"What is more useful than fire? Yet, if any one prepares to burn a house, it is with fire that he arms his daring hands."

— Ovid

What a glorious thing it was, to be on the edge of a precipice— to look into the depths of darkness and not topple. The impending danger was an occasional thrill to some, the constant reality of others. The university had never felt like a precipice to Nico before, but he couldn't claw that feeling from his mind, no matter the steadfast determination he kept on hand.

Fall had taken its toll on the university. The cold winds of October blew though the buildings as if to shake the very earth, the tendrils of mist and fog lying in wait to nip at the feet of passing students. The various schools loomed like gods anywhere you went. It was what they had intended upon building Veritas, Nico supposed— to create a place that puts one simultaneously at ease, but also to confront one with their inconsequential mortality at every step. The students were part of the pantheon, but they were hardly godly.

When he was younger, he thought his father to be no more than a man. It was odd, growing up in the shadow of a god. Not many of the students here had that luxury. Absent fathers outnumbered those that graced their children with their presences. It was not the responsibility of the gods to be good to their children; they had given them life, had they not? They should be grateful they even got that.

Nico didn't feel particularly grateful as he gazed up at the School of Death and Shadows. He hadn't wanted to study death magic, but it was what he was best suited to. In years past, he found himself gravitating more towards the shadows. Shadow travel was unique among godly offspring, even those from Hades, but shadow work was not. Many had an affinity for the darkness, himself included, and the manipulation of that depended on the connection one had to the darkness within.

It came naturally to a hellspawn. His sister had favoured other magics outside the scope of the darkness. Not to say that Bianca never used her innate power, but she was too… good for that. It was even in her name: she was light and he was dark. In some ways, Nico felt he should have been named something else, something to better contrast her.

For there cannot be darkness without the light.

It was early, well before classes even began, when Nico pushed open the heavy poplar doors. The schools were never locked— a policy Nico found to be entirely foolish, but if they wanted to court fate, he'd let them. Students kept odd hours at times, especially in the months leading up to thesis due dates, and it was important to keep the doors open, if only for the myriad of libraries each school held.

The school cloaked itself in shadows. He didn't bother dispelling them as he made his way towards the far end of the building. There were tunnels underneath that housed a number of more Underworld-inclined members of staff, and it was there where his father's office used to be when he was a professor. Now, as the deputy head of the university, he should rightfully be in the administration wing of Zeus's largest temple, but he had refused. The God of the Underworld belonged where his people were, and he would not stray from the School of Shadows. He'd moved himself to the main floor to be more accessible to Zeus, should he ever deign appear.

The sun began to rise behind a misting of clouds and shone through the one window of Hades's office. Nico didn't bother to knock.

"Morning." Hades didn't even look up from the papers he was shuffling through. He plucked a pen from a corner of his desk and signed a scroll of parchment with a flourish.

The God of the Dead, King of the Underworld, Lord of Riches, took the stubborn ballpoint pen and licked it before moving onto the next stack of paperwork. He was a tall man, imposing as ever in a crisp, dark, three-piece suit. He never wore robes that other members of staff did when they went to Temple or for special occasions, and his wardrobe of intimidatingly well-tailored garments appeared to be never ending. Nico had a difficult time seeing himself in his father as he grew older. When he was young, they were the spitting image of each other; now, he never felt more different.

Was the tilt of his head the same as his father's? Did he have his chin, or was that a trick of the light? Were his hands, slender and elegant as they were, the same hands that the God of the Dead used to damn souls?

"What do you want?" Nico stood behind the chairs opposite Hades's desk.

"Good morning to you too, father. Did you sleep well?" Hades said dryly. "Why yes, Niccolò, I did. Slept like the dead. Thank you for asking."

Nico scowled. "That's not an answer."

"Are we above the assumed pleasantries of mortal interaction or have you forgotten all of your manners in the year of your banishment?" Hades looked up from his papers with a raised eyebrow. His face was gaunt and long in its handsomeness, his eyes round and sunken. He'd looked half in the grave himself if not for the aura of power that shimmered around him.

"Typically, yeah." He shrugged. "And my manners have stayed the same, old man."

Hades narrowed his eyes and shuffled more of his papers to one side. They went in a neat stack into a filing box where they disappeared with a muted pop. He threaded his fingers together and placed them on the smooth surface of the desk to look more intently at Nico. His eyes softened an increment.

"How are you, my son?"

He remembered that voice; the voice tinged with kindness and warmth unlike anything to be expected from Hades; the one he used when Nico and Bianca were little. It was enough to startle him out of his put-upon brooding.

"Um— fine, I suppose." Nico tugged aimlessly on the cuff of his sweater. A dark blue with winding cables; the work of Maria di Angelo during the lengthy winter months. He was lucky it still fit, if slightly too short all around.

Hades pressed his lips into a thin line. "Fine? That'll do for now. Arm." He held his hand out expectantly.

Nico furrowed his brow. "Excuse me?"

"Your arm, Niccolò," Hades said with impatience. "I don't have all day. There's a student who managed to render their flatmate invisible that I need to see to next."

Nico hesitantly held out his arm and Hades scowled.

"The other one."

He slowly pulled it back and held out the other. Hades snatched it close, yanking Nico towards the desk. He let out a yelp.

"Quiet," Hades muttered. He pushed the sweater sleeve up to reveal the dark obsidian fetter that encircled Nico's wrist. With a few murmurings of magic, the fetter began to warm, then cooled again. Hades relinquished Nico's hand. "There."

Nico rubbed his wrist. "There what?"

"Now you can use your powers in class." A fresh stack of paperwork materialized to Hades's right and he plucked the first page to begin signing all over again. "It wouldn't do to have a son of mine leashed when trying to complete fourth year classes; you wouldn't even be able to walk into school without having to dispel shadows. I will not have my son looking the fool."

He looked down at the fetter and back up at his father. "Does that— I mean, can I use my powers now?"

"Yes," Hades replied curtly. "Only within the classrooms, nowhere else. I tried to have the whole nonsense removed, but was overruled. The honor council wouldn't hear of it to have a "dangerous individual" walking the grounds without some kind of supervision. As if they don't employ dangerous individuals already." He sniffed indignantly. "That Octavian is a true bother, you know. I can't fathom what the Dean of Letters sees in the boy; I was about ready to strangle him myself."

The relief that spread through Nico was second to a strange, wavering feeling of something he couldn't name. It wasn't happiness, exactly, but the confidence inherent to knowing his father would defend him.

"Yeah, he's a prick." Nico regarded his father with a slight smile.

"Do send him my way if he antagonizes you, Niccolò." Hades hummed, working through the papers at a rapid speed.

"I will." Nico nodded. "Thanks, dad."

Hades paused for a moment, then resumed his work. "Any time, Nico."

As Nico rose to leave, the side door to Hades's office burst open and a small creature ran straight into Nico's legs.

"Zagreus!" A voice shouted after him.

Nico looked down to see the tiny terror that was his half-brother clinging to his shins with wide eyes. Zagreus wasn't more than two years old, but already he was becoming the closest thing to a headache that a god could experience. His hair was lighter than Nico's, his face rounder. They didn't look much alike; not enough for anyone to know they were related, that is. Zagreus's tiny hands dug into the material of Nico's trousers and he struggled between pushing the child off and letting him cling like a leech to his skin.

"Zagreus, what did I tell you?" The darkly sweet smell of his step-mother Persephone entered the room before she did. Clad as always in a dress that rendered any interpretation of her form useless, she approached Zagreus as if borne aloft by the wind. Dark wisps of her gown fluttered in an unseen breeze. She was pretty, in that normal sort of way. Anyone else would have fawned over her perfect nose, her symmetrical eyes, the softness of her jaw, but it disturbed Nico in a way he couldn't quite put his finger on. His mother had been beautiful, but not this kind of beautiful. She had been striking, and this felt like a cheap replacement.

It wasn't that Nico hated his step-mother, but he never really knew her at all. She and his father had married when he turned eighteen and Nico had been so embroiled in his studies that he didn't even see the courtship until the wedding was upon them. He skipped it, of course, and spent the night getting drunk with his cousins at the feast afterwards. He held even less interest for his half-siblings Melinoë and Zagreus, destined for an eternity of serving their father. They were the true heirs now, godly in every way that mattered.

And then there was Nico, mortal in all the ways that didn't.

"Come get your spawn," he said darkly to his father.

Persephone glanced at him for a moment before prying Zagreus away from his leg. She hushed her son. "We don't interrupt Daddy while he's working, Ziggy. He is a very important man."

The fondness on his father's face as he looked upon his new wife and child made Nico sick.

"If that's all…" Nico started for the door again.

"Nico." Persephone's soft tone stopped him in his tracks. "We'd love to have you over for dinner sometime."

He didn't turn to face her. "I'm busy."

"I didn't even say a day." She tried to keep her voice light. "Melinoë has been asking after you."

He thought of their table, the same from the old house, now ringed by chairs meant for strangers. Bianca always sat opposite him the few times they ate with their step-mother. That chair would be gone now and Nico would be left staring out into empty space.

"Yeah? Maybe you should have visited me this year," he bit out. Nico glared at his father. "Bring Melinoë by any time you like. Maybe I can show her the house she would have lived in if she were my sister."

He didn't look back at his father as he slammed the door shut behind him. Students were beginning to enter the hall to complete work before their classes. The soft smell of the fireplace drifted in from the library. Nico pressed his forehead against the cool plaster of the walls and tried to breathe in through constricted lungs.

It was fine. It had to be.

He was being unreasonable, this he knew as much. Persephone didn't deserve his ire, nor did her stupidly perfect children. Where Zagreus looked like his mother, Melinoë was all Hades's doing. The gloomy five year old took to Nico more than anyone else in their family and Bianca would tease them for it endlessly at family events.

You have a shadow, she would say and stroke the ink-dark hair of Melinoë as she sat perched on Nico's hip.

Melinoë loved Bianca just the same, babbling incessantly to her ever since she was born. Those memories turned sour as they resurfaced in his mind, enough to make him raise his fist to strike at something, anything. He paused, teeth clenched, and lowered it. There were still a few hours before his first class and he needed to be anywhere other than here. Nico turned and stalked down the long hallway towards the poplar doors.

And had the misfortune of running headlong into someone going to opposite way.

They both went sprawling.

"Fuck." Nico swore, clutching his nose. The book that had crunched his nose underneath its weight lay a few feet from him. Blood gushed between his fingers.

"My book." The boy he ran into scrambled to wipe the blood off the top edge.

Nico turned to look at him. "Your book?"

"Yes," he hissed with a glower. "This was a loan from the restricted collections. I'll be charged for the damage."

"Oh, in that case, I apologize terribly for getting my blood on your precious tome." His voice came thickly. "Next time, I'll try not to get hit with it."

They glared at each other for an impossibly long moment. The stranger relented first.

"Come here," he sighed. He held his hands out for Nico's face.

Nico reared back from his touch. "I'm not going anywhere near you."

"I study life magic, you absolute toad," he spat. "Do you want me to fix your nose or not?"

Nico didn't have much willpower left, having spent it all on his father minutes prior. He muttered a few choice insults before leaning towards his hands.

"I heard that," the stranger said. His mouth curled into a smile.

The stranger had soft hands— that's the first thing Nico noticed. Soft and tanned, well-kept and free of injury. Life magic students and students of medicine tended to have that overly-smooth look about them; why keep a scar when you can fade it away? On the contrary, most other disciplines kept their scars, seeing them as signs of strength. Did a battle truly happen if you didn't have anything to show for it?

"Eat this." He shoved a square of ambrosia into Nico's mouth. He chewed it with stubborn malice. The soft tips of patient fingers ghosted over the fracture. "Do you want me to set it or do you want to keep it crooked?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Why would I want to keep it crooked?"

The stranger shrugged. "You darkness types like it like that. Dangerous-looking, and all."

Nico rolled his eyes. "I'm dangerous enough without a busted nose. Set it."

He looked at Nico for a moment before touching the fracture. It righted itself with a burst of pain. He could feel the bone melding back together and the flow of blood stopped.

"There." The stranger leans back to observe him. "I don't have any power over cleaning up the blood, but it should be fine now."

"Should?" He fixed him with a glare. "If it doesn't, I will find you."

"Wow, I'm terrified. Whatever will I do?" He said flatly. He stood to collect his things.

"Wait." Nico blinked with sudden recognition. "I know you. You were there when I was walking my hound."

The stranger looked back at him as he neatly tucked the rest of his books away in his bag. "And?"

Nico stood with some effort. Blood stained his trousers now. He looked like he'd been busy massacring some poor students in his spare time. "And nothing. You were right, she had a raven in her mouth. Nico di Angelo. I'd shake your hand but—" He gestured with his blood-slick hand.

"I know who you are, di Angelo." His eyes fixed on Nico with an investigative edge. This was someone who did not go about lightly, life magic student or not. He was sizing Nico up. "William Andrew Solace. I'd rather not get blood on this shirt— it's more trouble than it's worth trying to get it out."

Nico looked Will over with the same scrutinous eye. "I'm curious: what brings a life magic student to the School of Shadows? I thought your ilk kept away from the darkness."

"I think you'll find that I'm not like the others of my ilk." Will chuckled as he walked past Nico. "Where there is life, there is also death. You should know that better than anyone." He stuck his hands in his pockets. "I'll be seeing you, di Angelo."

Nico watched Will disappear into the library, whistling all the while, and realized with a bit of a start that it was the tune he was whistling when he walked Leary by the School of Medicine. He had almost forgotten that he was now covered in his own blood until a professor emerged from one of the lecture halls and jumped.

"Di Immortales." They clutched a hand to their chest. "What happened, di Angelo?"

"Don't worry, professor." Nico gave them a hollow smile. His teeth gleamed red. "It's all mine, anyway."

Bloodless for the most part and clad in a change of clothes, Nico sat at the back of all his classes that morning. His nose still throbbed in pain, but it was no longer broken. He wondered how that worked exactly: did his body remember the pain he was supposed to be feeling? Did it feel robbed of its chance to respond? He didn't trust life magic much; it was the domain of students who had Apollo and Hermes as their patrons, both as insufferable as the next. The relentless optimism gave him a headache.

Nico was determined to be the model student for his last year of classes. Get in, get out, do the work, don't make yourself any more known than you have to. Be invisible to all those who matter. It was easier said than done; the classmates he found himself next to in fourth year shadow manipulation were from the class under his before the fire. They regarded him with suspicion despite their veneration of him in years past.

He busied himself with his notes, sketching all manner of things as the professor spoke. The time came for a question he could answer easily and he raised his hand. The professor called on someone else. He lowered it. Then it happened again, and again, and by the fourth time, Nico didn't bother raising his hand at all.

They were ignoring him— fine. He could deal with that. It's better than prodding him like he was a sleeping bear. Something itched within his mind. It spread unchecked and filled his thoughts.

You could do better. You could do better than all of them combined.

He knew this. Nico could have graduated years ago if he took accelerated study, but he wanted to enjoy his time before having to go in search of a career with which to occupy his days. Now, he wished he'd gotten out sooner. During his year of exile, he worked as a barista making mortals their coffee. Maybe he could do that again once he left; live a quite life in a small town where no one would find him.

He recognized that this was nigh impossible. With how omnipresent the demigod populace was, he was bound to be spotted anywhere he went.

I could go to the front, he mused. Fight alongside Thalia and the Hunters. At least then no one would look at me twice for killing.

But he hadn't killed— he never had— and no one ever seemed to believe that.

"Holy fuck." Leo stepped back in shock when he saw Nico later that day. "What did you do?"

Nico tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean—" Leo gestured to Nico's face. "The massive black eyes that make you look like a damn raccoon. You look like you got into a fight with a swan and lost."

That scenario was depressingly common amongst students who lived closer to the lake.

"Oh, yeah, that." Nico rubbed his jaw. "Got hit with a book."

"A book?" Leo drew up to his full height. "Someone threw a book at you? I knew some weren't exactly happy about your return, but this is ridiculous. What is this university coming to—"

He flicked Leo on the temple, eliciting an indignant yelp. "Don't. It was an accident. And my nose isn't actually broken. I ran into some upstart life magic student who's massive brick of a book slammed into my face. He fixed the break but all of this—" He gestured to his face. "—will take a bit to heal."

Leo's muscles twitched in agitation. "Did you take ambrosia?"

"Yes, mom."

"Oh, don't do that with me. You won't ever go to the clinic, so I'm going to have to mom you until you gain a grasp of basic common sense."

A shout of triumph echoed across the lawn. They turned to see a group of students surrounding someone showing off their powers. Sparks shot from the tips of his fingers in a showy trick that made his friends gasp. Leo rolled his eyes.

"Gods, I had him in one of my classes last term," Leo said. "He made me do all the work on the damn group project, but he thinks he's a hotshot now because he has a patron."

The boy put sunglasses on his friend and produced another firework. The sparks drifted harmlessly towards the ground as they dispersed.

"Who's his patron?" Nico tried to get a better look.

"Some Vulcan underling," he scowled. "He doesn't have a smithing bone in his body— he just uses it to show off these days. Vulcan's brood will give out patronages like they're nothing. Meanwhile, I've been applying to Hephaestus every time the applicant pool opens up."

"Nothing yet?" Nico raised an eyebrow. "That's surprising."

Leo sighed. "It is what it is. Not everyone can get a patron and I'm not a kid of the Big Three—" He bit his lip. "Sorry."

"It's fine," Nico said. "We've got enough power to kill a water buffalo even without a patron."

"Do you think you'll ever take one?" Leo asked.

It was a complicated question. Students who had a godly patron were inevitably set up for immense success. Most demigods and legacies had powers that paled in comparison to the gods themselves, but with the help of one, they could accomplish so much more. Some gods were generous with sharing their power, mostly minor gods who want to gain worshipers, while others were more exclusive. Hades only sponsored one patronage per year where other gods sponsored tens or hundreds. Zeus didn't even offer a patronage to anyone other than his own children. Hades had been Bianca's patron, and prior to her death they had discussed him becoming Nico's patron when she graduated. He had been excited for the prospect, once upon a time. Being mentored by his father should have seemed less thrilling, but he rarely saw the deepest workings of his father's power. It would have given him a closeness they hadn't had before.

"No, probably not. I don't think anyone will become my patron now."Nico adjusted his bag on his shoulder. "Listen, I have to go to the library— seems I lost some of that precious knowledge during my year of rest and relaxation."

"I'll come with you," Leo said. He slung an arm around Nico's shoulders, who still had it in him to scowl.

"I don't need a bodyguard."

"Oh, I'm not there for you. I'm there for them."

He nearly shoved Leo into the pond on their walk there, but thought it not worth the effort to fish him back out when the wind came so bitingly down from the mountain. The presence of his friend was disappointingly reassuring after a day of being shunned. He wasn't supposed to rely on the opinions of others. He was the Prince of the Underworld: what use was the love of the masses, or even the love of his peers? The smallest part of him shrank at the idea of it continuing past this year, of spending the rest of his life in a sort of exile where he was present but he was never truly there.

Books hadn't given him much in the way of comfort when he was younger; they were Bianca's domain. Half of the shelves in their home were taken up by novels and stories that Bianca had collected, reading them until the spines fell apart. Nico had been slow to learn to read, and the shame that surrounded that when they went to school landed him in remedial tutoring for much of his life. He had a few books on hand, but he preferred to learn any other way.

After the fire, he found himself drawn more and more to books. He found his sister nestled between the pages, whispering between the words. It was a different kind of comfort, those books she loved so dearly. He could isolate himself from the world if he busied himself with a book instead of conversation or the stares of others. The mortals he worked with thought him to be a bookworm; he always brought a small paperback with him for his breaks during the day. It was less a love for the written word and more the need to escape any reality he found himself thrust into.

And yet, he still found himself missing the libraries at the university. They were almost all large, Gothic buildings with spires climbing towards the covering of clouds. Some were situated within their respective schools of study, with research materials pertinent to each subject, but one large library accessible to all students made its home in the heart of grounds. It was as old as the university itself: a massive shrine to the muse of history, Clio, created by a demigod that had wanted to court her favour. Nico didn't know if Clio had even visited the university since its building, but the architect had died within its very stacks. If anything, the library should have been haunted, but he had yet to see any ghosts. He'd find it to be a better experience if ghosts were involved.

The library was always half full at any given point in the day, pens scratching against paper in the pursuit of notes and knowledge. While the university did use computers and other modern pieces of technology, a majority of the most reliable resources were to be found in the old records stored there. A digitization process was funded years ago, but it would take them a lifetime to properly sift through the endless scrolls and tablets. When Nico thought of the mountain of work thrust onto the archivists, a space in him began to warm. All those hours, alone with nothing but the words of those long dead to keep one company.

"Hey, freak." Leo planted an affectionate kiss on the crown of Rachel's head. His hand stroked down until it rested at the nape of her neck, tangled in the burning curls.

"What's up, loser?" She pulled him in for a chaste kiss.

Nico would never understand those two.

Rachel claimed an entire table and some of the next with a maniacal sprawl of unfurled ancient scrolls and facsimiles of tablets found at Delphi. Her long-suffering laptop was opened to her school email, where she had over three hundred unread messages. Just the state of Rachel's academic life was enough to make Nico break out into hives. Prophecy students were a different breed unto themselves.

"How was the first day back, Nico?" Rachel asked. Her eyes were still firmly trained on Leo and occupied making increasingly stupid faces up at him.

"Me?" He put a hand to his chest. "The great Oracle has deigned to speak to me?"

"Yeah, asshole, I'm trying to be that thing people call cordial and friendly." She wrapped her arm around Leo's waist and leaned against him. "So I ask again: how was your goddamn day, Nico?"

He can't help the light chuckle that escaped his lips. "Boring."

"No—" Leo aimed an accusatory finger his way. "This idiot got his nose broken."

Rachel finally turned to look at him and swore. "Jesus Christ on a stick— how'd you manage that?"

He sat in a chair opposite her, moving a few scrolls aside to make room for his elbows. "A book hit me. Don't worry, the bone is healed, it's just bruising now."

She let out a low whistle. "You should dodge next time."

"Is that an official recommendation, Oracle?" Nico leaned towards her with a teasing grin.

"I'm not the Oracle yet!" She threw her hands up in exasperation. "You need to stop calling me that or I'll get reprimanded. There's at least ten other girls up for the position."

"Nah, you'll get it." Leo rubbed the back of her neck. "Trust me."

She narrowed her eyes. "How can I trust you when your predictions are always wrong, Mr. Fire Magic?"

Leo shrugged. Nico went to place his bag on the seat next to him but Rachel stopped him.

"Annabeth's sitting there," she said. "She's getting a drink from the cafe."

Nico raised an eyebrow, looking at all the vulnerable scrolls scattered about the area. He stood. "I'm going to go look for those books."

"Don't get lost," Leo said. "I'd hate to have to lure you back with sad piano music and hot Cheetoes."

Nico turned to shoot back a reply but was stood face to face with one Annabeth Chase.

Her long, blonde hair was meticulously braided down her back, the only sign she'd been up for a while the escaping curls that framed her face. They stood at equal height, his dark eyes staring into her light ones, grey like a misty morning over the sea. Her smattering of freckles had disappeared since he last saw her, likely due to time spent indoors. She was doing a PhD now, he remembered Percy mentioning, and had to take long hours in the library. It wasn't that Nico disliked Annabeth; there was even a time where he looked up to her as much as he had Percy. He'd grown up with them almost as surrogate parents once his mother died and Annabeth would always have a special place in his heart.

But when Nico was chosen for exile, when they made it a Pharmakos ruling and shoved all of the recent misfortunes onto him, she hadn't spoken up. Annabeth held a seat on the honor council when she was president of the School of Knowledge and he knew she had a say in which way that punishment would go. She didn't believe him when he denied his crimes. Annabeth Chase thought that Nico killed his own sister.

"Annabeth." His voice is just shy of being even.

"Nico," she replied.

They gave each other a curt nod and went their separate ways. Annabeth sat on the other side of Rachel and Nico disappeared into the nearest stacks. The air surrounding her always crackled with something; a challenge that only she knew the full parameters of, that goaded you into action. Nico had trouble not rising to such challenges, resulting in many fights between him and children of Ares when his school when on exchange. Self-control was something his mother had; he had inherited his father's temperament.

He didn't stop walking until he was well out of earshot of the table and rested on the floor against the dusty wood of an unknown bookshelf. His ring hung around his neck and he fished it out from under his sweater, fumbling for the open setting where a stone once was. He pressed his thumb into the sharp prongs and breathed.

"Looking for something?"

Nico jumped. "Gods. What the fuck?"

Will Solace stared at him through the other side of the stacks. He rounded the corner and looked at Nico with a tilt of his head, as if he were studying a particularly interesting bug. His hands were shoved into the pockets of well-tailored— if very rumpled— trousers. "Just looking to be a helpful colleague."

"You just keep turning up like a bad penny, don't you?" Nico said, mostly for his own benefit. He took measures to calm his breathing. At least now he had something to funnel his anger into.

"What's up with you, di Angelo?" Will frowned.

"None of your fucking business, Solace."

Will chuckled. "Alright, keep your secrets." He sat down next to Nico and stretched his legs out with a sigh. They were impossibly long and reached all the way to the other shelf.

"What are you doing?" Nico glared at him.

"What was it you said?" He pretended to be musing over his next words. "None of your business?" He rubbed his chin in thought. "Wait, no— it was none of your fucking business, wasn't it?"

"Alright, I'm done with this." Nico moved to stand.

"It's looking better," Will said. "The bruises."

Nico scoffed. "No, it's not."

Will had an almost imperceptible amused gleam to his eyes. "No, you look terrible. But I can fix that, if you like."

"Let me guess: it's for a price?"

Will tilted his head to the side. "Now, why would you say that? Do you take me for an opportunist, di Angelo?"

"I take you for a snake." He regarded Will coolly down the length of his nose.

"Now there's the pot calling the kettle black." Will stood. He was little over half a head taller than Nico, an impressive feat for some, but not nearly as impactful when he surrounded himself with friends and family who were taller than him on a daily basis. Will took a closer look at the snake that wound itself around Nico's neck, his fingers caressing the air between them. "Impeccable craftsmanship. Who did this work?"

Nico batted Will's hand away. "A mortal."

"Impressive." Will hummed. There was something predatory about his gaze, like a constrictor sizing up its prey before deciding whether or not to eat it.

"What do you want?" Nico was growing impatient.

Will leaned away and took in a sharp breath. "Oh, not much. Just a favour or two."

He rolled his eyes. "What could you possibly want from me?"

Will met his gaze with sharp, frightfully intelligent eyes. "Have you ever had a patron before, di Angelo?"

Nico scoffed. "You want a patronage?"

"Don't look so surprised," Will said. "Everyone does."

"Not everyone." Nico thought of his father, pushing him towards taking his patronage and traveling down an even darker path. "Some of us don't cheat to get ahead."

"Don't be naive." Will took a step closer. "Not all of us were born a prince."

Nico met his gaze. "Aren't you an Apollo legacy? Why can't he be your patron?"

Will chuckled darkly. "You are sweeter than they say, di Angelo. Just like your namesake— an angel."

Nico bristled. "The fuck does that—"

"I don't want to be a tool of that buffoon," Will said. "Light and music and fucking archery can only get you so far, you know."

"Careful. You're starting to sound a little blasphemous there. Might need to go wash your mouth out with soap before grandpa dearest gets to smiting."

"Says the university's chief blasphemer," Will replied. "I wouldn't criticize someone if I were you. Cast out as a ritualistic scapegoat for your crimes; might send mixed messages."

"Answer me: what do you want?" Nico bit out.

"I told you." Will had stepped close enough that he had backed Nico up against the stacks. A cloud of dust puffed into the air between them. "I want a patronage. Specifically, I want Hades's patronage."

"You're fucking kidding me." For once, Nico had been caught off-guard.

An animalic smile tugged at the corners of Will's mouth. "Not in the slightest."

He pushed Will off him. "He doesn't sponsor anyone outside the School of Shadows. Sorry to burst your bubble. And I doubt I would have any sway with him these days. You're barking up the wrong tree, Solace."

"See, I don't think I am." Will turned slowly. "Remember my words: where there is life, there is also death. I'm studying both magics, and who better than the God of the Dead to aid me in my studies?"

Nico observed Will for a moment, from his carefully curated appearance to his artfully mussed hair. He was intimidatingly normal, frustratingly perfect in his imperfections. He turned to walk past Will. "Good luck with that, then. I hear he likes edible arrangements; make sure to get the funerary ones."

Will caught him by the elbow. "I'm not asking just in exchange for healing your wretched face."

"Gee, thanks," Nico said dryly. "And here I was thinking you kept coming after me because you thought I was cute."

"There is that, yes," Will hummed and tilted his head in thought. "But I had something else in mind. I have somewhat of a sway over the student body here. People like me, they respect me. They don't do either of those things for you, and it could cause you issues in the future, should you choose to stay."

"You're really charming me here, Romeo. I've fallen for your constant insults and penchant for breaking my nose." Nico wrinkled his nose, then made a face as pain spasmed across the bridge of his nose.

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" Will's eyes glimmered as he searched Nico's for something only he knew to look for. "Being a damsel in distress, needing someone to save you, but ruining it in the end. A tale as old as time."

"Try me again and see how much of a damsel I am."

Will laughed. "Tell me: that raven your hound caught— did it have any eyes?"

Nico's blood ran cold. He wrenched his elbow out of Will's grasp. "I don't need your fucking help, and I'm not going to convince my dad to be your goddamn patron. Try Thanatos, I hear he's dying to get some students to sponsor."

With that, he stalked away, his books forgotten. Will watched him go, his hands in his pockets, and that steadfast smile hovering on his lips.

The house looked like a living thing when he returned close to dusk; its doors a gaping maw yearning to swallow him whole. Splashed across the front was blood-red paint.

έκφυλος. Ekfylos. Dishonoured.

Nico looked up at it with a tired face. He was exhausted by it all and he hadn't even made it through a full day of classes. Reversing his exile changed only the appearance of his situation— he was not yet exonerated in the eyes of his peers. Perhaps he never would be.

With a noise of defeat, he slumped against the doors, wet paint sticking to his back. Nico pulled an emergency pack of cigarettes from his bag and put one to his lips. He didn't have a lighter anymore and his matches were up in the tower. With a resigned sigh, he lifted his fingers to the cigarette to light it, but nothing sparked. It's after a minute of this that he remembered the fetter on his wrist wouldn't work outside of the classroom. He knocked his head back against the doors with a burst of pain.

Here, let me help.

The voice rasped through his mind like the crackle of a flame. The tip of his cigarette burned a soft orange.

Nico sat bolt upright and searched the area for anyone who might have said that. "The fuck—"

What a filthy mouth you have.

"Great," Nico puffed on his cigarette. "Even the voices in my head hate me."

The arrogance on you. I am no mere figment of your imagination.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alright. Who are you, then?"

He could almost hear the voice smile. Its words didn't come to him like speaking would; it felt like an impression of the words. Footprints in the sand that were in danger of being washed away by an incoming tide. They left the faintest scorch marks on the outer edges of his psyche. He lifted his hand and flames danced on the edge of his fingertips, wavering in the wind.

Why, Nico… I'm your patron.