A/N: SURPRISE! Here is yo chaptah uno! Just a couple notes to help you along:

Leda = Lindsey (because "Lindsey" is NAWT a Greek name...like at all. Trust us, we researched)

Craig is like LOADS out of character, but it's for the benefit of the story.

Aaaand, tha's purdy much it. We think. Yes...okay. Proceed to read! (OMG THAT RHYMED - new catch phraaaase!)

~Us

Chapter 1: A Beginning

Ogunquit, Maine, 1982

The gray sky spread around her as she stood on the cliff, confused as to why her instincts had sent her down to this particular place on Earth. The violent waves crashing below her only worked to further increase her inner turmoil as she squinted her dark eyes in the direction of a lighthouse keeper's home, where she knew a child would soon be born. There must have been some sort of significance about this specific birth, for she was the patron of motherhood and had never before been called upon by feeling alone.

The storm around her continued to gain momentum – the wet wind blowing her perfect blonde hair around and into her face. Boats tied to the docks near the ocean began tilting from side to side with the influence of the currents; people ran into their homes for cover as the Town Hall's emergency bells rang frantically.

Something strange was going on – Leda could feel it. She didn't like not being in control or being fully aware and it was agitating her. She scoffed in disgust at the dingy little town and turned around with all intents to just leave, when she heard the unmistakable cries of a newborn. As its shriek pierced the air, it seemed the wind began to calm, and the rain began to halt, and the clouds in the sky opened up for the once-hidden sun to bathe land that was surrounded by darkness not a minute ago.

The goddess quickly turned her head back around to the lighthouse she had been observing before, narrowing her eyes and slightly opening her lips in confusion. She made quick to relocate herself down by the window of the small home. A man sat on the edge of well-worn chair, elbows resting on knees that bounced up and down with nerves. His large hands were clutching his hair, hiding his face from view – anyone who saw the man would be able to feel the anxiety radiating off of him. The door to his right opened up and a mousy girl dressed like a nurse stepped out with a solemn glint in her eyes, lips quirked in a strange kind of smile that was neither happy nor sad. The fidgeting man, who Leda now deemed was the father, immediately stood. When he caught the nurse's expression, his face flushed to white and his eyes widened in terror. Trying to regain his breath, he quietly gasped out, "The baby?"

The young nurse's strange smile grew a little, contradicting the sadness that also increased in her eyes. She shook her head. "Your son is perfectly healthy, Mr. Taylor. I'm afraid it's your wife. The birth was too strenuous for her heart." She laid a gentle hand on the quivering man's shoulder, lowering her voice to a sympathetic whisper. "She didn't make it."

Immediately, at the nurse's words and simple caress of his shoulder, the man's body crumpled in on itself, falling to the chair beneath him in such sorrowful disbelief, Leda herself reacted to the man's pain. She swiftly turned her head away. She did not understand the need for her to be here. Why was it that the first time her instincts led her somewhere, it was to this? There was nothing rare about a mother dying during labor. So, why did this one seem to feel so different?

Right as she was beginning to take her leave, she caught the young nurse's voice-

"Would you like to see your son?"

At this, Leda paused. Her curiosity forced her to turn back to the window. When she looked in, she saw the young woman gently placing a blue bundle into the weary man's arms. The man took the bundle as gingerly as he could – his eyes star-struck – holding the baby as if it were the most precious metal on Earth. It brought on a small smile to the edge of Leda's mouth.

Slightly stretching her neck to catch a glimpse of the child, her eyebrows shot up with surprise. The baby – a mortal human child – was emitting light. Leda blinked as if it had been some sort of illusion, but the child remained glowing like a golden orb. Could the man not see the glow surrounding his newborn son? Though soon Leda realized that this was something only the eyes of a god could visually recognize. But, the glow itself did not strike her as one of godly descent. The golden light he emanated vaguely reminded her of the stories Brytos constantly told her of the most beautiful light he had ever experienced. But how could a mortal have anything to do with the experience of a god, Leda wondered to herself rather flustered. Brytos had only once seen the light and that was many, many years ago during his transformation. Hastily, she reassured herself that such an event could not have been, in any way, associated with the scene unraveling before her eyes today. Still, something didn't quite sit right with Leda. And for the final time, she turned and walked away.

~/~

The once silly idea that this little boy could, in fact, be connected to her husband nagged at her from the back of her mind. It was absurd! She shook her head, trying to physically jostle the thoughts from her mind. To no avail, she sighed, continuing down the shoreline – the incoming waves soaking at her bare feet without wetting them before pulling away again. She didn't exactly know where she was going but at the same time, the scenery's drastic change from the unstill, rocky beach beneath the lighthouse told her that she had travelled a considerable distance.

The sand had grown darker – crunching distastefully under the soles of her feet – and had also grown into larger pellets the farther up the surf you drifted. The rocks grew larger, blacker, and jagged – little coves and caves forming from and within them. Leda's footsteps slowed as the wind around her swirled harshly and as she no longer felt alone on the presumed empty beach.

A creature's snicker blew towards her ears along with the wind. The noise lingered, making its presence known, before it cowardly retracted sensing the goddess wrinkle her nose and twist her perfect mouth with disdain.

"Show yourself!" Leda demanded, her voice booming effectively and bouncing off the rocks around her. She walked forward confidently, her chin held high. She was not afraid – she was simply annoyed. She appeared at the entrance of a hollow cave; its curved top a little higher than her head, making it easy for her to walk inside. But she hesitated. Leda peered into the darkness of the cave, the moon providing little to no light to fully make out the shadows that shifted along the walls. She was wondering how deep the cave actually ran, just as a flicker of yellow light from within seized her attention. All of her senses were on high-alert although she somehow knew no harm would come to her. After all, she was a goddess, she'd chant to herself as if the thought alone would protect her.

Another snicker of laughter sounded but this time, it was followed by a loud thud, as though something heavy struck a hollow object. The flicker of light returned and burned brighter – constant. A fire had been lit in the center of the cave, just a couple yards from where Leda was standing at the mouth of the entrance. Just behind the small flame that burned atop a little three-legged stand, stood three figures. Each different from the one beside it, both in size and structure. Leda clicked her tongue in disapproval and strode inside to meet the three fidgeting forms for the first time in what felt like centuries.

"You three always seek me out when I wish to see you the least," Leda said bitingly. She stopped just before the fire, which separated them, and crossed her arms across her chest, wrinkling the silk of her simple white dress. Her dark, unforgiving eyes studied the three sisters.

"Oh dearie," The sister to the far right, a short and plump little harpy-of-a-creature, shrilled. "We do only seek you when you least desire! And also when you least desire a hearty slap to the muzzle!" The witch cackled – thin wrists holding the flab of her full belly as she shook with wicked laughter. Leda's nostrils flared dangerously. But just as she lifted her hand to magically disable the poor Fate, the form beside her took initiative.

As if to demonstrate the hag's threat, the middle sister, a tall and skeletal misshapen-of-a-woman, reached her arm out to shove at her sister's face – audibly cracking her jaw. She did so blindly, Leda realized, as the one, large and greasy eyeball they shared currently resided in the smaller witch's eye socket. Said smaller witch jumped at the attack, sputtering out a few curses in Ancient Greek at which even the goddess winced.

"CAN IT, YOU OLD HAG!" The middle Fate yelled right into her sister's ear. Leda watched, appalled, as the middle sister bonked the back of the oversized Fate's head, ejecting the eyeball straight from its socket with a sickening blop and catching it just before it fell into the fire.

"Excuse her, m'Lady," The troll-of-a-Fate to the far left spoke with a gasping rasp. Without turning, she reached over and snatched the eyeball straight out of the middle Fate's claws and plopped it into her own head. She blinked the lone eye, allowing it to situate itself within her hollow socket before continuing. "My sisters have no care for decency," she said lifting a gnarled, dark green hand to frantically scratch at her hunched back.

"Nor for respect," Leda retorted, glaring daggers at the heavy Fate to her right as she snorted out an ingenious snicker.

"Ah, so you desire respect!" The middle sister chimed in with mock-realization, a lisp suddenly slipping from her teeth as she turned in the direction of the goddess. Glaring at her too doesn't really have the same effect if the witch has no eyes, or rather an eye, at which to stare. This frustrated Leda.

"Yes!" Leda hissed, her blood beginning to boil. "Respect is not something I merely desire, it is something I deserve!" The fire between the two parties burned a little brighter – a little bigger, too – at the intensity of Leda's words. But something clicked in her mind, about why she was here in this gods-forsaken cave in the first place. She decided to put the Fates up to good use so, before the sisters could reply and anger the goddess further, she said, "But what I do desire is information."

Leda's first instinct was to look to the third of the sisters – the Fate that currently possessed the eye – and waited for her to speak, assuming that she knew of what information Leda required.

The Fate slowly blinked her dirty brown and bloodshot eye and stared right back her, clearly holding her tongue. The middle sister snickered.

After another second of the mocking silence, Leda growled – her delicate hands balling into fists down at her sides. Impatiently, Leda scoffed. "If I ask you a question, will you answer it?"

"If the question has an appropriate answer," The third witch said abstrusely, while the middle sister reached into the third's shirt to pull out a wrinkled lone strand of string. The Fate didn't seem to notice her sister's dirty hands fumbling about her body. Leda raised a sculpted eyebrow, suddenly very uncomfortable in the small space and so close to the Three Fates.

"What was the meaning of the glowing child?" She blurted out suddenly. She internally grimaced at how bluntly she stated her question, ruining the lengthy opening-statement-of-an-inquiry she had planned to start with. "Why was I summoned to its birthing?" She figured this was much quicker than a prologue.

The Fates' brown eye glazed over in concentration.

"The boy obviously has a gift, and you are the goddess of motherhood. Why would you not be summoned?"

"Gift?" She nastily sneered. "What kind of gift?"

"Well, he was glowing, wasn't he? Of course, the gift would have to be of light," said the middle sister, mockingly.

"Not a very smart goddess, is she?" the shortest sister quietly tutted. Leda chose to ignore the plump urchin's snide comment for her own good. Because she had so much kindness in her heart.

"But why does he have this gift? He is only a mortal," she huffed, frustrated, through her nose.

"He was given the Light before he was even conceived. The same way you, Leda, were given immortality. You've not done anything to necessarily deserve it, but it is yours. It is you," replied the third witch.

Leda suddenly lowered her voice to a whisper, heedfully. "Does Brytos know of this?"

"We cannot say that he does or if he will, just that he is supposed to," the short abundant-of-a-sister answered cryptically.

"What is that 'supposed' to mean?"

"The boy is part of what Brytos was created of–"

The middle sister then plucked the eyeball straight from the third's socket and continued her statement for her, "–they share a unique bond that neither of them know of, but will surely feel as time progresses – one that will increase if they do in fact learn of each other's existence."

Leda's eyebrows knitted together. "What sort of 'bond'?"

"A strong one!" The smaller Fate chortled. The ghostly middle sister knocked her on the head with a satisfying thunk. Leda scowled.

"Any kind of bond could be a strong one," She said, her patience wearing thin. The sisters only snickered in response, toying around with the fire and the bouncing eyeball. Leda's right eye twitched in annoyance. "What. Kind. Of. Bond." She hissed through her teeth.

"The kind of bond you wish you shared with Brytos yourself," The middle sister replied ominously before laughing uncontrollably. And with that, the three sisters' forms meshed together and into themselves, disappearing and leaving Leda without further explanation.

Leda growled quietly to herself, staring at the fire before her. Her dark eyes reflecting the yellow light vehemently before she extinguished the flames with a wave of her hand and also a wave of jealousy.

~/~

Ogunquit, Maine 2000

Seagulls cawed overhead as Craig Taylor set down the last crate of canned baits on the ground of the small warehouse with a huff. Stretching his back as he stood up straight, he yawned and then dabbed at his sweaty brow with a worn rag. Not even 6 a.m. and I'm sweating like a pig, he thought to himself. He had worked hard every day of his life, but nothing ever felt as tireless and refreshing as finally setting down the last bit of merchandise and finishing for the entirety of the morning – and all before the sun went up. The man smiled to himself contently. Now, the only thing left for him to do was close up the warehouse and go back home to wake his son. It was his son's 18th birthday today after all and he wanted to be the first one to look into the eyes of his little boy, who was now a man. Though, the importance of this particular day brought the edges of his smile down until his thin, chapped lips were drawn tightly together into a straight, sad line. There was more than one event to "celebrate" today.

As Craig hurried out of the building and into his truck, the sun arose in the sky, shedding a spectacular golden hue on the blue of the ocean as the waves lapped at the rocky base of the shoreline. He tried not to let the anniversary of his wife's death overcome him, as he drove along the jagged road that led to his lighthouse and home.

Walking through the back door and into the kitchen, he was surprised to see his son already awake and dressed. Judging by the bountiful layout of breakfast on the table and the dirty dishes scattered across the counter, Craig deduced that Justin had been awake for quite some time now.

"Justin, shouldn't I be the one making breakfast for you, today?" The man teased as he watched the boy busying himself about the kitchen. He wasn't a boy anymore though. Starting today, he was a man. Craig smiled wistfully. What ever happened to the little blonde rugrat who used to follow his father around, observing him in the awe only a child could muster? I'll tell you what happened: that little rugrat grew up, Craig noted. Not just in height and looks either – Justin held this knowledge and wisdom in his eyes, beyond his years. Where he got it from was a mystery to his father, but it still made him proud to know he didn't raise a fool.

Justin saw him staring and smirked in reply. "I was hungry."

"When aren't you?" Craig shot right back jovially. "I hope you didn't ruin your appetite, though," he said, as he pulled a box from behind his back. He had retrieved it from the shed's refrigerating unit before entering his home.

The blonde's ears perked up as his eyes widened in gleeful surprise. "You got me a cake?" he asked with a smile, sounding like he was five years old again.

The older man grinned back, setting the box on the table. "It's your favorite," he said, sliding the box open and sitting down. "Chocolate-chocolate with double chocolate."

"Dad, you do know I'm not a kid anymore, right?" Justin said, eyeing the pastry longingly.

Craig paused to look back up at his son. "Oh. Well, in that case, I'll just take it back." He moved to reclose the white pastry box before Justin shot out his arms to stop him.

"No no no!" Justin cried, flustered as he tried to take hold of the box himself. "It-it's okay! I mean, you already paid for it," he struggled to come up with an excuse. "There's no use in taking it back now. We need to eat it."

His father chuckled as he gave up and let Justin seize his breakfast-cake. "Happy birthday. Now dig in."

Happily, Justin obliged.

After a while of stuffing his face, he looked up suddenly. "Oh no, I forgot!" he exclaimed in realization. "I never fed Carl this morning."

Craig rolled his eyes. "What? That mangy mutt?" He shook his head after a second and said, "I still can't believe you named it Carl, of all names."

Against popular belief, Carl was in fact a very prestigious and thought out name for a dog. It was the name of master writer's, Edgar Allen Poe, pet raccoon. And what better way to choose a dog name than from a genius of literature? That was Justin's reasoning, anyways.

"He's not a mutt!" Justin argued. "He's an Alaskan Shepherd!"

"Then why doesn't it go back to Alaska?" He countered. The scary part was that he looked serious.

Justin scoffed, clearly annoyed. "Dogs can't just do that, Dad!"

"Well, you need to stop hanging around with that Alaskan Shepherd or else you'll start to smell like it," he warned.

"Oh, come on, Dad I bathe him every other day. Besides, he practically lives in the ocean."

"You sure?" He raised an eyebrow. "Hang on, I think I see a flea!" He moved his hand up to Justin's hair, as if he were inspecting it.

The teen smiled fondly as he swatted his father's hand away. "Stop it, Dad!" He whined in mock exasperation.

"Well, I'll be back later," he said, as he pushed his chair back and headed towards the door.

"Don't be too late! We're having dinner with Grandma Deb tonight!" Justin faintly heard his father bellow as he bounded down the back steps, past the lighthouse, and towards the beach.

There was Carl, waiting for him like he did every morning, atop his favorite rock down by the shore. "Hey Car!" Justin called to him and watched as the dog began to bark and run towards him – slobbery tongue and all. Laughing, he kneeled down to welcome his best friend with a warm embrace. "Sorry I made you wait, buddy," He apologized as he pulled out a little pouch of meat from his pocket, which he had prepared earlier that morning. The dog immediately attacked it when Justin laid it out on the ground before him.

He chuckled at Carl's antics while idly rubbing his back as he ate, then stood up and started walking along the shore, making sure his hairy companion was following. Some would laugh at how attached he was to a 'mere pet', but in all honesty, Carl was really Justin's only friend. And he was perfectly content with that. He never fit in well with the other kids his age. Ogunquit was a small town, so you were either with the crowd or out of it with no friends. Justin preferred the latter.

He knew he was different, and thrived from that knowledge, rather than live his life feeling sorry for himself. That just wasn't him. He would never pretend to put up with the bullshitlery that all the other kids spouted. Plus... He was pretty sure he was a faggot. And he would never be able to go on acting like he was interested in girls, simply to fit in with the other guys. Hell-the-fuck-no. He liked cock. Not that he shouted it from the rooftops or anything, but he surely didn't put up the manly façade that he was straight either.

That's where the real problem rang in, though. He was aware of his father's hopeful expectations for him to take over the lighthouse and become a fisherman, like himself. With a wife, a dog, and the 2.5 kids. Well. At least he had the dog part down.

Justin sighed, disconcerted, as he looked out towards the still, lifeless gray waters; the dull ocean portrayed his mundane life almost too perfectly. At least he could still afford to be dramatic, he bitterly teased himself.

But all 'theatrics' put aside, he really felt like there was more in life for him than the simple fate of a lighthouse-keeping-fucking-angler. There must be more! Otherwise, Justin knew he'd have to go on living with this hankering feeling that he was missing something. He needed to find out what it was—it had been afflicting him for as long as he could remember.

Carl's animated barking snapped Justin out of his musings, just in time to see a small crab scurrying back into its hole in the sand. The blonde guffawed at his friend's fandango and ruffled his fluffy ears, pushing his distressing thoughts to the back of his mind. He would worry about it later, because he couldn't be having an existential crisis this early in the morning.

~/~

Meanwhile, A Garden in Olympus

Brytos stayed sitting on the same bench he had been occupying for quite some time now - thinking. He was confused and lost, and he didn't even know why. It left him immensely irritated with himself. For almost two decades he always felt as if there was something out there of which he should be aware - like there was something he needed to know. But it was on this particular day every year that he felt this strange emptiness increase. The overwhelming feeling that he was missing something important gnawed at him constantly throughout the day, always ending him up on this same bench...thinking.

The handsome god sucked in a large amount of air through his nose and closed his hazel irises, hoping to find a hint of an answer behind his eyelids. Of course he didn't though. He never did. The last time he had felt such despair had been millennia ago, when he was a mere mortal on the verge of death, tied up against his will to a rickety wooden post. Since then, he has lived the life of leisure as a god. It was great the first few hundred years, of course it was. There were no worries, no dangers, no troubles.

But now...there was simply no fun. Don't get him wrong, Brytos could never show his complete and utter gratefulness for being bestowed such a gift as he was. But he had always been so used to working; facing challenges and getting through them - good outcome or not.

Now...now, it just felt so incredibly empty. There was nothing to work for. Nothing to look forward to, because he knew the outcomes would always be positive, being a god. The predictability of everyday didn't sit well with him. It was, for lack of a better word, boring. He exhaled the breath he had been holding, not remembering how long he had been keeping it captive. Lately, time just hadn't seemed to exist or matter, which was ironic since he had so much of it. But that was the problem, wasn't it? Infinite time with nothing to fill it.

With so much time on his hands, it gave Brytos no escape from the sullen feeling of loneliness. It was strange because he was always surrounded by other gods, but that lingering yearning for something he did not know of ceaselessly plagued his every thought.

The statuesque man was suddenly roused from his troubling ponderings by the sound of delicate footsteps. He languidly opened his eyes, in no hurry to converse with anyone at the given moment. He instantly recognized his wife, Leda, strutting towards him, her pure white dress only enhancing her godly beauty as it flowed around her mystically.

She smiled adoringly at Brytos when she saw his eyes open. It made the god internally wince. He knew of how Leda felt for him, the way any good wife should, but he simply saw her as a close friend, a sister even. The man made sure she knew that too, yet he was not stupid to actually believe it was enough. He realized long ago that the goddess would always feel lingering hope for them to mimic real spouses - for Brytos to love her back. But it had been so long and he still did not feel anything for the woman besides platonic affection.

He had originally married Leda, because it had seemed right at the time. The higher gods had told him that their powers would work well together, that the marriage would benefit them. Brytos was still high on the fact that he was transformed into an immortal, so he went along with their request without much question out of irrevocable gratitude.

As the goddess neared Brytos she took in his troubled outward demeanor; his eyebrows were narrowed in distress and his lips were tight in agitation. She frowned.

"Darling, what is troubling you?" Leda asked as she took a seat beside her husband, placing a thin hand on his shoulder.

"Nothing...at least I think. Honestly, Leda, I haven't the slightest clue. It's this nagging feeling I've had for quite some time that I'm missing something."

"Missing something? Whatever could you be missing if you have everything a soul could possibly desire here?" She responded laughingly. The fact that it was nervous laughter escaped Brytos.

"It's not like that. It feels like it's something important, something I should know of."

Leda's heart stopped. She chided herself for immediately thinking about the child. It couldn't possibly be him – that was so long ago, she had thought it would have been forgotten by now. Yet, here she was dwelling on the memory as though it was still fresh in her mind. She was pulled out of her nervous thoughts, as Brytos continued speaking.

"– forgetting something?" He turned to look at her, his sparkling eyes almost begging for an answer.

She blinked. She needed to stop this conversation. Or leave. Now.

"It's probably nothing," Leda quipped and briskly stood. Brytos looked down at his hands disappointedly, as she hastily strode her way out of the garden. Stalking away, she reassured herself that it really was nothing.

Though somewhere, deep in the her thoughts where she dare not stray, Leda knew it was more than nothing, but all that mattered now was that Brytos was not aware of that. She intended for it to remain that way, too.

A/N: We hope you enjoyed this first chapter, we nearly died writing it. Lol...like really, doe.

And we'd also like to apologize for all the very drastic scene and time changes, but it's completely necessary. You'll see! *boops nose* (:

By the way, we'd like to also share with you a preliminary...thing. The following was the original paragraph to one scene near the beginning of this chapter (kudos to whoever can pinpoint it!), but we thought it was too intellectually challenging, so we fixed it. We personally think that this following one was better, but it's okay. Here ya go:

Once laying eyes upon the baby boy, something small and lost within her mind clicked. The brightness of the golden light Brytos constantly told her of could be portrayed through thiS BOUNCING BABY BOY. NOW IT ALL MADE SENSE. IT WAS THIS BOY, THE LIGHT. "WHATISLIFE" LEDA CRIEd. SHE THEn PROCEEDED TO FLIP A TABLE THAT MAGICALLY MANIFESTED BEFORE HER pERFECT floating FORM, CREATING ONE OF THE MOST fAMOUS MEMES NOW TO DATe. Yes. It was done this way. And to correctly answer LEda's deep and insightful question, life, is in fact, like a box of cholocates. Okay.

...It was 3 in the morning. 'Nuff said.

Other than that, please review. Our readers' opinions really are important to us - just so we know how we're doing. We will be working on chapter 2 shortly, and hope to get it back to you all within a week or so. Thank you! (:

~Us