Commission for my friend corgioki over on deviantart
The sun was bright and clear, its rays warm and comforting. The only disruption from the golden light was the occasional white puff of a drifting cloud, but the sky was a constant, vast blue that nearly shimmered in the midday heat. Noon had come and gone and the air swirled to life, with it was the aroma of the nearby ocean spray—Japan was especially beautiful in May. Its nature surrounded and enveloped the senses: the falling cherry blossoms a sight that aroused the soul; the faint hum of both mechanical and organic life rose and dipped like subtle background music; the tang in the breeze that refreshed the throat and sweetened the tongue; the passive coolness of the wind that danced along with the warming air. It was a perfect day that could lift any despairing soul. Except for one.
In the middle of this cyclone of beauty sat a single woman, her skin as dark as the trees that hid her from the rest of the world. Her dress whipped into a frenzy with a sudden gust of wind but she did nothing to fix the ruffled clothing nor her tousled hair. She was a single, fixed point - a mountain slowly crumbling as nature took her apart grain by grain. Nothing could lighten her spirit, not even the wonders among her; she could only gaze with hollow eyes and a malnourished smile.
She sat in the silence nature offered her, as thankful as she was regretful; the silence allowed her peace but she did not care for how her thoughts seemed that much louder. The sun sparkled where it hit her powder white hair or her sapphire blue eyes, but nothing could distract from her obvious melancholy. Her mind raced and sparked, images and words and memories flying fast and erratic, but a soft rustle halted it all.
A deep male voice floated toward her and, despite how tears clung to her eyelashes, her lips curled into themselves and her teeth peeked from their previous captivity. The familiar sound steadily grew and, with it, her sadness was cleverly and expertly hidden from sight; all that was left of any despair was her bright eyes, ironically waved away as happiness.
A tall man, with hair as black as a new moon, curiously looked around. His face was open, his eyes wide and endless with wonderment, and it all lit up at the sight of the hidden woman. His gray eyes softened and his mouth split in a grin better suited for a child. She mimicked him perfectly and rose to greet him.
"Shiro, it's lovely to see you again." She gently tucked a lock of her white hair behind an ear.
Shiro's smile grew even brighter and he chuckled, "I'm pretty sure that's my line, Allura. Honestly, I'm just glad you agreed to see me again."
Allura giggled at the faint blush that spread over Shiro's pale cheeks, yet his bashfulness only threatened to bring up sorrow-tinged memories she'd much rather forget. With years of practice ingrained into her, Allura finally made her way to Shiro. The man grinned at her before offering her his arm. Allura placed a delicate hand on her forehead and swayed, batting her eyelashes as she crooned, "Oh, what a gentleman!"
Shiro laughed at her exaggerated swooning. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Shiro swooped down and caught Allura in his arms; her knees laid over his right forearm while her back rested in the crook of his left elbow. Allura instinctively curled her arms around his neck, their noses nearly brushing each other in this new position. While Shiro swung her around, Allura was again caught in flashes of this very situation, of doing this long ago with the same man who wore a different name. Allura, forced to hide before her emotions could dim her eyes, tucked her face into Shiro's neck, squealing that he must put her down. Though she wore her feelings on her face, she had mastered her voice; Shiro could only hear happiness, no matter that his gut said something was off.
Oh so gently, Shiro knelt down and Allura easily slipped from his hold, but she did not go far. Allura stayed in his arms for a second more, her face was clean of any residual sadness and her eyes crinkled in laughter. As Shiro gazed down at her, she squirmed free and took a step back, only to thrust her left arm out and wiggle her fingers. Huffing a soft laugh, Shiro entwined his own fingers through hers. Together, their hands swinging in between them, they walked on; Shiro had wanted to surprise her, so Allura sneaked curious glances, though she said nothing.
Shiro was content to hum an unfamiliar song out of tune and Allura was content to listen to it. The walk was short and filled with the occasional chirping bird and rustling leaves. Right before the walked out of the treeline is when Shiro stopped and pulled Allura behind him while he stepped forward. Facing her, his hands now resting lightly on her biceps, Shiro said, "I used to play here when I was younger, so I hope you don't mind what I have planned."
Allura took one of his hands in both of her own and looked into his eyes. "I'm sure whatever you have for me will be delightful," she said sincerely.
Shiro's mouth curled into a grin and he nodded before standing back and sweeping his arm out, silently telling her to go first. Allura giggled and curtsied in return before walking forward, her hands brushing low-hanging branches out of the way. Upon seeing the rolling hillside hidden by the trees, her breath caught in her throat. At the precipice of the hill was a large apple tree - strangely enough, it was the only one among the ocean of cherry blossoms. Allura approached it slowly and silently, Shiro a nervous shadow behind her. When her feet hit the curve of the mound, she broke out into a sprint, Shiro's surprised yelp only spurring her on.
Her hair whipped in her frenzy and her feet carried her farther and faster than what she should have been capable of. Behind her, Shiro was blinded by the light that glinted off the strands of her white hair, but he laughed anyway. By the time the both of them had reached the top, Shiro was lightly panting, but it was Allura's smile that took his breath away. Twisting and twirling beneath the branches, Allura danced along the exposed roots, her feet nimble and quick. Turning to Shiro, Allura launched herself at him. Catching her, Shiro held her tight to his chest and, for the second time, spun around. However, the second time was not as smooth as the first. Shiro ended up tripping over the root Allura had danced on just moments before and they tumbled down into a giddy heap.
As she laughed, Allura caught a glimpse of something in the corner of her eye. Turning, her eyes widened in shock before she turned back and lightly slapped Shiro in the chest. "A picnic? Are you a walking cliché or something?"
Chuckling at her bemused expression, Shiro replied, "If it gets me a good time with good food and a beautiful girl, I'll happily be a cliché."
A blush darkened her cheeks and she ducked her head, her hand reaching out to push him. With a smug grin, Shiro pulled her into his chest and braved a kiss on her head. Feeling her melt into his embrace, Shiro held her closer and stood up, Allura still tucked into his arms. Walking over to the area his designated for their picnic, he placed her down and waited for her to look at him again. Shiro brushed her hair back to see her cheeks puffed in a pout and leaned down to catch her eyes. Smiling, he asked, "You ready for that good food I promised?"
After Allura nodded, the two quietly enjoyed their lunch in blissful peace. This was only an early date after all, and the couple wanted time to experience the silence together. Besides, not much talking could be done with how much they were eating. Shiro had, in Allura's eyes, created a feast for a band of warriors rather than just the two of them. When she had pointed this out, Shiro had flushed hotly and sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. He wanted it to be perfect, he said. Perfection was something Allura was intimately aware of and the word struck an ugly cord in her soul; she knew perfection, and it was not this.
She said none of it aloud. Instead, she let her lips curl into a smile rather than a grimace and soothed his worries, Shiro ignorant of the whispers at the back of her mind. Allura wished she, too, was ignorant.
Soon after their lunch, Allura turned to lean against the rough bark of the apple tree. Gesturing to her lap, Allura coaxed Shiro into laying on her. Though the man was obviously anxious about the act, Allura just made sure his neck was comfortable and began to run her fingers through his hair, her nails lightly scratching his scalp. An unbidden rumble poured from Shiro's mouth and Allura delicately laughed at the accidental purr. Shiro, thankfully for him, didn't notice and simply relaxed under her ministrations. Soon, the black haired man had fallen into a light sleep, his breathing now steady and deep.
Allura just continued to comb through his hair, though her mind wandered. She remembered this exact movement, only it was to a different man in a different place at a different time - the only constant here is her. Allura remembered when she was not Allura, when Shiro was so much more than he was now, and when the gods answered to her. As she let her mind wander, Allura could only hope she did not lose it.
She had already lost so much.
With the Anemoi lazy and lethargic and Apollo's work coming to an end, Philotes could think of no better natural sight. The breeze lovingly weaved itself throughout her white hair while the setting sun cast streaks of color that kissed her lover as sweetly as she did. They had, yet again, secluded themselves in one of the many temples that dotted Mount Olympus; they never chose the same temple twice.
Philotes' mind wandered much like her fingers did through Kratos' hair. The drapes that hid them from the rest of the world were knotted carelessly at the base of Aphrodite's statue - Philotes had hoped that Aphrodite would recognize their love and help them yet again - but she could not escape the feeling of uneasiness that threatened to suffocate her. The Neikea had been crueler than normal and simply getting away from them had grown more difficult than it was to hide from them. Looking down upon Kratos' face, Philotes lightly traced the man's lips. Leaning down, the goddess of affection bestowed her own gift upon the god who held her heart. A light kiss had Kratos' lips curling into a sleepy smile, though his eyes did not flutter. To know he could feel her even in his dreams made her glow, but the longer she gazed down at him, the harder it was to keep nasty memories at bay.
The Neikea, the heavenly feuds, had coveted her since their conception. Among her sisters, Apate and Nemesis, deceit and justice, it was her who was crowned the loveliest. It was to be her, no other, who was to be the perfect opposite of the Neikea; who would create where they would destroy, who would love where they would hate. Even among the gods, no one envied her.
Philotes remembered all of her past sorrows, but there was a particular sorrow she did not mind. The Neikea had thrown her to the Olympian gods, declaring her their new bride, a gift from the feuds they had purred. It was only Artemis' fury that held the gods back and Aphrodite's softness that helped her leave. Artemis had declared her off limits for as long as she remained a maiden and Aphrodite had let all of Olympus know Philotes was friend - should she love all, even her enemies. Philotes knew she should have been grateful, but all she could do was run to the nearest temple; even the help of the friendliest of gods came with a contract.
Blinded by her tears, Philotes had ran into Ares' temple, but she knew that the Neikea wouldn't dare search for her there. As if the god knew of her trespassing, which he probably had, the air seemed to have pulsed with anger. Philotes could remember sobbing, begging the god of war to spare her this one time - she is fighting a battle with no weapons, no armor, and no allies. The air had thinned and all she had done was collapse, thanking all of those who would listen.
It wasn't a very long list.
Yet, while Philotes hid from all, her praying had reached someone: the very man she now held on her lap. Kratos had told her his own version of their meeting a thousand times, but she never tired of it. It was just a simple action that had her happier than she ever thought she could be. He had told her, with a laugh already in his throat and a smile quick to curl his lips, that he had no idea that he would find the most beautiful goddess. Called her more beautiful than Aphrodite herself. 'Surely!' he had once said, 'Had I not already met her, I would have sworn upon Zeus himself that you were Aphrodite.'
While all she remembered was a warm hand, a kind voice, and a pair of soft eyes, Kratos spoke otherwise. It was a normal day for him; he had only been in her hiding place to relax before he sparred with Nike, Bia, and Zelus. As a guard for Zeus himself, Kratos often sparred with even Ares - though he was always eventually beaten; if not the war god, then by one of his siblings.
("I'm most afraid of Bia," he had whispered secretly as they laid in a temple to Hermes, "but don't tell Zelus that. He'd get horribly jealous."
"And what of Nike?" Philotes had asked with a hushed voice and amused eyes.
"Why," Kratos exclaimed as loud as he dared, "Nike's just there to win!")
Kratos told Philotes time and time again that he fell in love with her the moment he saw her. She was a glorious tragedy that he couldn't wait to fix, he had said. Then, when she had slapped him and told him that she didn't need fixing, he told her that he was her loyal servant and would then mend her whenever she needed it. Philotes, a smile unbidden upon her lips, remembered laughing at his silliness. She, a lone goddess, could make the god of power, keeper of Prometheus, personal guard of Zeus, willingly go to his knees with her name on his lips.
(Philotes was the only god Kratos had ever prayed to. Philotes believed it still to be a lie. Kratos does not know how to convince her of the truth.)
Ever since they had united, they had been nearly inseparable. They were magnetic together and starved for each other's presence when alone. Philotes remembers bringing Apate and Nemesis with her to watch the four children of Styx spar with one another multiple times; how they have not figured anything out is beyond her, but Philotes knows that neither were created for love as she was.
Dropping her eyes to Kratos for what felt the millionth time in only a few minutes, Philotes went to glide her fingertips over his cheekbone when the sound of footsteps had her tensing. Her eyes flew to the opening of their faux tent just in time to see it ripped away, the vindictive grin of Atë making her blood run cold. The greedy eyes of the goddess of ruin, one of the more vicious of the Neikea, ran over Philotes and Kratos.
Philotes could see the moment everything clicked for Atë and her smile transformed into a hideous snarl. With one finger pointed directly at Philotes' lap, exactly where Kratos' head laid, she shrieked, "Whore! The blessing of Artemis no longer clings to your body! You belong to the children of Eris - to me and my sisters! To the heavenly feuds! Say goodbye to your pathetic lover darling Philotes, because we shall share you no longer!"
Atë's horrific screaming had awakened Kratos, but the god had been too shocked to be of any use. When he finally shook himself out of it, Kratos saw that Atë had ran—and Philotes had ran with her.
Kratos erupted from the drapes with a bellowing roar, the sound ricocheting through the mountainside the temple rested on. However, he was too late to reach the single Neikea - and so was Philotes. Though both women had a head-start, Kratos quickly caught up to Philotes, though she was alone. Sobbing, Philotes nearly collapsed into Kratos' arms. Clawing at his chest, she begged, "Take me to my sister! Please, oh Kratos, please, we must see them! They will know what to do!"
While Kratos gathered Philotes and ran for her sisters, Atë had already met with Dysomia. The goddess of lawlessness loved to wreck havoc with her twin and this only stoked her thirst for it. Together they ran for their own sisters, but the Neikea were ready for the information Atë possessed. With hisses and screeches, the Neikea were let loose upon Olympus as they hunted for their mother Eris. With the goddess of Strife behind them, the Neikea were driven mad with the idea of possessing Philotes as they had before; surely Zeus could not deny them their birthright?
As the Neikea headed toward their mother, Philotes and her sisters were racing toward their own. They had at first rejected her pleads, but Apate and Nemesis were not known for turning away their youngest sister. Apate was proud of her centuries-long deceit and Nemesis was pleased to see that justice, no matter how small, had been given to the Neikea. The three sisters and Kratos searched for Nyx; Zeus would possibly listen to Kratos, but the goddesses knew that Zeus feared no other like he feared the goddess of darkness. However, Nyx was much harder to persuade than Eris; Philotes had gone to her knees and Nemesis pleaded with their mother for help, any at all. In the end it was Apate, who had dangled the treat of crushing Eris as their payment.
Nyx was nothing if not a vengeful woman.
Yet, even with both Nyx and Kratos behind Philotes, Eris had the 14 bloodthirsty Neikea and they demanded no less than Kratos head. Zeus, caught between Nyx, a goddess who lived long before the sky and the Earth, and the Neikea, who would lovingly destroy all of Olympus than let Philotes out of their clutches, could find no compromise. Nyx refused to have her daughter live as a slave while Eris rejected denying her children their desire.
In the middle of the goddesses' arguments and the Neikea's jeers, Philotes fell to the floor, her sadness nearly a physical thing. Her sobs were wretched and keening and all Kratos could do was hold her and feel his heart break. In his eyes, her pain was his fault—and, in the eyes of her sisters, he knew they blamed him, too. Standing, Kratos gently passed Philotes to Apate.
Walking with a steady stride, Kratos broke through Nyx and Eris' screaming and knelt at Zeus' feet. The lightning god looked down to Kratos, his trusted guard, and lowered himself to one knee. Quietly, Kratos told Zeus of his own compromise and the kingly god jerked back in surprise. Zeus narrowed his eyes at his bowing general and nodded, not a word said. Zeus sighed and snapped his fingers. In an instant, Kratos was gone.
Philotes, who had been slowly crawling toward Kratos, went down again, her voice ripped from her chest in a scream so violent Hades would later swear it sent the undead fleeing. The Neikea, however, laughed victoriously and moved to take her. Zeus, surprising all of the women in a single, graceful move, stepped between the goddesses and raised his trusty lightening bolt. In a voice like thunder, he said, "Kratos has joined the mortal world on his own. In payment of his sacrifice, you shall never again touch Philotes. Should he return, the truce shall be broken. Until then, return to your home and leave the children of Nyx alone."
Spitting in rage, the Neikea move toward the goddess anyway, but were stopped by Eris. Knowing that that is all Zeus was willing to give, Eris took what little success there was scraped from the shattered remains of her daughters' prides and egos. As the feuds left, all sound seemed to point to a still-weeping Philotes.
Sighing at the pitiful sight, Zeus turned and called for Hermes. The god flew in instantly and forced himself to ignore the four goddesses. Zeus ordered Hermes to tell Kratos' siblings of his decision and asked Hermes to come back in one piece. Gulping, Hermes flew from the palace, hoping he could deliver the news where neither Bia or Zelus could reach him.
Turning back to Philotes, Zeus knelt and handed the despairing goddess a scroll. Confused and blinded by tears, she clutched the scroll to her chest, unable to ask her king what it was for. Thankfully, she didn't have to.
"You have already caused my daughters much suffering today, Zeus," Nyx said coldly. "Explain yourself. Now."
Stifling a wince, Zeus stood and turned to the terrifying goddess. "Kratos was a loyal and trusted guard and general. Because of his service to me, I have allowed him his compromise: he shall be stuck in a cycle of rebirth in the mortal realm - with no memory of the life before - so long as the Neikea stay away from Philotes. As a token to his sacrifice, something even most gods would never do, I have bestowed your daughter with a scroll that tracks his every movement. Though he cannot return, Philotes will not be held back from seeing his mortal forms," Zeus said, his voice low. "Written on the parchment is his mortal name, where he has been born, and what he looks like. The Olympians wish you luck and Aphrodite herself shall bless each of your unions."
Ripping the scroll open, Philotes devoured the information it gave her. Shrugging off her sisters' lingering touches, Philotes raced outside. Right before she left the doorway, she abruptly stopped. Turning to Zeus, she bowed and said breathlessly, "Thank you. Thank you for giving Kratos back to me." Turning back, Philotes saw Apollo readying his chariot for his morning ride and ran to intercept him.
As Philotes' sisters and mother hurried after her, Zeus followed Apollo's chariot with his eyes as it ascended. Turning back to the throne room, Zeus muttered, "There is nothing here to be thankful for."
By the time Philotes made it to where Kratos had been placed, Apollo's chariot had already carved its way to noon. Letting the young goddess off, Apollo watched her frantic search from the sky. He saw as she dawned the clothes of the local peasant women and closed in on a man in the square. Suddenly, the sun god saw Philotes stop and turn back. Frowning, Apollo lowered himself another time, only for Philotes to climb back on. Surprised, Apollo opened his mouth to ask her why she had returned, only to stop at the fresh tears that rolled down her face. Not wanting to make such a situation worse, Apollo just sighed and returned to the sky.
It would be a decade later that Philotes would say what she had seen: her Kratos, now a mortal peasant - and with a wife on his arm.
It would be a century later that Philotes would return to the mortal realm and meet her Kratos; this time, the god was a single woman awaiting the day for a local man to marry her.
It would be a quincentenary later that Philotes would finally introduce herself and yet another 500 years for her to allow herself to fall in love with a man fated to die.
Philotes, strangely more comfortable with Allura than her own birth name, remembered counting down the years until she would be yet again drawn to Kratos' new form. She had seen him as a peasant Chinese man, an exquisite Mongolian empress, a Roman priest, a broken hearted and pregnant widow - and now a handsome Japanese veteran. Philotes had seen her darling Kratos in every manner a mortal could express and yet she only loved him - her - them - more for it. She had loaned him money as he struggled in debt; had dressed her as her most dedicated handmaiden; had gone and prayed with them and cared little for their uneasiness with calling themself a man, knowing that Kratos' soul had no such human bindings; had helped her birth her only child and then helped bury her, raising her child as if her daughter was Philotes' own. Philotes loved so greatly that her heart had long ago crumbled to dust, but she had kept the grains of it in a vial around her throat. Just in case.
A soft groan sliced through her thoughts and Philotes retreated behind Allura's mask. Blinking the fog away, Allura looked down to see Shiro waking, his eyes as hazy as her mind had been. Suddenly, he shot up, his movements frantic and alert, his words spewing from his mouth in a slurred wave. Allura could only blink in shock and smile in bemusement.
Seeing her obvious confusion, Shiro took a deep breath and sighed before running a hand through his hair. He spoke again, this time notably slower, "I'm so sorry for falling asleep on you, I didn't mean to."
Allura laughed, a soft and low thing, "It's quite alright, Shiro. You picked the perfect place to waste the time away."
Breathing out in relief, Shiro stood and quickly packed the things from their earlier picnic. Allura watched him quietly, noting that the sun was sinking so slow she thought she saw Apollo wave at her. This time it was Shiro's hand that snapped her from her thoughts. The dark skinned woman took it in a gentle hold and tried to subtly hide her eyes from Shiro's concerned gaze.
Before she could say anything to defuse the rising tension, Shiro gathered her in his arms. "Allura? Are you alright?"
Allura allowed herself to hear Philotes' voice, floating in the back of her consciousness. 'Oh, Allura, we shall be fine. It will and has always been worth it; we will love this soul for as long as we can. We made a promise, remember? Until the day we die, we will love Kratos. Always.'
Shaking Philotes' soft whispers out of her head, Allura buried her face into Shiro's neck, hoping Apate will help her in her deceit one more time. Moving so that her nose brushed along Shiro's cheekbone, she whispered, "I'm absolutely perfect."
Yet, as they kissed, softly like they had so many millennia ago, when everything was still colorful and quiet, Allura couldn't help herself. Philotes shined out of her eyes and their thoughts mixed into one: 'Oh, but if only you were perfect, too, my darling. If only.'