My soul is wrought to sing of forms transformed
to bodies new and strange! Immortal Gods
inspire my heart, for ye have changed yourselves
and all things you have changed! Oh lead my song
in smooth and measured strains, from olden days
when earth began to this completed time!
- Ovid
On the morn of the Summer Solstice, in front of a crowd of thousands, Yuuri Katsuki dies.
When Yuuri was sixteen years old, he destroyed his uneasy detente with the sea, the entity he had previously valued in appreciation directly proportional to the distance between them, by plunging head-first into its raving depths on a particularly chilly winter night.
Of course, Yuuri's previous preferences of staying the hell away from the sea and its seductive depths, didn't lend itself very well to the very practical pursuit of knowing how to swim or even float while surrounded by water higher than his shoulders, but how hard could it be? Yuuri thought grimly, as salt water bit his eyes and the cold nipped his skin. He could feel the ever reliable strength of the ocean current assert its dominance over Yuuri's young body.
Any other day, Yuuri would have considered being sacrificed in Poseidon's realm a just punishment for his lack of foresight, only the reason for Yuuri's aforementioned lack of foresight shrieked, the sound seeming to echo in the clouds as they flashed blue with raging electricity.
Yuuri held his breath with firmer resolve, fists clenching, as he waddled his way to the child who was wailing at the sky for assistance, like he was appealing to the gods themselves to save him. The night raged on, somehow urged on by the child's wails, the sea becoming more and more violent the louder the child got.
Yuuri could taste the salt as the water hit his face with the force of a slap.
By Poseidon's grace they hadn't died yet, but it wouldn't be long before the sea claimed them.
Yuuri had to get to the child before that happened.
He had to.
The burn in his legs and arms lessened, as Yuuri was filled with sudden strength with the force of his resolve, giving him the energy he needed to shoot across the distance separating him from the child, and envelope him in his arms.
The child wailed louder.
There was a rushing sound, Yuuri looked up only to see an enormous, serpentine wave curled over him. He tightened his grip, and held on to the wiggling pile of limbs.
After.
After what seemed like Poseidon's himself decided to punch them in the face with knuckle rings, Yuuri emerged, dragging himself on the sandy floor of the sea, heavier still because of his dripping clothes, shoving the now limp body in his arms along.
He coughed up sea-water, urgently rolling the young body to its back, and checked for signs of life.
A weak heartbeat.
Yuuri, careful of his strength, now more than ever thankful for Minako's lessons, steadily delivered the necessary weight to the child's chest, willing his heart to beat louder. Muscle memory taking over his frantic mind and heart. He pinched the child's nose, and shared his own breath with him, praying to the gods to be merciful.
The night's air turned colder and the sky grew lighter, as Yuuri continued the firm movements, uncaring of the hour.
"Please, please, please, don't die, please don't die, please, please, please" Yuuri chanted under his breath, his sixteen year old mind struck with the unfairness of a mother losing her child, especially one so young in age. Yuuri wondered if this child, with wet hair made dark by the treacherous sea water, had a father, or if he was like Yuuri. Who would mourn him if he breathed his last, here, in Yuuri's arms?
The air grew warmer. But Yuuri paid it no mind, inured to the burn in his own lungs, as he tried to share his life with the child. Yuuri kept pumping his palms to a steady beat, willing life into the tiny body.
So frantic was he, that he jumped into the air, landing to crouch protectively over the younger body when a searing heat hit his shoulders.
Yuuri looked up wildly, only to be blinded with radiance.
He hissed and flinched, curling up against the child. He was ready to fight the intruder if necessary, but needed to take a small break from the bright light.
"Easy, easy, little hero. It's going to be alright now," A smooth voice said, the syllables of the spoken words resonating within Yuuri's bones,"I am here."
I am burning up, Yuuri realized belatedly. He must have expended more strength than he realized, trying to revive the younger boy, for his body to be protesting so vociferously.
Yuuri clenched his eyes shut, the dried salt in his face crunching uncomfortably.
He could smell smoke. The chill seeping into his bones warring with the heat coming off of the intruder, he could hear the rushing of the sea and the smooth skin of the child underneath his fingers.
Yuuri opened his eyes.
He was in his bed at home, dry as a bone.
Yuuri gasped, shoving off of his bed, and looked around wildly.
He saw his childhood room in his childhood home in his childhood town, away from rising seas and soothing strangers.
Yuuri brought his hands up to his face, covering his mouth; they were trembling.
He could still smell the sea-salt in the crevices of his hands.
No fable made famous by the Greeks is to be neglected.
- Hippolytus of Rome, Philosophumena
Yuuri never told a soul about the night he almost drowned.
He never talked about the blinding heat of the stranger, or how he wound up in his room in the blink of an eye, or how his body felt like it was still underwater for days afterwards.
Or how his dreams were overtaken by silver. How every night he flew, skating through the air on metallic wings with a mysterious partner, how he colored the sky with the tips of his fingers and was enveloped in a warm cocoon of laughter and heat every time he drew closer to his dancing partner.
He told no one, not his mother (Who would panic at him being near the sea, after her repeated warnings to stay away from the water), nor his sister (who would slap him on his head for jumping in without knowing how to swim).
He only forced a smile as he woke up from another particularly warm dream draped in visions of silver skies, one lunar cycle after The Incident, as his mind christened it, as his mother brought in his birthday cake wishing him good tidings in a voice so dear that it didn't matter that it was off-tune.
He didn't say anything as Minako rushed in, hair flying every way, screaming about the Titan Lord of the Sun.
He affected casual nonchalance as Minako's sharp gaze pinned him to the floor, speaking words of faux mutual amazement and wonder, as his gut rolled with suspicion, as he remembered the heat emanating from the stranger that night.
The Titan Lord of the Sun had saved them all, The villagers cried to one another, their celebration so loud that surely even the gods themselves could hear it in their realms.
"What do you want for your birthday, Yuuri?" His mother asked, eyes bright with silent relief as if an invisible weight had been lifted off her shoulders, "We have double the cause to celebrate!"
Easy, easy, little hero. It's going to be alright now, I'm here.
Yuuri looked around, at the laughing villagers, at Minako drinking them all under the table, looking younger than her years; at his sister leaning against the wall, coolly detached, if you didn't know to look underneath to the naked relief in her gaze; at his mother, unburdened for the first time in years, and he thought of soaring through the clouds, silver skies and of painting the clouds.
He came to a decision.
"Mom, I want….no, I need… your leave."
Hiroko smiled blithely, unaware of what Yuuri was going to ask of her, "Leave for what, my love?"
Yuuri steeled himself, "I need your leave. I want to attempt The Labours. I want to become a Hero."
The restaurant quietened.
They turned to look at them. Yuuri was trembling with the force of the gaze, but he held firm with visions of silver skies.
He was doing the right thing.
But even that didn't prepare him for the blankness in Hiroko's expression. The bleakness in her eyes.
Yuuri could feel his soul falter at his mother's sadness. He opened his mouth to say something, anything.
A hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up to see Minako's keen gaze, stable despite the liquor she had consumed.
She lifted his right arm, and loudly declared with a voice that resounded with the finality of temple bells, "May the gods light your way home!"
The declaration seemed to shatter the glass atmosphere, as the villagers echoed the ritual statement, lifting their drinks to the heavens and shouting their support.
Yuuri, with his arm still lifted in a vice grip, saw his mother's lips tremble for a second before she echoed the shouts.
And if her voice shook, no one was cruel enough to call her on it.
For after all, sending a son off to die was enough to do that to a mother.