Kairos 56: The Many Deaths of Dionysus

Dionysus was dead before he was born.

He remembered dreaming in his mother’s womb, the seed of Zeus Almighty bestowed upon mortal soil. As Dionysus grew month after month, so did the divine spark within him. The power of an emerging myth, recognized by Fate.

A [Legend].

So great was the power of the [Gods] back then, that their children always inherited a [Legend] of their own. Like a flower could produce buds, their sons and daughters were always born [Demigods], their myths an extension of their sire’s.

Dionysus’ divine fire could not be hidden, least of all from the jealous Hera. Each bastard of her husband was a slight on her honor, and for that they had to die.

Her intrigues bore fruit, and on Mount Meros, Dionysus’ mother Semele asked her lover to reveal himself in his full glory. Divine lightning struck her, and burnt Dionysus within her womb.

Even now, millennia afterward, he still remembered the pain of his stillbirth. The searing flames burning his mother’s flesh, and the cold, skeletal fingers of death tightening around his neck to squeeze his last breath out of his lungs.

But a power greater than even Zeus spared him.

As the Lord of the Olympians cradled his son’s corpse, Dionysus breathed for the first time.

Such was the birth of Dionysus.

It would be the first, but far from the last.

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His second death was even more painful than the first.

Dionysus had reached the age of seven by then, under the care of forest nymphs and his foster father, the satyr Silenus. The curious child had wandered off, and slept in a valley between three hills.

Except that when morning came, the hills woke up and one of them caught Dionysus within his palm.

“Free me, you ugly beast!” Dionysus complained. The creature that held him was a giant of stone almost eight meters tall, with moss for a beard and grass for hair. “You’ll regret this!”

“Who dares call Eurytus ugly?” the colossus roared, showing teeth made of old stone.

“The blood of Zeus!” Dionysus replied with pride. “King of kings!”

“And we giants are the blood of Gaia, the Earth,” another giant said. This one was made of carved granite with gemstone eyes. “We were old before your father was but a spurt of seed on Rhea’s cunt!”

“You do not belong here, brat, whoever your father is,” said the third giant, with ashen skin and fire in his veins. “This land belongs to us.”

“The world belongs to Olympus!” Dionysus shouted back, before nodding at the clear, open skies. “My father’s writ extends everywhere the lightning strikes!”

The ashen giant snorted. “I doubt that. More likely you are some stupid human brat.”

“A human brat?” Dionysus was outraged. “Don’t you recognize a god when you see one? I am a prince of Olympus!”

“A prince?” The granite giant snorted. “Zeus’ victory over Kronos has made him a bit too cocky. Perhaps we should send you back to him in pieces, to teach him a lesson in humility.”

“And there isn’t a thundercloud in the skies now,” the ashen giant said, before squinting at their captive with shrewd eyes. “But you are indeed of [Demigod] Rank, so there may be truth to your words. What is your mother’s name, child?”

“Semele!” Dionysus declared proudly. “The most beautiful woman in the world!”

Or so he thought. Though he never had seen his mother, he was certain she must have been a blinding sight to behold, to catch the eye of almighty Zeus! One day, when everyone recognized him as his father’s son, Dionysus would journey to the Underworld and raise her from the dead. She would be so proud of him then!

“So you are not a child of Hera,” the ashen giant said with a cruel, fiery smirk. “Good. She will shower us with favor if we bring you to her.”

“No, no, Ophanion, I have a better idea!” Eurytus the stone giant chuckled. “The blood of kings of gods has power, it is known.”

“Mmm…” Ophanion the ashen considered his fellow giant’s words. “True. He is a prince of Olympus.”

“Indeed, I am!” Dionysus raised his head with arrogance. “I am not without mercy. If you let me go, I will richly reward you when I take my rightful throne.”

“Oh, we won’t have to wait that long, young one,” Ophanion the ashen said, before turning to his granite ally. “Clytius, fetch us the cooking pot.”

The cooking pot? Did they intend to throw Dionysus a feast as an apology? But then Ophanion grinned cruelly, and the son of Zeus understood.

“Eurytus, you caught him first, so you pick the first choice.” Ophanion glanced at the terrified Dionysus, savoring his fear. “The breast or the leg?”

A few minutes afterward, the giants tossed the horrified Dionysus into the boiling waters and ate him.

Dionysus screamed as the heat seared his flesh from his bones, and dissolved his eyes. But soon, the boiling waters muffled his screams and consumed his throat. By the time the giants pulled him out of the pot, the pain had made him pass out. The last thing Dionysus remembered was the sound of the cleaver fending through his leg’s bones.

Darkness swallowed Dionysus, as the giants devoured him piece by piece in his sleep. Much later, he would learn that they had started fighting over who would get to eat the choicest part, the heart. Only this organ survived the grim feast.

When at long last, the last spark of divine fire within Dionysus faded, Death came for him. Icy fingers clutched the [Demigod]’s wayward soul.

I don’t want to die. Dionysus would have let out tears, if he had eyes left to cry with.

“Do not be afraid,” the shadow of death had whispered, almost soothing. “I cradled you in my own arms before your father did. It is better this way, believe me.”

And yet, Fate was not done with Dionysus.

His heart started beating again, and the hand of death let his soul go in surprise. Dionysus felt his spirit imbuing a new vessel. He shook with new limbs, breathed with new lungs, listened with new ears.

And when he opened his new eyes, he saw a kind woman’s gaze facing him, and sensed her warm arms holding him.

You have reincarnated!

“Mother?” Dionysus asked, his voice weak. He had never seen a face so beautiful, so warm...

“No,” the woman replied, her gaze full of compassion. Her owlish eyes shone like the sun, and a golden helmet covered her black hair. “I am your half-sister Athena. You are safe.”

The memory of his death flashed in Dionysus’ mind, and the child screamed.

The [Demigod] cried tears of fear and buried his face into his sister’s bosom. His cheeks turned wet, and he soiled himself in dread as he remembered the cleaver, the teeth, and the boiling waters. Yet instead of pushing him aside, Athena only held him tighter.

“It’s alright,” she whispered kindly. “It’s alright. You are safe. They cannot hurt you. No one can.”

“Why?” Dionysus asked, refusing to let her go. “Why?”

“Because though you may not be one yet, you are destined to become a [God]. I have foreseen it.” The goddess gently brushed his hair with her fingers. “[Gods] cannot die, Dionysus. They are beyond the rules that bind lesser creatures. Though mortals are bound to the earth that birthed them, cursed to live their short lives full of pain and misery, you belong in the eternal skies at our father’s side.”

Dionysus looked up at his sister, and she gently wiped his tears away with her finger. “Do you understand now, Dionysus?” she asked. “To take your place among us, you must become greater than the giants, stronger than any fiend, craftier than any sphinx. This is your destiny. One day will come when no one will threaten you again.”

The young [Demigod] nodded.

He would never be weak again.

That night, his sister returned Dionysus to his guardians. He didn’t speak a word, but somehow they knew. They all knew.

The nymphs showered him with gentle kisses and sweet pastries, but Dionysus cared for neither. Instead, he kept staring at the hills north of their camp. Which of them were slumbering giants, and the others harmless mounds?

“Young master, I am so sorry…” his foster father Silenus hugged his charge in sorrow and grief. The old, balding satyr wielded a drinking horn in his hand, and wept bitter tears of remorse. “I am so sorry… this is all my fault...”

“It is I who wandered away, Silenus,” Dionysus said without emotion. “I should have listened.”

It had taken his death to teach him this lesson: that though he might have been a prince of Olympus, others wouldn’t acknowledge his title until he earned it. He had cried and perished like a helpless mortal, when he should have prevailed with a lightning bolt in hand like his father Zeus.

“I must become strong,” Dionysus said, shaking. “But I… I can’t forget. Everytime I look at these hills, I… I remember.”

And the shadow always followed him, like a lion stalking an antelope. Dionysus could see it at the edge of his vision, always out of sight.

Seething. Hating. Waiting.

Silenus looked at his charge with sorrow, before offering him his drinking horn. “Take this, young master.”

“What is this?” Dionysus asked.

“A cup of courage,” his foster father said. “It will make you forget… and it will make you brave.”

Dionysus carefully accepted the horn, and drank. The substance tasted sweet and sour both, filling him with joy. This night Dionysus danced until morning, before collapsing half drunk on a hill.

Afterward, he was never seen without a cup of wine in hand.

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It was his third death that made him into a [God].

By this time, Dionysus was an adult, a man virile and strong. Some said that while wearing a cloak of lionskin and wielding his thyrsus staff, he looked every bit the spitting image of his father Zeus.

For years, he had fulfilled Quests and struggled to make mortals recognize his divinity. His travels had brought him to the ancient city Argos, whose people refused to acknowledge him. So he drove their women to madness, unable to even distinguish their own babies from wild beasts. If the men would not worship him, then their lines would die.

But the people of Argos had once done a favor to another son of Zeus, and called in the debt. A warrior clad in shadowy armor, with a shield representing a dreadful gorgon’s head. One whose eyes held power.

Perseus had come to Argos’ defense, and turned his [Aegis] against Dionysus.

A gorgon’s power couldn’t claim a true son of Zeus… but it could affect his retinue.

“Ariadne!” A horrified Dionysus watched on as his wife, his beautiful kind wife, turned to stone. Her golden hair turned grey, her warm hands cold as death. The divine winemaker attempted to lift her curse with spells and magic, to no avail.

“Now you feel an ounce of your victims’ sorrow,” Perseus said pitilessly.

“You turned my Ariadne to stone!” Dionysus angrily raised his staff as his rival [Demigod]. “Return her to me at once!”

His half-sibling remained unfazed. “Free the women of Argos from your curse, and I shall release your wife from mine.”

Dionysus snorted. “I shall have my wife and my revenge. I am Dionysus, son of Zeus! I escaped the Lycurgus of Thrace, conquered India, slew the King of Thebes! Athens has bowed to my divinity, as did a hundred cities! All know me as a generous patron, who rewards faith with gifts!”

“And doubt with madness?” Perseus asked with scorn. “A true merciful god would have asked for patronage and offered gifts, as Poseidon and Athena did for Athens! Yet you rule through fear! The people of this city only doubted you!”

“They refused to raise [Idols] to honor me,” Dionysus replied arrogantly. “I am a son of Zeus, born to rule. My greatness should have been obvious to mere mortals!”

“I am a son of Zeus from a mortal mother too, yet I do not pretend to rule mankind,” Perseus replied. “Does your sinful arrogance know no bounds, Dionysus? Your mother was one of these mortal women once. Have you forgotten her?”

Dionysus’ eyes burnt with anger. “I have not forgotten, no. I have not forgotten that my mother Semele was loved by Zeus himself, and chosen to bear a [God]! How dare you compare her to this common stock? Who could give birth to a god, but a goddess?”

“I see my words cannot reach you,” Perseus said, before unsheathing his sword. “Perhaps defeat will bring you to your senses!”

Dionysus laughed and raised his thyrsus. “I have conquered Asia, and slain giants! I will master you too.”

“We shall see,” Perseus replied before raising his blade. The eyes of Medusa moved on his [Aegis] shield, glaring at Dionysus with hate and envy. “We shall see.”

Dionysus charged with overconfidence. What could happen? A mortal could not slay a future Olympian. Perseus’ weapon would shatter against Dionysus’ skin, and the prideful city of Argos would learn humility.

And yet, he lost.

The furious Perseus battered the lord of drunkards, shattered his ribs, and pierced his skin with a cruel sword. His heroic will shielded him from [Madness] and [Terror], his [Aegis] shield from the thyrsus’ blows. When the duel led the fighters to the city’s lake and Dionysus fell into the waters, his blood tainted them red.

As his body floated down a river, Dionysus was brought back to his second death. The memories he had fought to suppress for decades and buried with wine flooded back to the surface. The cold waters suddenly felt searing hot; the sword wounds were like cleaver ones.

Am I… am I dying? Dionysus thought, as his vision blurred. But… a god cannot die… I… I cannot die...

His last thoughts were of his mother, waiting for him on the other side.

His mortal followers found his corpse near Delphi, where they had raised a temple. This city’s people had shown him proper worship, and so he showered them with favors. Where the citizens of Argos had despised Dionysis, the people of Delphi had loved him.

They carried their fallen god to his own [Idol], praying for him, weeping for him, mourning him. Their voices reached Dionysus’ spirit, making him linger on this earth. Though his body had perished, his soul refused to pass on. Instead, Dionysus latched on to his own [Idol], and watched his own funeral through eyes of stone. He watched on as his priests laid his body to rest in his own temple, and followers offered him prayers and offerings.

The dark figure that had followed Dionysus for years stalked the funeral procession all the way to the burial. When the mortals left the temple to let their dead god rest, only the hidden shadow remained.

“Who are you?” Dionysus’ soul asked through his [Idol]’s lips, as the intruder stepped over his tomb.

The figure revealed itself, a cloaked, noseless man with black crow wings. His eyes were red like blood, his skin as pale as a corpse. His voice was low and soft, like a killer whispering one last word of comfort to his victim.

“Don’t you know?" The shadow asked. "I am the last breath, the final whisper. I am the night of every sun, the darkness waiting beyond the twilight of years. I am the shadow of all living things. I am Thanatos.”

The ancient deity smiled at the [Idol], but his mouth had neither teeth nor tongue. Only a gaping black pit of pure nothingness.

“I am Death.”

If Dionysus’ spirit still had a body of flesh, he would have shrugged. “You are not very good at your job, are you? I slipped through your grasp twice already.”

"Third time’s the charm,” Thanatos rasped as he raised his hand, revealing fleshless fingers of calcified bones. He reached for Dionysus’ tomb, to claim his soul for the Underworld.

But once again, his wish was denied.

Dionysus’ [Idol] pulsated with divine light, and the dead [Demigod] heard voices.

They came from all around Greece, mourning him, praying for his safe return. His thousands of followers across the land prayed to his [Idols], the strength of their faith empowering his [Legend]. The divine fire of his myth grew warmer than the sun.

Dionysus’ spirit howled in triumph, as his [Idol] turned from stone to flesh. The god’s youth and vigor were returned to him, as a new body rose right above the tomb of the old. One with horns rising from his head, and the divine power of an Olympian.

You have reincarnated and strengthened your [Legend]! Your [Legend] evolved into [Inexplicable One]!

You upgraded your Personal Rank from [Demigod] to [God]. You can now progress up to level 100, and create your own [Pantheon]. You achieved [Immortality].

His followers’ prayers and worship had turned him into a [God].

“Why won’t Fate let me claim your arrogant soul?” Thanatos muttered to himself, as he stepped away from Dionysus’ light. “You live, you die, you live again. Your immortality is the worst of them all, a false hope. I can feel your soul between my fingers, and yet it slips through my grasp.”

“And I shall do more than escape your grasp!” Dionysus boasted with renewed confidence. He raised his hand, feeling the divine power course through his fingers. “What you have taken from me, I shall take back!”

And with the power of Olympus at his back, Dionysus called out for his mother.

The light in his temple grew blinding, tearing the very fabric of life and death apart. “No!” Thanatos panicked. “No, you fool!”

His feeble pleas fell on deaf ears, as a woman’s soul manifested on the temple’s ground. New flesh manifested from the aether to house her spirit. Her skin was as pure as porcelain, her hair, and her eyes were like gold. She was the loveliest creature Dionysus had ever seen, and when she looked at her son, tears of joy and pride rained down her cheeks.

And for the first time in many years, Dionysus felt happy while sober.

“Begone with you, crow,” Dionysus mocked Thanatos. The shadow that had haunted the winemaker for so long no longer frightened him, for he had mastered life and death. “A mere [Demigod] like you cannot slay a [God].”

“No, I cannot.” The shadow of death cursed Dionysus, before disappearing in a rain of black feathers. “I cannot.”

The thrice-born Dionysus paid him no mind, and instead embraced his mother. He would free his wife from the stone, carry his mother to Olympus, and reunite with his father Zeus.

They would be a family at last, living forever in the skies.

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His fourth death brought him down to earth.

Divine lightning shone in the skies, and rain poured down as he bled. His companion Silenus had turned to stone, alongside so many others. Warriors clad in steel cut his maenads apart with swords and spears, nailed his satyrs with arrows.

And his wife… his beloved Ariadne...

Her head had rolled on the grass a few meters away from Dionysus. Her killer slew her for the crime of shielding her husband.

And soon, his turn would come.

The curved weapon struck Dionysus again in the chest, tearing through his flesh and his very divinity. He recognized the blade as adamantine, the pommel as the Cyclops’ handiwork. The divine fire within him weakened with each blow.

Warning, [Godslayer Khopesh] negated your [Immortality]!

Dionysus had tried to fight back and defend his flock, but the assassins had ambushed his retinue while they finished a feast in the valley of his childhood. The wine had driven the [God] mad with rage, but also made him sluggish and slow. The deity of drunkenness couldn’t change his own nature.

Though Dionysus had killed dozens of these men, driving them to kill each other, collapsing the ground below them, or incinerating them with his thyrsus, more kept coming. Mages summoning mighty blasts of energy, archers raining acidic arrows, and warriors wielding fiery swords… an entire army had come to claim his head. They even brought the Gorgons with them.

In the end, this army’s leader had overwhelmed Dionysus like Perseus before her. The [God]’s vision blurred as she raised her adamantine khopesh above her head, the blade whiter than even ivory.

She was some half-Greek warrior-queen of Egypt, a granddaughter of Zeus from her father’s side. Her skin was dark, her hair darker, her eyes blue and cruel. Clad in golden, feathered armor, she was lovely, savage, and hateful.

“Kinslayer…” Dionysus managed to blurt out through his bloodied teeth.

“We were never kin, Olympian,” she replied, her voice full of disdain. “It is time we humans take control of our own destiny.”

“Father…” Dionysus pleaded to the skies, as lightning fell from the clouds. “Father… please…”

“That is not his lightning,” the queen replied, as a dark mountain moved on the horizon. Only when the khopesh fell did Dionysus realize that it was a giant, serpentine leg taking a step.

Dread Typhon had escaped to challenge Zeus again.

And so Dionysus died, with a head cut and a heart full of fears.

As the blade tasted his immortal blood and severed his life’s thread, a great cold filled his soul. His [Immortality] had been lifted, and the fire that burnt within him passed on to his slayer.

You have lost your [Legend].

When he perished for the fourth time, only the grim darkness awaited his soul.

That, and a grinning Thanatos. “I have been waiting for you.”

“You…” Dionysos trailed off in rage and sorrow. “You are behind it all.”

“Now, now, I only claim souls when the time has come. I bear no weapons, wage no war, raise no army. I can only whisper and advise.” The ghoulish face of Thanatos turned into a ghastly, cruel grin. “When men asked me how to kill [Gods], how could I deny them?”

“You led them to us,” Dionysus whispered, and death’s envoy didn’t deny it. “Why? You served Olympus too!”

“Why?” His voice changed from teasing to hateful. “You dare ask me why?”

Thanatos looked down on Dionysus with fiery eyes.

“Because I hate you.”

His fingers grabbed the dead god’s soul, holding it as tightly as if it were a body made of flesh.

“I am a shadow, a mirror, the reflection of life. I have existed since the moment Gaia gave birth, and I have hated you all ever since.” His voice was deeper, fraught with fury. “I hear every breath, sense every heartbeat. I long for the peaceful silence from the time before Fate, when nothing existed. I long for the ending of all things, and freedom from my duty.”

Dionysus looked into death’s eyes, and saw the boundless rage within them. The hatred of a slave of Fate, envious of the living, but unable to lash out at them himself.

“I hate humans,” the maddened primordial said. “I hate men and women. I hate the healthy and the sick, the faithful and the faithless. I hate all birds in the sky, and all fish in the sea. But of all the deathless [Gods], it is you that I hate the most, Dionysus. You, whom Fate granted the gift of endless reincarnation and the power to undo my great work on this Earth.”

Thanatos opened his mouth, and Dionysus’ gaze lost itself in the dark abyss between the primordial’s lips.

“Now, the humans will bring death to the deathless. The Cyclops’ weapons will pierce through the shield of immortality, and the arrogant [Gods] of Olympus will torment me no more. It will be a cosmic carnage. I will dance among the ashes and reap a harvest of immortals.”

An eldritch power called Dionysus from within the dark abyss, inviting the lost god to close his eyes and fall, fall, fall...

“Starting with you.”

And yet, his wish was denied once again.

An invisible force pulled Dionysus’ soul back from the abyss of Thanatos’ maw. None was more surprised than death itself. “The Fate System… will not let me take you?” His surprise turned to anger. “How? Your [Legend] is gone!”

Dionysus himself couldn’t tell. Already he sensed his soul pulled back to the world of the living, away from the reaper’s grasp.

“This power is not a Skill or a [Legend],” Thanatos realized, as his rage turned to hateful glee. “You are like me. An agent of Fate, a function of the world. Life to my death, light to my shadow… a shared torment.”

Dionysus woke up again, right next to his own beheaded corpse.

His new body was weak and frail. The cold rain drenched his naked skin, making him shudder. The bed of grass below him offered no comfort, and the rancid smell of blood assaulted his nostrils.

You have reincarnated as a [Common] human!

Was this… was this how humans always felt? Dionysus thought. Even in his childhood, he had been born strong enough to break trees with his bare hands, and most weapons had bounced off his skin. So weak and frail and fragile?

Even standing up was a struggle, his legs almost collapsing when the ground shook below his feet. His knees trembled, and his ears hurt when the lightning struck above him. The rain had turned into a downpour, the skies so dark that he couldn’t see. The air was choked with the taste of smoke and death.

His slayers had left, leaving only corpses and statues behind. Water and mud had started covering them, while the horizon looked bright red.

Fires.

Fires so great, even the downpour couldn’t extinguish them. Gigantic shadows reflected in the distance among the flames, moving north towards their destiny.

Towards Mount Olympus.

“Mother, Father!” Dionysus took a step forward, but his foot slipped. The fallen god collapsed into the mud, face first. Powering through the pain and humiliation, the winemaker struggled to rise up again, to rescue his family and—

“Oh, I missed one?”

Dionysus froze, and quickly looked over his shoulder.

He immediately regretted it.

“Good,” said the gorgon Stheno, the crimson snakes forming her hair spitting venom on the ground. Dionysus only caught a brief blur of her baleful visage, but it sealed his fate. “My collection was one statue short.”

Her shining eyes met Dionysus’ own.

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It took centuries for his statue to break down.

He didn’t know what freed him. Maybe the rain and wind finally destroyed the stone sealing his body. Maybe some adventurer party put him out of his misery when they attempted to take on Stheno. Maybe the gorgon released him on a whim.

Dionysus didn’t feel anything while [petrified], but he wouldn’t call it mercy. His mind had stopped functioning, neither registering the passage of time nor providing him input on the outside world. The fallen god had stopped thinking.

Oblivion terrified him more than death ever did.

His new life didn’t begin as swiftly as the others. Instead of waking up as an adult, he awoke while his new mother struggled to push him out of her belly.

Without his [Legend], each new life would be lesser than the last.

When he emerged from her womb, Dionysus realized he couldn’t feel his feet anymore. The lower part of his body felt deformed, and strangely warm.

You have reincarnated as a [Common] satyr!

Fate had a sense of humor it seemed.

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“I cannot help you, brother.”

The words echoed in Persephone’s temple, spoken by her own [Idol]. It had taken Nessus years to find one, and make a successful attempt to contact his half-sister; the only close kin he had left from his previous life.

His second mother Echaria, a sweet human woman impregnated by some satyr rogue, had called him Nessus. Dionysus without the godhood. The irony, if only she knew.

Thankfully, Persephone’s divine eyes had immediately recognized her half-brother… though the answers she provided him weren’t to his liking.

“The power that returns you to life transcends my own,” his half-sister explained. “It is Fate itself that brings you back, time and time again. For what purpose, I cannot tell. But so long as it remains unfulfilled, you shall walk this earth.”

“If you can’t free me from his curse, then can you bring back my Ariadne?” Nessus begged. “Silenus? My mother?”

The statue’s expression turned into one of sorrow and sadness, crushing the satyr’s hopes. “My [Legend] is a shadow of my late husband’s. Though I inherited his duties, I cannot say the same for his powers. Reviving the dead, truly reviving them, is beyond my abilities. And truth be told… your loved ones’ souls have long reincarnated. No one is waiting for you on this side.”

Nessus was alone.

He felt as if a mountain had collapsed on top of him, or when his own followers buried him in Delphi. He tried to remember the faces of Ariadne, of his mother Semele. They looked like faceless shadows, as did his father, his half-siblings, and all the people Dionysus had taken into his care.

They only existed in his memories now. Even the [Dodekatheon] had perished.

Persephone looked at him with genuine compassion. “I am sorry, brother.”

“Did they hate us that much?” he asked, his heart full of sorrow.

“Yes, they did.”

“It’s not fair,” Nessus said, clenching his fists. “They took everything from us. Everything.”

“Was it?” Persephone asked with a frown. “Unfair? I would argue otherwise.”

The satyr looked up at his sister’s stone face. What he saw in her eyes shocked him. “You don’t hate them?”

“Time has given me perspective, brother,” Persephone said. “I have long asked myself why the mortals turned against us. I asked the same to the souls that ended in my domain, and learned from their answers. When gods threw fits, the mortals suffered. We expected—demanded—worship, when we should have worked to deserve it.”

Your mother was one of these mortal women once, Perseus’ words echoed in Nessus’ mind. Have you forgotten her?

… yes, he had forgotten.

Dionysus had forgotten what it meant to be weak, that day the giants slew him. To live and die at the mercy of someone stronger than him. He had hated that feeling of powerlessness so much, this primal pain, that he buried it underneath cruelty, empty pride, and anger.

The gods had created men in their image, and humans had learned from them. The endless cycle of abuse had repeated itself.

If Dionysus had understood the truth of Perseus’ words, could he have prevented this disaster?

Is this curse a duty I must fulfill? Nessus thought grimly. Or a punishment for my pride?

“What about Hades?” Nessus asked, changing the subject. “Zagreus?”

“Lycaon and his children devoured their souls,” Persephone replied, her eyes blazing with rage. “So long as that vile wolf-god draws breath, they will remain trapped in his stomach.”

“Can I help?” Though Nessus had never liked old grouchy Hades, his uncle had been fair with him. Dionysus owed him a debt for letting his mother Semele live again, and reincarnation didn’t wipe it away.

“No. Not in your current state at least.” Persephone marked a short pause. “But there may be a way to help yourself.”

Nessus’ head rose up in hope. “Which way?”

“Though you lost your [Legend], it does not mean you cannot gain another. You could become a [God] once more… a wiser one.”

“I already asked the Moirae for a Quest,” Nessus said, dejected. “They recognized me, and refused to help me. I did my time, they say.”

“There are other ways to gain [Legends] than the Fates’ Quests. The humans proved it, to our detriment. Fate is a powerful force, but not set in stone.” Persephone’s statue looked at her half-brother thoughtfully. “I may have an errand that could give you a new purpose.”

“Oh?” The satyr couldn’t suppress his curiosity. “Do tell, pale beauty.”

“There is a soul missing from my domain. Though she perished at Orgonos’ hands, Circe’s spirit never arrived in my hall. I sense a larger scheme is at work, though I cannot divine what.” The [Idol]’s expression transformed into the pale shadow of a smile. “I do not believe Fate is done with you yet, brother.”

Nessus had struggled to become a [God] before. He could do it again.

And this time, he would do it right too.