himself back to the Underworld and breaking the veil of Mist wrapped around him and Perseus.
But, unbeknownst to him, the storm outside became more destructive before calming down, settling to a soft drizzle, while the air in the room became heavy with the scent of sea water.
•–«☀️🌻☀️»–•
Apollo sat in a secluded garden on his temple in Delos, idly plucking the strings of his lyre.
For nearly three thousand years the Laurel Hyacinthia stayed quiet. Seated on an elevated floor in the garden. No signal that his beloved flower had returned to him.
The sun god sighed, closing his eyes and tilting his head up until it hit the trunk of the tree he was resting below.
Some centuries ago, he had almost convinced himself that it was just a cruel joke. That Persephone’s soul magic had failed or that the Fates had decided to keep his love locked away in Elysium forever, or that he simply grew tired of him and decided to just rest in Elysium for eternity.
He hated the last option and how he desperately wished that it wasn't the case. He couldn't bear a world where his beloved hated him. ‘But isn't that his right? After all, you're the reason he died.’ whispered a traitorous part of his mind.
Apollo shook his head and took a deep breath, resuming his plucking of strings as he started humming a soft tune.
He stayed like that for some hours before getting ready to leave. The god of music was already up and walking back inside his temple when it happened. He felt a strong surge of power that traveled straight up his spine. Then the smell hit him: the fragrance of hyacinth flowers filled the garden.
He froze, his lyre slipping from his fingers and clattering loudly against the marble floor.
The sun god turned sharply to the direction of the miniature tree and his breath caught in his fake lungs
The Laurel Hyacinthia, before in an eternal state of sleep, now had in its leaves and wood golden veins that pulsed in the rhythm of a heartbeat. Even the flowers and petals of its vase were slowly moving, as if blown by a soft wind (Normally that comparison would fill him with rage, but he was too entranced by the plant to really pay attention)
Oh, and don't let him get started on the flowers. The tree shone with beautiful, purple hyacinth flowers hanging from its branches that emitted a soft glow of the same color and the entrancing, sweet smell of the flower.
His heart filled with joy when he remembered the goddess’ words from a millennia ago.
“...The moment that his soul is put on a mortal body, you will know…”
“...it will only give flowers when he’s alive…”
He was back.
After thousands of years Hyacinthus was finally back.
A wild, breathless laugh tore from his throat as he stumbled walked towards the miniature tree. He knelt in front of the vase and reached out, fingers hovering millimeters away from the purple blossoms. As if afraid that, with his touch, the spell would break and the tree would dissolve into the shadows. But, even by only being close to it, he could already feel the warmth radiating from the plant.
“I will find you, my flower. And I promise that this time I will protect you. No matter what it takes.” He whispered.
There was no rumble of thunder of an oath on the Styx, but the promise was made nonetheless, heard by the Three Fates.