| Broken Mirrors (Zelos, Nike, Kratos) |
[19 Apr 2008|10:20pm] |
Here on the banks of his river was peace, for a time. Just for a moment to make sense of all that had happened. They had not listened. Thanatos. Phlegethon. And the rest. None of them had listened, none of them had really heard what he tried to say. In their minds what was he? A brutal, cruel being? Perhaps he was. A fool? That, certainly. And what else was he? Too late he'd seen the truth of his own family. And he'd managed it by polluting his own thoughts, insisting that he was saving them. From oppression that none of them really thought existed. How did you rescue someone from something which they did not believe existed? Did that mean that the threat was not real, or that they couldn't see it? Akheron looked for the answers in a thousand white poplar trees and more. Having only just a moment to do that. Only this brief span of time before he was given whatever weak pain his nephews and nieces could summon. Fear was not in it. His mind recoiled from the idea of testing his strength against theirs, and seeing who would emerge victorious. For a thousand years and more he'd practiced the sword below. They would be hard pressed together or alone to match such a thing, but he couldn't contemplate the outcome to such a confrontation.
He'd given Styx his word.
( Many times over. )
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