— i'll say a prayer, as i cast it to the flame

[redsoil]

WHO: set & others
WHERE: around the netherworld
WHEN: check headers for specific dates/times
WHAT: a catch-all for everything during his time in-game
WARNINGS: physical violence, mentions of sexual abuse, hanahaki syndrome, etc.

Comments

[dodgeouttahell]

['Play? Play?! Was dangling about a piece of paper like he were some animal with a chase instinct considered play in Egypt, making a fool of an—'

Zagreus sighs. Enough.

It wouldn't matter what Zagreus would think of Set. It shouldn't matter to Set himself or Greece or Egypt. Zagreus is no god, despite being born from who he was born.

Here's the same prideful entity, storms, and chaos that have been translated into tales by the shades of a great hundred-headed being that went against Zeus, that fathered the frightening hound that guards the gates of hell, that sends the most ferocious volcano into a frenzy. From fire to sandstorms, suffocation, and… despair.

And yet.

Here is that same god cradling his face the same way his mother had when she found out he lived. He trembles as if he's not made of divinity and jerks at it as though he wants to stop himself from doing so, tears staining his cheeks and chin, blood smearing over Zagreus' own skin, painting him with the same shade of his eyes and hair. He feels like wearing his colors, becoming one of his own.

(And wouldn't that be nice, becoming one of anything or anyone else?)

Regret and amends lather his tongue despite how he says he'd think less of him.

But how can he, when he's doing what no other god would even phantom doing, which is to live amongst their people and to want to redress?]

I know. [He nods, tries to at least bring a smile to war's face. A ridiculous endeavor, he knows, but he at least is trying, a tentative quirk of his lips.] I will never think less of you than I had back then if that helps. But I know I was also in the wrong for acting and thinking the way I did. I have passed it, that moment.

[His hand on Set's slides over his arm to reach his shoulder. Squeezes there, slowly, gently. After all, he has not requested permission to touch him, so if he shakes it off, it's easy to do.] Consider my aid an offering to the Red Lord of the Red Land. It's up to you if you wish to accept it or not.