Saints of Athena

by fantasos

A reimagining of the original story of Athena and her Saints, from the Galaxian Wars until the Heaven Arc. Seiya, Shun, June, Shiryu, Hyoga, and Ikki fight against and alongside other Saints, developing their skills, maturing, and doing their best to defend humanity and their goddess.

82. A Pure Vessel

WARNING: Violence, blood, agony, minor gore.

A Pure Vessel

Two men sat among a sparse ring of people, onto dirt dark and dry, and although those who watched them were dressed in black fabrics of many lengths and cuts, they were instead covered in armor of dark plates. First was the man who watched the other give a sermon, and he was so still as to resemble a mannequin, swaying minutely with the breeze.

His face was fully hidden, either by metal, or by its shadows cast from lights above; two long wings bent into a band around the head, and from them sprawled up what looked like a smaller crown, its inside protecting the upper section. Plates hanged from the sides, down to the face, and they were shaped each after a feather, and from there only a glimpse of the man's red hair peeked through. The shoulder pads had similar motifs of feathers, fluting out as they extended to the neck, where darker plates began to shape the chest, the abdomen, and the hips. The boots and greaves had forms alike flowing up, and the metal was rather dull, not glossy, despite etchings on the breastplate in silver depicting a long-haired lady sat proper, her hat adorned with a large feather.

The other's face, however, was exposed under his own ornate helmet, shaped after the upper half of a snake head, its eyes on the sides represented by buffed rubies. The metal was stained oddly darker than the other's, though it was similarly dull in shine, and with some plates more yellow than black. The legs were coiled with what looked like serpents, and at the end of their lengths they bit the extent with stretched mouths; their fangs were large, the shiniest in the whole ensemble, sticking a bit proud of his outline. The shoulder pads themselves were the heads of striding snakes, fangs out the sides. Over the ribbed abdomen, the chest plates were rather flat, and they were adorned by the golden drawing of a lion-headed, limbless reptile on the prowl.

This one's hair was not visible from under the helmet, yet his skin was a typical ashy pale of the Specters, eyes dipped in black, as if devoid of sclerae. The bit of flesh exposed from under the armor — a thing his colleague barely had — showed toned muscles and strangely vascular skin, a good exhibit of how the Cenotaph altered one's biology from youth. His chin and jaw were bony, cheeks sucked in hollow, and nose straight with a raised bridge.

Sounds reverberated from far above, same whence came the light, and it was surreal in the sense that they weren't on Earth, there were no clouds, no sun, no moon; the whole sky in that realm was a source of uneven light, and its view was oneiric, like a massive portal to a realm of infinite potential. Glittering splatters wandered the heights, always close to white in shade, oft capable of producing the most heavenly sounds, like strings bowed in tune by a violist. Their canvas was of ever-changing, darker hues unending, which could take just the vaguest shape of anything imaginable; mountains, hills, crags, seas, lakes, grass fields, trees, shrubs; more concrete pillars, walls, stoneways, gables, windows, doors; the occasional passage of a moth, a bird, a fish, a dog; ever so rarely the blurred form of men and women swept across, to be deformed back to abstraction by those floating shines.

As altitude dropped, their songs were replaced by howls of cold and abandonment. Approaching the treeline of pines below, spirits like those in the Temple of Cancer populated this realm, an army compared to the inhabitants actually living. They would wander close or far from ground, generally quiet, but crying when past pains lit in their cores. They sparked no light their own, dull as the men's armor pieces, and so they could only be illuminated by those joyous visions beyond.

Below the pines — where more of the wandering shades could be found — plants of hard, narrow, branching stems that extended like spikes were abundant. Their leaves were grayish to pale white, like the petals of its flowers, centers yellow to orange. At its edges they were purple, and their smell was dead as the plains they covered, remarkably scentless.

The symphony of dreams and the cries of solitude, despite being ubiquitous, did not require the talking men to force their tones. That one whose face was exposed spoke rather calmly, and this was enough for others to hear him. His tone was dark, deep, and monotonous, saying: "Of course, to as much as be here does not require the sight of a god, but to enter or leave, that is a separate question. To travel in and out Acheron, one's soul shan't be reaped from body, same as with those pools tethering the Underworld and Earth, planted east to west. However, to enter through the mouth in the House of Cancer, soul would be fished out of flesh without this sight. Body would be left behind to die, emptied of will."

His companion nodded subtly, whereas the cultists around them appeared more enlightened, humming. "Sir, are there other unsafe passages?" a youngster asked.

"You have heard of Lethe, the gate to Elysium behind the Ploutonion. Those of the Cult who are born beyond this gate never enter Tartarus, and those who are born on this side never enter Elysium, for a reason rather similar. Though soul would not be reaped from matter by Lethe, it is likely to be massacred in transit, meaning death comes one way or the other," the Specter replied without turning, speaking still in such plain tone. "This is why offerings to the Cult in Elysium are left by the headwater of Lethe, to be taken by its stream, and not brought there in person. After all, the person in question would be no more."

A novice questioned further: "And what of alternate routes to Elysium?"

"I know of a few, yet their keys are unknown to me, and…" he paused as a growing noise came between the flowers and trunks, one unlike the natural sounds of prior. This was the sound of battle, and he hanged the head down, eyes shut, for he recognized what it was. "So loud… no respect for the dead's resting place."

What interrupted the talks was a group of armored Specters that flew from the meadows; most of them appeared to engage in playful sparring, except for two, who engaged in harsh combat. Chasing them were soldiers of Hades' army, who ran below to watch their exceptional training with awe.

The duo fighting with might were a man and a woman, vastly different in size and strategies. The woman was svelte and beautiful, despite the typical marks left by the Cenotaph on her body and face; her hair was so fair as to almost be white, falling straight down to the lower neck, divided in the middle without bangs. Her slender eyes had yellow glowing irises, with a keyhole-shaped blot under a pupil. Covering her venous, toned, shapely body were many plates of dark violet armor, and it shone in a manner the first two Specters' did not, as if containing many small suns charged by any light cast on them. The shoulder pads were modest, depressed and raised like stacked cylinders, as to appear papyriform; a gorget protected the lower neck, the inner shoulders, and much of her small chest, in its center inlaid an amber-colored carnelian, which was entangled with golden bosses, then finalized in the depiction of a cobra on the left, a tall crown on its head tapering with a coil. Around her hair was the same stone, equally cut as a disk, put in the core of a tall diadem that twisted above very much like the cobra's crown, and hanged up front at the distance of her strong nose.

The manner which she fought was not gracious as her looks, more straightforward and forceful, leaping off trees without care for how much weight they could stand, to the extent that some pines were cracked on her merry path. When her Cosmos rose, a black aura outlined her as it did to other Specters, though with a stark orange glow like a sunset's sky, and the stones on her Surplice turned brighter each moment.

As this fighter dropped and grunted with force, she raised her elbow pad to the opponent's big forearms. In response he pushed her violently, so she flailed for a split second with little control. Despite how tall the woman was in her own right, the other warrior was stupendously taller and wider, well bigger than the likes of Geki and Cerberus Dante. His broad-armed, stocky build was incredibly muscular under the protection, eyes a dark brown, and skin also close to colorless.

The neck was fully covered in wide, thick pieces, black and with little shine too, and they connected like a perfect fit to the shoulder pads, which were like two layers of acute metal, espousing a rounder, fluted plate at the lower base. As much as this limited the movement of the shoulders, the rest of the arms could move nonetheless, as there was a gap between that and the elbows below, overtly sturdy like the rest of the Surplice. The weight of this alone showed how much raw strength the man possessed, as did the breastplate hanging from the front, broad, proud off the rest of the torso, its plates shaped with exact geometry that fit them into one another. There, inscribed in bronze was the form of a wide, circular turtle, impaled from below by a single spear. The back of the armor was impressive in its size, truly like a hard shell, each joining pointed out to ward off any attacks with damage their own. His helmet fell over the face, with a pair of schorls like eyes on the sides, and a sharp beak at the front reminiscing a tortoise; a mask fell from it to cover even part of his wide chin, much like the cheeks, jaw, and ears. Enclosed as it was, his entire bald head was covered.

His manner of fighting came mostly with strikes of those fearsome shoulders his, launching the whole weight into the opponent, an act he displayed multiple instances. Using a burst of Cosmos, he did this harsher than usual, and the speed was unexpected of his height. His large hands, with knuckles of the gauntlets tapered to a point, turned deep black, and they slammed together as soon as he struck the sparring partner by the side of the face.

"GNAWING SNAP!" the Specter yelled, and with this the woman's diadem flew off her hair, then down with her body to the asphodel, where she lied motionless for a second. Blood splattered in droves from the attack, staining the man's armor as much as it did hers and her lifeless skin.

Soon, as combatants and followers stopped to witness, it was obvious her injuries were too severe. The pain woke up in excruciating waves, so she exhaled intermittent screams, louder than the ruckus they enacted previously. With the side of the face opened by her colleague's technique, the corner of the lips had been elongated, and the cheek sliced somewhat open, revealing the usually hidden teeth and gums. Her mouth drowned in blood spat whenever she breathed to scream more.

First the brute who harmed her walked hither, studying her agony. "This again…?" he questioned after stopping next to the fallen, voice masculine and stately.

It was thus that another woman rushed in, and she was as beauteous as the other was till she was so injured, and the two looked identical in this sense, if not for the defect in her eye afflicting the opposite. Their armor was one and the same apart from two distinctions: the diadem of this one did not coil to the front, yet rose to a point over the hair; and her gorget's carnelian had a golden cobra positioned to its right, crowned with what looked like a tall hat.

"What did you do to my sister?" she asked the man while kneeling by the one he injured.

"I thought we could go as hard as we wanted on the two of you," he said.

"Gigant, you mindless brute, we still feel pain!" she yelled.

"Well…" twisting the mouth, Gigant turned and walked towards the others standing nearby.

The twin focused on calming her sister down, reaching for her head so she could caress her fair hair and pull it away from the blood and exposed flesh. The other hand held her neck softly, pulling the face towards her. It was clear that her afflicted eye had been cut open too, so only the other could take in a view. "Naeema, it will be alright!" the woman told. "Look at me, do you see? I'm untouched, and you will be no different."

Though now her screams were neither as loud nor frequent, they continued oft enough to be worrisome, and Naeema writhed uncontrollably, trying to claw out the open wounds. Had it not been for the twin, she would've harmed herself further.

Gigant looked away from the scene, commenting: "The rest of us are better off returning to Tartarus."

Their company grumbled in agreement, but the twin did not allow this. "Oh, you won't!" she turned back at them and exclaimed. "You stay here until she's good again."

"She'll be fine."

So the woman almost stood, pointing to him with an upside-down hand. "You stay, Gigant, and the rest of you too!" The man sighed, and the whole group stayed against their own wishes, having to endure the discomfort. By the time she had looked back to the fallen Naeema, an apparent miracle had begun; her terrible cuts showed signs of curing, and it seemed she now screamed more at the visceral feeling of meat and skin rejoining like magic. Even blood seemed to seep back into the holes, recreating damaged vessels in real time. "How is this pain, sister? I wonder if it's anything like when you struck my jaw. Do you remember that?" the other commented, caressing her own face while admiring the sister's slow healing,

Naeema could do little then but to try and stare at her, eye perturbed; she shook the head, but went back to that terrifying agony. Where the scarring rebuilt her disfigured face, it left some temporary discoloration and marks, somehow whiter than the original skin tone.

An approach caught the eyes of those in the vicinity, and among them were the cultists and Specters who held a conversation before the rude interruption. The one who led them this once was a new arrival, the Specter Myu, who had just communicated Pandora of their failures on Earth.

"You lot disgrace the Meadows with this muddle," he spoke in judgment.

It was Gigant who answered: "You're the one who ordered us to wait here, Myu. We won't just sit around doing nothing like Niobe and Mills over there."

He referred to the two other Specters; the one coiled in metal serpents lowered the head and raised his sunken eyes, showing some discomfort; the other gave zero reaction, standing as still as a statue.

Once Myu came to study Naeema's situation, he couldn't help but grin at her hysteria, though her screams had started to subside into strong groans, since the fringes of the injuries recovered.

"How long till she is ready, Thema?" he asked the other twin.

"With how that simpleton hurt her, she might have some five minutes of this," she replied. "Why, did you change your mind?"

He nodded. "The Divine Adoratrice has us resume the search for a pure vessel, in Japan from now on," Myu told them.

"Wait, what about Sanctuary? We still need to get Raimi," Gigant spoke up.

"We have learned enough, and without signs of him, there is no point. Our Lord's vessel is a greater goal."

Thema patted her sister's head some more, shushing her: "It's fine, Naeema. Soon it will be over."

"Take her to the eastern gates once she returns to her old self," Myu ordered, which the twin obliged. "Let us move then."

The remainder of the Specters, soldiers, and cultists left the clearing, although some of the latter went astray, since they either worked or lived most of their lives in that very realm. While caring for her twin, Thema realized that Naeema moved the half-paralyzed lips to speak something, so she brought an ear down to listen to jumbled mumbling.

"No, no," Thema shook the head and gazed into her eyes, gentle. "Sister, our scars are never permanent." Thus she turned her graceful face and rubbed an index along the jaw once more, opening a smile that exposed her subtly yellowed teeth. "My face is spotless, as if it had never been blown to pieces. Even the teeth have grown back. You should be beautiful soon enough." Reaching once more for the other's hair to tranquilize her, she reinforced: "Soon enough, Naeema."

Whereas those Specters went on their search of a vessel that would properly contain their lord's soul, the Saints pressed on their preparations, with Athena's picks doing their usual meditation on the Eighth Sense each and every day, without fail. Despite the military in Sanctuary being active day in an out, it had not dawned on civilians that something terrible could arise at any moment, and so they soon grew accustomed to the new rules and limitations imposed on them.

One particular morning, while business was being set up in the strip on the way to the Ecliptic, the Saints Anka and Alicia awaited someone by the stairway to Aries. Their masked faces raised as soon as they saw the target: among a group of Seiya, June, and Shaina was Shun, and the conversation he engaged in appeared serious, as per his expression. Judging by the latest occurrences since Kanon's arrival, it came as no surprise, but Anka was pushed forward by her friend to interrupt him nonetheless.

Upon realizing that he was expected by his intelligence peer, Andromeda hanged a word and excused himself, allowing the others to walk up the stairs ahead of him. He was prompt, saying: "Good morning, Anka, Alicia…"

"Morning," Dolphin answered first.

"Y-you…" Anka's minuscule voice locked, but her friend tapped her shoulder to pressure her some more, so she spoke up "… you are friends with… Aquarius, aren't you?"

Shun's eyes widened with a second's delay, realizing whom she in fact mentioned. "Hyoga, yes," he answered.

"It's just…"

"Come on, just ask him," Alicia whispered a bit impatient.

"How… how close are you two?" Anka asked again.

Shun's stare gained even more uncertainty now. "Good… friends…?" he quieted the tone as he said so, wondering where this was going.

So the other Bronze Saint shook the head nervously. "Uhm… so…"

"Just good friends," Andromeda solidified, to ensure the nature of their relationship wasn't misunderstood. "Childhood friends indeed."

Anka's mask lowered, staring down shier than beforehand. "I-I'd like to receive training from Aquarius!" she spat out in a flurry.

Breathing in an entire world, Shun sighed out its weight with relief, all the sudden cold in his spine relaxed. "Is that what this was about all along?" he said.

"Yes, please! I… I want to be more powerful for the war to come! Can you please ask him?" she insisted.

"Ah, you could have asked long ago, Anka!" Shun said with a kind chuckle, so Alicia pestered the girl with an "I said so". Andromeda ensured: "I am sure Hyoga will at least try to make some time for you."

"R-really?"

"Yeah! I should see him soon, so I will ask him about this training."

"Ah, thank you!" she said after a gasp. "Thank you so much, Shun!"

Following a giggle, Shun waved the hands to excuse himself once more, then jogged up the stairs to not be too far behind his friends. Eventually they slowed down and he reached them, so that he wouldn't be alone traveling so long up to Sagittarius, or at least until they were joined by Aldebaran on the way.

Their talks diverged from that point, from more grave topics, to more lighthearted ones, surrounding the alien life in Sanctuary, their many acquaintances in and out of the military, the events, venues, and happenstances of daily life. Chatter so lively was a precursor to the stern immersion they partook in under Athena's aegis, where they ought to be anything but that.

Like every day, Bronze, Silver, and Gold Saints sat together in profound concentration, the aspiring Cancer sitting odd from the rest under her black garb. Before they were too far in their own minds, their goddess walked ahead and offered further guidance.

"To approach nous is to bring awareness to soul," she told them, and Shun already found himself drowning in the frequent visions of their meditation. It was not the eyelids he opened, but some seemingly spiritual sill spread to reveal a rocky wall up ahead, lit only by some distant light source, and the penumbrae of anything that passed before it. "For soul to be aware may be frightening to you, since you are no more than ignorant."

Eventually the boy recognized those shadows cast on the wall as retellings of past deeds. First he saw the shape of a young Ikki beside him, and a hand sweep in to pull them apart. Therewith his own shadow grew closer to his current age, and its limbs were tied by chains, and though at first it seemed he would not be freed, he did so anyhow. The chains coiled his arms, shoulders, and waist after, and so he watched the shadow take a life with the square end, piercing it through the heart.

Pestered, Andromeda stood from his damp seat, seeing that the cavern he was in felt rather humid. Behind him he saw no obstacle that could form the shadows, yet, far in the distance, a glare did brighten a place so deep. "Light stings the eye that knows only shadow," Athena's voice reminded him, and indeed, the bare eyes of his soul were burned by the sight. Howsoever painful it was, Shun braved through it, choosing to walk from the darker inside towards what he believed to be an exit. "Awareness may scare you, it may harm you, it presents a grand risk, yet a necessary one. Meet it well."

He felt the opposite of entering a narrow, dark room; rather, he ventured out to a vast, overwhelmingly bright expanse, and for a long while he could not see a thing. His vision burst with such strength, nails to the cornea, so he teared up and grunted. A soul that wished to see the unseen had to burn past ignorance, so he went on.

Possession
A dead landscape materialized before him. There were leafless branches of trees in a winter day, then snow forming mounds behind it. The shadows were a pure black, and all else was an unsure gray, barely contrasting with the rest. Blown by wind, flakes formed waving lines, whistling against wood. He realized the feeling of something held by his fingers, so he looked down at it and saw that he sat over a plaster floor, and in his right hand was a piece of charcoal with which he brought that dark vision to life.

As if by instinct, the boy continued to rub the charcoal as to give finishing touches, though he did this not with the piece's conclusion in mind, more as a sort of therapy. Stopping for an instant, he scanned the place and saw he was in an abandoned shack, walls of stone and mortar holding wooden panels on top. Stacks of broken chairs and a bed frame had been left behind, apart from a ruined rug rolled in a corner.

The door opened, and from outside came snowflakes like those he drew. After the deafening wind, an armored man followed with a pile of dried logs in arms. Inspecting him, it was obvious he wore the Pegasus Cloth one and the same, every inch of it unmistakable to his eyes; beyond that, the man's appearance was strikingly similar to Seiya's, from the skin tone, to the nose, eyes, and the somewhat longer hair.

Sure, his brain made this connection, but his lips called someone else: "You were quick, Tenma."

Having shut the door, the Saint took a few steps and dropped the firewood lightly. "It seems people left a bunch of these logs in one of the houses, so I didn't have to go harvest them myself. Luck's in our favor now," Tenma said with a big smile.

He broke some of the wood into a pile inside the shack's fireplace, then began to ready it for lighting. The boy threw that charcoal into it, a way to help the spark catch a flame, and proof that he would no longer continue his piece of art. Pegasus quickly lit a fire, so they dragged themselves closer to its warmth.

Tenma's eyes admired the drawing on the floor for a while. "What's that about?" he questioned.

"Ah, it is the visage outside," said the boy.

"Right, with the dead trees and all."

The artist ran a finger over the streaks of black, and he could still soften some of the charcoal pieces that stained the plaster. "Some would say it looks drab, yet I find it comforting," he murmured.

"Anything's better than that country of nothing but snow we crossed. I thought I was going to freeze!" said the other.

Bringing both palms up to enjoy the fire, the artist snickered, saying: "But now we have heat." Thus Tenma sat down nearby and also warmed his hands, and they were quiet awhile. "I was wondering…" the boy spoke up, so the Saint looked to him "… why would those people be after me? They are servants of hell, are they not?"

"They are," his friend immediately responded. "Just, look, it doesn't matter. Those guys are bad news no matter how you put it."

"I am not a fighter like you. I cannot fend for myself, let alone harm them. To use violence after a worthless nobody like me, they must have good reason, or be grossly mistaken."

Tenma's eyes turned to the fire once more, and he sighed out of anxiety. "Don't worry, Alone, we'll find out what they want," he said, and that name seemed to enlighten him, though it felt obvious. Of course he was called Alone. He had always been called Alone. "I'm sure my master will think of a solution."

"You say your master is in this Sanctuary, yes?" Alone asked him.

His friend confirmed: "Yeah, we're just a bit far from there. He scouts the portal to Sanctuary, so he should be the first man we meet, and you'll be safe. I promise."

Satisfied, the artist enjoyed the heat some more. "I have faith in you, Tenma," he said.

They rested there while the fireplace warmed the home, using the old rug as a softer surface to lie on. So that their pursuers didn't dangerously draw near, they left as soon as they felt rested, no matter how dark it was outside. In a sense, they used the deep darkness of night to elude them.

Several kilometers of walking up and down mountains and plains, the snow was left behind, and what remained was thin ice coating the grass and leaves. The closer to Athens they came, the less punitively cold it was, yet the European winter did not cease. It had been a few days between rests, eating, drinking, and walking till they started to traverse the range of the portal.

The acropoli about the range were in a different state then, and they hadn't been isolated by that age, so entry was straightforward. Nonetheless, Tenma seemed to avoid civilization altogether, steering clear not only of cities, but villages and roads, no matter how small. His chosen paths brought hardships to Alone, but he seemed certain of the need to avoid the folk, Greek or otherwise.

Not long after reaching the range, Pegasus had the first sight of soldiers scouting at the ridges of mountains, which his companion noticed well later. He helped the boy so that he wouldn't slide or fall down treacherous elevations, taking him by the arm or giving him a push every now and then. Since rest would be required halfway through, the duo stopped by a safe spot neither too high nor too low, where no dirt was likely to roll over their heads.

It was at this point that the scouts descended from their high spots, and leading them was a Silver Saint much like Karim after him, wearing the Crater Cloth also; their appearances were strikingly similar in age as in features, if not for this man's lighter skin. He slid down to their level, two soldiers alongside, and studied the newcomer.

Although the Pegasus Cloth and the armor of the other men had lost their shine — in recent days and long ago respectively — Alone could see his reflection on the sharp angles of the Crater Cloth rather well, and he learned his appearance was akin to his future self, if not for fairer hair a dark blond, and the black dress he wore, a poorer garment fashioned after the clothes of richer men in Prussia.

"Master Suikyo, you're finally here," Tenma called to the fellow Saint, though he allowed him investigate his friend.

After looking him up, down, and around, Suikyo spoke: "This seems like a civilian whom you bring."

Tenma signaled with the head to the boy. "This is Alone, just a simple painter. He had to escape the Specters after they attacked up north," he said.

"Are you sure of that?" Crater asked, yet the stare he offered his apprentice was devoid of doubt or any discernible emotion. He was as plain and sober as one could be.

"Yes, I can vow for him," the Bronze Saint answered, estranged as he felt.

That same blank face stared at Alone next. "Take him inside and speak to Aries Shion," Suikyo nonchalantly ordered. "He was in charge of investigating a disturbance north of Austria. I believe the painter might have been involved."

"Got it. Will do," Tenma said, and the soldiers leapt to higher ground.

Still, before leaving and as Pegasus watched, Suikyo notified him of something else: "Keep your wits about you, Tenma." The youth's eyes lit up upon hearing that. "I will need you to help with scouting soon enough. Things are getting stranger."

"Hm? Yeah, alright," Pegasus agreed, so his master left. As he watched the scouts rejoin their duties, he addressed Alone, who stood quietly and awkward the whole time, haply in fear of saying anything ruinous. "Are you okay?"

After a sigh, the other boy whispered: "He seemed quite dire."

"Watching the borders while all of these things go on is rough work," Tenma told him. "Anyway, come. It's still a while until we reach the gate."

They proceeded after some extra rest, ravenous as both were, so that they could enter Sanctuary and have a meal. Their savings had depleted, and there were too few large animals to hunt in the range. By the time they entered the caves, Alone's legs started feeling weak, yet it was improper to stop then, so they made it to the gate.

As per usual, Alone was blown away by the sights outside and inside the portal, inquisitive of its actual nature, how it had been built, and what sort of magic sustained its functioning. Realizing that his friend had slowed down the pace, Tenma pulled him without a word, so they maintained a moderate rhythm throughout. Eventually they left out the pavilion, and Pegasus spread the curtains to reveal the wondrous sight of Sanctuary.

Once again the first-time visitor was impressed, especially to think that there were so many people at that time wandering the plaza. Like prior, the Saint pressured him to follow. "Don't get lost," he said. "It's even bigger than it seems at first."

Therefore Alone stayed diligently nearby, stared at by natives for his demeanor, clothes, and the fact that his company was a reasonably known Saint in the grounds. Tenma exchanged words with a handful while walking, whether in the military or cult, and very few civilians; most of the conversations with the latter occurred once they stopped by a business. Having procured silver coins from an officer stationed at the entrance, the Saint bought themselves souvlaki on a skewer, which his partner found a joy to eat.

This done, they went straight to the bottom of the Ecliptic, right by the stairway to Aries. While the painter's attention was caught by the floating temples going so far up to the statue of Athena, Tenma pointed a hand to the first temple from there.

"It's right up here," he said, and the other frowned.

"Right up here?" the boy repeated, almost laughing at the absurdity. "That is the longest stairway I have seen my entire life, and my legs are killing me! I might die without sleep."

Seeing the other sit on some of the higher steps, Tenma walked to him, shrugged, and suggested: "I can carry you up if you want."

"Huh?" The other's brow furled even deeper now. "W-what are you saying, Tenma?"

"I mean, we're trying to be quick, so I was just saying."

"Just give me a few minutes to catch my breath! I never traveled this much, you know? Certainly not on foot."

"Okay," the Saint gave in and sat next to him. "Tell when you feel ready then."

With this they chatted idly for half an hour or so, topics related to the lifestyle of those in Sanctuary, the secret of the portal at its entrance, or the secret behind the floating platforms and temples. Of course, Tenma was as clueless about the last two as was his friend, so he had little to educate him on apart from the common sense he was taught.

Regarding Sanctuary's culture, he did speak of it existing in a limbo between current and Ancient Greek customs, that medicine, politics, and agricultural know-how did reach them, though, in account of its isolation, the city resisted many ideas introduced by the Eastern Romans or the Turks. Besides, serving a living goddess in that century, there was no denying that the Cult's authority over social matters was welcomed by administrators and ordinary folk alike, so life self-corrected to the ways of the gods.

Alone's growing enthusiasm to learn more revitalized his energy, so they finally walked to the House of Aries, talks persisting throughout. It was several minutes till they were at the top of the stairs, where Tenma guided the boy to speak silently therein, in respect to the Gold Saints and the temple itself.

Indeed, there wasn't just one, but two Gold Saints inside, and they exchanged hushed words with alert expressions. Among them was a somewhat younger Aries Shion, though in front of him was a heretofore unseen man somewhat older than Tenma, also of some Oriental complexion. His head was exposed, as were his dark brown eyes, subtly tan skin, and wild brown hair down to the neck.

The armor he used was of the purest gold among the Gold Cloths, with dozens of layers ribbing the legs, arms, and torso; the elbows, knees, and stomach were protected by what seemed like small bucklers, which studded the other plates together. Indeed the man had more shields than those, that being two on each gauntlet, larger than that of the Dragon Cloth, with short metal spikes aimed outwards along its circumference. The shoulder pads were asymmetrical, one rounded and aimed down the extent of the right arm, and the other arched and aimed the opposite direction. Both originated from a bevor that covered much of his neck, forged with curving layers. This warrior's protection was absent any gems, precious or otherwise; all details were raised in the same gold as anywhere else, including the sign of a maiden in the circle central to his body; she sat adorned in a dress, and lifted a weighing balance on a hand.

Under the arm he held a helmet built after the Corinthian blueprint, the cheeks protruding down to protect the rest of the chin and neck, only a slit left for the nose and mouth. The eyes, too, would've been enclosed, and this all was embossed with feather-like shapes on the side, slightly raised. Above was a plethora of markings of wheat branches, and further above a small crest of a woman who, despite her civilian attire, raised a rounded-tipped sword, one not unlike a sword the man himself sheathed by his hip. On his back he attached two other weapons: a double-ended flail of sorts, and a longer spear.

Well before the entrants neared the middle of the hall, the Gold Saints ceased their talks and looked; Shion's eyes widened momentarily at the blond boy, whereas his companion's stare grew suspicious, something Alone couldn't help but notice.

"Excuse me, Aries Shion…" Tenma spoke low, to not appear disrespectful "… I'm one of Crater Suikyo's apprentices."

Aries shook the head in recognition. "You are known to me, and so…" he was about to comment on the boy, yet his friend beat him to it.

"That is him," said the other, still gazing the civilian just the same.

No doubt Alone grew uncomfortable, and his enthusiasm to hear secrets from these warriors soured. "Excuse me?" he mumbled.

"You are the boy the Specters sought in Bavaria."

Alone looked to Tenma for aid, who only signaled with the head for him to go on "I am afraid that is me, sir."

Shion said: "You have led him here, Pegasus, which comes as enviable assistance."

"Master did say you guys checked what the Specters were doing up north," said Tenma.

"It concerned this boy," he said of Alone.

Trying to live off the awkwardness, the boy presented himself: "My name is Alone, a Bohemian artist — a failed one at that." He finished it with a self-deprecating chuckle, eyes lowered.

The other Gold Saint hadn't turned from him yet. "What does Hades want of you?" he inquired, tone forceful.

"I do not know what you speak of, sir," was Alone's insecure reply.

"He knows nothing about the Underworld," Tenma informed them. "They caught him totally unawares."

"So one should expect, although the Specters are not the kind to err in seeking one so staunchly," Shion said.

"Sir, this whole ordeal has been a great torment," Alone told him with a subdued nod. "If I am not back by Christmas, my family would notice my absence, which would worry them dead."

Almost instantly, Aries told: "You are not going to your parents any time soon."

"But it is imperative," Alone said, then the Saint explained on.

"No greater risk would come to them other than you returning with Hades' lackeys on your tail. Hereon out, you are better off under our watch."

But the other Gold Saint raised doubts. "I am not so certain," he gravely spoke.

"Dohko?" Shion uttered his name, as if beckoning him to awaken from whatever stupor the boy's arrival put him under.

"It is clearer each moment, the Specters wish to capture, not kill him. He is a goodly youth, naive, well-mannered…"

"That changes nothing," his friend countered in passing.

"It does, and there is but one safe action to undertake," he whispered, then looked to the other Gold Saint, whose alien eyes exposed disgust, as did his pursed lips.

Shion swayed the head, grunting a mere: "No."

"Be mindful, Shion. We can avoid unimaginable pain."

Shion turned to the visitors, and despite his tone now being lowered, it was more imposing. "Tenma, you rest here with the boy. Make yourselves comfortable," he said before looking back at Dohko. "Libra and I shall discuss what we saw in Bavaria, and then decide where he ought to stay."

A bit bemused, the Bronze Saint said: "Uhm… alright, but my master said he would call me to scout out the gate soon."

"Were he to do so, go, just leave the boy here," Shion ordered. Thus the two Gold Saints left to a direction opposite the bedroom, and therewith naught but their whispers were heard reverberating in the temple's walls, no words made out. The visitors sat against a pillar and rested some more.

Alone leaned the head on his knees, lost in thought of what he was told regarding his family. To imagine their affliction upon a lack of visit, frustration bittered him to no end. A sigh wasn't enough to lose that load on his shoulders, so he whimpered, and tears that quickly ran down his cheeks.

Hearing him, Tenma turned and saw the water glisten on his friend's face, despite how he tried to bury it into the legs. "Uh, you're crying!" he remarked. As it was no use denying the truth, Alone nodded, lifted the face, and wiped some of those tears. Pegasus' hand raised and went for the other's back, but he thought twice before touching him, instead only offering comfort in words. "I get it, you're going through some really rough things. It's difficult for you."

"I just wish I could see my mom," Alone told with the voice yet muffled by sadness, "tell her I will be fine."

"We'll find a way to do that, I promise! Even if it's a letter," Tenma assured him.

So the boy breathed in an out, letting the seconds ease his heart. "Thank you, Tenma. I think I would have already gone crazy if you had not been my friend," he said, despite the disheartened tone yet in his speech.

"It'll be alright. We'll deal with those Specters, then you can go home, no matter how long it takes."

"I hope so."

With that Pegasus lied the back against the pillar again, every so often spying on Alone to make sure he didn't cry again. The curiosity over Sanctuary, the gods, and anything else seemed overwritten by worry. One way or the other, the fun in learning of so many entertaining things couldn't erase the dread of their vile counterparts: the wars, suffering, and deaths sure to come.

Hurried steps eventually reached the entrance, and against the backdrop of stars, the shadow of an amazon appeared. Her mask came into view, and she called for the Saint: "Pegasus?"

"That's me," he said, and supposing this to be a message from Crater, he slowly got up.

"Crater has called you."

"I was expecting that. Can it wait some more?"

"He said it's urgent."

Tenma whispered a "damn it" and turned to his friend, who shook the head as to encourage him out. "Go on, I will not leave this place," he told him.

"Even if you got to, don't worry, I'll find you one way or another. We've got the means," said the Saint, so he followed the woman back down to the grounds.

On their way, Alone just barely overheard her description of the issue, different from the scouting Suikyo promised when they met in the range. "He's waiting at a guard tower. Apparently two watchmen found signs of infiltration last morning…" the amazon said, thereon her phrases could no longer be distinguished.

Instead, the voices of Dohko and Shion resounded starkly, as they were the only sound other than the noise from the city, or the crackling of torches. For a couple minutes, Alone was content with analyzing the things about him, such as the etchings and paintings on the orders, architraves, and ceiling; then he saw that Aries had a forge, and a table where tools had been unrolled, sure to be used at the anvil. He wondered how close to the architecture of the Ancient Greek this all was, and whether this was a lot like sitting in an ancient temple of Ambracia, Sparta, or Athens itself.

A bit of a whisper echoed again, and his interest was piqued in sequence. Whatever they spoke of shouldn't have been so secret, he thought, since a careful listener should've been able to take it in anyway, so he softly got to his feet, went to the corridor they entered, and lined up close to a wall.

Even from a bit afar, their debate was becoming clearer. He risked bothering such powerful men and stepped closer, and, due to the architecture being mostly marble, Alone understood their words once he breathed with calm.

"… that they would be this desperate. What my studies attested was that vessels were an abundant asset," Shion's voice was the first he identified.

"Our Lady has been strict about covering the Earth for that very purpose," and second, Dohko's tone, sharp even when speaking softly.

"There lies the origin of their brusqueness, I assume. They must have struggled to mark enough candidates this generation, and as such, few options remain. That boy might seem their last opportunity," Aries said.

"Then how do you misunderstand my conduct, Shion?"

Because so suddenly animosity seemed to rise, Shion did his best to justify himself peacefully: "Back in Bavaria, you advanced with the intent of killing him…"

Alone stepped away, back touching the wall; somehow hearing such a fact washed him with undesirable warmth, and his vision blurred, thinking back to the chaotic situation days ago. Death kissed him, and he hadn't as much as thought of it. "He is a vessel for Hades," Dohko revealed, so the boy frowned in denial.

"In the end he is a poor painter, no more," Aries argued. "If anything, he is more innocent than an innocent, purity incarnate. You nigh murdered one most deserving of mercy, Dohko."

"Sure, but I did it with the lives of many other innocents in mind. It was an act of passion."

"Now we possess this precious vessel of theirs, he is safe in our hands. How could you imply that executing him is a fine choice?" Shion almost failed by rising his tone, but there was a shameful pause after this. For Alone, however, there was panic. His vision blurred further, and he stepped the opposite direction of their talks, holding the mouth so his gasp would go unheard. Somehow, even compared to the mess thus far, this was too much for him to handle at once. Any reason crumbled to dust, if there was reason to be found in such a state; he was sure to make choices of passion, as had been Dohko. Aries reinforced: "What would Lady Athena make of your excess?"

Though, true to his constellation, the Libra Saint corrected such imbalance. "I can no longer defend what I said, brother," he said with audible repentance. "Forgive me."

"Do not ask for forgiveness, instead mend your broken thought, and do so with haste," Shion told him.

"Yes, yes," Dohko agreed. "Killing him is just… a barbaric idea, and it would be an even worse action. I do not know what spell blinded me."

"We are Lady Athena's Saints. We should aspire to serve innocents with the spilling of blood, sure, but not before serving with wisdom and reason."

"You are right, though I still stand by taking him beyond the Temple of Pisces, as I had argued," Dohko told him.

"It is not only up to us to decide," Shion responded at once. "In the meantime, we shall tend for the boy in this temple, ascertain his welfare."

"That is the safest of the righteous options, brother."

However, neither thing would come to be. Not only would it be impossible to lead the boy to the Temple of Athena, he was not in Aries to be tended for. In fact, he heard the talks of the Gold Saints no more, and left the house headlong, running down the stairway. This attitude came as survival instinct, since he felt more at risk under their responsibility after what he heard.

So hurried he was that he kicked a handful of steps on the way, nearly falling. Vertigo came with the return of blurred vision, for the height he stood on was too far up, and rolling down such a position could've been fatal in itself. Upon losing his footing a moment, he crouched, looked back, and saw no evidence of the two men.

Therefore Alone pressed on running, and now the city below grew large, a place he knew nothing of. Without Tenma, he would have no way to find himself, though he trusted that his friend would do so no matter where he ended up, as promised. A second instance he turned back, and now the tiny outline of Shion's hair cast a shadow against torch light so distant.

The speed of those warriors was already comprehended by him, so he turned the first right and ran down an unknown strip, despite the fact that Aries didn't seem to give chase. He would've sprinted faster, had it not been for a booming sound that shook both the ground and his nerves, prompting him to look back once more.

More booms came, from several sides this once. Screams blared along the streets, and Alone assumed this wasn't the Gold Saint hunting him down. No, it felt a lot like the occurrence that got him in this mess first and foremost, the same kind of attack he suffered in Bavaria. From the corner of a nearby wall, he saw workers and salespeople run for the walls, then lines of plasma cross the air, certainly afterglow of combatants so fast his eyes were unable to perceive.

"Not again!" he bemoaned. At last a golden shine illuminated the House of Aries, bright enough that he saw its residue cast twilight on that district.

A muted blast succeeded this, then the sight of a black-clothed warrior skidding along the stone tiles in the portal's direction, definitely expelled by one of the Gold Saints. With this came sign of Sanctuary's defense clashing with the attackers up above, so Alone bet they would be too busy to worry about him.

Thus the boy ran more, and while ordinary people hid indoors, jumped for the alleyways, or made it for the outskirts, he did not leave the streets, and ran as far as the training platform. Since soldiers, amazons, and Saints all mobilized in a matter of seconds, the place was empty. The battle was constant, appearing as colliding meteor showers above, and fireworks in the background.

An explosion and a flash made him shout, so he lowered the head, slowed down, then sped back up. "Where are you, Tenma?" he desperately gasped between breaths.

A blast interrupted him ahead, burying something into the rock and pebbles. The road was therewith deformed, dust spread, and he didn't proceed, since it didn't feel safe. An energy made a dark flame apparent through the veils, and once this settled, he could see one of those servants of hell so eager to kidnap him.

The Specter was exceptionally short for a man, brown eyes bearing a sarcastic, hollow stare, and his skin ashy and pale like most of his colleagues. He smiled at Alone, exposing big yellowed teeth, dirtied at the edges, and bent in wild abandon; his tongue licked them left to right, visibly dry. The helmet which covered his hair and skull was split in half, with the right side shaped like the head and horns of a ram, and the left side shaped like the head of a frog, each with a pair of topazes for eyes. The metal was smooth, yet textured like oily chitin.

The back of the surplice was shaped after an outward wheel, whereas the front had arbitrary curves, connecting plates with characteristic patterns of hard angles, like the form of ceramic bowls and vases. The shoulders had this slender shape too, and the arms were similarly fluted down to the gauntlets, then similarly down the waist, hips, and legs. Along the patterns formed by the corners of metal, golden details depicted a ram-headed man and a frog-headed woman shaping a child out of clay atop a wheel; the ram was thus depicted with other beings, some crowned as rulers of Egypt; whereas the frog placed their creations into the womb of mothers.

"There you are!" this repulsive man exclaimed, tone as gross as his appearance.

It seemed the time to run back to the Saints had come, but when Alone stepped the opposite way, hearing the war about him, he felt it safer to stay put. "What do you want?" he asked.

Raising more Cosmos, the Specter slowly slithered each foot closer. "Lord Hades seeks you, pretty boy." A bout of fear watching that unfold shattered Alone's reason, so he decided to run back to the stairway after all, even if this meant his death. In response, the warrior slapped those slender hands above the head, shouting: "GRAVE SERVANTS!"

His aura bled into the ground, and the stone and dirt beneath breathed alive, running after the target. A wall of figures formed a half circle that blocked the boy's path, and though at first they were nothing but pairs of feet and legs, eventually they gained waists, chests, arms, and heads. They were bare, misshapen, and of stiff movements, faces blanker than the mask of an amazon, yet they had no issue spreading the arms in a line to trap the painter.

"We won't lose you now!" the Specter spoke and laughed.

Seeing the stone figures close in, Alone didn't stand passively; he tried to jump back over the figures, and when their hard limbs grabbed onto him, he slammed them, though they were impenetrable to him, and he only hurt the fists and arms. A trio of the Specter's servants restrained his legs, and then his arms, pulling him to a position where the others pinned him down to ground.

"There-there!" the man sang as he approached, crouching next to the stone dolls. The boy yet struggled, forcing them to pin him more heavily. "Don't fight too much. You'll just get hurt over nothing."

"Get off me!" Alone shouted, no intent on giving up.

"Sssh, calm down, pretty boy," the Specter whispered as he lowered the head, that tongue of his licking the teeth again and nearly grazing the victim's dirty skin. "Work with me, and I'll work with you."

Another Cosmos sparked nearby, and with it they heard the sound of two boots cut past the chaos of war. The Specter looked behind to find the white glow of his enemy, and he met an angered sight, that of Pegasus Tenma, who without fail found the one he had sworn to protect regardless of circumstance.

"Release him, Specter," he demanded, a fist aimed forth.

"It's Miyan to you, petulant child!" the man complained as he got up, though his height wasn't much different than when he crouched. "Ah, you're Pegasus! We were told you were acting as the kid's bodyguard."

"I'm not his bodyguard," Tenma countered, "I'm his friend. Release him, or I'll make sure you die."

One of Miyan's eyes spread as his smile opened dementedly. He raised one of those long-fingered hands, and the golems squeezed Alone's limbs tighter. "Once I bring this pure vessel to Lord Aiacos, he will be so ecstatic, I will be promoted to work in Tartarus, and then…" he paused the words and daydreamed, a high-pitched, raspy giggle escaping his throat.

"You maggot," Pegasus muttered before striding to him, the speed so great that Miyan just about escaped. Some figures of dirt and stone crumbled, and in their place more were erected, crashing with the youth's fist, then falling to shards.

Tenma stepped off and hunted down the leaping Specter, but he was slowed down by a body of rocks that rose ahead of him. He broke through it with the extent of the Cloth, though by the time he was on the other side, Miyan had skipped elsewhere.

He spun a leg and raced that way now, and this instance he came so close to slamming through the Specter, that the opponent rolled to the side with a howl of relief. He was saved by yet another impromptu statue of dirt, which barely gave him space to evade the punch.

This didn't come without its side-effects. While he was engrossed with surviving that onslaught, he couldn't give Alone the required attention, so the boy found a manner to escape the figures' weakening grasp, sliding out of their control. Miyan found this out in time, and influenced the rocks so that their limbs captured him once more.

"Oh-oh, don't even think about it!" he said.

But maintaining the figures now meant not enough power to stop the Saint, which was but a long step away; Tenma had no trouble planting a heavy punch against the Specter's cheek, bruising it. The force and speed made a dazed Miyan fly a couple meters, so he raised a wall of defenses in a rush. Figures pushed Tenma back, but he casually destroyed them with violent hooks.

Feeling the numbness on his face paralyze some of the skin, the Specter whispered: "You're as pesky as they said you'd be."

In the other hand, Tenma was quiet and calculating. The latest strikes came in conjunction with plans to release his friend, and he had learned a lot with their successes, enough to feel safe that Alone would be released from the enemy's bondage. To this end he readied a lot of Cosmos, an amount to rival a Silver Saint's, and rushed at a pace greater than before.

Miyan's expression twisted to shock, mouth agape, and he defended himself by little thanks to his figures, which he built at once while attempting to dodge. His boots were nonetheless struck by Tenma's shoulder, so he rotated midair ere landing meters away. Without settling down, the Saint leapt for Alone, and kicked the few statues still standing over him, therewith the boy could crawl away.

Despite being on the floor, Miyan slammed the stones to spawn more of his servants from below, this once to grab onto Tenma's limbs. Pegasus simply stared back at him, and, with a huge swing, not only destroyed his spawns, but also made it to the enemy.

"PEGASUS METEOR FIST!" he yelled. His thousands of light spheres reduced the remaining figures to particles, and were about to strike the Specter in full, sure to bring him severe injury.

Another source of white light arrived from above, and Tenma felt an extra Cosmos join the battle. "WHITE LOTUS BLOSSOM!" a voice too familiar to him resounded, and with it blade-like shards of energy that overwhelmed his every remaining power. Two of these swept his outstretched hand off course, breaking part of the gauntlet and bleeding him onto the ground.

As soon as the Bronze Saint fell, he rolled and got up to a three-point position, though his struck arm seemed rather limp thus. "What?" he uttered, and the one he saw up ahead was no longer Miyan, rather a Silver Saint — it was his own master who stopped him from defeating a foe. In fact, he blocked the way to the Specter, who cowered trembling behind his tall body. "Master Suikyo? What are you doing?"

Crater stayed quiet, and even looked halfway down, as to let his helmet hide him in Sanctuary's nigh universal shadow. Once he noticed he was alive and well, Miyan twisted that terrified face into the usual filthy grin of his. Alone, who was about to get up and run, felt the hands be caught by rising stone figures once more. The Specter clapped, and therefore the figures embraced one another, forming a box shaped after six deformed statues.

"Alone!" Tenma called, yet the boy could not be heard. This stone box rolled towards Miyan, who took it in both arms with effort and escaped, ensuring that the Silver Saint stayed between him and Pegasus. Suikyo turned around, no intent of fighting his pupil any more, though he was tested by a question no less: "That's why you called me, to make sure this betrayal would work out?"

Crater paused but for an instant. "I called you in the hopes you would stay safe," he explained before escaping from the vicinity past the speed of sound, the shock wave enough to splatter some fresh blood dripping from Tenma's arm.

He thought of giving chase, yet there was no sizing up to his own master, worse while so injured. "Damn it, they took him!" he cried out. "They took Alone!" Unfortunately for him, no matter how expertly the Saints responded to the sudden attack, the Underworld had acquired its primary goal: a vessel pure enough to house Hades' soul.

Few casualties numbered Sanctuary's side, compared to many on the side of the Specters, who were choked at their entry point and chased out through exit portals. When news of Miyan's success thanks to Suikyo's intervention spread, warriors weak and strong retreated to Earth, where they escaped the Saints and ventured back into Tartarus, leaving the corpses of their comrades behind.

Not a single foe crossed the Temple of Aries; the poor sods who tried had their lives ended without ceremony by the two Gold Saints who defended it, and who, by virtue of the sudden intrusion, did not hunt after the likely vessel. However, Tenma's testimony brought to light the means used by the enemy, that being his master's betrayal; it also informed Athena that her greatest fear came true, and that Hades would soon be in fine condition to join the battlefield.

So it was that a man worked in an office the likes of Minos', similar in architecture, furnishing, and composition. Also in kind with his peer, he was mostly quiet and concentrated throughout the labor, a sign that he also took it seriously. This was Aiacos, dressed in veils rather than a Surplice, since a major offensive was yet to be announced. He worked by his own marble table in the lower story, a finger to a temple draped in red shine, staring through a glass embedded in metal plates.

His eyes shone scarlet too, and once he was done, he brought those fingers to the table and emptied the soul therein, filling it with another thereafter. "Up Styx," he mumbled, taking a pen and marking something into a strikingly fresh book, most of the exposed pages yet blank. The script was some old Greek form, and his method of organizing points was one only he could understand, the sort of shorthand to be developed by one working the same job for thousands of years. Unlike Minos, he possessed no counter which he tapped for each decision. Once he had looked into the ills of the next soul, he emptied the glass once more, took the pen, and marked elsewhere on the book, mumbling: "Down Lethe."

Beyond the door to that vast room of his, footsteps were heard in half a dozen, that being the hard knock of metal on marble. For so many fighters to approach such a sacred station in Tartarus, they had to have good reason, lest a man of his kind teach them an unforgettable lesson. Regardless, he got off the chair and walked to the entrance, opening the intricate door to reveal a wide hallway on the other side, bare in architectural motifs.

Those he met were a small retinue of soldiers, spearheaded by the Specter Miyan, who smiled with his stone chest to the side. Not one of them dared enter Aiacos' place, of course. The lowly warriors bowed, whereas Miyan curtsied like an artiste, finishing with a wave to the artifact he brought.

"I deliver our Lord's pure vessel, the Bohemian painter marked by our sweet Divine Adoratrice, as you ordered, sir," the Specter told.

Aiacos, disbelieving that such a bumbling moron could've been so useful, shut the door behind and approached. The stone bodies reformed, unfurling like a blossoming flower, till their hands dug into themselves and grasped Alone's wrists and ankles. Miyan's Cosmos ordered that they prostrate and lift the boy, who at the time was deep asleep.

The Judge came hither and studied the boy's exposed skin from above, while the others expectantly observed. First he sensed that a timely mark had been cut into his soul, a sign typical of potential vessels found by Thanatos and Pandora. Second he saw a wealth of scratches large and small, including bruises on his delicate wrists, and even shallow speckles dirtying the semblance. The hair displayed streaks of stone dust and earth, a state he found unacceptable.

Since it had taken nearly half a minute, Miyan started to question whether he had made a mistake, whether he mistook Pandora's mark for something else, so he confirmed: "That's him, isn't it, Lord Aiacos?" Infuriated in a split moment, Aiacos went to the Specter and slapped him violently on the side of the helmet, enough that he fell over his comrades. The other half of his face had now been bruised too. "L-Lord Aiacos!"

The Judge aimed at one of Alone's wounds with an extended arm. "Your mishandling of the pure vessel caused him harm," he sternly remarked.

Miyan knelt up, eyes widened and glistening. "Ah, but how can I be blamed for that, sir? The boy kept fighting back, and then that bodyguard of his endangered his life, I had no means to…"

"Miyan," Aiacos simply called him, so the Specter became speechless. After crouching, that extended arm now curled to lie the rough palm on the dark spot he made on his cheek, which he tapped softly. "If Minos finds out you inflicted his wounds, what horror shall come to your every bone, big or small…"

The vague threat pended, so the man stood and looked back to the pure vessel, who seemed intent on awaking any time now. The Specter, in the other hand, was at the verge of tears, trembling, babbling. "H-he… he doesn't need to know, sir. Surely he…" he almost begged.

"You succeeded at a job many others failed," Aiacos praised him, eyes not deviating from the boy, "so I should vow for you."

Thus Miyan bowed deeper, forehead close to the floor. "I am grateful, Lord Aiacos! So, so grateful!" he said, but Aiacos was quiet as he watched the boy, awaiting his return to consciousness. The subordinate eyed him from the corner of the eye out of curiosity, something the soldiers also did, but he decided to try his luck and ask: "Could you tell, would having me work in Tartarus from now on be worth this?" His unease over the Judge's reply was so great that he touched the forehead to the ground after this.

To his surprise, the man said: "Indeed."

Gasps of joy exited the Specter's lips. "Oh, yes! Ah-ah, I thought perhaps something involving the Divine Adoratrice!" he indulged himself. "I could be her personal attendant — no, she's not the type to want one… maybe just cleaning the hall where she plays harp, anything to appease her!"

"Lady Pandora is better appeased far away from you," a serious Aiacos said, shattering Miyan's heart.

"I'm sure I could be of use to her, sir," the other lamented.

"We shall see." Aiacos stepped to Alone and looked at him from above, since his youthful eyes opened, and he groaned out of a headache and confusion. "Do you feel well?"

Before an answer came to his lips, the boy looked left and right, and either wrist was trapped. He forced them, but the stone was as stiff as ever, and he begged with the weakest voice: "Let me go."

It took only a stare from the Judge's part in order for Miyan to release the vessel, and he softly lied him onto the cold marble, which led Alone to embrace his own arms, numb as they felt. "I apologize for how this fool handled you. He has received due punishment," said Aiacos.

"I just…" the boy still whispered, and he avoided people's line of sight altogether "… want to know what you want from me."

"You are safe here, sir. Our Lord Hades has demanded that we find you, yet the Saints would not let us have you. They planned to steal either your life, or your liberty."

Alone nodded, memories of Dohko and Shion's conversation coming to him. "I heard two Saints discuss this, but I still barely understand their motive, the motive of this god, Hades… they said I was like a vessel to him," he revealed.

"They are afraid that you learn the actual truth, sir. The truth about Lord Hades, Athena, and your essence."

"My essence?"

"You are precious in flesh and soul. Comprehending this with only word and no insight is a deed unfeasible," said Aiacos, and thus he lifted a hand to the door behind him as an invitation. "Will you accompany me to at least convene with our Lord for this purpose?"

With a silent sigh, Alone sat up where he was, hands balancing him off the floor. "Were I to meet with Hades, would the bloodshed be over?" he asked.

"As long as the Saints accept your will."

So the boy got up with the Judge's help, and said: "Then I shall meet him."

As such, Aiacos dismissed Miyan and the soldiers, then led Alone first into his temple, then past it to the hallway above, that went further into the Ploutonion. He took the boy along the many corridors, ultimately leaving him in Hades' court, where he was not present. Unlike Athena's temple, where the presence of a few cultists was occasional; or the court of Zeus, where crowds of courtiers were sure to be present in active hours; only a single person other than him stayed in that vast area.

Alone sat on one of the last stone benches, once more admiring the sculptures, architecture, and displacement of the nave up to the empty throne. Soon it became impossible to ignore the music that played therein, the soft lyre plucked from a dark corner behind him. Interested, the painter looked back at its source, and realized that the player's eyes glowed yellow, enough to reveal part of his face and armor.

The musician's pupils aimed at him, so the boy gasped and looked away, down to the intricate flooring. Due to how chilling the man seemed, he thought it best to admire his song without looking, to not fall on his bad side. That situation went on for many a minute, till a group of four people entered the court through a passage in front rather than behind. The first was Aiacos, and the other Judges were present too; behind them, however, was a womanly Pandora, pose proper and hands joined by her waist while following.

Halting by the boy, the three Judges bowed the heads, then opened way for Pandora to step in and do the same. When Alone saw her, not only was he captivated by her decadent beauty, he also had the impression that they met long ago, however unlikely. That reaction was treated as familiar by the priestess, who presented herself: "A pleasure to meet you. I am Pandora, High Priestess of the Cult of Hades."

"It is my pleasure, ma'am," the boy responded. "I am Alone."

"Excuse me," the woman said, grabbed the side of her skirt, placed a knee down, and held his arm as to identify his wounds. Her pale fingers pulled on the long sleeves to see the scratches and bruises caused by the Grave Servants, and she clicked the tongue in disapproval.

"He arrived in such a state under the protection of Miyan, the Specter of the Potter Decans," Aiacos revealed to her.

This one she knew well. "That debauched peeper — was he truly the one to recover him?" Pandora questioned.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Poor child…" she murmured, then signaling to the three behind her. "Fetch me some wine and linen."

"Aye," Minos uttered and walked back whence he came, despite Alone protesting.

"These are but minor scratches," the boy said, "they should heal in no time."

"Even the shallowest dent on your skin is an impurity to be cleansed," said Pandora. This made him more shy and inquisitive, though he simply accepted her care. She continued to investigate the harm suffered on his arms, ankles, neck, and face for over a minute, till Minos came back with what she requested.

First she dipped a strip in wine, which she used to disinfect the wounds. Broken skin absorbed the alcohol, and the burning sensation was enough to make Alone grit the teeth; she then wrapped the worst scratches in linen, and wiped most dirt and dust caught on his hair, dress, and shoes, since their dark fabric made it stick out like a sore thumb.

It was during this moment that he asked those present: "When will I meet Hades?"

"He awaits you, sir," Aiacos responded. "As soon as your wounds are bandaged, Lady Pandora shall lead you to him."

"Finally, then this nightmare should be over." For the remainder of their stay there, people remained quiet, so only the lyre was heard thereon. The care was given, the Judges returned to their posts after paying last respects to the vessel, and Pandora walked him up the stairs of the dais, behind the veils and into the quarters of Hades and Persephone.

Their destination was a bedroom not much unlike the goddess', rugs, curtains, and furniture dominated by red and black tones. The entrance was at a lower platform than the wide one for the double bed, where a being lying on it had been separated from the world at large by black canopy. Two large windows existed to each side of the frame, above bedside tables, and at the time left closed so that no breeze would bother its inhabitant. The only light therein was of black candles burning atop iron holders, mostly on the rightmost table.

The door opened, and in came Alone followed by the priestess, who shut it after. Some movement came from behind the bed's draping, which haunted the boy, but he had no ways of knowing what caused it. Pandora went up the few steps to the side of the bed, and pulled one of the curtains as to fully reveal a side.

Hades lied there as his makeshift vessel, one more deteriorated than that which would be prepared for him two centuries later. Knitted patterns in thick, black yarn composed the sheets that covered his face and chest, above slightly transparent fabric of similar color. The dry, whitish skin below it was partly visible, as were his hollowed cheeks and a hint of the sunken eye sockets, though the eye themselves were too shadowed to discern.

On his chest lied a greatly adorned bident stained dark; it was as long as Athena's weapon, albeit with flanged edges that extended around the handle, dividing into many delta-like ornaments. Eventually each side ended by curving the metal, then growing into the representation of dog heads. A third dog head rose amid the weapon's teeth, much shorter in comparison. On the other end of the weapon, a red spinel, polished and cut geometrically, added the one bit of color it flaunted, though it mirrored light just as well as the metal it was embedded into.

Alone's lips split to see what was, as far as his eyes could tell, a moving corpse. The scent wasn't putrid like of a dead animal, albeit organic like dirt, and very much present; he took this to be the smell of a burial ground, the sort of content sure to cover a coffin.

"Is that him?" he asked.

"That is our Lord," Pandora affirmed.

"He seems ill."

She lightly raised a hand towards him, saying: "Because that body can barely contain him any longer." The woman lowered herself, since Hades raised the chin in her direction; she heard him whisper with a hoarse throat, then turned her striking eyes back at the boy. "Would you let him see your face up close?"

Despite the fear, Alone was diplomatic. He took Pandora's place by that side of the bed, leaning in to look that near-corpse more intimately. Hades raised a hand as to grasp the boy's cheek, and even through the veil, he could tell how frail this supposed god was, as if the skin could crumble at a touch too intense. The smell from there was stronger, almost intoxicating, and he thought it was possible to see into a hole in his mouth, far into the innards of the head.

Some sound of breathing left the creature, and with it a piercing scent of blood. Alone was getting dizzy, but Hades pushed him away lightly, so he saw no more reason for alarm. Once again Pandora crouched by the mattress to hear her lord whisper.

"Your visit blesses him, he says." This came as proof that not only was the god expecting him, but that he had recognized him by some mysterious method just then.

"May I ask him questions?" the boy spoke up.

Pandora whispered, and then the god did it also, so she delivered: "Do so."

Whenever the pure vessel's questions came, Pandora duly relayed them to the wilting Hades. "What do you want from me?" he asked once again.

Finally a more extensive answer came, by means of the priestess speaking unto the boy while her ear stayed turned to the god. "Each life I am compelled to incarnate this decaying flesh. I breathe by the miracle of my servants' medicine, the kindness of my Divine Adoratrice, and the sacrifice of my Specters alone. Otherwise I persist a withering god, coming to the same fate of a mortal," Pandora relayed, and she paused as Hades sucked a chestful of air. "You are opposite me, soul like feather in vernal flesh, immaculate where I turned corrupt. I weigh heavy, and you weigh close to naught."

"And how does that make me precious?" Alone continued asking, therewith Pandora spoke this back at Hades.

She then proceeded with his response: "Few souls are so virtuous. I aspire but to understand you, so as to alight the burden that indites me, and to become anew if need be. The vengeful Athena would not permit that. To her, I must eternally undergo the ardor of my atrocities."

"I might try to aid you, but you must promise to give news to my parents."

Once more Hades heard, and then spoke. "He says that shall be arranged," Pandora told the boy.

Alone, as unknowing as he was of that man's vileness, was not the kind to ignore his apparent wish to become as innocent as he was. With a certain sense of obligation, he said: "What do you wish of me, Hades?"

The god caressed that bident on his chest, so Pandora knew to take it, carefully lift its weight, and bring it closer to the painter. "Here is the spear of our Lord. It responds only to him, and to one of an essence pure enough," she said. After all, it was Alone's apparent essence that caught the Specters' attention, as per Aiacos. The priestess submitted the weapon to him. "Let it prove your worth."

Once Alone had a full grasp of the bident, it was heavier than he thought, though not so much that he couldn't manage. The object breathed betwixt the fingers, and reacted not too long after the boy focused on the shapes forged upon it. The gem at the tip glowed bright, then this aura traveled up the extent, to the blades, the heads, and his very hands.

Seeing and feeling, there was no doubt. "You are the pure one we sought," said the priestess, and Hades seemed to sense this too, so he lifted both quivering arms in the boy's direction. "I take it he wishes to be blessed by your energy as well."

Of course he agreed to this, going back near the bed. Yet again he leaned, this time allowing Hades' hands to touch the metal as much as his did. Alone saw that lurid face so close, though after a few seconds, it appeared to melt into the sheets. The god raised a vermilion shine, thereon this dripped from nothingness to the ceiling as would blood. His fingers felt glued to the bident, and his body was struck by inexplicable languor, moving in slow motion.

He saw the skin of the one before him bubble beneath the fabric, and whenever it sunk back to continue vanishing in the bed, barrages of screaming crowds escaped, flowing cold past Alone's flesh. That heavy soul of Hades walked out the body and into the spear as a conduit, thereon it exploded in a spectacle of pain, and chilled the boy's body starting from the hands, up to the shoulders, then along the rest till it reached the spine.

At last Hades' makeshift vessel dropped limp, not even convulsing any longer. Similarly, Alone stepped back, and he did not notice Pandora had left the side of the bed, opened the door, and left the room without a word. That place was always quiet, but in his brain, trillions of voices begged for mercy from anyone who might've offered it; the boy, however, could offer them none of it. He had no more agency over a body formerly his own.

Stiffened, he fell back, bident now lying on the chest. His eyes full of life twisted plain and pale; his skin so quickly dulled, paler than it ever was; his golden locks lost color, becoming gray and white. He heaved, a moan trapped in the back of the throat, for this process caused him anguish he could not compute.

The bedroom's ceiling darkened further. A disembodied voice told him something, a timbre not unlike his own, apart from its malicious intent. "You and I prevail as polar contraries," it said. "As you are light, I am dark. As you are kind, I am cruel. As you are weak, I am strong." The boy felt crackling buried deep under the skull, causing his whole body to writhe. "This purity is fickle. It ceases at the mere onset of soil. Once your flesh welcomed me, you had already lost. You are Alone no more — we are Hades."

Shun Awakens The Eighth Sense
That turmoil dissolved with the submission of soul. Consciousness returned to him, and with it the certainty that this time was long gone by, that he was no longer known as Alone, and that he had instead dug out not only that life, but a myriad others. He had once been a child of simple peasants, raised into the same fate, dying uneventfully of disease; once he had been a worker of many professions, mostly in shops of a bustling town, to pass peacefully in a poor farm of old age; there was once when he had been a natural philosopher, though his work was minor and not as notable as that of his peers... hundreds of lives mounted up, and he experienced their every seed and effect like films before him, for he experienced reality directly, and like this he saw remnants of what once befell his soul.

Still, that gap bothered him, the void torn by Hades' coercion. What came to be thereafter he didn't know and didn't hear of anymore, thus it remained a mystery to him. Looking about himself, Shun resurfaced to find his peers yet meditating, then his eyes met Athena's not too far ahead, overseeing the lot of them. To her he appeared oddly lucid, and it was clearly the expression of one who just awakened the sight of gods, and who gained autonomy over true self, soul as it was.

Later the goddess, Aphrodite, and Cancer's Aspirant left to their duties, though a group of those who would yet leave from Sagittarius formed a loose circle around a pillar, where Shun leaned against. Like when he felt close to the Seventh Sense, the boy discussed the feeling of actually achieving the Eighth to Seiya, June, Hyoga, Shaina, Aiolia, Milo, and Aldebaran.

While he spoke, those present could barely believe the one they had known for so long was suddenly aware of past selves, and a thought on what this meant for his identity lingered. Nonetheless, he commented: "I remember reading that the older one gets, the faster time appears to pass. I wonder if this happens as we have less fresh experiences, or as the sense of years grows smaller the more of them we accumulate. Now even this life feels like a second, and my whole existence, like a thousand-year lifetime."

"Interesting. Your sense of time has quickly adapted to the volume of your memories," Hyoga spoke in passing.

Others hummed along, and June particularly sounded amazed. She was closest to him, arms crossed, and leaned in to ask something. "Shun, who were you in a past life?" she said. "Were you ever a girl?"

Andromeda raised an eyebrow. "A girl?" he asked back.

"Yeah, I've always seen you as more of a girl, so I was just wondering."

"I…" this peeved Shun, who pouted the lips and raised the voice a bit "… of course I was born a woman before, but that should be the least of your concerns, June! I reached the Eighth Sense! This is a very important thing!"

"Okay, okay! I'm still a quarter of a life old, let me be nosy for a bit!" she whined.

The boy sighed, eyes shut, but next Aldebaran asked for useful information: "What did it feel like?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you reached the Eighth Sense — what was the feeling that got you there?" Taurus clarified.

In that moment Shun's eyes wandered as he spoke, crossing the sight of many of his allies along the way. "As if I had met an old friend who was always there, watching over me," he started explaining, and his sight rested on Seiya, whose expression was rather puzzled. Indeed he was barely different from the one who once protected him in the last life, and he couldn't help but wonder what happened to the past Pegasus after all. "Suddenly such a person was revealed to me, and everything in this existence made sense, for better or worse."

"Guh…?" Seiya looked left and right, then back at Shun. "Did I do something?"

Awkward, his friend chuckled to ease the strange atmosphere. "Ah, Seiya, I need you to achieve the Eighth Sense soon," he told him. "There is one particular life I wish to make sense of, and somehow I believe you could find answers."

"Right," the other reticently agreed. More questions were raised, but if the sight of gods could bring them answers, then achieving it was of even greater worth. After all, without it, they would stand no chance against the most powerful of Specters.

Yet what was unknown to these two was a fact more buried: the souls of Pegasus and Andromeda were both ancient, and they stored secrets capable of altering the future of both each other, humanity, and all planes below or above Heaven.