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MOD EVENT #001

A CHAOTIC RESPITE

It isn't rare for the seasons in the Netherworld to be a little erratic, though many days have passed now without much of a hint of its typical mercuriality, a good and a bad omen all at once. This respite is commonly referred to as the proverbial "calm before the storm", but it also marks the beginning of merrier celebrations. The Moons above are gilded silver, the twilight sky edged with faint pink and orange -- a sunrise phantasm, spilling over the horizon. It's an infrequent spectacle, accompanied by a dulcet breeze and light drizzles that seem to encourage growth nearly everywhere. Unfortunately, under its influence, people seem a little on edge, quick to anger, but no matter; around Stygia, Restless have begun hanging decorations and ornaments on trees and windowsills, left to catch the moonlight and give off marigold and ginger glows, warmly lighting up the city. Rather than fish, the smell of freshly ground spices permeates the air in the Harbors, Mirth keeps its doors opened to all, but just before the festivities officially begin, a cacophony of chimes resounds all over, a transmission difficult to ignore.

On the screen of your cellphone, nothing; only a voice, ragged, out of breath...

“The woods... Oakwoods! They've come alive! O-One minute he was complaining about the water seeping into his boots, and the next he was... he was being yanked up into the trees! We didn’t see what happened to him, but we heard... the screams, ohh, the screams. Please! Come to Serene, I beg you. This is our safest sanctuary, and the lan... oh, no... wait, no, please... please... NOOO--”

...and the feed abruptly ends, a dull chirr of static. Will you ignore the stranger's call for help and feast, or venture into the woods?

► I. KNOCK ON WOOD (OH PUCK, HE'S HOT!)

When you cross the gates of Serene, an old woman welcomes you, palm flat against her chest and disquiet in her eyes. Myrtille, her name. Oakwoods loom dense and dark in the distance behind her, groaning low as leaves rustle without wind. The Mourning Lantern was stolen, and malevolence rose in turn, dooming them all.

“It was once kept here, a sacred Artifact crafted from the bones of Serene's first founder, who gave her heart’s blood willingly to the woods in an act of contrition. It's the absence of the lantern that is contributing to the wood’s unusually active malice, and if you lot cannot retrieve it, then we must sacrifice another. Go! Take these torches and go, before Oakwoods swallow us whole.”

So you've decided to be brave. Commendable, or foolish? The wood is dark and shrouded in mist, and the trees crowd around you, an absent wind somehow whispering foul nothings in your ear as dead leaves rustle around your feet. Your Shadow basks in the murmurs, sensing the malign presence in Oakwoods as a faint, garbled scream echoes in the distance. You wander deeper and the canopy thickens, thin streaks of moonlight peppering the woods in deep patches of darkness. Behind you, a creature you can't see hisses, and a fluttering of wings nearby alerts you to the arrival of snickering harpies lurking on branches. “Dead,” they croak, in a sing-song chorus. “Dead as daylight.” Oddly enough, they seem content to just watch and stalk you, perhaps expecting you to die quickly, an easy and effortless meal.

It's a frustrating errand if you've ever known one. You barely know what you're looking for, and your Shadow thrives in the dark, taunting, coaxing. You hear it then; a haunting melody, the silhouette of a boy on a fallen tree trunk, strumming. “Come,” he says, with a voice that shimmers like the sun on moving water. If you remember what that's like. “Rest a while. Forget your troubles.” For anyone familiar, you'll recognize him as a Puck, famous prankster, and from his hand dangles a lantern.

► If you attempt to take the lantern from him, he'll immediately drop it to the ground, causing it to break. You may choose to kill him and offer his blood to the woods, or let him go and bleed in his stead. Myrtille should be able to repair what's left of the lantern once the offering's been made.
► If you politely ask to return it, he promises that he will... if you indulge him for the night.

No matter what you choose, you will come across camps, either on your way in or on your way back: pitched tents, most moth-eaten, and some containing vestiges of prior expeditions such as putrid corpses or rotten food. You've been wandering for a while, and sleep sounds terribly inviting. Unfortunately, a wind finally picks up, and leaves begin to blow around you. A nick, then a cut, then a slash reveal the leaves to have razor sharp edges. Sleep well yet? If you've spared the Puck, he'll encourage you to sit with him around a campfire, where he'll sing and tell stories. Or are they. Perhaps you've heard of Bloody Mary before. Slenderman? The Devil that'll make you dance until you die? While the lantern remains in stranger hands, the thread between reality and fiction narrows; protagonists from the Puck's legends come to life, and the only way to rid of them is by quenching the flames of the fire.

Your journey unfortunately doesn't end there. The Puck has a riddle for you: I am a word that is hardly there. Remove my start, and I'm an herbal flair. What am I?

If you fail to answer correctly, he'll vanish before you, and you can bid the lantern goodbye. You'll be forced to gather the bones from the corpses scattered across the woods, and feed it your blood -- or a friend's -- before you escape and return to the woman. The offering will leave you drained and exhausted, weak on your legs. If, on the other hand, you do answer correctly, the lantern is yours, and you'll be teleported out of the woods with a boon in your pocket: a piece of parchment invites you to visit your home in the Shadowlands. There, you'll find an object (or a pet) that belonged to you in your world.

the answer to the riddle is sparsely! it's up to you whether you'd like your character to fail.
legends told around the campfire can be any of the ones mentioned above or any other that might strike your fancy! go wild, have fun!
remember that if you pick an item from your character's world as their boon, it'll eventually disintegrate unless reforged with a soul.

► II. GO BIG OR GOURD HOME

Welcome to the Frightful Harvest, a festival that marks the beginning of the Respite, a temporary period of tranquility between seasons. It acknowledges the blessings offered and the role that both good and evil play in the Netherworld. It is a time to give thanks, but more importantly, it is a time of reflection and warding. Warding against not only the darkness of the next seasons to come, but of the nefarious creatures and struggles that will undoubtedly follow.

Carved pumpkins and straw bales are placed everywhere around the city, and streamers and banners are hung from every home and storefront. Decadent cakes, candies, and pastries are made in over-abundance in order to accommodate everyone, and from the lush gardens of Radiance, an elderly, dark-robed man addresses the Netherwork. You'll learn by eavesdropping on nearby Restless that his name is Doran, the oldest among you and loved by all. His smile stretches kind, and while not an official member of the Hierarchy, it's clear he has certain privileges -- well-deserved, or so you hear.

“Let us gather, feast, dance and celebrate. Let us hold our glasses high for those who heroically perished, for goodness, and for the Ascended. May their journey inspire us to change our lives and the lives of others, to resist evil, and to triumph. To you, dear friends!”

And without further ado, let the festivities begin!

► BARDIC BLITZ
The bardic blitz is a friendly competition that pits talented musicians against one another in an attempt to win over the affection of the crowd through festive melodies or personal compositions. Although it can be hosted just about anywhere, the bardic blitz is normally held in a large canvas tent directly in the heart of Mirth, though smaller crowds also gather in Serene and the Harbors around bonfires.

► FEAST
Although all cultures around Stygia bring their own tastes and specific flair to the celebrations, there are a few staple trade goods that you can find at nearly any celebration of the holiday throughout the city. Many producing the various cakes, beverages, and cookies also use the time to test and perfect their recipes, teaching others or using them as guinea pigs.

► Firstdawn Tea: This revitalizing crimson tea soothes the mind and body and is brewed from the roots of the dawn flower, which only sprouts during the Respite.
► Grablenuts: These fist-sized brown nuts have a hard, stippled outer shell and soft, delicious spicy centers. A single bite will slightly lower your inhibitions, and you may find yourself seeking proximity and warmth.
► Elysium: A nonalcoholic beverage that smells and looks as bad as it tastes. Only those with the strongest will manage to gulp it down. Once drunk, the person experiences true bliss, which seems to last for hours; in reality, it's only a few minutes.
► Will-o-the-Whiskey: Whisky with minor hallucinatory effects, visual and auditory.
► Sundrop: A pound cake coated in a sugary lemon drizzle. No side-effects, just delicious!
► Shadowfell Candy: Chewing on this candy will grant the character a deep and rejuvenating sleep, during which they will appear dead to anyone.

. ► HARVEST HUNT
The harvest hunt happens in a corn maze located in Mirth's amusement park, specifically created for the occasion. Because of the labyrinthian horrors dwelling in the Tempest, some find the terror-free replica a little inappropriate, yet participants still abound every time. A favorite seasonal game of the exuberant and athletic, characters take on the role of either hunter or prey, racing through the maze to either corner their quarry or escape the hands of their pursuer. As long as Shadows behave, it's a relatively safe activity. Friendly spars sometimes occur, picnics, and star-gazing.

► THE PARADE
The parade is the activity most looked forward to by younger Restless. Citizens clad in colorful costumes walk the streets to the rhythm of festive music, and according to tradition, it helps ward away any lingering evil that might try to hide in the community. For reasons unknown, incidents where Restless unwillingly swap bodies sometimes occur.

► III. WAYWARD SUN

The Warding Ritual is a private affair, a behind-the-scene execution on the last day of the festival as you dance and feast and frolic, blissfully unaware. Something goes awry. First, a shriek in the distance, and soon, birds flying away in apparent surprise as the landscape rustles with the sounds of creatures and Restless alike fleeing. A vague sense of dread knocks the air out of your lungs, an iron grip around your throat. And you see it then, a headless figure shrouded in a black veil of cloth, sword in one hand and a bright flaming pumpkin in the other. Its head. It thunders through the night on its skeletal horse, its blade flashing in the moonlight in search of prey. Heads fall. You might get injured during the chase -- collateral damage. 10 members of the Hierarchy won't ever rise again, and the rider eventually charges into the Tempest, leaving behind bloody puddles and a slather of confusion. If you opt to help clean up the mess, you might come across stained sheets of paper on the ground, a painting of a white scorpion in the middle. Otherwise, it's time for you to go home.

ooc note

► Welcome to Nightfell's first event! If you'd like additional, more casual prompts, the Notice Board is right here! New prompts will be added next month, if you've already had your fun with them!
► You'll find some answered questions here, but if you'd like to ask something else, please comment below!
► For a little spooky ambience in the woods.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

No, the world survived the apocalypse. I'm alive.

[ Denial first and foremost over the most important part—he shouldn't be here. Still, it's a lot to live through an apocalypse of any kind and endure the dystopia left behind.

Well, the dude isn't bloodletting yet, so he will entertain questions as he collects the bones. Quietly, he wonders to himself if they should clean them? ]

Yes, on a larger scope. It is a spectacle for gods. Worlds end for their entertainment.

[Math ladying over here. The world ended, but the world survived. Joonghyuk is alive. Except not, he's dead now, since he's here.

Or undead. Zagreus possibly couldn't die. Which means that Joonghyuk wouldn't be dead, either, despite everything.

Except—

"You died! You, you died...! Those burning feet, they... sputtered out, when you were born."

The Fates are cruel.

He shakes his head. This is not the time. He straightens up, bones cradled to his chest. He wishes he had milk and honey with him, to pour libations to the dead. He's about to ask for a drink, something to use perhaps, but the comment on the gods ruining the world for entertainment strikes him hard.]

How can that be…? Don't the gods need the world to find purpose?

[ How's thinking working out for you, Zagreus? As long as he considers them both alive, that's all that Joonghyuk cares about. he will argue it to the ends of the universe because he has goals he must accomplish. Things he has to do.

Joonghyuk returns with his own dusty bones, taking note on the way his Shadow seems to dislike it. It doesn't stop him from manhandling these remains and assembling them into a pentagram since he saw it before in the Shadowlands. Zagreus isn't given another look because his home's setting is what it is. ]

When you live for an indefinite amount of time, you can lose sight of things. There are also countless of worlds across galaxies.

[ When he's done, he crosses his arms and stares at their little ritual.

And says nothing because they need blood and found none. ]

I still— I wonder how different the gods you know are from the ones I do. It's very hard to grasp, but I hope to understand some day.

[Countless worlds… The thinking only makes him realize how little he knows—how very greek of him—and how much he will learn in his (rather large) lifetime. He would be inclined to agree that they're alive. What is dead cannot die, etc.

Right? He already eluded the Fates one time. What's one more?

While not entirely understanding the bones' shape, Joonghyuk arranges them as such, and he follows his lead. He's assured enough to make it look convincing. Zagreus looks around and then picks up a sharp pebble, sharp enough to be considered a shard. This is really nothing like standing over the schism towards Chaos' domain, but it's all the same, anyway. A little life essence, and that's it. He makes to press the shard in his palm, stretching his arm over the bones.] Alright, let's do this.

They're not worth understanding.

[ Joonghyuk says that only because he has grown to hate them very early on... And everything that happened to him after only validates and tempers that resentment. There are exceptions. There always are and it has changed his views on being so black and white, but he still firmly believes powerful voyeurs can rot.

He doesn't linger on that hatred for long. They have an objective here, which has him snap over to Zagreus and grabbing his wrist before he can stain the shard. ]

At least use a clean knife.

They're just gods, though, right? ['He is a god, but he is just a god, if you'll forgive me that bit of treason, there,' Achilles had said. He's witnessed how petty and fickle the gods' moods were, which made Mount Olympus look a little smaller in his mind.

That and the large, imposing figure of his Father standing on snow, grousing some sort of mournful speech, had been replaced by the way he knelt on the molten puddle as the Styx took him with a curse.

He starts, though, not shocked at the strong grip on his wrist but at the suggestion.] Oh. Do you have one?

... That's right. They're just gods.

[ No different from people—hateful, passionate, killable. He has conquered them before, many times, and that placates him as he pulls out a pristine knife. Instead of giving it to Zagreus, he rolls up a sleeve and slits his own forearm.

Blood starts trickling, dropping onto the pentagram as it should, but it's odd. It takes shape as it falls, forming letters, spelling words, and stringing sentences, before it blots onto bone. ]

[Wait what.

He has so many questions?!??!!? HELLO???] Uh, what… exactly… made you change your mind? Wha...

[Something flares in him that he tries to subdue straight away. Do the laurels on his head seem to thrum and heat up? Maybe for a half second before he shakes his head.] I thought we had decided I'd do it.

That was something you decided yourself. [ Sometimes, a person changes their mind. ] I don't want to be indebted to you.

[ Simple and succinct, despite of the complexity behind his words.

Once he has paid half of the amount, the bones start to glow? It needs a little bit more, so Joonghyuk wipes the blade clean with meticulous care, bringing back its sheen. The blood pooled and trickling down the dusty structure tell a story.

The stars looked upon his broken body, laughing while making comments full of cheek. He couldn't feel any part of his body and familiar death crept with each passing second, but he made a promise...

In his next life, every star in the sky will die. And the life after that. A̵n̷d̴ ̵t̶h̴e̷ ̵l̷i̸f̶e̸ ̸a̶f̴t̸e̴r̴.̶ A̶̭̎n̸͉͆d̴̕͜ ̶̨̐a̸̟͐f̴͈̉t̸͙͝ḙ̴́r̴̲̂.̴̜̀Á̵͙̭̥̫̙̜͖̐̃̈́̂͜n̵̨̠̪͔̳͈̙̋̈͊̈́d̵̛̫͈͌̅͋ͅ ̵͓̠̫̮̰̬͂̆͗́͛̽̈́̕͜͜͝ả̶̡͚̼̩̟̭̭́́̾̍̈̇̌͛f̷̢̼͍̤̻̣̀͗̒͝t̵̡̡̬̙̬̲̜͕̂̓ͅe̶̥̦̭̯̥̥̤͐̌̃̈́̚͝͝r̷̨̢̻͔͇͇̟̃͛͗͑͝.̴̯́͐ F̶̛̲̓̽̾̓͆͒͂̄̒̅̿̇̏̌̚o̴̡̡̪̥͔͓͕͚̻̬͇̖̭̩̙͕͉͑̚͜ͅr̴̩̰̞̤̘̭̺̠͔̤̼̜̩̣̻͚͓̍ȩ̶̢̝̝̲̩͎̺̪̜̯̤̗̒̀̊̀̈́͜v̶͇̰̙̦̫̝̻͙̱̥͖͎̰̙̅̈́̃̒́̉͑͆̈́͛̈́̕̚͝e̵̺̞̰̞̗͕̓̀͝r̴̺͎̟̗͍͇̗̈́̚

The blade is offered to the Netherworld's godling proper now. ]

You'll pay half.

[Debt. Something so hefty feels terribly out of place, and yet it weighs on Zagreus' chest as though it makes something collapse. It lingers there, and the next breath he takes feels strangely discomforting.

Joonghyuk knows of Hades and Persephone, and has told him how the gods have played a part in his world's destruction. It only makes sense that he'd feel the same distaste for someone like him, progeny who doesn't even know what they're doing. Opening his mouth to speak takes more effort than it should, stuck in being struck and wondering why he felt struck in the first place.] I didn't volunteer to trick you if that's what you think.

[He kneels down by the bones, taking the blade.] If there's anything I can do with my birthright, then it's this. [With the grit of his teeth and with a solemnity that he usually saves for those Chthonic, he cuts his palm with a mutter and waits for his blood to pool and drip from his outstretched hand. He sees the words on the pool then, before his blood joins them, and he's entranced. He's never seen anything like it. If it comes from Joonghyuk's life essence, then it must be about him, right? It had to be…?

This process is slightly slower than a full forearm being slit, so Zagreus carefully places the blade on his lap and turns his fist up. He unfurls his fingers, a red blood gem in his palm, which he tosses into the pool, stirring the words. He looks up, a slight frown to his front.] Do you reincarnate in your world?

[ At the very least, Joonghyuk isn't so quick to judge Zagreus yet... It's more that he's distrustful overall, human or god. Walls come up nevertheless and maybe more so among divinity. Of course the little godling wouldn't know unless Joonghyuk clarified.

Which he doesn't because he doesn't see why? Sometimes misunderstandings continue. ]

Nothing is free.

[ A neutral statement without bias and he speaks nothing more on Zagreus' birthright. If the man believes that his worth is in acts of service... Then who is he to judge? Except he does. The frown on his face deepens, soured at the thought. How much would people give away? Deep-seated sentiments stir in him as he watches the blood gem form and dance atop the bones. The structure glows softly in the dark forest, soothing the trees.

...

What does he gain from telling his story? What does he gain from hiding it? His blood had given it away, but still he's protective. Despite not wanting to be here, the Netherworld has given him privacy he had longed for. No stars in the sky watching over him... No moments of his becoming a spectacle. ]

My story isn't free, either.

[ But a story can be paid with a story. ]

[The misunderstanding lingers, but he doesn't really find it in his heart to fight against it. Distrust, dislike, despise; Zagreus isn't exactly a stranger to any of them, be it by said birthright, the fame and infamy of those touched by divinity, and especially those of chthonic nature, be it by his constant ransacking, those he eventually drags into the vortex of his own rebellious nature.

Joonghyuk calls it a 'story', and some sort of understanding dawns on him. Stories, legends. Both the words in the blood and the way Joonghyuk carries himself do lend their shape to a tale of legend or possible myth, and he snorts, the huff of a breath.

Charon, Chaos, the trade of keepsakes recompensing gifts of nectar and ambrosia. He understands the power of exchange.

The gem dissolves, smokey plumes finding some sort of fluidity, blending red into the red. His palm keeps pouring, and his equally blood-red eye stops at two of those words.

'Familiar Death'

Some of the weight is lifted, in a way, at those.]

I ask because I've died plenty of times myself. The Styx, it takes me home each time I fail my journey through Hades, and I have to start all over again. I'm not the only one, though, but I think no mortal is able to do that unless the Olympians had a say.

[With that said, Zagreus looks up at Joonghyuk again. The blood still pours from his cut, slow, until he balls his hand into a fist and he stands up.] I understand if you wish not to say anything. Like this, I don't do these things so you'll owe me. It would be unfair of me to.

[ The Styx has many stories... And it doesn't quite line up with the ones Joonghyuk knows. It's said to bless those baptized in it with invulnerability yet it's also the course, sometimes imprisonment, for damned souls. In a way, he supposes it isn't different. If Zagreus died, then it carried him back. When he reached the surface, it called him back.

However, to be the son of Hades and in the Underworld... It seems cruel to have kin and staff suffer rebirth, but he understands the worst of it is the consequence of Zagreus' choices. Maybe he wouldn't die so often if he stayed home. ]

For your mother you'd die numerous times. [ Joonghyuk remembers their first conversation. Adding pressure to his cut, he tries to stall the bleeding and wait for it to clot. ] You can say we're similar, but different.

[ He doesn't add more to it or clarify in what ways, whether it be motive or method. ]

Rather than revive, time winds back.

That makes it sound nobler than what really happened. [He knows that part of why he did all of this was for himself. To find closure, to find answers. It's not so much about his mother, his mother was fine, or so she seemed.

His smile sharpens as a wince chills over it; somehow, he hears cries of indignation, of revolt, exasperation, and frustration from everyone around him.

'I want you to come home. Voluntarily. It's not just you swept up in all this nonsense now.'
'I have to say, you've really let this place go to hell.'
'Just remember, in your brazenness, whose House this is.'

Gods—

Instead, he focuses on the cut on Joonghyuk's arm, his own blood and his singing something that he can't really construe. Their offerings lie there garishly, and he takes a deep breath, as though it helped will his own spillage away.

He feels slightly light-headed, but he's used to it.] Time winds back, so… you go back to the beginning? [He's not sure which is worse.]

Nothing is completely altruistic.

[ At least to Joonghyuk he thinks so... It isn't quite noble to him. It's simply a goal, a desire, and there will always be some inherent selfishness to it. He sees nothing wrong with it—to live is to make choices.

Eventually the glowing light on their makeshift gift transforms into the lantern shard they were seeking, this time lit and unbroken. Joonghyuk snatches it with a deft and careful hand. ]

To a set point in time.

It worked…! [It's not without some wonder that he watches the transformation. Things like this are relatively new, in their shape and form, rather than their concept. Things were a little more straightforward back in Hades. He doesn't really understand how blood and bones could make a lantern shard.

Exchange, he supposes, but who's the one they're bartering with?

He considers what Joonghyuk says, opening his hand. He doesn't really heal, not like some of his mythical equals or superiors, but the blood, at least, stopped spilling, even if it stirs something within him as though it's alive.] Perhaps, but there are some things that altruism outweighs selfishness, right?

[He's so curious about this, even if he feels rather wistful.] Of your choosing?

[ Joonghyuk also doesn't know how this worked, but he finds no reason to question it. Knowing the how never helped him in these cases. Polishing the shard, he thinks on Zagreus' words. Altruism outweighs selfishness sometimes... He considers in how many of his lifetimes was that true.

But does that matter? He looks back to the path to the gates and begins their return. ]

No, but it was always the same time and place.

[Trailing close behind, Zagreus ends up looking at the blood on Joonghyuk's arm, wondering if there would be more words spilling out. Something about the whole thing makes him uncomfortable, until it settles in his mind that it's odd, to watch someone else bleed. He's used to seeing blood, the Styx, from himself. But the ichor spilled from those he found at home was different. To see someone else bleed the same red felt garish.

Did all mortals have words attached to their life? He supposes so, one way or another.] Could it… I mean, is it related to the end of your world? Or were you born with it?

[ No more words are spilling out, though some letters bubble from his wound before dying over time. No more stories to tell here, it seems like. They make it to the mouth of the forest and he waits for that woman to appear again.

This time, he won't accidentally threaten her with a knife because she jumpscared him. He's prepared this time. ]

Unlike yours, it's an ability given to me by my sponsor when I faced the apocalypse for the first time. [ ... ] I've had it for as long as I can remember

[Pls don't be aggressive with the lady, Joonghyuk. Zag can talk instead so you can be all introverted and handsome behind him. He knows that looking pretty is a full-time job, he lived surrounded by people like that.

Those words in particular sound like he's been doing that a lot, and Zagreus can't help the slight frown even as he nods.] A 'Sponsor'? [Is his Father or family involved in that, the same way Olympians offered Boons?]

[ Stop... He isn't going to stab her and he can hold a regular conversation. They're just here to drop off the shard. As long as no one jumpscares him, he won't be stabbing?!

When they have done their deed, he proceeds to lead them OUT of Oakwoods. He's sick of that forest. ]

As it sounds, you can be sponsored by a star.

[ So similarly to the Olympians offering boons. ]

[Boo, Joonghyuk.

Don't mind if he walks right along, strung by the conversation and his own curiosity. It's not every day (or night) that he finds that someone has repeatedly gone back to square one like he did, so he's intrigued. It's comforting, in a sense.

His eyes flash.] And you hated the stars, nonetheless.

[So, yes, similar to the Olympians.]

[ Is it comforting... Joonghyuk is torn between believing it is, then also having to consider that they could possibly both be miserable. Zagreus' positive disposition overall has him reconsider that at least.

But we can't judge books by their covers. ]

That's right, but I'm not above using their tools.

[Ever the stubborn one to look at the positives within the impossible, Zagreus will pick up on the comfort that he's not the only one who goes through things from square-almost-zero onwards. Even if he doesn't really wish this upon anyone else.

Though he wonders how pent-up he really is, behind his stately demeanor.]

I understand. You take what you can get. [He shakes his head.] And you do what you have to do.

[ There's silence to that... He did what he had to do—it's what he told himself for many years upon the worst of crimes, but things are different now. That's what he tells himself instead.

Despite that, he thinks about the expression he saw on Han Sooyoung's face, the signs of weariness, the signs of acceptance. Is that the unknown that waits for him, too? It is what stirs this next question where Zagreus can mull over his own feelings as they enjoy a stroll through pumpkin spice. ]

Do you never get tired?

MOD EVENT #001

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