Chapter 1
Death was worried.
Thanatos recognized the absurdity of his habit. It was a quintessentially mortal affliction. Worry was the predecessor of anxiety, which in turn bled into fear. And the root of all fear was, well, himself. Yet worry he did.
He worried about not being enough. Not being fast enough, smart enough, observant enough to complete his endless divine task. He worried, paradoxically, for the mortals in his care as he ushered them from the horrors of life to the serenity that awaited most in death. Their unyielding need for him pulled constantly at his mind. Their unnecessary fear of him weighed on his shoulders as he stoically guided them from the Hell of the living realm to their true home. The trip was too short to assuage them of their terror, the shock of being dead too strong for most to process anything. Over the aeons he had tried a variety of ways to make the passage more comfortable. Inevitably he found the best he could do was simply be a gentle but perpetual force on the beginning of their final journey.
He worried that the mortals deserved better.
He grew esoterically anxious about the End. All things ended. He was proof enough of that. And as he knew he would be the end of every mortal he knew too he would be the end of every god. Most immortals were oblivious to this inevitability. They assumed that just because they hadn't met a permanent end that they never would. The gods awakening to this universal truth would be… troublesome.
He did not fear retribution. He did not even concern himself with the assuredly Fated battle against he and his kin that would take place as the Olympians failed to thwart the oldest law of life.
What tore at his mind was his End. When he had reaped all Life, who would be left to reap Death? When not even Chaos existed would he simply cease to be as he and his twin had simply come to be in their mother's womb? Or would he be forced to wonder the cosmos alone and without purpose?
He fervently prayed against the latter.
He feared failure. He feared it hypothetically, for what it would mean for the cosmos if he was unable to reap the dead and the ultimate repercussions it would bring. He feared it personally, for the shame it would bring upon his Master and his house. His mother…
But most of all he feared it historically. He feared being tricked. Being restrained. That utter sense of helplessness and moral ineptitude. He feared the knowledge that he had allowed it to happen. Because he was weak. Naive…Lonely…
His concerns were not limited to such grandiose concepts as being eternally alone at the end of time nor the soul crippling reminder that the biggest mistake of the universe was of his own making. No, Thanatos found he had plenty of room and energy to be troubled by more mundane affairs.
He stressed more about his twin's tenuous standing in the House than Hypnos ever did.
He empathized with Dusa's fervent drive for perfection, though not enough to speak to his mother about easing off the small gorgon.
He was cautious of the joy the Queen's return had brought to the Underworld at large. Despite his almost-unconditional loyalty to Lord Hades, he had well founded doubts about his master's ability to be a jovial companion. His apprehension on this matter was not a question on the Queen's character. On the contrary, he felt a wonderment towards her similar to the vein he had previously only held of Mother Nyx. He felt certain she would not leave of her own accord again. However, he was also certain his sisters' Fated hands were not done tormenting the Royal family of the Underworld. The potential for loss now was greater than ever.
He chastised himself as he passively watched Meg battle for her sanity, fighting against her nature as a Fury and her desire to have dominance over all, even herself. He had long ago witnessed the decline of her sisters as they embraced the overriding forces inside them. Their consumptions had been terrible and consequential. The fact that Meg had made it this long without conceding to her base drive was awe-inspiring, but Thanatos knew such was a tenuous state. In the long run she would need more than herself to keep herself. Yet he remained quiet for now, hoping she would reach out for the obvious but oblivious cure that would run to her with flaming feet if she only hinted at the ask.
Megaera alone knew the true depths of Thanatos' darkest secret. He would keep a resilient guard as the sole barer of her own. Silent on the matter he stayed.
All and all, Thanatos was used to worry. He carried it with him as readily as he carried his scythe, and it was equally a part of him. He had long since embraced it, knowing it was inescapable to run from and foolish to be ashamed of. He kept it masked from all but a chosen few, and strategically sprinkled his concerns among them so none knew its full hold. This was a matter of practicality. Death was certain, the only real certainty in the cosmos. If others thought him apprehensive the results would be disastrous. Besides, he didn't want anyone to feel burdened. So he kept himself calm, stoic, collected. He worked tirelessly, always, to ensure his job was done correctly so he did not bring about any unfounded concerns. His duty kept him focused, his drive for competence fueled him.
But even despite aeons of self-development, Death could not control the scorching panic that coursed through him as he grappled with a singular thought.
Zagreus was missing.