winxanity-ii

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Catch Me If You Can | Chapter 16 Chapter 16 | a god's ultimatum⌟

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Apollo's golden aura flared, his eyes narrowing into slits as his fury reignited. His voice cut through the tense silence, dripping with disdain. "How dare you, you lowly, disgusting—"

"—I wouldn't finish that statement if I were you." Hermes stepped forward sharply, his wings flaring with a sudden burst of energy as his voice cut through Apollo's tirade like a blade.

Apollo's scowl deepened, his radiant face twisting into something darker as he turned his fiery gaze onto his brother. "You're siding with a mortal over your own blood?"

The word "mortal" was spat with such venom that it made your stomach churn. You flinched, your shoulders curling inward as your gaze dropped to the ground. You could feel his judgment, the sheer disgust in his words as if it were a physical force.

Hermes, however, didn't flinch. If anything, the slight flare of his nostrils and the subtle clenching of his jaw were the only indicators of the storm building beneath his calm exterior. His staff twitched faintly in his hand, and his wings spread wider, creating a barrier between you and Apollo. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, dangerous, and filled with a barely restrained fury.

"I said," he growled, his golden eyes locking onto Apollo's with unrelenting intensity, "watch your mouth."

Apollo's jaw tightened, his fingers flexing as if itching to release his power, but Hermes didn't back down. His stance was firm, unyielding, and for a moment, it felt like the very world held its breath.

You risked a glance up, your eyes darting between the two gods. Hermes' expression was fierce, but there was something else in his eyes—a flicker of protectiveness that made your heart ache.

Apollo sneered, his lips curling into a bitter smile. "And what will you do, brother? Protect her? Defend her honor like some mortal knight in a fairytale? Don't be ridiculous. She's beneath us. Beneath you."

The words stung, sharp and merciless, but before you could shrink any further into yourself, Hermes stepped forward, closing the space between them. His voice was quieter now, but no less fierce. "Say whatever you want about me, Apollo. Call me a liar, a thief, a failure—I don't care. But you don't get to talk about her like that."

Apollo's aura pulsed, golden light crackling around him as if the very air trembled in response to his anger. For a moment, it seemed like he might unleash his fury, but Hermes didn't waver. His wings shifted slightly, a subtle but deliberate reminder of his readiness to act.

Apollo's face went blank, his fiery aura dimming for a heartbeat before a sharp scoff escaped his lips. He shook his head, the golden curls catching the light like a crown as his eyes bore into Hermes with cold, calculated fury. "Reckless," he bit out, his voice low but laced with a searing edge. "Disloyal. Childish. That's what you've always been. Always choosing chaos, always chasing your own amusement, no matter the cost—no matter who you betray."

Hermes tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, though his eyes gleamed with something sharper. "Oh, please," he said, his tone as light as ever but undercut by a razor edge. "I'd hardly call keeping you in check betrayal, Apollo. Someone has to remind you that the world doesn't revolve around your golden glow."

Apollo's aura flared again, a wave of heat rolling off him that made the ground crackle beneath his feet. "This isn't about me, Hermes," he snapped. "It's about loyalty. Family. But you wouldn't understand that, would you? You're too busy stirring the pot, too blinded by your own selfishness to see the damage you cause."

Hermes' smirk widened, but it was anything but amused. "Family? Is that what we're calling your need to control everything and everyone around you?" His wings flared out again, golden light reflecting off the edges like blades. "Let's be honest, brother—you're not mad about the theft. You're mad because someone dared to defy you." His tone turned mocking, his grin razor-sharp. "Big bad Apollo, perfect golden boy, thrown off his pedestal by a mortal. Must sting."

Apollo's scowl deepened, his gaze flickering to you for a brief moment, disdain dripping from every movement. "Mortal arrogance," he hissed. "And you encourage it."

"No, what I encourage is seeing through the nonsense you call pride. You hold onto that golden throne so tightly, Apollo; it's no wonder you can't see beyond it."

The words hung in the air, heavy and unrelenting. You could feel the tension radiating between them, the weight of centuries of rivalry, grudges, and misunderstandings pressing down on the grove like a storm.

For the first time, you saw the cracks in their personas—Apollo's frustration wasn't just about the theft, and Hermes' defiance wasn't just a game. It was something deeper, something tangled in their history as brothers, as gods, as beings constantly at odds.

You felt caught between them, the intensity of their conflict washing over you. Apollo's anger was sharp and cutting, but there was pain beneath it—a wound of being disregarded, disrespected.

Hermes' mockery was biting, but his words carried a truth that made you wonder if his defiance was as selfish as Apollo claimed.

Maybe it wasn't about rebellion for the sake of it. Maybe it was about something more—a refusal to bend to expectations, to be anything but what he chose to be.

Your chest tightened as you realized you could see both sides.

Apollo, desperate to maintain the balance and respect his divine role demanded, and Hermes, unwilling to be shackled by anyone's rules, even the gods'.

It wasn't black and white. It was complicated, messy—like everything else in your life had suddenly become.

The two gods stared each other down, the grove crackling with their unspoken history. And for a moment, you felt like you were intruding on something far greater than yourself.

You didn't belong here—this was their realm, their feud. You were just a mortal who had made a mistake. A grave one, perhaps, but still.

Almost as if he could read your thoughts, Apollo's piercing gaze turned on you; it felt as though the sun itself had turned its full heat on you, merciless and unyielding. "And you," he snarled, his voice low and venomous, each word striking like a lash. "What made you think you could steal from me? A god? A mortal—a miscreant, a ryparós mys."

Your stomach dropped, the insult twisting in your chest. But it wasn't just the word; it was the tone, the sheer contempt in his voice, as though you were something to be scraped off the bottom of his boot.

The air around you seemed to grow hotter, heavier, under his gaze, and your instinct was to cower, to shrink away from the full weight of his fury.

But something inside you snapped.

Maybe it was exhaustion, the days of running, the endless fear and uncertainty.

Maybe it was anger, bubbling up from a lifetime of scraping by, of being overlooked and dismissed.

Or maybe it was that damn word—filthy rat.

Whatever it was, you felt it surge through you, cutting through the fear like a blade, and before you could stop yourself, the words burst out, sharp and bitter. "Why did I steal from you?" You took a shaky breath, then continued, your voice rising despite yourself. "You're a god. You have everything—gold, offerings, temples filled with treasures mortals could only dream of. Mortals like me? We have nothing. Nothing! Maybe I just got tired of gods taking and taking while we're left to suffer."

Apollo's glow seemed to intensify, the golden aura around him flaring with his anger. His lips parted, no doubt to deliver another scathing retort, but you weren't finished. The words kept tumbling out, raw and unfiltered, like a wound finally being lanced.

"As a child, I prayed to you... to all of you," you said, your voice cracking slightly. "I prayed every night, hoping—begging—for help. For a sign. For anything. But you didn't answer. None of you did. So don't you dare look down on me for trying to survive the only way I know how."

Your words hung in the air—bold and reckless, but true. Memories flashed through your mind: nights spent praying in vain as a child, asking for relief that never came. Watching your village struggle while altars to the gods overflowed with riches.

The simmering anger you had buried for so long finally spilled out.

Apollo's eyes burned into yours, his expression unreadable. There was fury there—raw and unyielding—but beneath it, something flickered. Doubt? Guilt? It was gone almost as quickly as it appeared, buried beneath his divine arrogance, but you had seen it.

The brief crack in his perfect facade gave you the smallest sliver of hope that your words had landed somewhere beneath the golden armor.

"How dare you," he said at last, his voice like thunder. Yet it lacked the sharpness from before. "You speak as though you understand the weight of the heavens. You speak of suffering as if it is unique to mortals. You know nothing."

But there was no conviction in his words. Not entirely. You could feel it—your anger, your desperation, had struck a nerve, however small.

Hermes, who had been unusually silent until now, stepped forward, positioning himself between you and Apollo. His golden eyes flicked to you for the briefest moment, and there was something almost like pride in the small smirk tugging at his lips.

He turned his attention back to Apollo, his usual nonchalance laced with something sharper, something protective. "Well, big brother," he drawled, his voice smooth but cutting, "looks like the little thief's got more bite than you thought."

Apollo's blazing eyes narrowed, the golden glow around him intensifying. His lips curled, but before he could speak, Hermes raised a hand, the motion calm but firm, his smirk hardening into something closer to a challenge. "She's right, you know," Hermes said, his tone lighter than the words he spoke. "We gods do take more than we give. That's not news to anyone. You're just mad because, like I said before, this time, you lost."

Your heart thundered in your chest, your eyes darting between the brothers. This wasn't a game anymore—not to Hermes. You realized, with a jolt, that he wasn't just playing his usual tricks. He was genuinely standing by you, his wings spread wide as though to shield you from Apollo's wrath, his words chosen not just to taunt but to protect.

Apollo's voice, when it came, was low and cold, each word dripping with barely restrained fury. "I thought you were joking before, but it seems you truly would side with a mortal over your own blood and kin."

Hermes tilted his head, his smirk sharpening into something almost wolfish. "Don't pretend this is about blood, Apollo. You're angry because she successfully stole from you and that burns, doesn't it? That your perfect little image, your untouchable pride, could be so easily bruised."

For a moment, you thought he might attack again, his fists clenching at his sides, the glow around him pulsing like a second sun. But instead, his expression shifted, his anger cooling into something far more dangerous. He stepped back slightly, the golden light around him dimming but sharpening, focused now like a blade rather than a wildfire.

You could see the way Apollo's expression shifted, the barest crack in his unshakable façade. His aura flared briefly, and for a moment, you thought he might retaliate. But instead, his expression shifted, his anger cooling into something far more dangerous. The golden glow around him dimmed for a heartbeat, only to surge back, sharper and more focused.

"Very well, brother," he said, his voice dropped and measured, yet carrying an undercurrent of simmering fury. "It's clear you care for the mortal, so I won't make it an issue. But let me make one thing abundantly clear. This isn't about pride, Hermes. I never cared for that. It's about justice. And justice demands restitution."

You flinched as his golden eyes bore into yours, the weight of his presence pressing down on you like a physical force. "You will return what you stole, thief," Apollo continued, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You will return it to the very shrine from which it was taken. Do this, and you may face my judgment with some semblance of mercy. But should you choose otherwise..." His form pulsed once, blindingly bright. "You will suffer the full force of my wrath."

His words were final, delivered with the chilling authority of a god who had no reason to doubt their inevitability. Your heart sank, the enormity of his ultimatum crashing down on you.

Apollo straightened, his features composed into a mask of divine detachment. "I'm not here to deal with you in person, so I trust you will follow instructions," he said, and your breath caught as the realization struck.

This wasn't even Apollo in the flesh—only an echo of his presence, powerful enough to terrify you nonetheless.

"Typical," Hermes muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes. "Of course, the golden boy shows off. You're not even here."

Apollo's lips twitched into a faint, humorless smile. "Did you think I'd waste my time descending in full form for this? No, brother. I have more important matters to attend to."

As if to emphasize his point, his glowing form began to waver, the edges of his figure flickering like sunlight on water. "But do not mistake my absence for leniency," Apollo said, his voice resonating with divine power even as his form began to dissolve. "You have one chance, mortal. Return the Sunstone and face what is due, or your next encounter with me will be far less merciful."

And with that, the glow consumed him entirely, and his form disintegrated into a burst of golden light like scattered embers, leaving behind only the weight of his words and the suffocating tension in the air.

The grove fell into a heavy silence, the echoes of his voice lingering like the fading notes of a haunting melody.

After the apparition of Apollo disintegrated, the sanctuary felt hollow, its magic shattered.

The golden glow that once suffused the grove had faded, leaving behind a desolate wreckage.

The ancient trees, once unyielding sentinels, leaned precariously, their branches stripped of leaves.

The air was heavy, not with divine power, but with a tangible silence, the kind that pressed against your chest like an unwelcome weight.

You and Hermes stood amidst the ruin, the tension between you thicker than the lingering smoke that curled from scorched patches of earth.

Neither of you spoke for what felt like an eternity.

The staff rested beside you, its polished surface gleaming faintly in the pale light filtering through the damaged canopy. Your fingers itched to hold it again, as though it might ground you, but instead, you clenched your hands into fists, your knuckles white.

You knees buckled, your hands trembling as your mind raced, torn between fear, defiance, and the sinking realization that your time was running out.

Hermes finally broke the silence, his voice devoid of its usual mischief. "I can't protect you from him forever, you know." His wings shifted slightly, folding closer to his back as though even they felt the weight of the moment. "Apollo... he doesn't let go. Not when it comes to something like this."

You didn't look at him. Your gaze was fixed on a small, cracked pool of water that used to mirror the stars. Now, it reflected nothing but emptiness. "And why is it so important to him?" you asked, your voice flat, though you could feel the undercurrent of anger bubbling beneath the surface. "It's just a stone."

Hermes' lips twitched—not into a smirk, but something softer, almost sorrowful. He leaned back against a fallen trunk, the lines of his face shadowed by the broken remnants of the grove. "It's not just a stone," he said quietly. "It belonged to someone... someone Apollo cared about. Someone he lost. As gods, time is meanigless, so it's common for us to forget the small mortals we've come to hold dear."

The words hung in the air, and your breath caught. You turned to look at him then, searching his face for any sign of deceit. But Hermes didn't meet your gaze; his golden eyes were fixed on the distance, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "He keeps it as a reminder," Hermes continued. "So he doesn't forget... And you took it."

Your chest tightened at the implication but it was quickly drowned by a wave of frustration, "You're telling me this now?" you snapped,your voice cracking with anger. "After everything? After all the running and fighting and nearly dying—now you decide to tell me the truth?"

Hermes finally turned to face you, his usual smirk completely absent. "Would it have changed anything?" he asked, his voice soft but steady. "If I'd told you from the start, would you have handed it back? Or would you have run anyway?"

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came out. Instead, you glared at him, the betrayal twisting in your chest. "So this was never about helping me," you said bitterly. "You were just stalling until I gave up."

For a moment, Hermes didn't respond. He watched you, his golden gaze unreadable; the playful smirk you'd come to associate with him was gone, replaced by something quieter, almost pained. "I never said I could save you," he said quietly. "I said I'd help you. And I have."

His words hit harder than you expected, knocking the air from your lungs. You looked away, your jaw clenched, because deep down, you knew he was right.

Despite your anger, despite the chaos he often brought, Hermes had been there—risking his life, facing Apollo, shielding you in ways no one else would have.

A heavy silence fell between you, broken only by the faint rustling of leaves and the distant chirp of a bird brave enough to return to the ruined grove.

You couldn't bring yourself to look at him, but you felt the weight of his gaze, the unspoken understanding that lingered in the air.

When you finally spoke, your voice was quieter, steadier. "What do I do now?"

Hermes leaned back again, his wings shifting slightly as he exhaled. "You know what you have to do," he said, his tone softer than before. "You have to return it. It's the only way this ends."

The words settled heavily in your chest. You stared at the cracked earth beneath your feet, the anger ebbing away, replaced by a profound, aching sadness.

Returning the Sunstone meant facing Apollo's wrath head-on.

It meant giving up the one thing you'd risked everything to take.

And as you sat there, the weight of everything pressing down on you, you realized there was no other choice. You were so lost in thought, staring blankly at the cracked earth beneath your feet, that you didn't notice Hermes move until his shadow fell over you.

Startled, your gaze snapped up to find him kneeling in front of you, wings partially unfurled. The soft glow of his feathers caught the dim light filtering through the ruins, casting delicate patterns across the ground.

He wasn't smirking or teasing, and for once, there was no trace of amusement in his golden eyes. Instead, he looked... tired. Tired and sad in a way you hadn't seen before. His expression was calm, almost serious, as he reached out, his hand brushing against yours. The touch was light, fleeting, but it lingered just enough to ground you in the moment.

"You've got more fight in you than most mortals I've ever met." His thumb grazed the back of your hand before he pulled away, resting his palms on his knees. "But even you can't outrun a god forever."

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as his words settled over you. You held his gaze for a moment, searching for something, anything, that might make this easier to face. But the way he looked at you, steady and unwavering, left no room for doubt.

Finally, you broke his gaze, your eyes falling to the ruined sanctuary around you. The golden glow that had once filled the grove was long gone, replaced by shadows and the faint, bitter scent of ash.

Your fingers curled into fists, your nails digging into your palms as you drew in a shaky breath.

"Fine," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'll return it." You felt your chest tighten as you spoke, the enormity of the decision threatening to crush you. "But... I'll do it my way. If this is the end, I'm not crawling back like some... some... filthy rat."

Hermes tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. For a brief moment, something like pride flickered in his eyes. Then, he leaned back slightly, his wings folding in closer as he exhaled. "Fair enough," he said, a small, almost tired smile tugging at his lips. "But let me make one thing clear—I'm not letting you face Apollo alone."

The firmness in his tone caught you off guard. You looked back at him, your brow furrowing as a dozen questions swirled in your mind. "Why?" you asked quietly, the word slipping out before you could stop it. "Why are you still helping me?"

Hermes didn't answer right away. Instead, he straightened, resting one arm on his knee as he tilted his head back to gaze at the remnants of the sanctuary above. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, almost reflective. "Because you're worth helping," he said simply, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Your breath hitched at his words, your heart giving a strange, unsteady flutter. You quickly looked away, your fingers brushing over the Sunstone still hidden beneath your shirt. The warmth of it pressed against your skin like a reminder of everything you'd done, everything that had led to this moment.

"I don't need a savior," you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

"No," Hermes replied, his voice laced with quiet amusement. "But everyone could use an ally."

You glanced at him again, and for the first time, you saw not just the trickster, the smooth-talking god who always seemed one step ahead, but someone who genuinely meant what he said.

It didn't make the fear go away, but it eased the tightness in your chest, if only a little.

"Alright," you said finally, your voice steadier now. "Let's finish this."

Hermes stood then, brushing off his knees as he extended a hand to you. His smirk returned, softer than before, but still undeniably him. "Let's," he said, his golden eyes gleaming with something that felt a lot like hope.

And as his hand closed around yours, pulling you to your feet, you realized that for the first time in a long while, you weren't facing the storm alone.

"Hey Hermes... I just have to return the stone, right?"

"Yes, little thief, just the stone."

A/N: ahhh, it's almost over, i don't want this too end 😭😭that little hand-holding moment at the end? be still my heart. 😭 Hermes out here being more emotionally available than most humans. I mean, "You're worth helping"? Sir, I am unwell with projecting my fantasies onto a book character 😩😔

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Catch Me If You Can | Chapter 15 Chapter 15 | gods at war⌟

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Sometime later, you drifted into an uneasy sleep near the crystal-clear pool. The sanctuary's gentle hum and soft light wrapped around you, its magic lulling you into a false sense of safety. The stars mirrored perfectly on the water's surface began to fade as the first rays of dawn painted the sky in pale hues of pink and gold.

But as the sun began its slow rise, the fragile peace of the sanctuary shattered.

The golden light spilling through the ancient trees wasn't the soft, comforting glow of morning—it was molten fire, blinding and all-encompassing.

The grove, so tranquil mere moments ago, trembled violently. The hum of its magic turned into a deafening roar, the air thickening with an oppressive heat.

You jolted awake, heart pounding as the light grew brighter, hotter, more unbearable. Squinting against the brilliance, you scrambled to your feet, shielding your face with one arm.

The sanctuary itself seemed to groan in protest, its ancient trees bowing under the weight of an unstoppable force.

Then, his voice echoed—smooth but deadly, like honey laced with poison.

"You've stolen from me for the last time, mortal."

The words reverberated through the grove, shaking the ground beneath your feet. You froze, dread pooling in your stomach as the golden light coalesced into a blinding figure at the edge of the pool.

Slowly, the brilliance dimmed just enough for you to see him.

Apollo.

He was radiant and terrifying, every inch of him exuding power. His golden armor gleamed like a second sun, each intricate detail catching and refracting the light in a way that made it impossible to look directly at him for too long.

Dark curls framed his face, glistening faintly with an otherworldly sheen, as if kissed by the very light he commanded. His eyes burned brighter than the rest of him—molten gold alive with fury, glowing with an intensity that made it hard to breathe.

He was the sun incarnate, blinding and unrelenting, and his presence was suffocating.

For a fleeting moment, you caught a faint resemblance to Artemis in the sharpness of his features, the tilt of his jaw. But where Artemis was cool and composed, Apollo was molten rage barely contained. His beauty, like hers, was otherworldly, but it was a beauty that burned, that promised destruction rather than serenity.

The grove, once a sanctuary hidden from even the gods, began to crumble under his power.

The shimmering pool at your feet rippled violently, its mirror-like surface distorting as the magic sustaining it faltered.

The trees nearest to Apollo's glowing form began to blacken and burn, their leaves curling and falling in smoldering embers.

You stumbled back, your hands trembling as you tried to process the sheer magnitude of his presence. Every instinct screamed at you to run, but your legs felt rooted to the ground, useless against the overwhelming heat and light pressing down on you.

Apollo's gaze snapped to you, and you felt the full force of his wrath. His lips curled into a sharp, humorless smile that didn't reach his blazing eyes. Before you could stop it, the words slipped out: "T-Technically... I only stole from you once."

The grove fell deathly silent, save for the faint bubbling of the pool and the crackle of smoldering embers in the trees. Your heart stopped—no, it plummeted, dragging your soul with it. Every muscle in your body locked as the full weight of what you'd just said bore down on you.

Why the fuck did I say that?!

Your mind reeled, scrambling for an answer, an escape, anything to undo the words that had just spilled from your lips. You were so used to speaking informally—and dare you say, disrespectfully—with Hermes that the words had slipped out without thought. But there was no taking them back.

The Sunstone beneath your shirt pulsed warmly, almost mockingly, as though even it could feel the sheer audacity of your words. You had no idea why your mouth had betrayed you. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe it was sheer stupidity.

Apollo's smile—if you could even call it that—tightened. The glow around him seemed to sharpen, every edge of his radiant armor blazing like the surface of a star. His golden eyes pinned you in place, their fire searing through any semblance of courage you thought you had.

And then, breaking the suffocating tension, a sound shattered through the air—a poorly muffled snort, followed by the unmistakable chuckle of Hermes.

You blinked, the oppressive hold Apollo had on you wavering as you turned your head slightly toward the source. Hermes stood beside you, his staff lazily balanced against his shoulder, his grin wide and infuriating as usual. The chuckle grew into full-blown laughter, poorly veiled as he covered his mouth with his free hand.

Apollo's eyes narrowed sharply, the fiery glow in them darkening like a storm gathering on the sun's surface. His face twisted into a snarl—handsome still, but now terrifying, as if a god's beauty could become a weapon in and of itself.

The temperature around you plummeted despite the golden light, a chill sinking into your skin like icy needles.

"Lighten up" Hermes interrupted smoothly; he stepped in front of you, his wings snapping open in a dramatic flare that blocked Apollo's view of you entirely. He twirled his staff lazily in one hand as he smiled—but this grin was more razor-sharp than playful. "Still mad about the shiny toy, big brother?"

Hermes' carefree demeanor shifted. Though his voice carried its usual bite of sarcasm, there was a steeliness behind it that made your heart stutter.

Apollo's lips pulled back in a sharp sneer, but he didn't respond. His gaze darted to the edges of Hermes' wings, as though he could still see you hidden there, and you felt the weight of it even without meeting his eyes.

Hermes, not one to let silence linger, pressed on. His voice dropped, a rare seriousness slipping into his tone. "How did you find her?"

Apollo didn't answer at first, his glowing eyes flicking back toward Hermes with a searing intensity. His fingers flexed by his sides, golden energy crackling faintly in his palms. For a moment, the tension was unbearable. The earth itself seemed to tremble under Apollo's simmering fury, the grove's magic straining to hold itself together.

You froze, paralyzed by the overwhelming weight of it all. Every muscle in your body screamed at you to run, to move, to do something, but fear rooted you in place.

Then, Hermes glanced over his shoulder at you. His golden eyes were sharp, but there was something else in them—a flicker of concern buried beneath the bravado. His voice came, sharp but almost gentle, cutting through the chaos like a lifeline. "Run, little thief."

But you didn't.

Your feet stayed planted, the command ricocheting in your mind but finding no purchase.

It wasn't that you didn't want to flee—your entire body begged for it—but something else anchored you. Something reckless, foolish, and entirely new.

Instead of running, you stood your ground. Your legs shook, and your breath hitched, but you didn't move.

You weren't just tired of running—though that was true enough. You were tired of watching Hermes take on everything alone.

This wasn't just your problem anymore... it was his, too.

Your mind raced, replaying every moment of his reckless deflections, his teasing words that always held a layer of sincerity.

Hermes, the god who had been at your side through everything, who had thrown himself against his brother's wrath—for you.

He'd risked everything, even though he'd never admit it outright.

And now, watching him stand between you and Apollo, wings outstretched, something inside you stirred—a memory from a quieter, simpler time, before everything had spiraled out of control.

🇫‌🇱‌🇦‌🇸‌🇭‌🇧‌🇦‌🇨‌🇰‌:

Sleep didn't come easily.

Your mind raced, jumping from one thought to the next: Apollo's wrath, the hunters, and the god resting just a few feet away. Every small detail clawed its way to the forefront, keeping you teetering on the edge of rest but never quite allowing you to fall.

You turned your head, stealing a quick glance at Hermes' form.

He was still stretched out lazily against the base of a tree, one arm tucked behind his head and the other draped across his stomach. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his wings slightly unfurled, the faint glow of his skin illuminated by the starlight.

There was something about the sight of him—so relaxed, so unbothered—that sent a small, unwelcome flutter through your chest.

You quickly looked away, shaking your head at yourself.

Grumbling under your breath, you pushed yourself upright, your satchel clutched loosely in your hand. "I'm gonna go take a piss," you muttered low, more for his benefit than your own.

You knew he'd hear, even if he appeared to be 'asleep.' Gods, always listening.

You ambled away, careful to tread lightly as you moved further into the grove.

The serenity of the sanctuary surrounded you again, its golden light filtering through the leaves above, dappling the ground with soft, shifting patterns.

The air was cool and carried the faint scent of flowers, their soft glow illuminating the underbrush in small, ethereal clusters.

For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to admire it—the quiet beauty of a place untouched by the chaos of the outside world.

Further from the entrance and Hermes' watchful presence, you found yourself pausing near a small tree stump. It was surrounded by an array of plants—tall ferns swaying gently, their edges kissed with golden dew, and delicate wildflowers that seemed to pulse faintly with an inner light.

The ground beneath your feet was soft, almost velvety, and the faint hum of the grove seemed louder here, more intimate.

But instead of doing what you said you would, you found yourself dropping your satchel at your feet with a soft thud, your body slumping onto the tree stump. With your elbows resting on your knees, you buried your face in your hands, letting out a shaky exhale.

Your mind wouldn't quiet, no matter how hard you tried to push the thoughts away.

Everything seemed to circle back to the same point—the cursed Sunstone. That single, glimmering object had upended your life in ways you never could've anticipated.

It all started with that damn stone, and it felt like the world hadn't stopped spinning since.

As if it could sense your thoughts, the Sunstone began to grow warm against your chest, its heat pulsing faintly beneath your shirt.

Startled, you froze a bit before reluctantly slipping a hand beneath the fabric. The second your fingers brushed the stone, the warmth intensified—not burning, but alive, buzzing faintly against your skin.

You pulled it out carefully, holding it in the cradle of your palm. For the first time since you'd stolen it, you let yourself truly look at it.

The Sunstone was breathtaking. Its golden glow pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat, casting delicate patterns of light across your hands and the surrounding plants.

It wasn't smooth like you'd expected—its surface was rough, jagged in places, like it had been torn from something much larger. Despite its imperfections, it felt impossibly heavy for its size, as though it carried more than its physical weight.

Your thumb grazed along its edge, and the glow seemed to respond, brightening slightly. The warmth spread through your hand and up your arm, a strange but not unpleasant sensation.

You tilted it, watching as the light shifted and refracted, tiny rainbows glinting across its uneven surface. It was hard to reconcile how something so beautiful could cause so much chaos.

And yet, even knowing what it had brought upon you... you couldn't bring yourself to let it go.

The Sunstone's light flickered faintly, and you swore for just a moment it almost felt like it was alive—watching you.

You wondered if the stone knew who held it now. The thought made your stomach twist uneasily.

Your thoughts began to spiral again, unbidden. Hermes... He's risking so much for you. And why? Just because you was greedy and broke your own rule? A quiet scoff left your lips as you stared down at the glowing stone.

Never get greedy. Never stay longer than you need to. And never ignore your gut. That had been the mantra you'd lived by all these years, and yet, the moment you laid eyes on the Sunstone, you'd tossed it aside like it meant nothing.

And now? Now you were neck-deep in godly politics, curses, and a divine chase that seemed impossible to escape.

The alone stirred unease and guilt, but something else, too—a faint thread of wonder.

Hermes was so much more complex than you ever expected.

When this had all started, you'd pegged him as a simple trickster—cocky and endlessly frustrating. But the more time you spent with him, the more you realized there was so much more beneath the surface; the mischief, the teasing, the infuriating smirks—they were only part of him.

The way he could shift so seamlessly from flippant teasing to sharp understanding... The way he seemed to know exactly what to say, whether to rile you up or calm you dow—was infuriating. But he was also the first person—god or mortal—who had made you feel like you weren't completely alone in this.

There was a depth to him, hidden beneath layers of smirks and one-liners, and every now and then, you caught glimpses of it: a flicker of bitterness, a shadow of loneliness, a quietness that didn't suit his usual bravado.

Hermes wasn't just the chaotic, carefree god he pretended to be.

Was he was clever? Yes. Charming? Undeniably. But there was also something about him that felt... real. Relatable, even. And that made him far more dangerous than any hunter or curse Apollo could throw your way. Because he wasn't just protecting you out of duty or some divine sense of justice.

No, Hermes had chosen to help you. To risk Apollo's wrath, to stick by your side, even when you weren't sure you deserved it.

A soft sigh escaped your lips before you could stop it, the sound almost lost in the stillness of the grove. You stared at the Sunstone for a moment longer, its warmth a constant reminder of everything that had led you here, before you quickly tucked it back under your shirt.

The stone rested against your chest, still pulsing faintly, as if alive, as if it were waiting for something.

You shook your head, rubbing a hand over your face as if to banish the thoughts swirling in your mind.

With a quiet shift, you leaned back on your hands, letting the soft hum of the grove settle over you once more. Your gaze wandered absently down to your satchel, only to pause as something caught your attention.

The plants surrounding the stump had claimed it; thick, tendrilled vines curled around its edges, wrapping and weaving themselves over the worn leather like an embrace.

Their delicate green shoots stretched upward, almost as if they were reaching for something unseen. The leaves were dark, nearly black in the dim moonlight, their edges outlined with a faint, silvery sheen that shimmered softly in the quiet.

Among the vines, small buds peeked out, their form still tight, yet undeniably graceful—fragments of something still growing, shy in their unfolding.

Curiosity stirred, and you bent down, brushing your fingers lightly against one of the blooms that had fully unfurled. The touch was gentle, almost reverent, as though the delicate flower might crumble beneath your fingers. It didn't, of course, but the petal gave ever so slightly, its smooth texture like silk against your skin.

For a moment, the rush of your thoughts slowed, the noise in your mind dimming into something quieter, something manageable.

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips as you leaned closer, eyes tracing the subtle glow of the petals in the moonlight. "An iris... huh."

Hermes' voice sliced through your thoughts, harsher than you'd ever heard it. "Run!"

The command jolted you, snapping you out of the strange haze of memory that had crept in. But instead of obeying, a nervous giggle bubbled out of your throat, completely inappropriate given the circumstances. You waved a hand awkwardly, trying to defuse the sheer weight of the moment. "Yeah... a-about that..."

Hermes whipped his head toward you, his golden eyes narrowing. "What do you mean, 'about that'?"

You cleared your throat, feeling the weight of your confession before the words even left your lips. "I, uh... may or may not have... contacted Apollo. Well, Iris, actually. She might've passed along a little message to him for me."

The silence that followed was deafening, save for the distant crackle of Apollo's fiery aura.

Hermes blinked, stunned into uncharacteristic silence, before his face contorted into disbelief. "You what?" he sputtered, his wings twitching with barely-contained frustration. "How in Hades did you manage that?! When? How?—I didn't hear..."

Your face burned as you sheepishly raised your hands, signing the word with swift, deliberate movements: 'I... signed.' A weak laugh bubbled up as you added, "Who knew gods knew sign language? 'Cause I sure didn't."

Hermes' jaw dropped. "We're gods. Of course we know all languages. The real question is—" His voice dropped, edged with both exasperation and something unreadable. "How do you know it?"

You shrugged, trying to play it off despite the tension. "Picked it up from a traveling circus... and some thieves here and there. You learn things on the road," you admitted, your voice lilting into a nervous laugh. "It's useful, you know? Makes you harder to track when people can't hear you making deals."

For a moment, Hermes didn't respond, his expression unreadable. Then, his features hardened, his sharp cheekbones seeming even more pronounced in the golden light. His wings flexed slightly, feathers rustling, and you braced yourself for the inevitable storm.

But instead, something else flashed across his face—anger, yes, but also something that looked almost like pride. "You tricked me." His tone was flat, but there was a faint edge of incredulity. "I should be offended. I am offended." He paused, his lips quirking into something dangerously close to a grin. "But I'm also... almost impressed."

Your eyebrows shot up at the admission, and a strange rush of satisfaction washed over you. You had tricked Hermes—the god of thieves and trickery himself. You. The thought was almost absurd, but there it was, shining in his golden eyes like a reluctant acknowledgment.

"Well, I am a thief," you said, your tone shaky but defiant as you tried to cling to that small victory.

Hermes' grin widened, a spark returning to his eyes. "Heh, you're playing a dangerous game, little thief."

"Haven't I been from the start?" you shot back before you could stop yourself, surprising even Hermes.

Hermes chuckled again, head tilting in humor. "Well—"

Apollo cut in sharply, his voice cold and razor-edged. "I hate to interrupt such a touching moment, but you've both played your last game."

The sound of his words made you flinch, your body tensing as his blazing gaze shifted to Hermes. The god of the sun didn't even glance your way; his full attention was locked on his brother. "You know what I'm here for, brother."

Hermes' wings fluttered faintly as he turned, his ever-present smirk slipping just a fraction before he plastered it back on, though it lacked its usual bite. "C'mon now, Apollo. You really don't know how to let things go, do you? Aren't we getting a little too feisty, brother? Why don't we just—"

"Enough." Apollo cut him off, his face a mask of icy indifference. "I'm not here to negotiate." And before Hermes could respond, Apollo moved—striking first with blinding precision.

His golden armor gleamed as he lunged forward with impossible speed. His hands radiated light, a searing brilliance that blinded you for a moment as the first blow landed. The sound of it echoed through the grove like thunder, and the earth beneath their feet quaked in protest.

Hermes dodged, barely avoiding another strike as Apollo pressed forward, his movements precise and relentless. Hermes spun his staff in a blur, meeting Apollo's blows with a speed that seemed almost impossible, yet the difference in their fighting styles was stark.

Unlike Artemis' earlier fight, Apollo's style was colder, more calculated. There was no flourish, no dramatic flair—only raw, unyielding power with every swing of his fists and bursts of light.

The air sizzled as Hermes retaliated, darting around Apollo with a speed that left streaks of silver and gold in his wake. He was agile, his movements more fluid, almost playful as he used his wings to weave and evade. But there was an edge to him now, a sharpness that hadn't been there before.

The ground beneath their feet cracked and split, each impact of their blows sending tremors through the grove. You stumbled back as the vibrations traveled under you, catching yourself against the trunk of a tree as you watched in stunned silence.

Apollo struck again, and this time his blow landed, a burst of golden light exploding outward as his fist connected with Hermes' side. The force of the hit sent Hermes skidding backward, his feet digging trenches into the dirt as he tried to recover.

Another strike came hard and fast, knocking the staff from Hermes' grip. It spun through the air, the golden wood catching the light before landing with a dull thud—right at your feet.

Your heart leapt into your throat as your gaze darted between the two gods. Hermes straightened, his wings twitching as he wiped a hand across his mouth, his grin faltering but not entirely gone. Apollo, on the other hand, stood still, his golden eyes blazing as he turned his attention toward you.

And then, his gaze dropped to the staff at your feet.

Apollo's golden eyes narrowed, his fiery glow intensifying as he took a slow, deliberate step forward. The earth beneath his boot cracked, the weight of his wrath palpable in the small distance between you.

You couldn't move. Your muscles locked as your eyes darted to the staff, then back to him, your chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. His lips curled into a dangerous smirk, every inch of him exuding a cold, terrifying certainty that made your blood run cold.

But before Apollo could close the gap, a dark, low growl cut through the air, freezing even him mid-step. "Do not touch her," Hermes hissed, his voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt. It was sharp, venomous, and filled with a ferocity that sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could fully process the shift in tone, Hermes was a blur of motion. In a heartbeat, he was behind Apollo, his hand gripping a fistful of his brother's golden curls. "I said, back off," Hermes snarled, and with a vicious yank, he pulled Apollo backward, his wings flaring wide as he threw his brother with an inhuman strength.

Apollo's body slammed into a line of trees with an earth-shaking crash, the force uprooting the ancient trunks as they toppled in a cascade of splintering wood and snapping branches.

Dust and debris filled the air, but you caught sight of Hermes sparing you a single glance, his golden eyes flickering with something unspoken—reassurance, or maybe a warning. Then, without missing a beat, he launched himself forward again, his wings propelling him with a speed that made the air howl.

The grove seemed to hold its breath as the gods clashed once more. Their blows collided, sending shockwaves that rippled through the grove, tearing up the earth and scattering the wildflowers that once adorned it.

Even as they fought with a ferocity that could tear the world apart, your eyes were locked on Hermes—how he moved, how he fought, how, even in the face of Apollo's overwhelming power, he stood his ground.

And for the first time, you realized just how far he was willing to go to keep you safe.

Hermes didn't give Apollo a chance to recover as he struck at his brother in the face.

For a moment, it was almost easy to forget the teasing, sly trickster from before. This Hermes was sharp, focused, and utterly relentless, his movements a perfect balance of grace and aggression.

Apollo, however, was far from outmatched. He pushed himself off the ground with a snarl, his golden aura flaring as he met Hermes' charge head-on.

The collision of their divine powers created a deafening crack that rippled through the grove, shaking the ground beneath your feet. The force of it sent shockwaves outward, the sheer intensity knocking loose branches from trees and sending small rocks tumbling down the uneven terrain.

You froze, your heart pounding so loudly it felt like it might burst. The clash between the gods was unlike anything you'd ever imagined—raw, chaotic, and utterly terrifying. The once-serene sanctuary was now a battlefield on the verge of crumbling.

Your eyes darted to the staff lying at your feet. It gleamed faintly in the dim, fractured light, almost as if calling to you.

Without thinking, you shakily reach down, grabbing the staff. It was warm to the touch, almost alive. Your breath caught, and for a moment, you hesitated. What could you possibly do? They were gods—unstoppable forces of nature.

But before you can fully process, the snakes on the staff begin to move, their eyes gleaming with mischief. Aceso, the smaller of the two, lifted its head, blinking lazily as its eyes gleamed with a mischievous light. "Oh, look! Apollo'sss really angry thisss time, huh?" it hissed, its voice high-pitched and childish.

"What should I do?!" you hiss under your breath, your eyes frantic as you look between the two gods.

"We wanna see who winsss!" Panacea, snickered, it's gold bronze body tightening around the staff. "I bet he'sss gonna fry Hermesss all up. How fun!"

Aceso, a little more serious, hummed thoughtfully, "Wait, if Hermesss dies, we won't get more food... And that'sss... not fun." Then, there's a long pause before the snake sighs dramatically. "Alright, fine, we want both to win, okay? Go Hermesss! Go Apollo—"

"Hey!" You snap at the two snakes, "This is not the time for games! Hermes can get seriously hurt!"

The bronze snake goes silent for a moment, before humming again. "You could... I don't know, tell them to ssstop? You have the ssstaff."

"Yeah," Panacea added with a mockingly cheerful tone. "Just yell real loud! That alwaysss worksss with angry sssun godsss."

"How helpful," you muttered under your breath, clutching the staff tightly as your gaze snapped back to Hermes.

He was fast—blindingly so—but even you could tell Apollo's sheer power was wearing him down. The thought of Hermes falling, of what Apollo might do to you after, sent a cold rush of fear through your veins.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to steady your breath. The air crackled with divine tension, the energy swirling around you, but you're only human. What could you do? What could possibly work?

The snakes, still chattering, weren't helping, only adding to the madness of the moment, their playful excitement making you feel more desperate.

The ground beneath your feet trembled again, and a desperate thought struck you. Maybe you couldn't fight, but you could disrupt them. You could force them to notice you.

You gripped the staff tighter, its smooth surface grounding you as you took a deep breath. Ignoring the snakes' continued chatter, you raised the staff high above your head.

With all the strength you could muster, you slammed it down into the ground.

The sound that followed was deafening—a sharp, unnatural crack that echoed through the grove like a thunderclap. The ground vibrated under the force, sending loose rocks skittering and leaves rustling in the sudden gust of energy.

For a moment, it felt as though the world itself had paused.

Apollo stopped mid-swing, his golden aura flickering. His blazing eyes snapped to you, their intensity like molten fire.

Hermes, who had been bracing for the next strike, stumbled slightly, his gaze following his brother's to where you stood, the staff still planted firmly in the ground.

The silence that followed was almost more terrifying than the chaos before. You stood frozen, your chest heaving as you met Apollo's gaze, your legs trembling but refusing to give out beneath you.

"What," Apollo said, his voice dangerously calm, "do you think you're doing?"

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the staff as you forced your voice to steady. "I'm stopping this!" you shouted, the words ripping from your throat with more courage than you felt. "So stop!"

For a moment, neither god moved, their gazes locked on you. The weight of their combined attention was suffocating, but you didn't falter.

You had stopped them—at least for now. Whether it was bravery or sheer desperation, you weren't sure. All you knew was that you couldn't let this continue.

A/N: can we just agree that Hermes' backstory is peak chaotic toddler energy? like, imagine stealing Apollo's cows as a baby and somehow convincing the sun god to let you off punishment—absolute legend behavior. 😂 also, i tried with the fighting scenes---which it think is improving hahaha, like yesssss hermes, pull apollos hair for me 😔😩❤️❤️

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 42 Chapter 42 | the devil's hand⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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The forest seemed darker now, the faint traces of moonlight barely cutting through the dense canopy above.

Every step you took was calculated, your senses heightened as you moved through the underbrush with quiet precision. The sound of your boots against the dirt was muted, swallowed by the soft hum of the woods around you.

Shadows loomed in every direction, stretching and twisting like they had a life of their own.

You kept to the trees, your movements sharp and deliberate. There wasn't room for error. The villains would likely fan out, spreading chaos wherever they could, and you weren't about to get caught up in their mess.

As you slipped past a cluster of thick bushes, the faint sound of laughter carried through the night air. Harsh, grating, and full of malicious glee, it made your skin crawl.

"Man, these hero brats are gonna be fun to break!" a voice sneered from somewhere to your right, the words accompanied by the crunch of leaves and snapping twigs.

Another voice chimed in, shrill and unhinged. "Think they'll cry for mommy? Bet some of 'em will. Hope I get one of those."

You paused, crouching low behind the cover of a fallen tree. Two figures strode through the forest ahead, their outlines barely visible in the dim light. They were clearly villains, their disjointed movements and erratic voices making it obvious they were enjoying the chaos. You stayed perfectly still, watching as they passed by, their laughter fading into the distance.

Once the coast was clear, you rose to your feet and continued forward, weaving between the trees with practiced ease. Every sound seemed amplified—the rustle of leaves, the distant crack of a branch—and your focus remained razor-sharp.

You didn't have time to waste on distractions. The forest stretched ahead like a maze, but you moved with purpose, your destination clear.

Then, a sensation washed over you—like a light touch at the back of your mind. Mandalay's voice echoed in your thoughts, calm but urgent. "All students, return to base camp immediately. Do not engage the villains. I repeat, return to base camp and avoid engaging at all costs."

Her telepathic quirk carried not only her words but the weight of her concern, but you knew the situation was bigger than just running back to camp, continuing on.

Eventually, you came upon a small clearing. The trees opened up just enough to let a faint sliver of moonlight filter through, casting an eerie glow over the space.

You slowed your pace, your eyes scanning the area for any sign of danger. The quiet was unnerving, the kind that felt like it could shatter at any moment.

But before you could take another step, a voice emerged from the shadows, smooth and dripping with amusement.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the infamous Akuma ____."

Your head snapped toward the direction of the voice, your body tensing instinctively. The shadows at the edge of the clearing seemed to ripple, and a figure stepped forward, their movements deliberate and confident.

Your eyes narrowed, taking in the sight of him. He was tall and lean, his frame swathed in a dark trench coat that billowed faintly with each step. The pale, patchwork-like skin of his face stretched across sharp cheekbones, held together by jagged staples that ran in uneven lines across his features.

The man's head tilted slightly, the faintest trace of a smirk curling his lips as his striking turquoise eyes, rimmed by dark circles, locked onto yours. His voice, low and rough like gravel, cut through the air with an almost mocking lilt. "Long way from home, aren't we?"

The familiarity tugged at the edges of your mind like an itch you couldn't scratch. Flickers of memory—a flash of blue fire, dying screams, the smell of charred flesh—stirred in your thoughts. You'd seen him before.

Before you could fully process it, another figure emerged from behind him, their steps lighter, almost bouncy.

The second one was younger, shorter than the first but no less unsettling. His burnt-orange hair was messy and unkempt, sticking up in uneven tufts like he'd just rolled out of a fight. His eyes, a soft lavender, carried a jittery kind of energy, darting around the clearing before landing on you.

Unlike the stitched man, his grin was wide and full of teeth, his expression brimming with a cocky arrogance that felt far too comfortable for the situation. A sleeveless hoodie clung to his wiry frame, and fingerless gloves covered his hands, the leather worn down from overuse.

The way he carried himself was loose, almost playful, but there was an edge to his movements—sharp and dangerous, like a blade just barely restrained.

"Dabi," the younger man whined, his voice grating and high-pitched. "We're missing all the good stuff. How long will this take?"

The man scoffed, the sound as dry as the air around you. "No one made you follow me, Cal. 'Coulda sworn 'ya did it all outta free will," he retorted lazily. His gaze didn't waver from you, the weight of his stare pressing down like a physical force.

The words, combined with the smirk still plastered across the first figure's face, were the final puzzle piece.

Then it clicked.

Dabi.

That villain who had incinerated the other one without a shred of hesitation, leaving nothing but ashes behind during that outing weeks ago.

You could see it now—the blinding, blue flames roaring to life as his face stayed calm, almost detached, save for that stitched-together smirk. The screams of the incinerated villain had been loud, desperate, but Dabi had made no effort to stop. No hesitation. No regret

You weren't entirely sure who this Cal was, but his easy familiarity with Dabi suggested he wasn't just someone to brush off. Another thread to keep tabs on.

Dabi's smirk widened at the dawning realization flickering across your face. "Ah, so you do remember me," he said, his tone taunting as he shifted his weight, his movements loose and unbothered. "Good. That'll save me the trouble of reintroductions."

Cal, meanwhile, tilted his head at you, his grin widening as he stepped forward slightly. "So, what's it like, being the new obsession back at the League? Boss can't shut up about you, and Toga? She's practically writing love letters."

His eyes scanned you, sharp and calculating, before his smirk deepened. "Gotta say, though, you don't look like much. Kinda cute in a devil way. Guess I'll have to see for myself what makes you so special."

You didn't flinch under his scrutiny, your expression remaining unreadable as your mind turned. Dabi was already a known factor, a villain with a penchant for fire and destruction, but Cal was a new thread—one tied closely enough to warrant caution.

Still, you kept those thoughts to yourself, your gaze steady as you watched the pair. This wasn't just an encounter; it was a performance, and they were both waiting for your next move.

Dabi's smirk widened, the faintest flicker of amusement playing in his glowing turquoise eyes as he began to circle you. His steps were slow, deliberate, each one crunching softly against the forest floor. His posture was loose, but his presence was anything but.

There was something unsettling in the way he moved, like a predator toying with its prey.

"You know," he drawled, his voice cutting through the thick air, "Cal might actually be onto something." He gestured lazily in the younger man's direction without breaking stride, his smirk deepening. "You've got the League all tied up in knots over you." His laugh was dry, almost disbelieving. "It's like you've cast some kind of spell over them."

You didn't react to his words, your eyes tracking him as he circled closer, his presence radiating heat even before his flames appeared.

"Shigaraki, though? He's obsessed," Dabi continued, his tone shifting, becoming quieter, sharper, as though the admission held weight even for him. "And I don't mean 'let's make a deal' interested. I mean, the guy can't shut up about you."

He stopped abruptly, just a few feet in front of you, his smirk softening into something more curious, almost genuine. "Honestly? It's kinda why I joined up in the first place."

The admission hung in the air, heavy and unexpected. Dabi tilted his head, his expression unreadable as he studied you. "I wanted to see what it is about you that's got everyone so hooked. What's got the 'big bad' Shigaraki wrapped around your little finger."

He straightened slightly, his smirk returning, more sharp-edged now. "And while we're at it, I figured I'd test something out for myself."

He raised a hand slowly, his fingers curling as if beckoning you closer. Then, with a flick of his wrist, a small burst of blue flames roared to life in his palm. The eerie light bathed his face, making the staples lining his skin glint as the fire danced in his hand.

"It's kinda funny," he said, his voice lowering, almost teasing, "They're all so wrapped up in their little fantasies about you, but me? I just want to know one thing."

He took a step closer, his turquoise eyes locking onto yours, challenging, taunting. "Are you ready to try the big bad wolf, little red?"

The flames in his hand flared slightly, the heat licking at the air between you, but your expression didn't waver. If anything, you smirked back, a slow, deliberate curve of your lips that seemed to tease the very air between you.

You felt your heart race—not from fear, no. That rush was for a completely different reason. Finally, something intriguing was happening.

For a while, you'd been playing the role of the hero, sticking to the predictable script of altruism, and keeping your true nature tucked safely away. Boring.

The undercover act had worn thin, the monotony almost making you forget your purpose. Almost.

But now, as you stood here, face-to-face with this walking pyre of chaos, you felt the thrill spark to life again. This—this was what you had been waiting for. The anticipation hummed in your veins, electric and intoxicating.

With a wicked grin of your own, your voice, low and honeyed, cut through the charged air between you.

"Let's play."

The words slipped from your lips like a challenge, their edges sharp enough to match his. The glint in your eyes promised not fear, but a game—and oh, how you loved games.

Finally, the dull facade of heroics was being peeled away, piece by piece, and you were free to show just a sliver of the predator that lurked beneath your carefully crafted mask.

Your muscles tensed as the thrill of anticipation surged through you, and Dabi's grin widened as though he could feel it too.

The world around you seemed to dim, the forest fading into a backdrop for the game about to unfold. It was just the two of you now, locked in a silent challenge that promised chaos and destruction.

But just as you both seemed poised to strike, a sudden shout ripped through the tension.

"Dabiiiii!"

The voice was shrill and sing-song, cutting through the heavy air like a knife. Both of you froze for a fraction of a second, the moment shattered by the unwelcome interruption. Dabi let out a loud, annoyed scoff, his flame extinguishing with a flick of his wrist.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath, turning his head toward the direction of the shout. He tsked, his sharp teeth flashing as he turned back to you, his smirk replaced by a frown. "Sorry, Red. Maybe next time. Duty calls."

And just like that, he turned on his heel, strolling away with the same infuriating calm he had entered with. His pace was lazy, unhurried, as if the confrontation had been nothing more than a passing curiosity to him.

For a moment, it was silent again, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze. You stood there, your heart still thrumming with adrenaline, the fight you had prepared for slipping through your fingers before it even began.

Your face scrunched slightly, a frustrated scowl tugging at your lips. The irritation burned at the edges of your carefully maintained composure.

You had been ready, primed, and he had walked away like it was nothing. Teased for a fight you were eager to win, then denied the chance to prove yourself.

Your gaze snapped to Cal, who lingered a few feet away, watching Dabi's retreat with a smirk that hadn't faltered. His lavender eyes flickered toward you, his head tilting slightly as though trying to gauge your reaction.

For a moment, you simply stared at him, your mind turning over the possibilities. No one else was around. No witnesses. It would be so easy—quick, even. One well-placed move, one flick of power, and he'd be gone. Dabi might notice eventually, but he didn't seem like the type to care about casualties outside his immediate plans.

Your fingers twitched again, the temptation curling around you like a whispered invitation. This wasn't about morality or restraint—this was about practicality. Cal's cocky grin was begging to be wiped off his face, and you could feel the tension coiling tighter in your chest as you weighed your options.

But even as you entertained the thought, you didn't move—yet. The predator in you relished the idea of toying with him first, of letting him squirm before you made your decision. You weren't finished playing, not yet.

Cal's grin widened slightly, his teeth glinting as he finally broke the silence. "What's the matter? Not as fun without him here?"

The corner of your lips twitched, a dark amusement flickering across your face. He didn't know what kind of game he was playing—but you did. And that was all that mattered.

Your mind was made up. Without a second thought, you raised your hand to end this waste of time. But before you could act, Cal began speaking, his earlier cocky energy subdued, his grin still in place but less toothy now, his curiosity evident.

"So," he started, tilting his head slightly as he looked you up and down. "You got an attraction quirk or something? How does it work?"

You didn't answer, your gaze steady and unflinching as he continued.

"I mean, I've seen plenty of quirks that mess with people's heads, but this? This is something else." He let out a low chuckle, his tone teetering on fascination. "Even Dabi's not exempt, huh? Surprised me to learn he joined 'cause of you. Guy doesn't seem like the type to get... hooked."

His words lingered, but your silence remained unbroken. If he was hoping for an explanation, he was wasting his breath.

When you didn't respond, Cal shrugged, his grin stretching wider once again. "Guess I'll just find out for myself."

Before you could react, he lunged toward you, his movements quick and unrelenting, a blur of sharp lines and motion.

For a split second, it seemed like he would make contact, his hand reaching out toward you with dangerous precision. But at the last moment, you sidestepped, your movements fluid and precise, letting his momentum carry him past you.

Cal stumbled slightly, catching himself quickly before spinning around to face you, his expression lighting up with something between excitement and approval. He gave a low whistle. "Impressive," he said, his voice carrying an edge of admiration. "Most people get caught up by the first move."

You raised a brow, your expression unimpressed. "That's the first move?" Your tone dripped with mockery, the faintest scoff escaping your lips. "It wasn't much."

Cal laughed, the sound loud as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "Fair enough," he admitted with a grin. "But it's not the move that's the problem."

His expression shifted, his grin taking on a more sinister edge as he raised his hand, his fingers flexing slightly. "It's what happens when I touch you."

The casual threat in his words sent a jolt of tension through the air. Your body tensed instinctively, your eyes narrowing as you took in the way his posture shifted, his muscles coiling as though ready to spring again.

Whatever his quirk was, it clearly relied on contact, and you weren't about to let him get that close again. But even as you felt the faint hum of adrenaline sharpen your senses, a flicker of curiosity sparked in the back of your mind.

What could Cal possibly do if he managed to touch me?

The thought wasn't rooted in fear but in a cold, calculating intrigue. He was nothing more than another piece on the board—a wild card, yes, but one you could manipulate or crush depending on how the game unfolded. And if this was his attempt to assert dominance, you were more than willing to show him the difference between power and bravado.

His smirk widened as he lunged again, his speed sharp and erratic. You sidestepped effortlessly, the leaves crunching beneath your boots as you pivoted to avoid his reach. His movements were aggressive, each strike aimed to close the distance between you, his hands clawing at the space where you'd been moments before.

You danced just out of reach, your body coiled with precision, each dodge calculated to leave him grasping at air. He laughed under his breath, clearly enjoying the chase, but you didn't miss the frustration creeping into his movements. His attacks grew sloppier as his irritation built, his overconfidence giving you a clear advantage.

Yet, despite his erratic energy, you couldn't deny his unpredictability. Cal feinted to the right before twisting at the last second, his arm outstretched in a motion meant to catch you off guard. You shifted your weight, leaning back just enough to avoid his grasp, your eyes narrowing as you analyzed his strategy.

He was relying on brute force, on wearing you down with sheer persistence. But you didn't tire easily, and his chaotic approach only highlighted your own tactical brilliance. With every dodge, every calculated movement, you forced him to expend more energy, all while keeping yourself one step ahead.

But then he shifted gears.

It happened so fast you barely had time to register it.

Cal stumbled intentionally, a low growl of frustration escaping him as he appeared to trip over a root. You didn't bite immediately, but the momentary pause in his movements was enough to force you to adjust, your focus narrowing on his next move.

That's when he struck.

With a laugh that was equal parts triumph and malice, he surged forward, his momentum catching you off guard. His hand gripped the back of your neck tightly, his other hand tangling in your hair, yanking your head back just enough to force you to meet his gaze. The proximity was suffocating, his breath hot against your skin as his laughter rumbled low in his throat.

"Well, well," he drawled, his tone smug. "Looks like I got you after all." His fingers dug into your neck just enough to send a sharp twinge through your spine, his grin widening as he took in your expression.

The game had shifted, but even as the tension coiled around you, the flicker of curiosity in your chest burned brighter. This wasn't over—not even close.

You held his gaze, your breath steady despite the sharp pull of his hand at the back of your neck and the sting of his grip in your hair. Cal's grin widened, almost unnervingly so, as something in his demeanor changed. His cocky arrogance gave way to a smug confidence that hinted at something more.

Then, his eyes began to glow—a vivid, unnatural lavender that pulsed faintly like the hum of electricity. His smirk grew wider as he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. "You're probably wondering what I'm doing, huh? What this is all about?"

You didn't flinch, didn't blink, but your mind raced, assessing every word, every flicker of movement in his body.

"I'll tell you," Cal continued, his tone almost teasing now. "My quirk? It's a little something special. It's called 'Paths' and lets me see the infinite possibilities of a person's future." He paused for dramatic effect, his glowing eyes narrowing as though he were peering into something beyond what you could see. "Every choice, every path, every decision you could ever make—it's all laid out in front of me like a roadmap."

Cal's grin widened as the glow of his eyes deepened, the neon lavender casting faint reflections on the forest floor. He tilted his head, studying the face before him like a masterpiece he couldn't yet decipher. "Let's see what your future has in store, huh?" he muttered, more to himself than to you. His voice was soft but laced with an almost gleeful curiosity.

With a deliberate breath, Cal activated his quirk, and his vision burst into a kaleidoscope of colors and images. Thousands of possibilities spilled before him like an endless river, each future stretching out in vivid clarity.

At first, the futures were ordinary—common threads he'd seen in others before. There you were as a teacher, standing before a classroom of attentive students, your hands gesturing as you explained something complex yet captivating.

Another flicker showed you as a doctor, your coat pristine, hands steady as you treated a patient. Then, a shift—he saw you on a stage, a violin tucked beneath your chin as your bow danced across the strings, the haunting melody weaving through a captivated audience.

Other futures followed in rapid succession. A hero in full costume, your stance strong and commanding as you saved countless lives. A mother, laughter on your lips as you cradled a child, the scene idyllic and warm. A happily married partner, your smile soft and genuine as you leaned into an unseen figure, a golden ring catching the light.

But then, the images froze.

Cal blinked in confusion as every path seemed to stutter, their vibrant clarity darkening and warping at the edges. The stillness was unsettling, the once-fluent river of possibilities grinding to a halt. Before he could question it, the frozen futures began to distort, their edges flickering like static on an old television.

Then... they all shattered.

The fragments reformed into one singular vision, overwhelming and absolute. It filled every corner of his mind, erasing the ordinary futures he had come to expect. In its place stood a singular, horrifying image: you, standing before a burning city.

Flames roared around you, consuming everything in their path, the inferno casting long, jagged shadows across a ruined world. Your figure stood tall and unmoving, a chilling smile tugging at your lips as if you found joy in the chaos.

But it wasn't just the smile. It was your eyes.

They burned with an unnatural light, reflecting the destruction like twin mirrors of hell itself. The gaze wasn't human—it was something far darker, far older, a presence that made his chest tighten as an icy dread crawled up his spine.

Then, as if sensing his intrusion, your eyes snapped to meet his within the vision.

The moment froze, a stillness so suffocating that Cal felt as though his breath had been stolen. Your hand moved, reaching toward him—not in an act of kindness or salvation, but with a deliberate and calculated motion. The intent behind it was unmistakable, and it chilled him to his very core.

"G̛͔͇̞̹̈̀͘͘͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊t̴͕͖͓̀ O̵̷̪̰ͩ͆ͅû̶͙̽̿͆̈t̴͕͖͓̀," the vision seemed to hiss, though your lips in the image didn't move. 

Cal's soul felt like it had been plunged into a bottomless pit. His connection to the vision snapped violently, and he stumbled back into reality, gasping as if he'd been suffocating. The lavender glow in his eyes faded, and he blinked rapidly, disoriented and shaken.

When his gaze fell back on you, the contrast made his stomach churn. You stood there, head tilted slightly, your expression the picture of curiosity, your demeanor far removed from the version of you he had just seen.

Yet, even in the innocence of your current form, he could see it—the faintest trace of that demon lurking beneath the surface, waiting.

His face paled as horror etched itself into his features. His hands trembled as he released you, stumbling back as though your very presence burned him. His lips parted, but for a moment, no sound came out. Then, his voice broke through, hoarse and barely above a whisper.

"W-Wrong... Everything is wrong."

The weight of his own words seemed to crush him as he staggered farther away, his eyes wide with terror. For once, his arrogance was gone, replaced entirely by a raw, unfiltered fear.

You stood motionless, watching as Cal scrambled to put distance between the two of you, his every step unsteady, as if the ground beneath him might give way at any moment. His chest heaved with shallow breaths, and his trembling hands barely managed to stay at his sides. He looked like a cornered animal, desperate and exposed, every ounce of bravado drained from his face.

You tilted your head slightly, your curiosity piqued. "What happened?" you asked, your tone calm, almost clinical. "What did you see?"

His breath hitched at the question, and for a moment, he didn't respond, his gaze darting wildly like he was searching for an escape. Then his fear twisted into something sharper. Horrified rage flickered across his face as he shakily raised a finger, pointing directly at you.

"You," he spat, his voice uneven and trembling. "You're not supposed to be here."

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged, but you didn't flinch. Instead, you stayed perfectly still, your expression carefully composed.

Cal's breathing grew more erratic, his shoulders shaking as he took another step back. His lips trembled as he whispered the word again, quieter this time, like saying it hurt. "You're not supposed to be here..."

Then, finally, the last word fell from his lips, drenched in dread.

"Devil."

Your heart thrummed at the sound of it, a familiar title spoken after what felt like far too long. Internally, you preened, a faint hum of satisfaction settling into your chest. It's been a while since I've heard that one, you thought, the corners of your mouth twitching faintly, though you kept your outward expression cold and steady.

Before you could press further, a familiar voice cut through your mind.

"Attention students. You are authorized to defend yourselves against the attackers. Stay alert and prioritize your safety."

Mandalay's announcement was all the permission you needed. A dangerous smirk curled across your lips as your gaze flicked back to Cal. The fear still burned in his eyes, his body trembling with the weight of whatever he'd seen—but it didn't matter.

"Guess your time's up... Cal," you said, your tone laced with dark amusement.

Without waiting for a response, you lunged toward him, your movements swift and unrelenting, the thrill of the hunt sparking in your veins. The game had shifted once again, and this time, you weren't going to let him leave unscathed.

Cal barely had time to react as you lunged at him, the force of your movements pushing him on the defensive. His expression flickered with a mix of fear and fury as he swung his arm out, his hands reaching for you in a desperate attempt to regain control.

You met him head-on, blocking his grasp with sharp precision, your body moving instinctively as the fight escalated. Every step, every strike was calculated, but the edges of your control began to fray, a wild, hungry thrill rising in your chest.

"Stay down," he snarled, his voice frantic as his hand shot out again, fingers curling dangerously close to your throat. "You're not supposed to be here—none of this is supposed to happen!"

You dodged, twisting your body to avoid his strike, and retaliated with a kick aimed at his midsection. He staggered but didn't fall, his breathing ragged as he pushed forward, trying to close the gap between you.

Each attack grew more frantic, his strikes faster and stronger, driven by a desperation to "fix" something only he seemed to understand. But for every move he made, you were there to counter it, your ferocity growing with every passing second.

The fight grew faster, more brutal. Cal's movements were erratic but deadly, each swipe of his hand aimed with lethal intent, while your counters became sharper, more relentless.

Your blood thrummed with exhilaration, the primal need to see him broken beneath you taking hold.

The forest blurred around you as the fight became the only thing that mattered—the sound of leaves crunching underfoot, the sharp crack of a branch as you dodged a blow, the ragged sound of his breathing all blending into a symphony of chaos.

Then your hand brushed against something—a sturdy stick lying in the dirt. Without hesitation, you snatched it up, gripping it tightly as you shifted your stance. The makeshift weapon was crude, its splintered edge jagged and uneven, but it would do.

Cal's eyes darted to it, widening briefly before his expression hardened, his attacks coming faster as he tried to disarm you. But you were faster, sidestepping his lunge and swinging the stick in a wide arc. The sharp crack of wood meeting flesh echoed through the clearing as he stumbled back, clutching his arm.

The two of you circled each other, both breathing hard, sweat glistening in the dim light. Cal lunged again, his hand aiming for your face, but you dodged, twisting around him with practiced ease. Your movements were fluid, each dodge and strike pushing him closer to his breaking point.

The thrill of the fight consumed you, your bloodlust rising as you felt the gap between you closing, your victory imminent.

And then it happened.

In a blur of motion, you feinted to the left before surging forward, closing the distance between you in an instant. The stick in your hand plunged forward, its jagged tip finding its mark.

The world seemed to freeze as the splintered wood drove into his chest, the force of the blow staggering you both. You were close—nose-length close—and for a moment, neither of you moved.

Your lips curled into a slow, devilish smile, the satisfaction coursing through you like fire. Cal's mouth opened slightly, his eyes wide with shock and pain as a thin line of blood trickled from the corner of his lips. His breath hitched, a wet, choking sound that only added to the grim satisfaction building in your chest.

"Gotcha~"

Cal staggered back, his hand clutching at the stick still lodged in his chest. You'd broken it off, leaving the jagged wood embedded deep, the angle deliberately aimed for an artery. His gaze dropped to the wound, his face paling as he realized the extent of the damage. He swayed on his feet, his breaths shallow and uneven, as the realization sank in.

But you didn't move. You simply stood there, watching him with a cold, predatory satisfaction, your heart pounding in time with his fading strength. This was your game, and you had won.

Cal stumbled back, his feet dragging across the dirt until he collapsed onto a stump. His chest heaved with labored breaths, each wheeze rasping loudly in the quiet clearing. The jagged stick lodged in his chest trembled with every movement, fresh blood trickling down his front in thin, dark streams. He winced, his face twisted in agony, but you could still see a flicker of defiance in his eyes.

You took slow, deliberate steps toward him, each one sending a shiver of dread rippling through his battered form. As you reached him, you crouched down, your movements precise and predatory. Without a word, your hand shot out, tangling in his hair and yanking his head up. His face contorted in pain, a strangled sound escaping his throat as his bloodshot eyes met yours.

"What did you see?" you asked, your voice calm and measured, but with an undertone sharp enough to cut. "Tell me."

Cal coughed violently, his body shuddering as blood sprayed from his lips, some of it splattering onto your cheek. The wet warmth of it didn't faze you; you barely even blinked. Instead, you rolled your eyes, annoyed by his lack of cooperation.

With a sigh, you slammed his head back against the stump with a sickening thud. The impact made his breath hitch, his hands twitching weakly as if trying to push you away, but he was too far gone to fight back.

"Tell me," you said again, your tone darker now, colder. "Or your last moments alive won't end here. I'll keep you on the brink, dragging your half-dead body along like a puppet. Trust me, it won't be pretty."

For a moment, it looked like he wouldn't answer, his jaw tightening as he gritted his teeth against the pain. But then his eyes narrowed, a flicker of hatred breaking through the fear. Finally, he spoke, his voice hoarse and barely audible.

"You don't... belong here."

You exhaled sharply through your nose, leaning closer as you stared him down. "Yes, you've said that several times already," you said sarcastically, your lips curling in a faint sneer. "Care to add something new?"

Cal's lips trembled as he coughed again, fresh blood spilling down his chin. This time, his trembling hand raised slightly, the motion weak but deliberate. His eyes, though dull with pain, glimmered faintly with defiance as they locked onto yours.

"You don't... understand," he rasped, his hand twitching as it began to glow. The faint lavender hue of his earlier energy returned, his eyes flashing neon purple as a small orb of light formed in his palm.

The movement was so subtle, so gradual, that you didn't immediately register it for the threat it was. By the time you did, it was too late.

With a strained, choked laugh, Cal released the orb, the energy exploding outward in a burst of raw power. The force struck you square in the chest, the impact like a battering ram slamming into you. Pain erupted through your torso as you were thrown backward, your body hurtling through the air before slamming into a nearby tree with a deafening crack.

The breath was knocked from your lungs as the bark splintered behind you, sharp fragments biting into your back. For a moment, the world tilted, your vision swimming as you struggled to process the sudden change in momentum. Then, the pain settled in, sharp and unrelenting, radiating through your ribs like fire.

Cal, still slumped against the stump, let out a weak, victorious chuckle, his bloodied lips curling into a faint grin. "Gotcha..." he muttered, his voice barely a whisper, but the triumph in his tone was unmistakable.

For a moment, you lay there, your body pressed against the rough bark of the shattered tree, the pain radiating from your chest with every shallow breath. The edges of your vision swimming as you forced yourself to focus. Each heartbeat pounded in your ears like a war drum, but you refused to stay down.

With a sharp exhale, you planted your palms against the forest floor and pushed yourself up, your movements slow and deliberate.

Dizziness hit you like a wave, making the trees around you blur into distorted shapes. You paused, closing your eyes briefly as you steadied yourself. When your vision cleared, it landed on Cal's lifeless form slumped against the stump. His bloodied was still, and the faint glow in his eyes had long since faded, leaving behind only dull terror frozen on his face.

You sneered at him, a mix of irritation and disgust bubbling under your skin. "Fucker," you muttered, your voice low and filled with disdain.

Using the nearest tree for support, you forced yourself to your feet, each step shaky as you leaned heavily on the trunk to steady yourself. Every muscle screamed in protest, but the thought of showing weakness, even to yourself, was unbearable.

The idea to head back to camp came to the forefront of your mind, your original plan of seeking out Shigaraki now entirely abandoned. Whatever fleeting curiosity you'd had was snuffed out, replaced by the dull ache of exhaustion and irritation. The adrenaline that had fueled your fight ebbed away, leaving only the cold practicality of survival to guide you.

As you walked, the strength in your limbs gradually returned, the dizziness fading with every step. The cries and shouts of your classmates echoed faintly through the trees, mingling with the cackling laughter of villains and the occasional crackle of distant explosions. The sound grated on you, but it was distant—someone else's problem.

Or at least, that's what you told yourself.

You didn't care. Of course, you didn't care. Their lives were irrelevant to your plans, their suffering insignificant in the grander scheme of things. And yet...  intrusive thoughts began to creep into the edges of your mind, unwelcome and weak, but persistent nonetheless.

What if they need me?

They're my classmates.

The ridiculous notion almost made you stop in your tracks. You shook your head sharply, as if to dislodge the thoughts before they could take root. Friends? The word tasted foreign, hollow even.

They were tools, pieces to be positioned on the board—nothing more.

And yet, the faintest echo of their voices lingered, threading through the cracks in your mind. You pushed forward, ignoring the knot forming in your chest, determined to smother the weakness before it could grow.

But for a fleeting moment, the thought refused to die, its voice quiet but stubborn: They're my friends.

The thought slipped away as quickly as it had come, crushed under the weight of your resolve. Your lips curled in disdain as you pressed onward, the distant cries fading into the background as you walked deeper into the forest, leaving Cal and the intrusive whispers behind.

After what felt like an eternity of trudging through the dense woods, a cacophony of voices reached your ears, carried on the faint night breeze. At first, you thought it might be the camp—a safe haven where you could finally regroup and collect yourself. But as the voices grew louder, more distinct, a sinking realization crept in. This wasn't the camp.

Pushing past a thick cluster of trees, the scene unfolded before you. Shoji was hunched low, his multiple arms stretched outward as he scrambled to grab a small blue marble just before it could roll out of reach. His expression was tense, sweat beading on his face as he carefully cradled the object.

Not far from him, Todoroki was dashing toward another marble, his dual-colored hair whipping in the wind as he extended his hand toward it—only to be cut off by Dabi. The villain intercepted him with a flick of his wrist, a wall of blue flames roaring to life between them.

Before you could fully process the situation, a flash of red caught your eye. Kirishima, his face lined with worry, turned and spotted you emerging from the woods. Relief washed over his features, but it was short-lived as his gaze flickered down to your battered form. Without hesitation, he began making his way toward you, his movements quick but cautious.

"Akuma-san!" he called, his voice filled with concern. As he reached you, his strong hand gripped your arm gently but firmly, steadying you as his worried eyes searched your face. "What happened? Are you okay?"

Before you could answer, a familiar voice cut through the clearing, sharp and dripping with amusement.

"Ah, little red..."

Dabi's voice carried effortlessly over the tense air, his words drawing the attention of everyone present. His turquoise eyes flicked toward you, a smirk curling across his scarred lips as he tilted his head in mock curiosity.

Kirishima's hold on your arm tightened instinctively, his body tensing as though bracing himself for an attack. Nearby, Midoriya shifted slightly, his green eyes darting between you and Dabi, his posture guarded as he inched closer.

Dabi's smirk deepened as he leaned casually to one side, his arms loose at his sides but radiating the threat of power barely restrained. "What happened to Cal? Did he give you any trouble?" he asked, his tone light and almost conversational, but the sharpness in his eyes betrayed his true interest.

You met his gaze without flinching, your face impassive as you said nothing. The silence stretched between you, heavy and unyielding. Dabi's smirk faltered for only a second before he chuckled, the sound low and dry. He tilted his head further, his expression unreadable as he muttered, "Oh well. He wasn't that important anyway."

With a casual wave of his hand, Dabi turned his attention to another figure standing just behind him—Mr. Compress. "Deactivate it," he ordered simply, his voice regaining its sharp edge.

Mr. Compress hesitated for only a moment before complying. With a dramatic flourish, he reached into his pocket, his movements exaggerated even in the tension of the moment. The effect was immediate. The two blue marbles in Shoji's and Dabi's hands began to glow faintly before suddenly breaking apart in a burst of energy.

The first to emerge was Tokoyami. Shoji immediately moved to help him up, steadying the dark-haired boy as he staggered slightly, shaking off the disorientation of his confinement. The second was Bakugo, who burst free with the force of a wild animal, his crimson eyes blazing with fury.

Before he could fully regain his footing, Dabi's hand shot out, gripping Bakugo by the neck with an almost casual ease. The blond thrashed violently, his explosions crackling weakly in his hands as he clawed at the villain's arm. "Let me go, you bastard!" he snarled, his voice raw with rage. "I'll kill you! I swear I'll fucking kill you!"

Dabi barely flinched, his smirk growing wider as though Bakugo's furious outburst was nothing more than a minor annoyance. With a slight shake of his head, he tightened his grip just enough to cut off the edge of Bakugo's snarl, forcing the boy to gasp for air. "Shut up," Dabi said lazily, his tone mocking. "An adults is talking."

His attention shifted away from the struggling blond, locking onto you with unnerving ease. His smirk softened into something more calculating, his words carrying a heavy weight of amusement and menace. "Ya know, little red," he began, tilting his head slightly, "he's not the only one we came here for." He paused, his voice dropping lower, his next words deliberate. "But you already knew that... didn't you?"

The words hung in the air, heavy and charged. From where you stood, you could see Bakugo's crimson eyes flicker toward you, his furious thrashing slowing as his attention shifted, his gaze locking onto yours.

For a brief second, everything else fell away—his anger, his struggle, even the flames crackling faintly around Dabi's fingers.

Dabi, unbothered by the quietness, gave a small nod toward Mr. Compress. The masked villain stepped forward slightly, his hand slipping into his coat to retrieve something. "You know how this works," Dabi continued, his voice smooth as he gestured toward the faint shimmer of Kurogiri's gate forming behind him. "We can make this easy. Just come with us, and we'll wrap this up nice and neat."

Compress began to hum softly as he prepared whatever move they had planned next, but Dabi wasn't finished. He leaned slightly toward you, his voice dropping into something almost conversational, his smirk as sharp as ever. "But if not..." he shrugged, a faint laugh escaping his lips, "the League will just come for you another day. We've got all the time in the world."

The swirling black of Kurogiri's portal expanded, the edge of it licking at the ground like shadows come to life. The tension in the clearing was palpable, each word from Dabi like a spark threatening to ignite the air between you.

Behind him, Mr. Compress straightened, his gloved hand now holding what looked like another marble. Dabi's flames danced dangerously close to Bakugo's neck as the villain took a slow step backward toward the portal, his smirk daring you—or anyone—to act.

You did nothing but stare, your eyes locking onto Bakugo's as the distance between you grew with every retreating step Dabi took.

His red eyes burned with a mix of anger and fear, the defiance that always radiated from him now splintered, shaky beneath the weight of his realization. He was losing this battle, and he knew it. 

His lips parted as though he wanted to scream, to curse, to do something to keep himself grounded, but the sound never came. His explosions crackled weakly at his sides, faint bursts of light that faded as quickly as they appeared.

His gaze didn't leave yours, as if you were the only solid thing in the chaos swallowing him whole.

Time seemed to stretch, each second dragging into an eternity. The muted roar of the portal, the distant cries of your classmates, the cackling villains—it all dulled into background noise. All that remained was the intensity of Bakugo's gaze, locking you in place, his fear cracking through the layers of control you'd so carefully built.

 Those thoughts rose again, intrusive and unwelcome, clawing at the edges of your resolve.

I can stop this.

No, I shouldn't care.

But he doesn't deserve this.

It's not my problem.

They all trust me.

Why should I care?

The thoughts clashed violently in your head, a war raging between the cold, calculated detachment that had always defined you and the unrelenting pull of something far more human. Part of you wanted to shove the thoughts away, to let him be taken, but you didn't want to admit it—not even to yourself—that something about this moment, about him, refused to let you turn away.

Your chest tightened as his expression shifted, the faintest flicker of hopelessness bleeding into his defiance. That flicker of vulnerability was all it took to crack the wall you'd built.

And  before you knew it, you were moving.

Your body reacted on instinct, faster than your mind could catch up. One moment, you were standing still, the next, you were racing forward, the air rushing past your ears as your heart pounded in your chest as though some unseen force had taken hold of you and pushed you into action.

Bakugo's eyes widened as you closed the gap, his gaze locking onto yours one final time. Something shifted in his expression—confusion, disbelief, and something deeper, something you couldn't name. For a fleeting moment, the fear melted away, replaced by a spark of recognition that rooted you in place even as your body hurtled forward.

Your hand shot out, your fingers interlocking with his in a desperate grip. His skin was warm against yours, grounding you even as the chaos of the moment threatened to consume everything.

The portal's pull surged, cold and suffocating, dragging the both of you toward its swirling maw. The last thing you heard was Midoriya shout—a raw, desperate scream that carried your name and a single, heart-wrenching word: "____, No!"

The last thing you saw was Bakugo's face, his wide, stunned eyes meeting yours as the portal swallowed you whole.

The last thing you felt was the heat of his hand in yours, the strength of his grip as his fingers curled around yours, clinging to you like a lifeline.

And then everything went black.

A/N: lol sry for the cliffhanger, but can we talk about the plot plotting tho??? can't believe the idea i scribbled in class a year ago is finally being seen 💀😭; got a bit more writing done so i decided to go ahead and do a double update; i know im stressing you guys out with my unpredictable schedule but life be lifing and a pimp gotta keep going 😔✊🏾

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Know No Evil | Chapter 41 Chapter 41 | looming threats⌟

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The forest stretched endlessly around you, the morning air thick with the scent of damp earth and pine. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows over the uneven dirt path beneath your boots. Distant voices and rustling leaves drifted through the trees, but you barely paid them any mind.

Your arms ached slightly from the weight of the stack of manila folders digging into your forearm as you adjusted your grip. It wasn't a strenuous task, but after morning training with Ragdoll, the added burden was unwelcome. You had barely caught your breath when Kan had approached, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"Akuma, take these to Aizawa."

There was no room for negotiation—not that you had planned to argue. The folders contained performance reports, notes, and progress sheets. Mundane, administrative work. Not worth his time. So now, it was your job.

You exhaled through your nose, keeping your pace steady but unhurried. The well-trodden dirt path crunched lightly beneath your boots, twigs snapping in the underbrush as small creatures darted away. Sweat lingered on your brow from training, but the cool shade of the trees offered some relief.

Then—

"Ashido! Lower your stance, shift your weight forward!"

A voice rang out ahead, sharp and commanding.

"Kaminari! Focus—don't just throw your quirk around!"

Before you could process the voices, the dense treeline gave way to a massive clearing.

The sight before you was nearly identical to what Class 1-B had been doing all morning.

The spacious training ground stretched wide, its perimeter framed by towering trees. Sunlight poured down unhindered, illuminating Class 1-A's scattered figures, each locked in their own training.

Across the field, Mandalay and Pixie-Bob stood alongside Aizawa, their gazes sharp as they observed the session.

Your eyes flickered over the students, taking in the controlled chaos. Some were locked in sparring matches, others honing their quirks, sweat dripping as they pushed themselves under the relentless morning sun.

It was structured—but barely. A barely contained mess of power and motion, training regimens colliding as students threw themselves into their exercises with varying degrees of success.

Then, Aizawa's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "Break!"

The effect was immediate.

Some students stopped with practiced ease, muscles tensing as they pulled back, while others—less aware, less in tune—collapsed in a heap, unable to stop the momentum of their own exhaustion.

Ashido, mid-dodge, stumbled forward, nearly crashing into Kaminari, who yelped as he tripped over his own feet.

Sero, off to the side, groaned dramatically and flopped onto his back, sprawling out like a starfish. "Finally!" he huffed, wiping sweat from his brow. "I thought Aizawa-sensei was gonna keep us moving till we dropped!"

"Some of you already did," Jirou deadpanned, stepping over Kaminari as he groaned into the dirt.

Aizawa, unfazed by the minor chaos, swept his gaze over the group, his ever-present exhaustion somehow carrying an air of authority.

"Don't forget your fundamental drive," he said, voice firm and steady. "That's what will help you improve. That's what will push you forward."

The words settled over them, exhaustion momentarily overshadowed by something heavier—expectation.

Aizawa continued, folding his arms. "We start back up in ten. Hydrate. Breathe. Don't get sloppy."

Some students groaned at the reminder, but most didn't argue.

You took that as your cue to keep moving, adjusting the stack of manila folders in your arms as you made your way toward him. Before you could even speak, his sharp eyes landed on you, gaze expectant.

"Kan-sensei told me to bring these to you," you said evenly.

Aizawa accepted the stack wordlessly, flipping through the top folder before tucking it under his arm without comment.

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Midoriya approaching.

He hesitated for half a second, like he was debating whether to speak. Then, with a shy, almost uncertain smile, he spared you a glance before clearing his throat.

"Hi," he greeted softly, shifting his weight.

You gave him a slow nod in return, but before the silence could linger, Midoriya turned to Aizawa.

"Sensei, will any more teachers be coming to the lodge?"

Aizawa barely looked up. "We brought the minimum personnel needed for Class 1-A and 1-B's training." He closed the folder with a dull slap. "So no. No one else is coming."

Pixie-Bob, who had been standing nearby, added with a nod, "We even had All Might stay away. Too much of a target."

Midoriya's brows furrowed slightly, his expression shifting into something thoughtful. You could practically see the gears turning in his head, but whatever was on his mind, he kept to himself.

Before the silence could linger too long, Mandalay suddenly elbowed Pixie-Bob—not subtly in the slightest.

Pixie-Bob let out a small grunt before straightening, her lips stretching into a wide, playful grin.

"Okaaay~!" she chirped, clapping her hands together theatrically. "Enough serious talk! You kids have been working hard all day, so you'll be happy to know we've got something fun planned for tonight!"

Her exaggerated enthusiasm caught the attention of the students who had been sluggishly hydrating, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten.

Mandalay took over, more composed but still carrying an air of excitement. "Tonight, we'll be playing a game—a test of courage."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the group.

Ashido immediately lit up. "Ooooh, that sounds awesome!"

Kaminari, still sprawled out on the ground, lifted his head slightly. "Wait... does that mean we're gonna get jump-scared in the middle of the woods?"

"Obviously," Sero snickered. "It's called a test of courage, dumbass."

Pixie-Bob wiggled her fingers ominously. "And I hope none of you are scared of the dark~!"

Kirishima laughed, slapping Kaminari's back. "Don't worry, bro! I'll protect you!"

Kaminari groaned, shoving his face into his hands. "I don't need protection, man, I just..."

You stopped listening.

With your task completed, you turned on your heel and headed back into the woods, leaving the conversation behind.

The forest was quieter now, the chatter of Class 1-A fading the deeper you went. Sunlight filtering through the trees had turned warmer, golden rays breaking through the canopy as the sun hit its peak of the day.

Then—

"____!"

Your name cut through the air, halting you mid-step.

You turned slightly, spotting Midoriya jogging toward you.

He wasn't running—more like hesitating between a jog and a fast walk, like he wasn't sure if he should even be calling you. His movements were awkward, arms a little too stiff at his sides, like he was forcing himself to commit to the approach.

By the time he caught up, he slowed to a stop just a few feet away.

And then... nothing.

Silence stretched between you.

Midoriya just stood there, green eyes flickering over your face as if trying to gauge your emotions, but he didn't speak. His lips parted slightly, then closed. His brows furrowed just the tiniest bit, like he was trying to figure something out but couldn't quite find it.

You arched a brow. "Is there something you need, Izuku?"

Midoriya visibly jolted, his whole body tensing like you'd startled him.

"N-No! I mean—yes! I mean—" He tripped over his words, voice rushed and uneven before abruptly stopping himself, shutting his mouth with an audible click.

He cleared his throat harshly, trying to collect himself. His shoulders squared slightly, and he opened his mouth again, expression a mix of determination and hesitation.

"I—"

Then he faltered. Frustration flashed across his face for a split second before he sighed, posture deflating.

"Never mind."

The tension in his body eased, and he forced a weak smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"I'll... I'll see you later during dinner."

Without waiting for a response, he turned back toward his classmates, walking away a little too quickly—like he was escaping something.

You just stood there, watching his back retreat through the trees.

Your brows knitted together slightly.

Whatever that was, it was weird.

But you didn't dwell on it.

Midoriya was always overthinking something, always wrapped up in whatever battle strategies or mental spirals plagued him at any given moment. If he wanted to say something, he would have. If he didn't, that was his problem. Not yours.

So, with a shrug, you turned back toward the path, letting the forest swallow the moment whole.

☆

☆

The fire crackled, its soft glow casting long shadows across the campsite as everyone gathered around, bowls in hand. The scent of smoked wood and fresh food lingered in the air, wrapping the night in warmth. The tension of the day's training had melted into easy conversation, voices rising and falling in a natural rhythm.

For once, it wasn't just battle drills and exhaustion.

To your right, Monoma was complaining—again.

"Kan-sensei is obviously biased against me!" he huffed, gesturing wildly with his spoon like he was delivering a speech. "There's no way I barely passed my exam! He just wants to make an example out of me!"

Kendo, seated beside him, let out a long, suffering sigh. "Maybe if you stopped talking and actually trained instead of whining, you wouldn't have barely passed."

Monoma gaped at her, clearly scandalized. "Et tu, Kendo?! Betrayed in my hour of need?! I expected this from those stuck-up 1-A brats, but not from my own brethren!"

Kendo didn't even look at him. She just lifted her bowl to her lips and sipped her soup in silence.

Meanwhile, across the fire, Tetsutetsu and Kirishima were deep in an intense eating contest.

"One more!" Kirishima grinned, shoving another rice ball into his mouth.

"Ha! You're on, bro!" Tetsutetsu shouted, taking an exaggerated bite.

The two of them were already looking bloated, faces red from stuffing themselves, but neither showed signs of backing down. Awase sat beside them, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're both gonna pass out if you keep this up."

"Tha'sh jus' th' price of vict'ry!" Kirishima declared through a mouthful of rice.

A few feet away, Tokoyami and Shiozaki were having an entirely different kind of conversation—one spoken in their usual monotones.

"The contrast between light and dark is what gives life meaning," Tokoyami murmured, stirring his soup with slow, deliberate movements.

"Indeed," Shiozaki nodded. "One must walk the path of righteousness while understanding the existence of sin."

A long pause.

"I respect that perspective, Sister Shiozaki."

"And I yours, Brother Tokoyami."

The atmosphere was calm, peaceful. Stomachs were full, muscles relaxed, and for once, everyone was enjoying a break from the grueling schedule.

And then Ashido suddenly gasped, shattering the quiet, her eyes wide with excitement. "Oh! Oh! Isn't the Test of Courage tonight?!"

Kaminari, seated beside her, nearly vibrated in place. "Oh yeah! That's tonight! Dude, I almost forgot!"

Ashido grabbed his arm, shaking him aggressively. "What do you think it's gonna be like?!"

Kaminari, already dizzy from the shaking, just laughed. "I dunno, man, but if this camp is any hint, it's probably gonna be terrifying!"

"I hope they have," Sero smirked.

Ashido gasped dramatically. "You shut your mouth right now!"

Excitement buzzed through the group, replacing post-meal laziness with eager anticipation. The sun had long since dipped below the trees, leaving only the firelight and the scattered glow of lanterns around camp.

The test was coming.

And soon, the real fun would begin...well, for some that is.

Before the excitement could build any further, a low, monotone voice cut through the chatter, effortlessly slicing the energy in half.

"No need to get so excited."

Every head—except yours, as you continued eating unbothered—snapped toward the voice with comical synchronization.

Perched up on a nearby rotting tree stump, legs stretched out in front of him, was Aizawa.

His wild black hair hung limply over his shoulders, the dark bags under his eyes more prominent than usual. His usual blank expression remained intact as he hunched slightly, slurping up the last of his bowl of food with zero urgency.

Kaminari blinked. "Uh—what do you mean, sensei?"

Aizawa held up a single finger.

A universal signal of hold on.

The students watched in absolute silence as their homeroom teacher casually finished the rest of his food, slurping every last bit with the tired efficiency of a man running on borrowed energy.

Finally, he sighed, setting his bowl aside before pushing himself up with a long, drawn-out groan, his bones audibly creaking. His arms lifted over his head in a lazy stretch before his shoulders slumped back into their usual permanently exhausted posture.

Then, he finally answered.

"Those of you in remedial classes won't be able to attend tonight's activity."

The reaction was immediate.

A chorus of whines, groans, and sighs of defeat erupted from the students in question.

"What?!" Ashido slumped forward dramatically, her pink hair nearly dipping into her bowl. "Nooo, this isn't fair!"

"Seriously?" Kirishima frowned, crossing his arms. "Man, this sucks..."

Sato just sighed in resignation, already accepting his fate, while Sero ran a tired hand through his hair, grumbling under his breath.

Togaru scoffed, arms folded. "This is ridiculous. What does missing the test of courage have to do with training?"

Aizawa didn't dignify that with an answer. Instead, he simply turned on his heel and motioned for them to follow.

"Let's go," he muttered, leading the group back toward the cabins.

Ashido dramatically dragged her feet, Kaminari visibly sulked, and Kirishima let out a heavy sigh before trudging after them. Yui said nothing, but the way she walked just a little slower than usual said everything.

As they departed, Monoma watched the retreating students with a slow, growing smirk.

"Wow." His voice practically dripped with amusement. "So, what you're saying is that Class 1-A's failures are twice as many as 1-B's? That's actually kind of sad, don't you think?"

Some of the 1-A students that remained bristled at the jab, but before anyone could snap back—

"Monoma."

The blond flinched slightly, his smirk freezing as Aizawa's voice cut through the air without him even looking back.

"You're joining tonight's classes under Vlad's orders."

The words landed like a slap.

Monoma''s entire expression shifted in real-time—from smug satisfaction to open-mouthed disbelief. "What—"

"You heard me," Aizawa muttered, already walking away. "Get moving."

A moment of pure, golden silence followed.

Then—

A strangled noise left Monoma's throat, half indignation, half protest. "Th-That doesn't even make sense! I passed!"

But Aizawa was already gone, and no one was listening to him anymore.

Tokage, watching from the side, let out a low whistle. "Oof. That's tough, buddy. Better catch up before you get left behind."

Tetsutetsu tried—and failed—not to laugh.

Monoma stood frozen in place, his eye twitching, before he let out a sharp huff of frustration and stomped after the others.

The remaining students?

They just went back to eating.

After everyone had gone back to eating, the chatter and clinks of utensils against bowls filled the air again. That brief moment of peace was cut short when Pixie-Bob and Ragdoll, beaming with excitement, bounced over to your group. The sudden appearance of the two teachers caught everyone's attention, their voices rising above the din.

"Alright, everyone, gather 'round!" Ragdoll announced, clapping her hands to draw in all the remaining students from Classes 1-A and 1-B. As the students shuffled closer, some groaning from the effort of moving after their hearty meal, Pixie-Bob flashed her signature wide grin.

"So, we've got something super fun planned for tonight—the Test of Courage!" Pixie-Bob began, her voice echoing with a playful tone that made several students exchange nervous glances.

Ragdoll took over with an equally enthusiastic pitch, "Here's how it's gonna go down: the game will take place right here in the forest. Both classes will get a chance to scare and be scared! Rawr!" 

She explained that Class 1-B would start as the 'scarers,' trying to frighten as many students from Class 1-A as possible. Meanwhile, Class 1-A's task was to venture into the forest and find cards with their names on them, hidden throughout the area.

"After fifteen minutes, we'll switch roles," Pixie-Bob added, waving her hands for emphasis. "Class 1-A will become the scarers, and Class 1-B will have to find their cards. The class that scares the most students wins!"

The rules seemed simple enough, but the idea of wandering or chasing through the dark forest set a thrill—and a chill—through the crowd.

"Get ready, and pair up!" Ragdoll clapped her hands again, her voice booming with excitement. "We want even numbers for both scarers and scarees, so make sure everyone has a buddy!"

As people began pairing up, it became evident there was a slight mismatch due to students in remedial classes not participating. With 20 students in Class 1-A and 5 in remedial classes, only 15 were available for the game. Class 1-B had 21 students, with only 3 in remedial, leaving 18 to participate. The numbers didn't add up, and it looked like Class 1-B would have an unfair advantage with more 'scarers.'

Seeing the confusion and overhearing bits of conversation about the uneven numbers, Pixie-Bob clapped her hands, gaining everyone's attention. "Looks like we've got a bit of a mismatch here!" she announced with her usual flair. "But no worries! We'll just have an extra scarer. It's all in good fun, right?"

As people began whispering among themselves, weighing who would double up or join the other team, Pixie-Bob pointed at you. "You! Why don't you join Class 1-A for this round? Even things out a bit?"

Some of your classmates from 1-B immediately started to whine, "But why does it have to be her?" Their voices carried a mix of jest and genuine disappointment at losing a competent member.

You, however, understood the need for balance and fairness in the game, and with a slight nod, you accepted the temporary reassignment. As you stepped forward, the teams were already pairing up for the Test of Courage.

The excitement was palpable, with students from Class 1-A naturally clustering into strategic duos. Tokoyami and Shoji stood together, their quiet intensity setting them apart. Nearby, Bakugo and Todoroki exchanged a few terse words, clearly planning a no-nonsense strategy that played to their strong quirks.

Jiro and Hagakure were giggling, trying to scare each other even before the game had started, while Yaoyorozu and Aoyama discussed potential hiding spots and scare tactics with a serious dedication. Uraraka and Asui were going over what seemed to be a map of the area, pointing at various locations and nodding thoughtfully.

Ojiro and Mineta were a mismatched pair; Ojiro's calm demeanor barely containing Mineta's bubbling excitement and nervous energy. Iida and Koda stood a bit away from the others, Iida explaining the rules he thought most important with emphatic hand gestures while Koda listened, nodding along with his usual quiet attentiveness.

The only one without a teammate was Midoriya, who stood slightly apart from the rest. His usual vibrant energy seemed dimmed as he watched the others team up, a small notebook in his hand—likely filled with his own strategies and notes for the game.

As you made your way over to him, his expression visibly brightened. His cheeks tinged with a light blush, he quickly tucked the notebook away and fidgeted with the hem of his costume, clearly relieved not to be left out.

"Looks like we're partners for this, Izuku," you said, approaching him.

"Y-Yeah, I guess I'm the odd one out," Midoriya replied, his voice carrying a mix of relief and nervous excitement. "I'm really glad you're here."

With the teams finally set, Ragdoll bounced on the tips of her feet, her energy infectious as she clapped her hands together. "Let's get the fright started!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing with excitement. "Rawr!" she added, not able to contain her enthusiasm for the spooky game ahead.

She then ushered Class 1-B ahead, instructing everyone to find their perfect hiding spots within the woods. "Remember, you have five minutes to hide before I let Class 1-A start their hunt," she called out after the retreating figures of your classmates, who were already disappearing into the thickening shadows of the forest.

The sounds of laughter and playful taunts floated back towards you; someone joked loudly about how Monoma was missing out on all the fun, his absence noted with a mix of teasing and relief.

True to her word, Ragdoll waited precisely five minutes, a stopwatch in hand that she checked frequently, her other hand on her hip. Beside her, Pixie-Bob nodded in approval, her eyes scanning the forest's edge where the last hints of daylight struggled against the creeping dusk.

"Alright, that's time!" Ragdoll announced, stepping aside to open the path for Class 1-A. "Go on in, group by group."

Pixie-Bob nodded, pulling out a stopwatch. "Yup! And we're staggering the entries for maximum effect," she explained, wiggling her fingers in a mock-spooky gesture. "Remember, the goal isn't just to survive—it's to win! Scare or be scared!"

The first to enter the forest were Fumikage Tokoyami and his partner, Mezo Shoji, their expressions a blend of determination and the thrill of the hunt. They moved quietly, almost blending into the darkening environment with a stealth that only added to the eerie atmosphere.

Yaoyorozu and Aoyama were the next pair to step forward minutes later. Yaoyorozu adjusted the hem of her hero costume with a composed elegance, while Aoyama struck an exaggerated pose, the glittering lights from his belt refracting slightly. "Let us dazzle them with our brilliance, Momo," Aoyama declared, earning a polite nod from his partner as they walked toward the forest entrance.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Mandalay and Tiger walking over to join Ragdoll and Pixie-Bob. Their quiet exchange seemed casual at first, but Ragdoll's excited screech quickly pierced the calm. "Prizes! Genius idea! We have to make it bigger next time! Rawr!" she exclaimed, her enthusiastic gesturing nearly toppling her over. Mandalay gently steadied her while Pixie-Bob threw her head back, laughing.

The commotion faded into the background when Midoriya's voice brought your attention back to him. He stood close by, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, clearly thinking hard about what to say. "Um," he started, his voice a little hesitant, "so, what do you think we should do? You know your classmates best."

He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, his gaze flickering toward the forest before returning to you. "Like, which ones should we, uh... avoid?" His nervousness was almost endearing.

You considered his question for a moment, glancing toward the woods where your classmates were already hiding, likely plotting their next moves. "Tetsutetsu," you said firmly, meeting his eyes. "He might not seem like much of a threat in a game like this, but his quirk makes him almost impossible to shake if he locks onto you."

Midoriya nodded quickly, his notebook instincts kicking in. "Right, his steel transformation. Got it. Avoid Tetsutetsu. Anyone else?"

"Pony," you added, surprising him. "She's... deceptively good at this. Her quirk gives her an edge. Those horns? She can send them out to track and corner people. She's better at it than most give her credit for."

Midoriya blinked, absorbing the information, his expression growing more serious. "I wouldn't have thought of her as a top threat," he admitted, his tone thoughtful. "Thanks. That's really helpful."

"You've got to be careful with the ones who seem like they'd take it easy," you said with a small smirk. "They're the ones who tend to surprise you the most."

He returned your smirk with a small, nervous smile of his own, adjusting his gloves as he tried to prepare for what lay ahead. You could see the faintest tremble in his hands as he clenched and unclenched his fists, his usual mix of determination and nervous energy radiating off him in waves.

Twelve minutes in, the fifth pair, Uraraka and Asui, stepped forward. Uraraka was visibly excited, practically bouncing on her heels, while Asui maintained her usual calm demeanor. They exchanged a few quick words, probably finalizing their strategy, before walking confidently into the forest.

You watched their forms gradually swallowed by the dark, their voices fading until the only sound left was the rustling of leaves in the cool night breeze.

For a moment, the group stood in silence, the chatter dying down as the atmosphere shifted into something heavier. Beside you, Midoriya started talking again—something about analyzing the previous pairs and trying to predict what Class 1-B might have planned. His voice was soft but quick, words tumbling over one another as he processed his thoughts aloud.

You barely registered his words. Something wasn't sitting right.

No more than five minutes had passed since Uraraka and Asui entered the forest when a strange sensation prickled at the back of your neck. Your gaze snapped to the forest entrance. Your eyes narrowed, pupils shrinking to pinpoints as your instincts kicked in.

"Wait," you muttered, cutting off Midoriya mid-sentence.

"Huh?" he blinked, his rambling halting as he turned to look at you. "What is it?"

You didn't answer immediately, your focus locked on the forest. The shadows seemed heavier, darker than before, the faint sound of leaves rustling replaced by an unsettling stillness. Your voice dropped to a murmur, almost like you were talking to yourself. "Something's wrong."

Midoriya's brow furrowed as he followed your gaze, his own nervous energy morphing into concern. "What do you mean? Did you see something?"

Before you could respond, movement caught your eye. Two figures strolled out of the forest, their forms barely visible against the blackened backdrop of the trees. They moved with an unnatural ease, their silhouettes sharp and deliberate.

Pixie-Bob, ever eager, assumed they were students returning early. She strode forward, a grin on her face as she waved. "Hey there! Congratulations on making it back so fast! That's gotta be some kind of record!"

The figures didn't respond.

"Hello?" Pixie-Bob called again, her cheer faltering slightly. She picked up her pace, closing the distance between herself and the figures. "Who's—"

She didn't get to finish her sentence.

One of the figures moved faster than you could process. A sharp, precise motion—a flash of movement—and Pixie-Bob crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Gasps and cries of alarm erupted around you as the remaining students froze in place.

The taller figure stepped forward first, towering and broad-shouldered, her presence a heavy and oppressive force that seemed to thrum in the air. She carried a massive metal pole casually over one shoulder, the faint scrape of its edge against the dirt sending a sharp shiver down your spine.

Her face was partially obscured by a pair of dark sunglasses and a crooked smirk that showed no hint of humor—only malice. Long, unruly hair fell over her shoulders, brushing against a worn shirt that clung tightly to her muscular frame.

Her movements were slow, deliberate, and radiated an unnerving sense of confidence, as if she were in no rush to accomplish whatever she had planned.

Trailing behind her was a smaller, leaner figure, but no less menacing. His unnaturally green, reptilian-like skin glinted faintly under the dim light, and the red scarf wrapped tightly around his neck fluttered faintly in the breeze.

A twisted grin stretched across his face, sharp teeth gleaming as he adjusted his grip on the jagged, sword-like weapon strapped across his back. His body language was jittery, almost manic, but there was a calculated sharpness in his movements, like a predator stalking its prey.

Both figures stopped just shy of Pixie-Bob's unconscious form, their silhouettes framed ominously against the forest's edge. The taller one scoffed, shaking her head with an air of mockery as she lowered the metal pole. Without a shred of care, she let the heavy weapon drop onto Pixie-Bob's stomach, the dull thud making your stomach twist painfully.

"Is this the best they've got guarding these brats?" the taller one sneered, her voice deep and filled with disdain. She nudged Pixie-Bob's side with her boot, clearly unconcerned with the possibility of her waking. "Pathetic."

The smaller figure chuckled, the sound sharp and mocking as he shifted his stance, his claws clicking against the handle of his weapon. "Yeah, real hero material here, Magne," he jeered, tilting his head toward Pixie-Bob's still form. "What kind of a hero just walk over without verifiying whether it's safe or not?"

The words hung in the air like a threat, laced with venomous amusement. Around you, the students remained frozen, some clutching at each other in fear, others looking toward the Pussycats for guidance. But the heros hadn't moved yet, their eyes locked onto the intruders with grim intensity.

The tension crackled in the air, thick and stifling, pressing against everyone's chest like a physical weight. You stood still, your gaze fixed on the pair as Magne lips pulling into a crooked smirk. She tilted her head, peering over the edge of her glasses, her eyes flicking lazily over the group with an air of mockery.

"Well?" she said, her voice laced with smug amusement. "Are we just gonna have a staring contest all night, or is someone gonna actually do something?"

Her words were a taunt, sharp and cutting, and they hung in the air for a moment too long. The sound of her voice seemed to jolt the Pussycats back into action, breaking the momentary paralysis that had gripped them.

Mandalay straightened, her expression hardening into one of fierce determination as she stepped forward. Tiger followed suit, cracking his knuckles with a low growl of anticipation. Even Ragdoll, normally the epitome of cheer, had a sharpness to her movements as she crouched slightly, ready to spring into action.

You watched them silently, your own posture relaxed but your mind whirring. Your narrowed eyes stayed trained on the intruders as you analyzed every detail—the way the taller one's stance was loose but deliberate, the lazy way she rested the pole against her shoulder but kept her weight balanced perfectly.

The smaller one had a jittery energy, his sharp grin revealing too much teeth, his eyes darting around as if looking for the first opportunity to strike.

Your thoughts flickered back to Shigaraki's threat at the mall weeks ago, his chilling words looping in your mind like a whispered promise.

This wasn't random. He had meant it—his fixation, his cryptic warnings. These two were likely just the tip of the spear. But the question wasn't if there were more of them—it was how many.

Your lips pressed into a thin line, the faintest trace of irritation flaring in your chest. If this was Shigaraki's move, it was reckless. Sloppy. For all his talk of control and power, sending in such brazen attackers to disrupt a training camp was amateur at best. But you kept that thought to yourself, masking your disdain behind a calm façade.

"____," a voice hissed, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You turned your head slightly, catching Midoriya's worried expression. His green eyes were wide, his face pale under the dim light as he leaned toward you, his voice barely above a whisper.

"What is it?" you asked flatly, your tone low enough to match his.

"Kota," he said, the name tumbling out like it physically hurt him to say it. "He's not here—he's probably at his hideout."

You blinked, your focus narrowing as the pieces clicked together. Of course. The boy had made it clear he had no interest in being part of the camp's activities. He'd likely gone off to sulk in whatever secluded spot he considered his "safe place."

Your mind worked quickly, tracing the potential paths the villains might take, calculating how close they could get to the boy before anyone even noticed.

Midoriya was still watching you, his features lined with worry. "What do we do?" he whispered, his voice tight with desperation.

You held his gaze for a moment, the faintest flicker of a smirk threatening to tug at the corner of your lips. Midoriya's concern was almost amusing in its intensity, his inability to compartmentalize his emotions leaving him an open book.

Still, you didn't let your thoughts show. Instead, you gave a small nod, your voice calm and steady as you replied, "We'll handle it."

Midoriya opened his mouth as if to say more, but a booming voice cut through the heavy silence.

"What are you doing here?" Tiger demanded, his tone sharp, body tense as he took a measured step closer to the intruders. His presence radiated authority, a coiled spring ready to act at a moment's notice. His golden eyes locked onto the taller figure, unyielding, as though he could pin her down with sheer intensity.

The villains didn't respond immediately. Magne just smirked, casually shifting the weight of the massive metal pole on her shoulder. "What's it look like we're doing?" she drawled, her voice heavy with mockery. "Taking a little walk through the woods, enjoying the fresh air. What, is that illegal now?"

Her words only fueled the growing unease among the students. Around you, a few of them fidgeted nervously. You could feel their collective anxiety growing, their uncertainty about what to do or say next pressing against the back of your mind like static noise.

Iida, ever the picture of formality, stepped forward slightly, his posture rigid but his voice hesitant. "Could it be..." he started, his brows furrowing deeply. "Could Stain be responsible for this? Did he send you here?"

At the mention of Stain, the smaller villain's sharp grin widened, his eyes gleaming with a manic light. He tilted his head toward Iida, his expression a mix of amusement and disdain. "Oh, so you're that guy," he said, his tone laced with sarcasm. "The one who helped bring Stain's crusade to an end."

Iida stiffened, his jaw tightening as the villain's words hung in the air.

The smaller figure chuckled, reaching behind him to grip the handle of his weapon. "I guess introductions are in order." With a dramatic flourish, he unraveled his sword—a horrifying cluster of dozens of mismatched blades fused together in a jagged, chaotic mass. The crude weapon glinted under the dim light, its sheer size and instability making it look more like an extension of his chaotic energy than a tool meant for combat.

"I'm Spinner," he declared, his voice rising with fervor. "And I'm the one who will carry on Stain's dream!"

The proclamation sent a ripple of tension through the group. Spinner's eyes burned with fanatical intensity, his grip tightening on the haphazard weapon as he raised it slightly, almost like a banner.

Beside him, the Magne snorted, her expression unreadable behind her sunglasses.  "Yeah, yeah. Real inspiring speech, Spinner," she muttered, clearly unimpressed but letting him have his moment. She adjusted the pole on her shoulder, her gaze scanning the group like she was sizing up each person.

You kept your expression impassive, though your mind was calculating every possible outcome. Spinner's declaration only confirmed your suspicions—this wasn't an isolated attack. There was a larger motive at play here, one tied to ideals that had already shaken the hero world to its core.

But Spinner's zeal and chaotic weaponry made him unpredictable, a wild card you couldn't afford to overlook. His erratic energy was a dangerous counterpoint to the calm malice of the taller villain, creating a dynamic that kept your instincts on edge.

These weren't amateurs, but they weren't flawless either. Every second they stood there, taunting and posturing, you were calculating, assessing where this encounter might lead.

Tiger took a step forward, his broad shoulders squared, his growl cutting through the thick tension. "You think this is funny?" he snapped, his voice laced with disdain as he glared at the villains, his entire frame radiating the barely contained energy of someone ready to spring into action. "Knocking out Pixie-Bob, threatening a group of kids—this is the kind of behavior that makes people like you scum."

Spinner's grin didn't falter. If anything, it widened. He shifted his weapon slightly, the chaotic mass of blades clinking together like a sinister wind chime. "Heroes don't get to have happy lives," he said, his tone mockingly calm but carrying a sharp edge. "You know that better than anyone, don't you? Always playing the savior, but for what? A spotlight? A few cheers? You're just another cog in a broken system."

Tiger's snarl deepened, and Mandalay stepped forward, her expression a mix of steely resolve and controlled anger. "You're not going to get away with this," she said firmly, her voice cutting through Spinner's taunts. Her sharp gaze flicked toward Tiger. "I'll handle them. You focus on keeping the others safe."

Spinner's posture shifted subtly, his grip on his weapon tightening as his gaze locked onto Mandalay. "Oh, I don't think you're in a position to be giving orders," he sneered, taking a deliberate step forward.

Tiger moved slightly to shield his colleague and students, his voice firm as he addressed Ragdoll without taking his eyes off the villains. "Ragdoll, you take the kids back to camp. Make sure they stay together."

Ragdoll hesitated for half a second, her gaze flicking toward Pixie-Bob's unconscious form, but she quickly nodded, her usual cheer replaced by sharp determination. "Got it," she said, her voice steady. Turning to the Class 1-A students, she waved them forward. "Alright, let's move! Everyone stick together—no one wanders off! Rawr!"

Mandalay's voice rang out as the students began to shuffle backward. "Iida, take the lead and make sure everyone gets back safely. Stay focused."

"Yes, Mandalay-sensei!" Iida replied with a crisp nod. He turned to the group, his stern expression and commanding voice helping cut through the rising panic. "Class 1-A, follow me! Quickly!"

As the students began retreating into the woods, you moved with them, staying at the back of the group. Midoriya walked alongside you, his steps faltering as he glanced back toward the clearing where the Pussycats were preparing to fight. His worry was palpable, his lips pressed into a tight line.

Then, as if reaching a decision, he stopped abruptly.

"Iida, take them and go on ahead," Midoriya said, his voice quiet but firm. "I need to stay behind."

"What?" Iida turned, his sharp gaze landing on Midoriya. "Midoriya, this isn't the time to—"

"Trust me!" Midoriya insisted, his tone urgent. "I have to tell Mandalay-sensei something. Please."

There was a brief standoff between them before Iida let out a frustrated sigh. "Fine," he said, his tone reluctant. "But be careful. And don't take unnecessary risks."

As Midoriya slipped back toward the clearing, Ragdoll ushered the rest of you forward, herding the group deeper into the forest toward the main camp. Her voice carried over the sound of hurried footsteps as she reminded everyone to stay close and keep moving. "Stick together, okay? We're almost there—just stay near me."

But your mind was already elsewhere.

You couldn't afford to stay with them, not that you cared. The safety of the group wasn't your priority—being with them only made you a target, and staying would accomplish nothing. You knew exactly what the villains were here for, and it had nothing to do with the group of students Ragdoll was trying so hard to protect.

As the group passed through a small cluster of trees, you slowed your pace. The cover of the shadows was enough to mask your movements as you slipped away, veering off the path without a sound. You moved with purpose, your steps quick and deliberate as you disappeared into the forest's dark embrace.

This was your moment to act—and you intended to make it count.

A/N: aHHHH the stuff i have planned sdnfkjwkjadc

[winxanity-ii]

and then i do check it and i see some for like 4 months ago?!??! 😩✋🏾 plz forgive me. i be wanting to answer but my anxiety be spiking, making me think i'd be a dumbahh fool for replying so late 😔

[winxanity-ii]

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐒: 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Hey lovelies! 💕 Here's a quick guide on how requests work so everything flows smoothly and we're all on the same page. Make sure to read these instructions before sending in your requests...

━━━━ ⭒─⭑━━━━

How Requests Work!

━━━━ ⭒─⭑━━━━

1️⃣ Specify the Character(s) Let me know which character(s) you'd like to see in your requested scene or act alongside the MC (Male!Reader). You can request any character from the list below!

2️⃣ Provide a Prompt or Idea Be as detailed or vague as you want! Whether it's a full scenario you've dreamed up or just a vibe you want me to build off, I'll do my best to bring it to life.

3️⃣ Choose a Tone/Theme Is it fluff, angst, humor, or something else entirely? Knowing the tone you're aiming for helps me shape the scene to match your vision.

4️⃣ World Context Requests should fit into the established world of Cycles of Me, Cycles of You. If it involves big plot shifts or new lore, feel free to explain your idea so I can integrate it smoothly!

5️⃣ Patience Is Key I'll get to each request as quickly as I can, but please remember I'm balancing this with other work. Your request will be in the queue, and I promise it'll be worth the wait!

  ━━━☆☆━━━

𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐌𝐂:

⨁ APHRODITE

⨂ DIONYSUS

⨁ HADES**

⨂ HERA

⨁ HESTIA

⨂ ARTEMIS

⨁ ATHENA

⨂ PERSEPHONE**

⨁ HERMES

⨂ ARES

⨁ APOLLO

⨂ POSEIDON

⨁ ZEUS

⨂ HEPHAESTUS

⨁ DEMETER**

  ━━━☆☆━━━

**Requests involving Hades, Demeter, or Persephone will not hold any romantic sentiments due to the nature of their relationships with the MC. These will remain strictly familial, platonic, or thematic

⌞𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: Sparingly, love interests with Greek heroes (e.g., from the era of Odysseus) may appear if enough people request it, so I may add additional characters to the list! Feel free to suggest anyone you'd love to see featured. 💕.⌝

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Cycles of You, Cycles of Me | Chapter 10 Chapter 10 | the seasons' god⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

As consciousness slowly returned to you, you first became aware of the gentle hands that softly brushed against one of the flower petals in your hair.

Warmth enveloped you—a gentle, comforting presence that seemed to seep deep into your bones.

It was quiet, save for a low, soothing humming that resonated softly through the space. It was a calming sound, rhythmic and gentle, helping to ease the fog of sleep as your senses began to sharpen. As you lay there, your eyes still closed, you savored the feeling of security and peace, the residual stress of the trial beginning to ebb away.

Slowly, your eyes creaked open. The light was soft, the air warm and inviting. You were lying on a simple but comfortable bed, the linens clean and soft beneath you. The room was modest compared to the splendor of Olympus, with warm colors, simple pottery, and homely decorations filling the space, giving it a welcoming feel.

Beside you sat Demeter, her presence calm and reassuring. She smiled faintly as she noticed your awakening, bending down to kiss your forehead gently. "Hello, little one," she murmured as she helped you sit up.

As reality slowly trickled back into your consciousness, your hand subconsciously reached up to your neck, rubbing the choker that felt foreign against your skin.

"What... what happened?" you asked, your voice hoarse from disuse. A trace of embarrassment colored your tone, aware of how you had fainted from exhaustion during the trial.

Demeter's smile broadened slightly, a chuckle escaping her as she remembered the moment. "You stood your ground well," she began, her voice soft but proud. "Zeus has recognized you as a god, the personification of the seasons. He believes you're to play a crucial role in maintaining the balance of the natural world."

A rush of emotions flooded through you at her words. Godhood? It was overwhelming, considering you had spent your life—though a short time here—as merely a tree spirit.

Demeter's smile faded a little as she continued. "Persephone has gone back to the Underworld." She explained a bit more, noting that the young goddess couldn't stay long outside her designated time above ground due to her bond with the pomegranate.

You looked down, a bit sad, wishing you had a chance to see Persephone before she had to go back. You missed her already.

Sensing your mood, Demeter reached out, her hand gently rubbing your back. "She wanted to stay, you know," Demeter said softly. "But she'll be back with the spring. And now, you'll be here to greet her, not just as a spirit, but as a fellow deity."

The thought brought a small comfort, a faint smile tugging at your lips. Even though the road ahead was daunting, knowing you had a place among the gods gave you a flicker of hope.

As you were pondering this new phase of your existence, the gentle clatter of beads at the doorway announced someone's arrival. You turned to see Hestia stepping through, her presence as warm and calming as the hearth she represented. She looked pleasantly surprised to find you awake, a soft smile spreading across her face.

"Oh, you're awake already," Hestia remarked, as she turned to Demeter, who had been quietly sitting by your side. "I'll let Zeus know he's awake," she added before stepping back through the bead-covered doorway.

As she disappeared, another wave of emotions washed over you, mostly anxiety about what was coming next. You cleared your throat softly, turning to Demeter. "What exactly will happen now?"

Demeter, understanding your anxious inquiry, explained that there would be a short ceremony where you would be officially named and declared a god. "You may or may not receive blessings from other gods," she added, trying to prepare you for both possibilities.

Your conversation continued, Demeter soothing any further worries you had with a calm and reassuring tone. Just as you were beginning to feel a bit more settled, Hestia reappeared. This time, she was followed by a familiar figure—it was Ciro, the nymph.

Before you could ask what she was doing here, Hestia began explaining, "She'll escort you to the Great Hall, as Demeter and I need to take our places for the ceremony."

Hestia then nodded to her sister, signaling her to join her, and turned back to you, offering a gentle, encouraging smile. "Don't worry, you'll do fine," she assured you, before she and Demeter left the room.

As Hestia and Demeter left the room, their departure seemed to cue Ciro into action. The nymph bounced over to you, her movements energetic and her voice filled with rapid-fire speech that was characteristic of her lively personality.

"Everyone was so worried when they realized you were missing!" she exclaimed, barely pausing for breath. "Hermes came and fetched me; he's such a character, you know? Then I learned from a few nymphs residing up here what was going on with you becoming...well, a god!"

After unleashing her initial torrent of words, Ciro's features softened, her voice quieting as she leaned in closer. "Are you alright, though? I know you don't really take well sudden changes."

You managed a weak smile, reassuring her despite the turmoil inside, "I'm fine, Ciro. Thanks for asking."

She hummed in response, nodding as if to convince herself as much as you, before a slight shift in her demeanor indicated a change of topic. "Are you ready to go then?" she asked, a hint of seriousness underlining her usual brightness.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded, feeling the reality of the situation begin to settle in. Ciro chatted away as she led you toward the Great Hall, her stories about the other nature spirits and their antics providing a comforting distraction from the nervous anticipation building within you.

Her voice was a constant stream, filling the air as you walked through the hallways of Olympus. While part of you might have wished for quiet to gather your thoughts, her familiar chatter was a lifeline back to normalcy, keeping the overwhelming thoughts at bay.

Soon, the two of you reached the towering doors of the Great Hall.

Guarding the entrance were two majestic griffins, creatures with the body of a lion and the wings and head of an eagle. They moved with a fluid, reverent grace, bowing slightly as they pushed the massive doors open, allowing you and Ciro to enter. The sight of them—so powerful and yet so respectful—was a reminder of the significance of the moment.

As you took a few steps forward, stopping briefly when you noticed Ciro had halted, you turned back, puzzled. The nymph waved you forward, her voice light but firm, "This is where I must stop, but I'll see you after it's done." With that encouragement, you turned back toward the hall, glancing over your shoulder one last time to see Ciro smiling and holding up two thumbs up. A breathy laugh escaped your lips as you shook your head and walked on.

Approaching a small hallway, your eyes were drawn to large murals that adorned the walls, each depicting grand, mythical scenes that seemed to pulse with life. As you walked, the murals guided you to an archway that led to another, more imposing doorway.

Crossing the threshold, your breath hitched.

Before you lay the Great Hall of Olympus, a space so regal and divine it could only exist in the realm of gods. The marble floors shone with a pristine gleam, reflecting the light that streamed through enchanted windows, casting celestial patterns across the room. Towering columns, etched meticulously with the imagery of the four seasons, supported the lofty ceiling, adding to the grandeur of the hall.

In the heart of this divine space, the thrones of the twelve Olympians spanned across in an arc, with Zeus' throne, the largest and most ornate, positioned centrally, commanding attention. Each throne was uniquely designed to reflect the essence of its occupant—Apollo's adorned with lyres and sun motifs; Hera's elegant, draped in peacock feathers; Hermes' austere, decked with random items; and so forth.

To the side, almost blending seamlessly with the surroundings near the room's hearth, was a simpler, yet warm throne designated for Hestia, emphasizing her role as the keeper of the hearth and home.

As you entered, all the major gods turned their attention towards you, their expressions ranging from intrigued to scrutinizing. Zeus sat sternly, his gaze piercing; Poseidon seemed contemplatively calm; Hera observed you with a regal tilt of her head; Demeter's face showed a mix of pride and concern; while Aphrodite gave you a reassuring smile. Athena appeared thoughtful, Artemis was stoic, Apollo looked on with a hint of curiosity, Ares had a challenging smirk, Hephaestus was indifferent, and Hermes wore a playful grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Dionysus, lounging slightly in his throne, looked on with an amused interest.

This assembly, this moment—it was the turning point of your existence, marking the threshold of your new life among the divine.

Zeus' booming voice echoed through the Great Hall, causing you to jolt slightly as he commanded you to step forward. Your heart pounded in your chest as you obeyed, your steps shaky on the polished marble floor. Stopping in the middle of the room, you stood before the assembly of gods, their eyes piercing and expectant.

"Take your place before the King of Gods, Child of Three—born of Demeter's nurture, Persephone's longing, and Hades' shadow," Zeus declared, his voice filling the vast space.

For a moment, you were unsure of what to do next, the weight of his words heavy in the air. Your eyes flicked about briefly landing on Dionysus, who, leaning back nonchalantly in his throne, tilted his head back to take a sip of his wine. As he did, he mouthed the word 'kneel.'

Quickly understanding, you hastily dropped to your knees. The sharp impact sent a jolt of pain through you as your knees smacked against the marble, and you winced slightly.

Raising your eyes, you met Zeus's intense, unreadable gaze. The silence in the room was palpable as the other gods watched quietly, their formidable presence overwhelming yet oddly reassuring in this moment of truth.

Zeus then began to speak, his voice resonating throughout the grand hall as he adressed the assembly of gods. "We gather here today to witness and decide the fate of a new being among us—a being born not from human will but from the convergence of divine elements, a being unlike any minor spirit or nymph."

His eyes then snapped back to you, focusing with an intensity that felt as if it could pierce through to your very soul. "You will start as a minor god, with the potential to ascend to a full Olympian role," Zeus declared, his words echoing around the room. "You are now a god, yes, but untested and young. A god of the seasons—powerful, vital to the world's balance. Yet, you are untrained, and your place among us is not yet fixed."

He continued, the weight of his gaze never wavering from you. "Your creation is a unique blend of divine forces—life, death, and the cycles of nature—shaped by the combined divine influences of Demeter, Persephone, and Hades. Born not of mortal desires but through divine convergence, you embody more than a single realm. Seasons flow through you, as do the profound threads of life and death, growth and decay."

Zeus paused for a moment, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in before outlining the challenges ahead. "To merely wear the mantle of godhood is not enough. You must prove to us that you can wield it without the world paying the price for your inexperience." The king of gods looked at you squarely, his eyes searching for any sign of understanding or hesitation.

He then hinted at the trials you must face to solidify your position, such as stabilizing the seasonal balance and mastering your unique duality of life and death. "These are not merely tasks, but essential proofs of your capability to manage the responsibilities that come with your powers," he added sternly.

Finally, Zeus concluded his speech, fixing you with a look that demanded both your full attention and understanding. "Do you comprehend the gravity of why you stand before us today?" he asked pointedly.

You nodded, a mix of anxiety and resolve settling within you.

"Good," Zeus acknowledged with a slight nod, signaling a shared understanding of the path that lay ahead for you. His gaze then sharpened, becoming more direct. "Now, repeat after me," he instructed, his voice carrying a solemn weight that filled the grand hall.

Hesitantly, you nodded, feeling the weight of every eye upon you as you prepared to speak. Zeus began the vow, and you echoed each phrase carefully, your voice steadying with each word.

"I swear to uphold the balance and use my power for the good of the world." Your voice wavered slightly but held firm as you repeated after him.

"I swear to honor the cycle of the seasons, guiding their passage with care and purpose." The weight of the promise settled deeper in your chest.

"I swear to protect the harmony of nature and time, ensuring their balance is never broken." You echoed him, feeling the gravity of the words tying you to your duty.

As you finished speaking, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a flash of black and gold. Turning slightly, you saw three figures in cloaks approaching.

As they drew closer, each pulled off their hood, revealing themselves: an old, decrepit woman with a gaze as sharp as it was wise; a middle-aged woman whose stern demeanor seemed to command respect; and a young woman whose eyes sparkled with a curious intensity.

Despite their different appearances, the string they held between them—a shimmering golden thread that seemed to pulse with life—clearly marked them as the Fates.

The presence of the Fates at this moment didn't just signify the importance of the ceremony; it also stirred a deep feeling within you about your ascension to godhood. Seeing them, you couldn't help but feel a surge of apprehension about what your future held.

The Fates were entities of immense power, their decisions shaping the lives of mortals and gods alike. The realization that your path was now likely intertwined with their designs added a layer of gravity to the already heavy mantle of responsibility you had just vowed to carry.

Suddenly, Zeus' voice broke through your thoughts, a commanding echo that brought you back to the moment. "From this day forth, you shall take your place among the gods as the personification of the seasons. The balance of life and change shall rest in your care." Standing to his full imposing height, he made the official proclamation. "Now, let the ritual ceremony begin. Those who choose to, may offer you their blessing, granting you the gifts to fulfill your divine role."

After the declaration, Zeus nodded his head, signaling the start of the ritual. Demeter was the first to step forward, her presence as nurturing as ever, yet tinged with the solemnity of the occasion.

"____. You are my creation, born from love and nurtured by the seasons," Demeter began, her voice resonating with a warm strength. "As your mother, I grant you my strength to endure, to grow even in the harshest times. You are the bearer of growth, the herald of life and death's delicate dance, and like the harvest that follows toil, your resilience will carry you."

As she spoke, she raised a hand, and it briefly glowed with a vibrant green light before something materialized in the air before you. It was a staff, made of entwined vines, golden wheat, and budding flowers, symbolizing her blessing of fertility and abundance.

Hesitantly, you reached out and took the staff, feeling its life force pulsing through your fingers. Looking up to Demeter, you saw her smile warmly. "May your roots run deep, and your branches reach ever higher," she said, her eyes gleaming with pride and hope for your future.

The significance of the staff and her words sank in, grounding you with a tangible connection to the earth and the cycles you were now bound to oversee.

As you grasped the staff, a sense of purpose filled you, intertwining with the newfound power coursing through your veins. The tangible connection to the earth and its cycles seemed to anchor your very essence, reinforcing your role within the pantheon.

"Heheh, I suppose, I'll go next~" Aphrodite sanf in a singsong tune, giggling prettily before beginning to speaking. "Love created you and love will sustain you, even when the seasons of your heart change. Remember, love is not only given but returned. I gift you a reminder of the beauty in connection, so you may inspire love as much as you receive it."

With a graceful motion, Aphrodite raised a hand before blowing a kiss in your direction. You watched in awe as a delicate pink heart fluttered down towards you, landing playfully on your nose. You couldn't help but sneeze gently, causing a ripple of laughter from the goddess of love.

From that tiny contact, a warmth spread quickly, a blush-pink glow radiating outward from your nose before swirling inward and vanishing into a single point at your heart. Aphrodite leaned on her throne, head tilted and with lidded eyes, she purred, "And whatever you receive, little one, may it always reflect what was given," she said in lilting and soft voice that seemed to weave through the air like a gentle breeze.

The warmth from Aphrodite's blessing left a lingering sense of comfort and affirmation within you, a subtle but potent reminder of the interconnectedness of all things, especially within the realm of emotions and relations.

This warmth seemed to permeate deeper, settling into your very essence and soothing some of the uncertainty that had gripped you since your arrival in Olympus.

It was then that Athena cleared her throat, indicating she would offer something next. With a poised assurance characteristic of the goddess of wisdom, she began, "Given the uniqueness of your existence and the responsibilities it entails..."

Athena's movements were measured and deliberate as she stepped forward, her grey eyes piercing yet calm. "Wisdom is a steady flame and will guide you through storms and shadow, illuminating paths you may not yet see," she said. "The seasons are a cycle, and with each turn, you'll face challenges. I grant you the clarity to navigate your role—not just as a force of nature, but as a being who must choose how to wield that power."

She then touched two fingers to her temple and pulled them away, holding between them a small, misty orb that glowed with a silver light. With a flick of her fingers, she sent it in your direction. It landed softly on your temple before disappearing; as the glow faded, you felt a clarity settle over your mind, as if your thoughts had sharpened, and the fog of confusion had lifted.

"May your decisions be just, and your path steady," Athena concluded, her voice resonating with a quiet authority that seemed to echo the solidity of her blessing.

This new clarity felt like a light had been switched on in a dark room, making you more aware of your surroundings and the weight of your decisions. It was as if you could see the threads of consequence more clearly, allowing you to anticipate and consider the outcomes of your actions more accurately.

Just then, a voice shouted, "Dibs! I call next!" Before you could even blink, Hermes was leaving his seat, not content to stay put like the others. He jumped up, flying over the assembly; his winged sandals fluttered as he grinned mischievously.

Once he reached you, Hermes couldn't resist a comment about your stature. "I'm not saying you're not powerful, but you're so tiny I could fit you in my pocket," he chuckled, quickly adding, "But don't worry, I've got just the thing to help you keep up with the big leagues."

As he spoke, Hermes began digging into his satchel, continuing, "You've got a lot on your plate, kid. So here's the deal—I'm giving you the gift of adaptability. Change is constant, right? Seasons, emotions, people—they all shift. You'll need to be able to keep up. And if you get lost in the chaos, well..." He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice with a conspiratorial grin. "You'll always know the way back."

Finally, with a triumphant "A-ha!" Hermes pulled his hand from the satchel. In his grasp was a small, glowing feather. He held it in front of you, explaining, "This is one of my molted feathers. It's seen more corners of the world than most will ever dream of."

He placed the feather on your shoulder, where it dissolved into a faint shimmer. "Now you'll never be lost," he declared before flying back to his seat with a satisfied smirk.

The light touch of the feather left a tingling sensation where it vanished, instilling a subtle but profound sense of direction and purpose within you. You felt as though no matter where you went or how far you strayed, finding your way back would always be within your reach.

After a moment of silence, where no one else spoke, Zeus nodded to Hestia to begin concluding the ceremony. Hestia stood up, preparing to speak, but surprisingly, Ares cut her off. "Guess I'll add my gift too," he said, his tone less gruff than usual, which even caused Aphrodite to giggle.

"How sweet, Ares," Aphrodite teased, her voice lilting with amusement. The war god turned to her with a wolfish grin before his intense gaze locked onto you. It was intense, but not unkind, as he began to speak.

"Emotions are the fire of change," Ares declared, his voice resonating like a battle drum. "They burn, they rage, they consume—and yet, from their ashes, transformation is born. You carry the seasons' power, and with it, the chaos and beauty of change itself. I gift you the sensitivity to emotion, to feel it, to understand it, and to channel it. From that, change will thrive."

Ares raised a hand, clenching it into a strong fist. You watched, mesmerized, as a faint red glow gathered around it. Then, he opened his fist, releasing a rush of red sparks and fog that shot straight toward you, hitting you squarely in the chest. A small "oof" escaped your lips as you staggered back from the impact.

As you regained your balance, a heat—sharp but not painful—spread through your body like a flicker of fire. As the glow faded, you felt a heightened awareness of the emotional currents around you, as if the air itself hummed faintly with unspoken feelings.

"Emotions are power. Learn to wield them," Ares said firmly, his gaze still fixed on you, challenging yet encouraging.

The weight of his gift settled within you, offering not just the ability to sense and understand emotions more deeply but also the challenge to use them as a tool in navigating the complexities of your new role as a god.

You could feel every subtle shift in the room, each current of feeling from those gathered—a new layer of perception that was both exhilarating and daunting.

Hestia looked around the room, ensuring no one else intended to offer a gift. Nodding her head, she turned to you with a sweet smile, a softness in her eyes that felt like coming home. "I'm usually in charge of concluding ceremonies such as these," she began, her voice as comforting as the warmth from a fire. "But before I do, I would like to bless you as well."

"The hearth is the heart of every home, a place of balance and peace. I grant you the grounding to remember who you are, no matter how the world changes," she declared, her voice imbued with a gentle authority.

She then lit a small flame in her palm, the fire dancing gracefully before it floated over to you, much like the blessings from the others. The flame disappeared as it touched your skin, but for a moment, a golden warmth covered your body, a sensation like the embrace of a long-lost friend.

"Every cycle needs a foundation. May your spirit burn steady, guiding you through every season," Hestia concluded, her tone imbuing each word with a wish for stability and strength in your life.

As the warmth from Hestia's blessing faded, you felt a profound sense of completeness, as if each of the gifts from the gods had woven together to form a tapestry of divine support and guidance.

With each blessing, you felt increasingly prepared to undertake the responsibilities of your new divine role, each gift a tool to aid you on the journey ahead. As this realization settled within you, a new surge of determination steeled your spirit.

Zeus then stood up, indicating that the blessing ritual was concluding. He walked down from his high throne towards you, his presence as commanding as ever. In his raised hand, a glowing light began to swirl, coalescing into a tangible form before revealing a crown floating within the radiant mist.

This crown was not merely a piece of regalia; it was a mixture of many elements of the natural world—fallen leaves, budding flowers, and icicles—each representing the cyclical nature of the seasons.

He stopped before your kneeling form and officially declared your title as a god of the seasons, setting the crown upon your head to mark your ascension. "With the blessing of Olympus and the consent of the Fates, we recognize you, ____, as a god of the seasons."

As soon as he spoke these words, golden threads of light enveloped you, lifting you off the ground a few inches. For just a moment, your body became transparent, revealing the flow of the seasons within you—flowers blooming, leaves falling, snowflakes swirling—before you solidified again.

Then, your physical form began to shift, growing more radiant and ethereal.

From their spots, the Fates began chanting, the string in their hold slipping and floating over, wrapping around you before melting into your skin. The threads showed that this moment was woven into destiny itself.

Your eyes glowed with newfound power, and your skin shimmered with a dynamic play of colors that reflected the seasonal cycle, indicating your deep connection to the natural elements and your role as their steward. This transformation marked not only your physical change but also symbolized your acceptance into the pantheon as a deity with a unique and essential duty to the world.

When it was over and you were back on the ground, a short but unusual feeling rushed through you; it wasn't exhaustion, but it wasn't raw energy either. It was something in between, a profound sense of being connected deeply to the natural cycles around you.

Some of the gods let out audible sounds of awe or surprise, prompting you to look over yourself; you had to hold back a gasp.

Your skin now had an array of different colors, like the vibrant hues of fall leaves, while flowers print seemed to bloom across your skin.

Your fingertips were green, as if stained by the fresh sap of new leaves, and vines curled around your forearms and legs, integrating naturally with your body.

Your eyes were pitch black, yet they twinkled with the illusion of forever falling snowflakes, a mesmerizing sight that captured the essence of winter's beauty.

You looked over your hands, taking in your new appearance. Bangles adorned your forearms, chiming softly with every movement, reminiscent of the sound of wind through trees or rain falling.

The staff Demeter had given you had also changed; it was now covered in a layer of frost, enhancing its mystical appearance. Your clothes had transformed as well. You were now wearing a knee-length tunic that was currently icy whites and silvers, adorned with frost-like designs that sparkled as if kissed by frost. The fabric appeared ethereal, almost weightless, like woven starlight or clouds.

Around your waist was a cinched, jeweled belt with a central gem representing the cycle of the seasons—a four-segmented design, each segment distinct and symbolizing spring, summer, autumn, and winter. On your feet were simple sandals, but you noticed that every time you moved your foot, you left frosty prints as if walking in the snow.

As you touched the crown, feeling its sharply cold surface, you realized it wasn't just the physical sensation that shifted—it was the crown itself that changed with the seasons. Currently, because it was winter, the crown felt as if it were made of ice, each facet and gem mirroring the frosty environment around you.

Every detail of your transformation was designed to resonate with the cycle of the seasons, from the frosty footprints you left behind to the vines that wrapped around your limbs, now dormant and dusted with snow.

It was a profound reminder of your role as a deity of the seasons, a role that required you to be deeply in tune with the natural world and its ever-changing rhythms.

Zeus stepped back, turning to address the assembly with a voice that commanded silence across the vast hall. "It is done. Let it be known that ____, God of the Seasons, now walks among us. May he uphold the balance and fulfill his purpose." As he spoke, the gods, as well as the Fates, responded by bowing their heads—a formal gesture of acceptance, marking you as one of their own. All then stood to their feet in a reverent acknowledgment of your new status.

Hades was the first to react post-announcement, his form blending into the shadows and disappearing without a sound, a typical departure for the Lord of the Underworld.

Meanwhile, Dionysus, with a twinkling grin and barely contained excitement, boomed, "Time to get a feast started for this celebration!" He then left the hall, pulling Apollo and Artemis along with him, his laughter echoing back into the space.

As the hall began to clear, Demeter approached you, her expression filled with a mix of joy and tears. She reached out, gently touching the side of your face, her eyes gleaming with emotion.

It was only then that you noticed you had grown. You weren't as imposing as Zeus or Ares, but you were noticeably taller than before, now standing at a height that reached Demeter's collarbone—a significant change from being at her mid-thigh previously.

Observing your surprise at your new height, Hermes couldn't resist floating over to join in the moment. With his usual playful smirk, he commented, "Well, look at you now—still small, but I wouldn't dream of pocketing you anymore." His words brought a light-heartedness to the moment, easing some of the solemnity from the earlier ceremony.

Embarrassment warmed your cheeks, and the flowers in your hair responded to your emotions by curling up slightly, which drew a teasing "aww" from Hermes. His laughter bringing a light-heartedness to the moment, easing some of the solemnity from the earlier ceremony

Before the moment could continue, Zeus ambled over with a few other gods. He turned to Demeter, his voice carrying a tone of urgency. "Your presence is needed in the mortal realm—winter still continues and needs to be maintained," he said, clearly outlining the necessity of her role in managing the seasons on Earth.

His eyes landed on you momentarily, a mix of stern authority and subtle reassurance coloring his gaze. "You'll remain in Hestia's care until your home—your palace—is built here on Olympus," he explained. "Normally, a minor god would not receive such an honor, but given your unique heritage and divine parentage, you'll be given the simple honor of having your own residence in the divine realm."

You stuttered out a "Thank you" as Zeus turned to leave, Hera's arm linked with his, both moving with the poise and confidence of rulers.

Behind them, Aphrodite lingered with Ares. She turned back to you with a playful glint in her eyes, "Don't be a stranger, dear. Do stop by to visit one of these days," she purred, reaching out to caress the underside of your chin lightly, her touch as mesmerizing as it was unsettling.

You managed a stuttered "Bye," watching as she sashayed away, holding the arm of the war god, uncaring of her husband's—Hephaestus—watchful eyes as he limped slightly behind them.

Hermes, still near you, chuckled lightly, his voice tinged with amusement and a hint of warning. "Careful," he quipped, "she'll have you wrapped around her finger faster than you can say 'Zeus's lightning bolt!' Just look at my muscle-head brother."

Your gaze followed their departing figures just in time to see Aphrodite, with lidded eyes, caress Ares's face, the god leaning down as they rounded the doorway corner. The interaction, brief as it was, painted a vivid picture of the complex relationships and dynamics that thrived among the gods of Olympus.

As you were still processing this glimpse into the intricate web of divine interactions, Hestia's voice gently pulled your attention back to the present.

"Hermes, you'll do right not to influence this young god with your trickery," Hestia chided, her tone light but firm, hinting at the deep respect and order she upheld within the pantheon.

Hermes just laughed, a sound rich with amusement, as he held both hands up in a gesture of mock surrender. "Who, me? Never," he quipped, his eyes twinkling with mischief. Then he turned to you, his expression softening into a grin. "I'll see you around, Sprout." With a wink, he flew away, his departure as swift as his arrival, calling out over his shoulder, "Arty! Just the goddess I wanted to see," as he playfully bothered Artemis while she walked out.

With Hermes' departure, the grandeur of the Council Hall felt more pronounced. It was just you, Hestia, and Demeter left in the vast space. The echo of Hermes' laughter still lingered slightly, reminding you of the lighter sides of divinity amid the solemnity of your ascension.

Hestia's presence was calming, a steady flame in the center of potential chaos, while Demeter's nearness reminded you of your roots and the journey that had led you here.

Together, they represented a spectrum of care—Hestia with her broad guardianship over hearth and home, and Demeter with her focused nurturing of life and seasons.

Demeter sighed, a wistful expression crossing her face as tears shimmered in her eyes. She spoke of returning to the mortal world, her voice thick with emotion. "I've always known you were special," she confessed, her voice soft. "I'll try to visit as much as I can, whenever I can," she promised, giving you a gentle kiss on the forehead.

You stared up at her, your own eyes misting over, and in a moment of profound connection, you croaked out a term you had never used before, "Bye... mother."

This was the first time in your entire existence you had called her that. For a second, Demeter's lips parted, her hand flying to her chest as if struck by the weight of the word. Then, she rushed forward to engulf you in another embrace, murmuring, "My little one," her voice thick with emotion.

When she finally pulled back, she turned to her sister. Demeter's voice held a plea as she looked at Hestia. "Please... look after him," she asked, her tone laden with a mother's concern.

"Of course, I will," Hestia assured her, nodding solemnly. Her tone was warm yet resolute, a promise from one sister to another, sealed in the sanctity of their divine roles.

With a final hesitant touch, a soft caress that lingered a moment too long, Demeter stepped back. Her entire form then lit up in a brilliant display of green and gold auras. She minimized into a glowing golden orb that floated around your head twice, as if saying a final farewell, before zipping away to the mortal realm.

The room felt emptier without her presence, the lingering warmth of her touch a stark contrast to the cool grandeur of the throne room. You stood there for a moment, lost in thought, reflecting on everything that had transpired.

Hestia's voice gently broke your reverie, "Would you like me to show you to your room?" she asked kindly. You agreed, grateful for her guidance.

As you followed the Hearth Goddess out of the throne room, you couldn't help but wonder what lay in store for you. Each step felt like a move towards a future filled with unknowns, but with the support of the gods and the newfound powers you possessed, you felt a cautious optimism about facing whatever challenges might come.

A/N: thank you so much for taking the time to read 𝐂𝐘𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄, 𝐂𝐘𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔. this story holds a deeply personal place in my heart, and knowing that you’ve given it a shot means more to me than words can express. 

when i started writing this, i was in a dark place—like so many of us were during the early days of covid. i lost my father during that time, and it shattered me. my dad was my biggest supporter, always telling me how much he wanted to read my stories. but back then, i couldn't bring myself to show him my work. i felt like it wasn’t good enough, like i wasn't good enough.

now, i'm doing what i couldn't do then. this story is my way of honoring his memory. it's about finding yourself, about rebirth and growth, even when the world feels cold and dark. it took a lot of time, tears, and healing to get here, but i'm proud of what i've created.

i hope this story speaks to you in some way too. whether it's the mythic adventure, the emotional undertones, or just the escape of diving into another world, i hope it brings a little light to your day.

thank you for being part of this journey with me. ❤️

—XANI 🌺

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Cycles of You, Cycles of Me | Chapter 09 Chapter 09 | divine trial⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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The journey to Olympus felt both endless and far too short.

The towering gates loomed ahead, carved from shining bronze and silver, their edges etched with the intricate stories of the gods. As you passed through them, your eyes widened, overwhelmed by the grandeur of the divine realm. The streets glimmered as though paved with sunlight, and every column, every surface, seemed to hum faintly with power.

You clung to Persephone's hand like a lifeline.

Your gaze darted around, taking in the towering spires of marble and gold, the faint wisps of clouds curling around the buildings. Everything about Olympus was larger than life, and yet it moved with an order that felt both deliberate and chaotic.

Demeter glanced over her shoulder, her golden eyes catching yours briefly. "Keep moving," she called, her tone firm but not unkind. "They're waiting."

The three of you ascended a long, winding staircase, the air growing heavier with divine energy the closer you came to the heart of Olympus. When you reached the final landing, you were met with a set of enormous golden doors.

From behind them, the sounds of raised voices filtered through, the muffled shouting growing louder with each step.

You froze, your grip on Persephone's hand tightening.

Her thumb brushed over your knuckles reassuringly as she leaned closer. "Breathe, ____," she whispered.

As if sensing your fear, Demeter stepped back toward you. Her hand moved to gently rub the top of your head, her touch a quiet comfort. "It'll be all right, little one," she said softly, her gaze meeting yours for a fleeting moment.

And with that, she turned and pushed the doors open.

The brilliance of the room struck you immediately, the overwhelming glow of divine auras reflecting off every surface. The glow was overwhelming, so radiant that you instinctively raised a hand to shield your eyes, squinting as the intensity pressed against your senses.

The air felt heavier, charged with an otherworldly energy that seemed to hum through your very being. Slowly, your vision began to adjust, and the brilliance settled into clearer shapes.

When your vision cleared, your eyes widened further, taking in the sheer magnificence of the room.

The Council Hall of Olympus was vast, a space that seemed to stretch endlessly upward, its towering columns carved from gleaming white marble veined with gold.

The ceiling was high and domed, its surface painted with vibrant, moving depictions of the gods' triumphs. Light poured in through enormous windows, refracting through crystal fixtures and casting rainbow-like patterns across the room.

At the center of it all was a long, golden table, its surface flawless and glowing faintly as though it held the essence of the sun itself. Around it sat the twelve Olympians, each radiating a presence so powerful it made the air thick and difficult to breathe.

You couldn't help but stare.

Zeus stood at the head of the table, his towering form unmistakable as his sharp eyes, like molten amber, were fixed on Poseidon and Hades, the three locked in quiet conversation. Poseidon's sea-green robes rippled faintly as though caught in an invisible tide, while Hades' darker presence seemed to drink in the light around him.

On the opposite side of the table, Hermes hovered slightly above his seat, his winged sandals fluttering as he exchanged quick words with Athena, whose steady, calculating gaze remained fixed on him. Artemis stood beside her, her silver bow resting at her side, her sharp features unreadable.

Every god was larger than life, their divine energy filling the space in a way that made you feel impossibly small.

You barely took a step inside before the heavy doors behind you slammed shut, the sound reverberating through the hall like thunder.

The sudden noise made you flinch, your body tensing as every Olympian turned their attention toward you. Their gazes landed on you like the weight of the sky itself, sharp and curious, some tinged with curiosity.

You tensed, your heart pounding as the weight of their attention settled on your shoulders. Your feet remained planted, but subconsciously, you took a small step back, your hand letting go of Persephone's to clutch at the hem of Demeter's dress like you had when you were younger.

The familiar texture grounded you for a moment, but it wasn't long before she gently nudged you forward. Her hand moved to your shoulder, her expression softening. "Shoulders back," she whispered, soft but firm. "You'll be fine."

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you obeyed, though your legs felt like they might give out beneath you at any moment as your eyes darted around the room, trying to avoid the piercing gazes of the gods.

Demeter stepped forward, her golden robes swaying as she addressed the room. Her voice was steady, but the tension in her shoulders betrayed her unease.

"This is ____..." She paused briefly, her gaze sweeping across the table, settling on Zeus before continuing. "...the personification of the seasons."

The room fell into a stunned silence, save for the faint rustle of Hermes' wings. Every eye was on you, their expressions a mixture of shock, curiosity, and disbelief.

It was Hermes himself who broke the silence, tilting his head as his lips curved into a sly smile. "He's a bit small to be causing all this havoc, isn't he?"

Heat rose to your face, and you looked down quickly, your hands curling at your sides in embarrassment. You shifted uncomfortably, mumbling an apology under your breath, though no one had asked for one.

The comment wasn't cruel, but it stung, mostly because it was true. Though you were physically twenty, you barely reached Persephone's waist. Her petite frame still towered over you, making you feel small, fragile, and impossibly out of place among the divine.

And her being one of the shortest in the room didn't help your case.

You tightened your hands into fists, unsure of what to say or where to look, feeling out of place among their overwhelming presence, until you felt a warm hand brush against yours.

Persephone stepped closer, her touch subtle but reassuring as her gaze flicked toward Hermes. "He's small, yes," she said, her voice light but edged with a quiet warning. "But don't let that fool you."

Hermes raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening, but he said nothing more.

Demeter's hand remained firm on your shoulder as Zeus' golden eyes turned to you. His gaze was heavy, like the weight of thunderclouds before a storm. For a moment, you couldn't breathe, the sheer presence of him pressing down on you.

But then Persephone's hand squeezed yours, grounding you, and you found the strength to lift your head, meeting Zeus' gaze with all the courage you could muster.

Zeus' golden eyes bore into yours, heavy with expectation. His presence was overwhelming, his towering form radiating authority as he gestured for you to step forward. "Come closer," he commanded, his voice calm yet unyielding.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and your legs felt like they might buckle beneath you, but you obeyed. You released Persephone's hand reluctantly, taking a shaky step forward, and then another, until you stood alone in the center of the room, all eyes fixed on you.

Zeus studied you for a long moment before speaking again. "Explain yourself," he said, his tone even, but there was an edge of steel beneath it. "What are you, and why has the mortal world suffered under your storm?"

You hesitated, your hands trembling slightly at your sides. The weight of his question pressed against you, but as you opened your mouth to speak, the words didn't come immediately. Instead, your thoughts churned, dragging you back to the beginning.

"I... I don't know where to start," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Zeus raised a brow, his gaze unrelenting. "Start from the beginning."

You swallowed hard, nodding, and closed your eyes briefly to gather your thoughts. When you spoke again, your voice was steadier, though the weight of emotion clung to every word.

"I don't remember being born, not in the way most beings do. I woke in the cradle of my tree, wrapped in vines and petals, surrounded by quiet." Your gaze drifted downward, your fingers curling slightly as you spoke. "From the moment I opened my eyes, I felt... different. Not like the nymphs or the spirits around me. They were lively, full of joy. But I..."

You paused, struggling to find the right words. "I felt like I was watching everything from behind a veil. I didn't laugh or cry. I just... absorbed. I observed."

The room was silent, the weight of your words hanging in the air.

"Demeter cared for me," you continued, glancing briefly at her before returning your gaze to Zeus. "She taught me about the world, showed me how to weave garlands, how to listen to the wind. But even then, I always felt... out of place. Like I didn't belong, even in the world she created for me."

Your voice grew quieter, more reflective. "As I grew, I started to notice things. How my emotions weren't my own. How they shifted with the seasons. In spring, I felt light and curious, like the world was full of endless possibilities. In summer, I burned with frustration and anger I couldn't control. Autumn brought a heavy sadness, and in winter..." You hesitated, the memory of that emptiness clawing at you. "In winter, I felt like I wasn't even there. Like I was fading."

Zeus' expression remained unreadable, but his eyes stayed locked on you, waiting for more.

You let out a shaky breath. "I didn't mean to cause the storm," you said softly. "I didn't even know I could. I just... I felt so much, and I didn't know how to hold it in."

Zeus was silent for a moment, his piercing golden gaze heavy as it bore into you. The quiet stretched, filling the space with an almost suffocating tension, the divine energy in the room pressing against your chest. Finally, his voice came again, quieter but no less commanding.

"Do you know where you came from?"

The question struck you like a physical blow, forcing your breath to hitch. Your hands twitched at your sides, your fingers curling into your palms as your gaze dropped to the shimmering marble beneath your feet.

You shook your head slowly. "No," you whispered. "I don't."

Zeus' expression didn't change, his features remaining carved in sharp, stoic lines. He looked as though he were about to move on to the next question, his gaze flickering briefly to Demeter and Persephone.

But before he could speak again, you found yourself continuing, the words slipping from your lips unbidden, your thoughts trailing outward like threads unraveling.

"But..."

The single word hung in the air, catching the attention of everyone in the room. A ripple of energy passed through the Olympians, their gazes sharpening as they turned back to you. Zeus' brows lowered slightly, his eyes narrowing in curiosity as he gestured for you to go on.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening at your sides as you searched for the right words. "In the quiet moments... I feel things," you admitted, your voice trembling. "I see things, too, sometimes. Or maybe I just... know them."

Aphrodite sat forward interested, her pale blue eyes sparkling as though she were already unraveling your secrets. Apollo, seated with his usual effortless confidence, tilted his head, his curiosity evident. Even Hera's stern features softened slightly, her amber eyes focused intently on you.

Zeus said nothing, waiting, his silence pushing you to continue.

"It's hard to explain," you said slowly, your words halting as if you were trying to piece together a puzzle. "There's this... warmth. It feels soft, like sunlight filtering through leaves in spring. Gentle, but strong. It reminds me of Persephone."

Your gaze flickered briefly to the goddess beside you, who straightened slightly, her lips parting in surprise.

"And then there's another feeling," you continued, your voice growing quieter. "It's heavier, but steady. It's comforting, but it carries... weight. Like the earth itself. It feels like Demeter."

Demeter's breath hitched audibly, her golden eyes glistening as she stared at you, her hands clenching into loose fists at her sides.

You swallowed hard, your voice faltering as you pushed forward. "But there's something else, too. It's faint, like a shadow in the distance. It's cold... sharp, like the edge of a blade dipped in ice. It's not bad, exactly, but it's different. Distant. It feels like..."

Your voice trailed off, subconsiously drifting towards Hades.

The room grew heavier, the weight of your words pressing into the silence like a storm building on the horizon. Several pairs of eyes turned to the Lord of the Underworld, whose dark gaze was fixed firmly on you.

He didn't speak, didn't move. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his eyes—something deep, something ancient—that sent a shiver down your spine.

You quickly looked away, your heart pounding in your chest. "I don't know what it means," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I just know it's always been there. All of it."

Zeus' gaze lingered on you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. The silence in the room stretched once more, heavy and tense, as if the very air held its breath.

Finally, Zeus leaned back in his throne, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. "And do you feel this now?" he asked, his tone deliberate.

You hesitated, glancing toward the floor before nodding slowly. "Yes. It's faint, but it's there. It always is."

Zeus let out a low hum, his gaze flickering briefly toward Demeter and Persephone before settling back on you. "I see," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his authority.

The gods exchanged uneasy glances, the gravity of your words settling into the space like a gathering storm. The room remained silent as his golden eyes bore into yours, his expression sharp and unreadable. He straightened slightly in his throne, the faint crackle of static humming in the air around him.

"Tell me," he began, his tone quieter but no less commanding. "Where have you spent your life? How were you raised?"

You shifted uncomfortably as you tried to gather your thoughts. "I grew up in Demeter's domain. She... she raised me. Taught me about the seasons, the earth, the cycles of life."

Your gaze flickered toward Demeter, who gave you a small nod of encouragement. You continued, your voice growing steadier. "I grew up among the fields, the nymphs, the forests... but I never left. She wouldn't let me."

"And did you ever question why?"

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the floor. "Yes," you admitted. "I didn't understand at first. I thought... I thought she was afraid."

Zeus leaned forward slightly, his tone curious but edged with suspicion. "Afraid of what?"

Your voice trembled as you spoke, the words heavy on your tongue. "Afraid of what I might be. Of what I could do."

His gaze remained steady, sharp and unyielding. But as the silence stretched, you found yourself continuing, your thoughts unraveling like threads.

"But now... now I think it was more than that. I think... " You paused, your hands fidgeting at your sides. "I think she wasn't afraid of me or what I might become. She was afraid of what could happen to me. She shielded me, not because of my power, but because she knew what the consequences might be if something went wrong."

You swallowed hard, glancing briefly at Demeter once more, whose expression had softened, her golden eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

"She didn't want history to repeat itself," you continued, your voice quieter now. "She didn't want to lose me the way she felt she lost Persephone—taken, misunderstood, caught in something bigger than myself."

Zeus was silent, his golden gaze flickering briefly toward Demeter, whose head dipped slightly as though she were silently confirming your words.

"I see," Zeus said finally, his tone less cutting now, carrying a weight of contemplation. "So it wasn't fear of you, but fear for you."

You nodded slowly. "Yes."

The room was still, the other gods exchanging glances, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and unease.

Zeus' gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable. "And now?" he asked after a moment. "Do you believe she was right to shield you?"

You hesitated, your heart pounding in your chest. "I-I don't know," you admitted. "Maybe. But I also think... maybe if I'd learned what I was sooner, then none of this would have happened."

His gaze remained steady, and for a moment, the room felt as though it were holding its breath. Zeus then straightened in his throne, his sharp features casting shadows across his face as he shifted his attention to the rest of the gods.

"What this spirit has caused cannot be ignored," he said, his voice firm, carrying through the chamber like thunder. "The mortal realm has suffered greatly. A storm unlike any seen in history. Crops destroyed, rivers frozen, countless lives lost to famine and cold."

His words struck like a blow, the weight of them sinking into your chest. Your breath hitched, and your heart felt as though it had dropped into your stomach. The edges of your vision blurred as sadness and guilt wrapped around you like a heavy cloak.

Your voice trembled as you spoke, barely able to meet his gaze. "I apologize. I.. I didn't mean to—"

Zeus held up a hand, silencing you. "Enough."

You flinched at the word, your shoulders hunching slightly.

But then his tone shifted, softer, though no less resolute. "You didn't know," he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. "And that is precisely the problem."

You looked up hesitantly, confusion flickering across your face.

Zeus's golden eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, there was something other than judgment in his gaze. "You are not at fault, ____."

The words hung in the air, their weight heavy but surprising. The other gods exchanged glances, a few murmurs rippling through the chamber.

Zeus' gaze softened just slightly, though his tone remained firm. "You didn't ask to be born. You didn't choose this power, nor did you wield it intentionally. You are as much a victim of this chaos as the mortals below."

A flicker of hope sparked in your chest, but it was faint, weighed down by the devastation his earlier words had brought.

"But..." Zeus continued, his voice sharpening again, "this does not absolve you of responsibility. You must learn to control what you are. To understand your power."

You nodded quickly, your voice trembling as you said, "I will. I promise."

Zeus leaned back in his throne, nodding slowly. "Good," he said at last. "I'm glad to hear that. But words alone are not enough."

His gaze sharpened, his tone growing heavier as he continued. "We must ensure that you not only keep your word but that this never happens again."

Just as your mind thought of the worst, he raised his hands and clapped twice, the sound echoing through the chamber like thunder.

The double doors at the far end of the hall swung open almost instantly, two nymphs stepping through with a practiced precision. Their movements were fluid as they held the doors wide, their glowing forms casting faint light across the room.

A moment later, the steady thud of uneven footsteps echoed through the hall. Hephaestus' hulking form emerged, his movements deliberate and unhurried. He leaned heavily on a large, intricately crafted cane, its surface adorned with molten designs that glowed faintly, as if alive with fire. Each step was accompanied by a faint metallic scrape, his limp a testament to both his pain and resilience.

Behind him, an automaton wheeled in a large, ornate box, its metallic limbs whirring softly with every calculated movement.

The box was an imposing sight, its surface dark and unyielding, etched with intricate runes that pulsed faintly with a golden light. Its edges were reinforced with celestial metal, giving it an almost otherworldly presence as it came to a stop in the center of the hall.

Hephaestus paused near the box, his fiery gaze sweeping over the gathered gods, lingering briefly on the King of Olympus. "It's done," he said, his voice low and gruff. "Just as you requested."

Zeus inclined his head, his expression solemn. "Thank you, Hephaestus."

The automaton stepped back, its task complete, and the chamber fell silent once more as all eyes turned to the box.

Just as the faint hum of the runes began to settle, another figure entered the room. Hestia followed behind the automaton, her presence soft yet radiant. The warmth she carried felt like a balm against the tension that thickened the air, her calm energy offering a quiet contrast to the sharp heat of her nephew's presence.

Hera's sharp voice cut through the quiet, her golden eyes narrowing as she addressed her sister. "Hestia? What are you doing here?"

Hestia met Hera's gaze calmly, her expression serene. "I was called," she said simply. "Zeus thought my presence might be of use."

Zeus nodded in confirmation, his attention shifting between the two goddesses before returning to the box. "Hestia's wisdom is invaluable here," he said firmly. "She has always understood the balance between chaos and calm, creation and destruction."

The room was silent as all eyes turned to the goddess of the hearth. Hestia stood quietly for a moment, her presence a soft glow against the harshness of the situation. Her gaze moved from Zeus to the box, and then to you, her expression warm yet steady.

Zeus gestured toward her with an open hand. "Hestia, if you would, please begin."

Hestia inclined her head as she stepped forward, her hands clasped lightly in front of her. The automaton beside the box moved with mechanical precision, its gears whirring softly as it opened the container.

The lid lifted slowly, revealing a golden choker nestled within. It gleamed under the flickering light of the torches, intricate designs etched into its surface—patterns that seemed to shift as the light hit them, as though the choker itself were alive.

Hestia reached inside with both hands, her movements deliberate and careful, as if she were handling something sacred. When she withdrew the choker, the faint hum of power rippled through the air, stirring the silence.

Without hesitation, she turned and made her way toward you. Her steps were steady, her expression calm, but the weight of what was happening pressed against your chest like a stone.

When she stopped before you, she bent slightly, lowering herself to your level. Her warm, golden eyes met yours, and for a moment, the tension in the room seemed to lessen. She smiled gently, her voice soft but firm. "Don't be afraid, little one," she said, her tone soothing. "This is not meant to harm you. It is to help you."

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling slightly as you nodded. Slowly, hesitantly, you allowed her to lift the choker toward your neck.

The cool metal touched your skin, and you flinched slightly, the sensation strange and unfamiliar. Hestia's fingers were steady as she clasped the choker in place, the designs glowing faintly as they locked into position.

She rested her hands lightly against the choker, her warm touch grounding you as she began to murmur a series of enchantments under her breath.

The words were ancient, unfamiliar, but they carried a power that made the air around you hum. A soft breeze picked up in the room, swirling gently at first before growing stronger. The torches lining the walls flickered, their flames dancing as though caught in the wind.

Hestia's eyes began to glow, a soft, otherworldly light that seemed to pierce through the dimness of the chamber. The golden choker responded, its designs shifting and pulsing with energy.

You gasped as a sudden heat spread from the metal, searing through your skin and into your body. Your muscles tensed, your breath catching as the sensation radiated outward, filling you with a strange, overwhelming warmth.

Unbeknownst to you, your own eyes glowed faintly, the same light coursing through the veins beneath your skin. The patterns of the choker seemed to extend into your body, faint lines of light tracing down your neck and shoulders before fading.

The power built to a peak, and then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped.

You staggered slightly, your breath uneven as the heat faded, leaving a strange emptiness in its wake. Your body felt heavy, your limbs weak, as though something vital had been drained from you.

Hestia removed her hands from the choker and turned to Zeus, her voice calm but firm. "It is done," she said. "His powers—his influence over the seasons—are temporarily disconnected."

As she stepped away, the absence of the power hit you fully. Your legs trembled, and the room seemed to spin. You tried to steady yourself, but the exhaustion was too much.

Your knees buckled, but before you could fall, Demeter was there. Her arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly as she steadied you.

"I've got you," she murmured, her voice low and filled with concern. Her hands gently guided you upright, her warmth a stark contrast to the emptiness you felt.

You leaned against Demeter, your breath coming in slow, shaky bursts. The ache in your chest was unfamiliar, a heaviness that wasn't just physical but emotional, as though the weight of everything that had happened had finally caught up to you.

Hestia turned back to you briefly, her gaze warm but firm. "Rest now," she said gently. "You've carried too much. Let us carry the rest for a while."

You exhaled a shaky breath, your eyelids fluttering as exhaustion overcame you. Demeter tightened her hold, her arms cradling you closer to her chest as your body went limp.

"It's all right," she whispered softly, her voice low and soothing. "I've got you, my little one."

She gently shifted her grip, her golden robes pooling around her as she knelt, holding you protectively. Your head rested against her shoulder, your face pale, your breathing slow and shallow.

When Demeter looked up, she found all eyes in the room fixed on her. The Olympians were silent, their gazes ranging from curiosity to something softer, though none dared to voice it aloud.

Surprisingly, it was Apollo who broke the stillness. He stepped forward, his golden robes catching the faint light, his expression thoughtful as he regarded you in Demeter's arms.

"How long has he been in your care?" he asked, his voice calm but edged with curiosity.

Demeter hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering down to you before returning to Apollo. She took a steadying breath, her fingers brushing lightly over your hair as she answered.

"As ____ told you earlier," she began, her voice quieter than usual but steady, "he came from a tree."

The gods exchanged glances, murmurs rippling through the room, but Demeter pressed on, her gaze unwavering.

"The tree Persephone gave me centuries ago..." She paused, her voice softening as she glanced briefly at her daughter. "...It grew under my care, nurtured by the seasons. I thought it was just a gift, a symbol of love. But last year..."

She paused again, swallowing hard as she looked down at you, her expression filled with both pride and sorrow. "Last year, it changed. It bloomed in a way I'd never seen before, and from its center, ____ was born."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with meaning. The room fell silent once more, the weight of her revelation settling over the Olympians.

Zeus leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze fixed on Demeter. "And you knew nothing of what he was?"

Demeter shook her head, her golden hair falling over her shoulders. "No. I thought he was just...unique. A spirit tied to the seasons, perhaps. But I never imagined..." Her voice trailed off, the unspoken truth hanging in the air.

The gods murmured among themselves again, their voices low but filled with a mixture of curiosity and unease. Hades, who had remained silent until now, leaned back in his seat, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as he watched the scene unfold.

Demeter's grip on you tightened slightly, her gaze flickering between the gods as she braced herself for whatever judgment might come next.

The silence was broken by a soft chuckle.

"Weird-looking little bugger, isn't he?" Hermes quipped as he floated closer, his wings fluttering faintly as he hovered just above the ground. His sharp eyes gleamed with mischief as he leaned in, studying your face.

Demeter's scowl was immediate, her eyes narrowing as she shifted you away from him, her arms pulling you closer to her chest. "Careful, Hermes," she murmured, her voice low and warning.

The trickster god raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. "Hey, I didn't say he was ugly," he said, his tone playful. "Just... unique-looking. You've got to admit, Demeter, he's one of a kind."

Before Demeter could respond, a new voice cut through the tension.

"Move aside, Hermes," Aphrodite said, her tone laced with amusement as she strolled over, her presence immediately commanding attention. With a flick of her hand, a soft wave of magic shimmered through the air, gently nudging Hermes to the side.

"Ah, always so dramatic,"  Hermes muttered, floating back slightly but remaining close enough to watch.

Aphrodite stood in his place, her radiant form glowing faintly as her curious eyes fell on you. She tilted her head slightly, her golden curls catching the light as her lips curved into a thoughtful smile. "Honestly, Hermes, the last time you had this much interest in something unique-looking, we ended up with your child Pan. Let's not repeat history, hmm?"

Hermes raised an eyebrow, his grin undeterred. "What can I say? He's got charm. Takes after his father."

Aphrodite waved him off dismissively, her full attention now on you. As she leaned closer, her gaze softened, the mischief in her eyes giving way to something deeper.

The longer she looked at you, the more her divine aura began to glow. A faint pink light radiated from her, delicate and warm, spreading through the room like the scent of fresh blooms. Her luminous blue eyes sparkled, the color deepening as a soft flush crept up her cheeks.

She held a hand to her chest, her voice breathy with wonder. "Oh, my," she murmured, her tone rich with admiration. "He's absolutely scrumptious."

Demeter bristled slightly, her hold on you protective, but Aphrodite was undeterred.

"No wonder he's so unique," the love goddess continued, her gaze lingering on your face. "I can feel it—the love that created him. It runs through his veins like a song, every thread of his being woven from it."

Her words were light, almost playful, but there was a reverence beneath them that made the room grow still. The faint glow of her aura grew brighter, her voice softening further.

"He is a creation of love, pure and profound. A love that transcends the ordinary."

She leaned back slightly, her gaze shifting briefly to Demeter and Persephone before returning to you. "It's... rare. Beautifully rare."

For a moment, even Hermes was silent, his sharp grin fading into something softer as he watched Aphrodite's reaction. The rest of the gods exchanged quiet glances, the gravity of her words sinking in.

You stirred faintly in Demeter's arms, your body still weak but drawn to the warmth of Aphrodite's presence. Her glowing eyes softened further, her hand brushing lightly against your arm.

"You're precious," she said gently, her tone carrying a warmth that seemed to reach past the exhaustion clinging to you. "And you deserve to know that."

Demeter tightened her grip protectively, her expression wary, but she didn't interrupt. The room remained quiet, the weight of Aphrodite's words lingering as her glowing aura slowly dimmed.

Dionysus, leaning lazily against his seat, broke the quiet with a casual question. "So, does he belong to someone? Like a parent or something?" His tone was light, but his sharp gaze suggested more curiosity than his nonchalant demeanor let on.

The gods shifted slightly, their attention flickering to Demeter and Persephone. But before either could answer, another voice cut through the room—commanding and resolute.

"He belongs to no one," Hera said, stepping forward from her place at the table.

The movement was subtle but deliberate, the soft rustle of her robes drawing every eye in the chamber. The gods, one by one, stepped back instinctively, creating space as the Queen of Olympus made her way toward the center of the room.

Hera's presence was regal, her every step measured as her gaze swept over you, Demeter, and Persephone. She stopped a few paces away, her piercing eyes lingering on you briefly before lifting to meet Demeter's.

Her voice, when she spoke, carried the weight of both authority and understanding. "But if we are to understand what he is, we must first look to how he came to be."

Demeter stiffened slightly, her arms tightening around you protectively. Persephone shifted closer, her green eyes narrowing, but neither spoke as Hera turned her attention fully to them.

"Your account, Demeter," Hera began, her tone calm but deliberate, "has made much clear. Persephone's twiglet, nurtured by your care and love, grew over the centuries into a tree unlike any other. A tree that bore not fruit, but him."

Her gaze softened briefly, glancing down at you before returning to Demeter. "It is a creation born from your longing, your grief, and your hope—yes. But there is more to it than that."

She turned slightly, her gaze sweeping the room, drawing the attention of every god present. "This was not just Demeter's work. Nor Persephone's alone."

The air in the chamber grew heavier, the divine energy palpable as Hera continued.

"The twiglet was crafted with sorrow and longing—emotions tied not just to Demeter but also to Persephone, who left behind the love she bore for her mother each time she returned to the Underworld."

Her words hung in the air, the weight of them pressing down on everyone. She turned, her sharp gaze settling briefly on Hades.

"And there lies the missing piece. Hades."

The Lord of the Underworld raised an eyebrow, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. He didn't speak, but the subtle shift in his posture suggested he was listening intently.

Hera gestured faintly toward him. "Each time Persephone left for the Underworld, her presence carried with it the essence of that place—the stillness, the cold, the quiet power of death itself. Those threads, however faint, mingled with Demeter's care and the natural magic of the earth."

Her voice softened, but her words remained steady. "The result was something none of us have ever seen before. A being born not from a single god's will, but from a convergence of love, grief, and opposing forces. Life and death. Growth and stillness."

The chamber was silent as her hypothesis settled over the room, the gods exchanging glances filled with both awe and unease.

Hermes, however, couldn't resist breaking the tension. He burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the stillness.

"Well, look at that!" he exclaimed, shooting a wide grin at Hades. "Welcome to the daddy club, Unc! Guess you've got yourself a kid now."

Hades' scowl deepened, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously as he shot Hermes a withering glare. The trickster god floated back slightly, still grinning. "Hey, I'm just saying," Hermes added, his tone light. "Technically, you did contribute."

The laughter faded as Hades shifted his gaze back to you. For a moment, his expression remained cold, but as his eyes lingered on your small, exhausted form in Demeter's arms, his features softened, ever so slightly.

Once again, he didn't speak, but the subtle change in his demeanor did not go unnoticed.

As the room settled into an uneasy silence, Athena stepped forward, her movements measured and purposeful. Her grey eyes gleamed with sharp interest, the gears of her mind clearly turning as she studied you from head to toe.

"This is fascinating," she began, her voice steady but edged with curiosity. "There hasn't been a birth like this since my own, eons ago."

Her words drew a ripple of murmurs from the other gods, a quiet acknowledgment of the rarity of such an occurrence. Athena's gaze remained fixed on you, her analytical tone carrying across the chamber.

"But the question we should be asking is what comes next. Will he ascend to godhood?"

Her question struck a chord, the weight of it reverberating through the hall.

"Athena raises a good point," Hermes chimed in, floating closer to the table. "He's far more powerful than a typical nature spirit. Honestly, he's already stronger than most minor deities."

He shrugged, his grin sly but genuine. "It's only right he gets the recognition he deserves."

Athena nodded in agreement, her tone thoughtful as she continued. "He is the personification of the seasons themselves. His power, even untrained, is immense. It's unlike anything we've seen. There are gods for concepts and elements far less grand—Harmonia for harmony, Iris for the rainbow, Nyx for the night..."

She turned her gaze to Zeus, her expression calm but expectant. "And yet... there is no god of the seasons."

Hermes floated higher, his wings fluttering as he clapped his hands. "Arty's right! I mean, Hera said it herself earlier—____'s got the essence of life and death, of growth and change. If that doesn't scream godhood, I don't know what does."

The gods murmured among themselves, the sound rising and falling like a tide as they exchanged glances. Even Posideon, who had remained quiet for most of the trial, nodded in agreement.

Zeus, however, remained silent. His golden gaze shifted between the gods before settling on you, his expression unreadable.

The tension in the room grew thick as the King of Olympus leaned back in his throne, his fingers drumming lightly against the armrest. He seemed to weigh the arguments in his mind, the crackle of faint lightning dancing around him as he considered his verdict.

Finally, Zeus spoke, his voice low but decisive. "Very well."

The room stilled, every eye turning to him.

"When he awakens, he will be recognized as a god. The seasons will have their personification, and his power will be bound to the balance of the world."

A ripple of energy moved through the room as his words settled, the finality of his decision washing over the gathered gods.

Zeus stood, his commanding presence filling the space. "The trial is dismissed. For now, ____ will remain here on Olympus under Hestia's care until he has recovered."

He paused, his gaze sweeping the room before returning to your form. "When the time comes, he will take his place among us. But until then..." He gestured toward the doors, the hum of divine energy dissipating. "This matter is concluded."

The gods began to stir, murmuring among themselves as they prepared to leave. Athena's sharp eyes lingered on you for a moment longer, her curiosity clearly unsatisfied, but she said nothing more as she returned to her seat.

Demeter adjusted her hold on you, her arms steady as she glanced toward Persephone. The two exchanged a brief, wordless look before turning to follow the others out of the hall.

As the heavy doors of the Council Hall began to close behind you, the weight of what had just been decided pressed against your chest. Even in your exhaustion, you couldn't ignore the enormity of the path that lay ahead.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Cycles of You, Cycles of Me | Chapter 08 Chapter 08 | eye of the storm⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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Far below Olympus, the mortal plane was unrecognizable.

The lush fields and golden meadows that had once been the heart of Demeter's domain were now buried under a thick layer of snow and ice. The air was sharp, the wind howling through the barren trees, carrying a bitter chill that seemed to seep into the bones of anyone who dared venture there.

The sky above churned with ominous, dark clouds, thunder rumbling faintly as the blizzard raged. Snow whipped through the air in blinding sheets, obscuring the horizon.

As Persephone and Demeter arrived at the edge of the storm, Persephone gasped, her breath forming small clouds in the freezing air. She'd felt the icy touch of the Underworld before, the coldness that lingered in its shadows, but this—this was different. The snow, sharp and cold, stung her skin. Her hair whipped around her face as she struggled to shield her eyes from the onslaught.

Demeter, her golden robes dulled by frost, pointed ahead. Her voice was steady, though her expression was tight with concern. "Look."

Through the haze of snow, a single shape stood out in the distance—your tree.

"Is that...?" Persephone's voice trailed off, her words lost in the howl of the wind.

It looked different now, its spiraling trunk twisting higher into the sky than ever before. Thunderous clouds swirled directly above it, the storm concentrating its fury around the area.

But beneath the tree, the scene was different. The storm seemed to calm at its base, the wind softening into a gentle breeze within a small, protected radius. The ground beneath the tree was bare, untouched by frost or snow, as if it were the eye of the storm.

Persephone swallowed hard, her green eyes wide as she took in the sight. "What's happening to him?"

Demeter didn't answer, her lips pressed into a thin line as she began trudging through the snow toward the tree. Persephone followed, the icy wind biting at her skin as they pushed forward.

When they finally reached your tree, Demeter reached out, her fingers brushing against one of the lower branches as if to climb.

The ground trembled.

Suddenly, icy vines shot up from the dirt, moving with a speed and precision that no natural force should possess. They wrapped around Demeter's arm, another set coiling around Persephone's legs, pulling her down to the ground.

"Mother!" Persephone cried, struggling against the freezing tendrils that gripped her tightly. The frost seared against her skin, biting into her as she tried to twist free.

Demeter pulled against the vines, her divine strength snapping one of them, but more rose to take its place. "Persephone, be careful!" she called, her golden eyes blazing with determination.

The vines tightened, their icy tips glinting in the dim light. Demeter gritted her teeth, summoning her power as she slammed her free hand against the frozen ground. Green energy rippled outward, and for a moment, the vines recoiled, releasing their grip.

"Go!" Demeter shouted, her voice cutting through the chaos. "Climb the tree! Find ____! I'll hold them off!"

Persephone hesitated, her gaze flickering between her mother and the hollow above.

"Now, Persephone!"

Nodding, Persephone turned and began to climb, her hands gripping the smooth bark as she pulled herself upward. The icy vines tried to follow, but Demeter summoned another burst of energy, forcing them back.

When Persephone finally reached the hollow at the center of your tree, she paused, her breath catching in her throat.

The space was small but vibrant, an eerie contradiction to the storm outside. The air inside shimmered faintly, filled with an impossible mix of seasons. Spring flowers bloomed alongside summer grasses, patches of ice clung to the walls, and fallen autumn leaves crunched softly beneath her feet.

And there, in the center of it all, you lay curled up on your side.

Your form was small against the vibrant chaos around you, your body trembling slightly as soft sniffles escaped your lips.

"____," Persephone whispered, her voice breaking.

You didn't respond, your face buried in your arms. The faint sound of your sobbing filled the space, your shoulders shaking as you curled further into yourself.

"_-____," Persephone called again, louder this time, her voice trembling with both worry and urgency.

Your sobbing faltered, the sound cutting off abruptly. Slowly, hesitantly, you looked up, your tear-streaked face turning toward her.

The sight of you nearly stole her breath.

Persephone fought back a gasp, her green eyes widening as she took in the changes that had overtaken you. Your skin, once tinged with the warm, rich hues of autumn, now carried a sickly pale undertone. The soft glow that had always clung to you was gone, replaced by a dim, dull sheen that made you look more shadow than substance.

The flowers woven through your hair—those ever-present signs of life—were no longer vibrant and full. Some had wilted, their petals curling inward like they were retreating from the world. Others were mere buds, stunted and lifeless, as if they had stopped growing entirely.

But what truly struck Persephone were your eyes.

They were empty, void of the light she had always associated with you. They reminded her of Hades' eyes—dark, heavy with an otherworldly depth that spoke of things no mortal or god should ever endure. And yet, they weren't entirely the same. There was something in your gaze that echoed the quiet, endless pull of the Underworld's power, but it was not Hades. It was something else.

Something entirely you.

A quiet sniffle from you broke her out of her thoughts. She blinked, forcing herself to focus, and she offered you a soft, tentative smile.

"Hey," she said gently, her voice like a soothing balm. She took a cautious step closer, then another, until she was kneeling beside you.

She reached out slowly, her movements deliberate, as though afraid to startle you. "It's just me," she murmured. "You're safe, ____. I promise."

You didn't pull away, but your body remained tense, your hands curling tightly against your knees. For a long moment, you said nothing, your gaze dropping to the ground.

"What's wrong?" Persephone asked softly, her tone patient. "Talk to me."

At first, you didn't respond. Your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out. Your gaze stayed fixed on the hollow floor, your hands clutching your knees like they were the only things anchoring you to the world.

She waited, her presence steady, her warmth brushing against the icy air that filled the space. Slowly, your shoulders trembled, and in a voice barely above a whisper, you finally spoke.

"Am I... real?"

The words were quiet, fragile, but they carried the weight of your entire existence. Persephone's breath hitched, her heart breaking at the sheer pain behind them.

"___..." she murmured, her voice trembling. She inched closer, her hands reaching out but hesitating, unsure if you would let her near. "Of course you're real."

You shook your head, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. "But... I wasn't born. Not like you. Not like the others. I... I wasn't supposed to be here."

Her heart clenched, and she moved closer, her knees brushing against the fallen leaves on the hollow floor. "That's not true," she said firmly, her hands finally cupping your face. Her thumbs gently wiped away your tears as her green eyes locked onto yours, full of unwavering determination.

"You were born, ____. You came into this world from something rare, something so powerful." She paused, her voice softening. "You were born from love."

Her words made you flinch, your eyes squeezing shut as if you were trying to block them out. You shook your head, pulling away slightly, your hands moving to cover your face. "It's not fair," you whispered, your voice cracking. "I feel like I shouldn't even exist. Like I was never meant to be here."

Her hands moved to gently hold your wrists, pulling them away from your face. "____, look at me," she said, her voice steady but thick with emotion. When you didn't, she tilted her head, her own eyes misting. "Please. Look at me."

Slowly, reluctantly, you met her gaze, your tears pooling in your eyes.

"You are meant to be here," she said firmly, her voice breaking slightly as she continued. "Even if you don't feel like it right now, you are. You were born because of the love between my mother and me—because of what we share, and because I wanted her to have someone by her side when I couldn't be there."

She looked away for a moment, her green eyes flickering with a quiet sorrow. Her voice softened, almost as if she were speaking to herself. "Maybe... maybe I wanted you more than I realized. I didn't know it then, but maybe your tree grew because I needed it to. I needed to know she'd have someone when I was gone."

She looked back at you, her hands cradling your face again, her tears glistening as they fell. "But that doesn't make you any less real. By the gods, ____, you are real. You are here. And you are so, so important."

You stared at her, your breath hitching as her words pressed against the cracks in your heart.

"I'm not like you," you whispered, your voice trembling.

"No, you're not," she agreed, her tone gentle. "You're not like me, or the spirits, or even the other gods. You're something else entirely. But that doesn't mean you don't belong. Helios carries the sun, Selene the moon, Iris the rainbow... They're all embodiments of something greater. And so are you."

Her words lingered in the air, wrapping around you like a soft, warm blanket.

For the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest began to ease. It didn't disappear completely, but it lessened, like a storm breaking into a quiet drizzle.

You took a shaky breath, your tears slowing as her hands stayed firm on your face. "I'm real," you whispered, testing the words.

Persephone smiled through her own tears, her thumbs brushing over your cheeks one last time. "Yes, ____. You're real. You're here. And you matter."

Her words settled into you, filling the cracks with something that felt almost like hope. For the first time, you let yourself believe her. "Okay."

Persephone's smile grew warmer, her green eyes bright with relief. "Good," she said softly.

She rose to her feet, brushing a stray curl from her face, and extended her hand toward you. For a moment, you hesitated, your gaze flickering between her hand and the hollow around you. Then, slowly, you reached out, your fingers trembling slightly as they curled around hers.

Her grip was steady, grounding, as she gently helped you to your feet. "Come on," she said, her tone light but reassuring. "Let's go."

She led you toward the edge of the hollow, her hand never leaving yours. The moment you stepped out onto the spiraling branches, the air felt different. The storm, which had raged for so long, was gone.

The world below was still.

The snow no longer whipped through the air, the wind no longer howled. The ground was blanketed in a thick, undisturbed layer of white, the trees standing silent and unmoving. The sky was a pale grey, heavy with the remnants of the storm, but the oppressive weight that had clung to the air was gone.

Persephone helped you climb down, her movements careful as she ensured you didn't lose your footing. When the two of you finally reached the ground, Demeter was waiting.

The goddess didn't hesitate. She surged forward, wrapping you in a tight embrace, her arms strong and warm as they enveloped you completely.

"Oh, my little one," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. Her golden hair brushed against your cheek, her presence overwhelming as she held you close. "I was so worried."

She pulled back just enough to look you over, her hands cupping your face as her golden eyes searched yours, taking in every detail with a mother's concern. "Are you hurt? Are you cold? What were you thinking—"

"Mother, he's fine," Persephone interjected with a soft laugh, stepping closer. "You're going to smother him if you're not careful."

Demeter let out a huff, though her hands lingered for a moment longer before she finally pulled back.

You took the chance to glance around, your eyes widening as you took in the aftermath of the storm. The stillness of the world, the heavy snow blanketing every surface—it felt both beautiful and haunting.

"Did I... do this?" you asked hesitantly, your voice barely above a whisper.

It was Persephone who answered. "Yes," she said gently. "You did."

You looked away, guilt flashing across your face as the ache in your chest returned, small and sharp. Look at what I did.

A warm hand slipped into yours, cutting off the spiral of your thoughts. You glanced up to see Persephone smiling at you, her expression soft and reassuring.

"Don't worry," she said firmly. "We'll fix it. Together."

Her smile faltered slightly as she turned to Demeter, then back to you. Her voice grew quieter, more serious. "But there's something you need to know. We have to take you to Olympus."

Your eyes widened, shock rippling through you. "Olympus?"

Demeter nodded, her expression somber. "Zeus has summoned you. What happened here...what you caused...it must be explained."

You swallowed hard, the weight of their words settling over you. Slowly, you nodded, the truth of the situation undeniable. "I understand," you said quietly.

The three of you began to move, the snow crunching softly beneath your feet. But after a few steps, you suddenly stopped, a memory surfacing in your mind.

It was something Demeter had said long ago, a moment you hadn't thought about in weeks.

"Persephone always talks about the snow, you know...She's never experienced it, but she would often stand in the fields, arms open as dandelion pappus kissed her skin, imagining them as snowflakes."

The memory made your heart ache, but it also sparked something inside you.

"Wait," you said, your voice breaking the quiet.

Both Demeter and Persephone turned to you, the latter tilting her head in confusion. "What is it?"she asked.

You shook your head quickly, a small, almost nervous smile forming on your lips. "Nothing'[s wrong. I just... I want Persephone to experience winter. The right way."

Persephone blinked, her confusion deepening, but she didn't question you further.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you reached out, not to the storm, but to the calm stillness that lingered in its wake. Please, you thought, your heart quietly pleading. Let this work.

A few seconds passed in silence.

Then, gently, softly, snow began to fall.

Persephone gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as she stared upward. The flakes were small and delicate, drifting down like tiny stars, their cold touch brushing against her skin.

She held out her hands, her eyes wide with wonder as the snowflakes melted against her palms. Tiny pieces stuck to her golden hair, glinting like frost, while others clung to her eyelashes, shimmering faintly in the light.

Demeter stood still, her gaze moving from the snow to Persephone. Her usually tense expression softened, her golden eyes warm as they lingered on her daughter.

Finally, her gaze shifted to you.

You hesitated, but when you saw the faint smile tugging at her lips, you felt a spark of warmth bloom in your chest.

Persephone turned to you, her smile bright and genuine. "It's beautiful," she whispered, her voice filled with awe.

You smiled back, the ache in your heart easing just a little more. The peace, however fleeting, was enough to steady you for what was to come.

Persephone gave your hand a soft squeeze, her warmth grounding you as she exchanged a brief glance with Demeter. The older goddess nodded, her expression more composed now, though the lines of worry had yet to fade from her face.

"We should go," Demeter said softly, her voice carrying an edge of urgency. She turned, her golden robes trailing in the snow, her figure moving a few paces ahead. "Hurry, both of you. We can't keep them waiting."

You hesitated, your feet frozen in place as your gaze flickered between the swirling clouds overhead and the path ahead.

Persephone's hand tugged at yours gently, her voice soothing. "Come on, ____. It's just Olympus. They'll be stern, but... you'll be okay."

The reassurance was thin, but it was enough. You nodded, clutching onto her hand tightly as the two of you followed Demeter.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Cycles of You, Cycles of Me | Chapter 07 Chapter 07 | the force of nature⌟

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Far above the mortal realm, in the radiant peaks of Olympus, a storm was brewing.

The great halls of Olympus, carved from shimmering marble and adorned with veins of gold, stood in stark contrast to the frozen devastation below. The air was thick with divine tension, the usual calm grandeur of the realm disrupted by an unprecedented sense of urgency.

At the heart of Olympus lay the Council Hall, where the gods now gathered.

The room was a masterpiece of divine craftsmanship—a vast, circular chamber with walls that gleamed like polished bronze, etched with intricate depictions of their triumphs over chaos.

At the center stood a long golden table, reserved for the twelve Olympians, its surface glowing faintly with an otherworldly light. Each seat was a throne in its own right, tailored to the essence of its occupant—Poseidon's encrusted with coral and pearls, Athena's lined with olive leaves, Hades' dark and ominous, his seat rarely filled.

At the head of the table sat Zeus, his throne towering over the others, crafted from a blend of storm clouds and celestial metal. His presence, usually commanding, was now tense. His golden eyes scanned the room as the gods filled the hall, their voices already raised in frustration.

The gods were restless, their usual elegance frayed by the growing chaos below. The devastation in the mortal realm had reached a breaking point, and it was no longer just a nuisance.

It was a crisis.

Apollo, standing near his seat, was the first to speak, his usually radiant face shadowed with worry. "The light is failing!" he exclaimed, his golden robes fluttering as he gestured toward the mortal realm. "The sun barely breaks through the frost. My light cannot warm the earth, let alone the mortals."

Across the table, Poseidon slammed his fist against the golden surface, the echo ringing through the chamber. His gold eyes blazed with fury. "And my oceans? Frozen solid! The tides are disrupted, the currents gone. Do you know what that means for the creatures of the sea?"

"Or for the mortals?" Hera interjected, her regal tone sharp. "They suffer, Zeus. Crops have failed; famine spreads faster than the cold. Entire cities are freezing to death!"

Hades, his dark presence more oppressive than usual, leaned forward, his fingers drumming against the table. His voice was low, but it carried a weight that silenced the others momentarily. "The Underworld is overwhelmed. The lines of souls are endless. My rivers groan under the weight of the dead. This cannot continue."

The room broke into chaos.

Voices overlapped as the gods began arguing over each other, their frustrations spilling into accusations, solutions, and demands.

"We should find the source!" Athena said, her voice sharp with reason. "This isn't natural—it must be the work of a force beyond our knowledge."

"Find the source?" Ares laughed bitterly, leaning back in his seat. "How about we focus on fixing the problem first before looking for someone to blame?"

"Fix it?" Dionysus scoffed, swirling his wine absentmindedly. "With what? The mortals are crumbling faster than they can recover."

"Enough!" Hera snapped, her voice rising above the others. "Zeus, speak! You've been silent this entire time."

At the far end of the table, Demeter sat quietly in her seat, her gaze downcast. Unlike the others, she didn't speak, her dark hair shadowing her face.

The room's chaotic energy pressed down on her, but she did not lift her gaze, her mind heavy with thoughts she dared not speak.

Next to her, Persephone sat rigid, her eyes flickering between the gods, her usually soft expression replaced with barely contained tension. Even as Hades, her husband, voiced his concerns, she said nothing, her fingers gripping the armrests of her throne.

At the head of the table, Zeus sat motionless, his golden gaze scanning the room as the gods' voices grew louder and louder. His silence only seemed to stoke their frustrations, their words rising like a storm.

Finally, his deep voice rumbled, calm but commanding. "Quiet."

The gods didn't listen, their arguments continuing to clash in waves.

"Quiet," Zeus repeated, louder this time. His fingers drummed against the arm of his throne, the faint crackle of lightning sparking in the air around him.

Still, the voices persisted, their volume drowning out his commands.

Then, with a sudden burst of power, Zeus rose from his throne, his hand raised. "I said...QUIET!"

A bolt of lightning crashed down from the ceiling, striking the center of the golden table and sending sparks scattering across its surface. The sound was deafening—a crack of thunder that shook the very foundation of Olympus.

Silence fell immediately.

The gods froze, their eyes turning to Zeus, whose presence now loomed over them like the storm itself. His golden eyes glowed with restrained fury as he surveyed the room, his voice low but carrying the weight of his authority.

The gods froze, their eyes turning to Zeus, whose presence now loomed over them like the storm itself. He exhaled slowly, the sound sharp in the tense silence. The faint hum of static crackled in the air around him, his presence pressing down on the gathered gods like the prelude to a thunderstorm.

His gaze swept across the table, lingering on each face in turn, as if daring them to speak before he did. Then, his voice, cold and measured, cut through the stillness like a blade.

"Who is responsible for this?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and unforgiving.

The gods exchanged glances, their movements hesitant and tense. Apollo's usual radiance dimmed as he cast his eyes downward. Poseidon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the table. Even Ares, usually brimming with defiance, avoided Zeus' gaze, his jaw tightening as his fingers drummed against the hilt of his blade.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then, a soft sound broke the silence—a quiet, deliberate clearing of the throat.

All eyes turned to Demeter as she slowly rose from her seat.

Her dark hair fell like a curtain over her face as she kept her gaze downcast, her hands pressed firmly against the table to steady herself. The weight of the moment pressed heavily on her shoulders, her usually radiant presence dimmed by the grief and guilt that clung to her.

When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, barely audible at first, as if she struggled to force the words out. "I... it is my fault."

Persephone's head snapped toward her mother, her eyes wide with shock, but she said nothing.

Demeter's fingers curled tightly around the edge of the table, her knuckles pale. She took a deep breath, the sound shaky, before continuing. "Centuries ago, Persephone gave me a plant... a twiglet she had grown herself. She crafted it with love, sorrow, and longing before her departure to the Underworld. I nurtured it, not realizing what it would become."

She paused, her eyes flickering toward Persephone for the briefest moment before lowering again.

"From that twiglet, a tree grew. A tree unlike any other. And from that tree..."

Her voice faltered, her hands trembling as she clenched them into fists. Her eyes pressed shut, and for a moment, it seemed as though she wouldn't continue.

Finally, she forced the words out, her voice breaking.

"From that tree, a spirit was born. I thought... I thought it was just a tree spirit. A gift. I did not know... I did not know what it truly was."

The silence in the hall was deafening.

Demeter's shoulders trembled as she struggled to steady her breath, her hands still clenched tightly at her sides. Tears welled in her eyes, but she kept them closed, as though willing herself to hold back the flood threatening to break free.

"I..." Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard before continuing. "I failed to see the truth. I failed to protect the balance. And for that, I am deeply sorry."

Slowly, she opened her eyes, her golden gaze rising to meet Zeus'. Her tears glistened in the firelight as they threatened to fall, but her expression was steady, resolute,  though the trembling of her hands betrayed the storm within her.

"I accept that I was blind. I should have seen the signs. I should have understood. But if anyone must face punishment for this, it should be me. Not him." Her eyes searched Zeus' face, desperate for even a flicker of understanding. "He didn't ask to be born, Zeus. He didn't choose this. Please don't punish him for existing."

For a moment, the room remained silent, the gods watching her with a mix of shock and unease. Even Zeus, whose fury had filled the chamber just moments before, said nothing, his golden eyes locked on Demeter's. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for his response.

Demeter, despite the tears on her face, remained standing tall. Her plea hung in the air like the final note of a song, heavy with sorrow and unyielding in its sincerity. She was ready to bear it all if it meant you were spared.

The silence stretched, thick and tense, as the gods exchanged uneasy glances. The weight of Demeter's words seemed to press against them, forcing even the most prideful among them into stillness.

Then, before anyone could speak, Persephone stood.

Her movement was sudden, her chair scraping against the golden floor as she rose to her feet, her eyes sharp with determination. "Mother is right, Father," she said, her voice cutting through the silence.

The attention of the entire room shifted to her, their gazes locking onto the young goddess.

Demeter's head turned quickly, her golden eyes widening in surprise, but when Persephone's hand reached across the table, Demeter squeezed it tightly, drawing strength from her daughter's touch.

Persephone straightened, her shoulders squared as she addressed the room. "I can confirm what Mother says is true. ____ is not just a tree spirit."

The murmurs began immediately, soft whispers rippling through the gods as they turned to each other, confusion and concern etched on their faces.

Persephone raised her voice, her tone unyielding. "When I first met him, I noticed something was different. He wasn't like the other spirits. He grew too quickly, his presence too strong." Her eyes flicked to Demeter, who nodded slightly, encouraging her to continue.

"At first, I thought nothing of it. But then, I started paying attention. Every time his emotions surged, the world around him changed. The heatwave in summer? That was him. The storm now? That's him too."

The room fell into stunned silence.

"He doesn't know he's doing it," Persephone continued, her voice softening. "He's confused, lost. He doesn't even know what he is. But I know."

She paused, her gaze sweeping across the room, meeting the eyes of each god in turn. "He's not just a spirit. He's something much bigger. The literal force of nature itself."

Hades' eyes narrowed, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but he remained silent, watching his usually soft-spoken wife with a mixture of shock and admiration. He had never heard her speak with such passion, her voice so harsh and certain.

The realization settled over the room like a weight, the gravity of her words pressing into the very air.

Zeus leaned forward slightly, his golden eyes locked on Persephone. His expression remained unreadable, but the faint tension in his jaw betrayed his thoughts.

"This changes everything," he finally said, his voice low.

The gods looked to him, waiting for his judgment, their usual confidence shaken by the implications of what they had heard.

Zeus did not hesitate.

"First things first," he said, his voice commanding and decisive. "He must be brought to Olympus."

The room rippled with murmurs again, but Zeus raised a hand, silencing them. "The storm he's created must be stopped. Persephone, Demeter—you will return to the mortal realm immediately. A rare divine exception will be granted to allow Persephone early passage back to Earth. The two of you will guide him, calm him, and end the storm before you bring him here."

Persephone nodded, her grip on Demeter's hand tightening. "Of course."

Zeus' gaze shifted to Poseidon and Apollo. "Poseidon, you will restore the oceans and tides. Apollo, ensure the sun's warmth returns to the land. The balance must be restored."

The two gods nodded in unison, their expressions grim.

He turned to Hermes and Hades. "The influx of souls must be managed. Hermes, assist Hades in organizing the Underworld. Athena will aid you both."

Hermes inclined his head, while Hades gave a single sharp nod, his dark gaze unwavering.

Zeus' eyes moved to Artemis. "Artemis, take your hunters and other minor deities to the mortal realm. Ensure the mortals are sheltered and protected from the cold."

Artemis crossed her arms, her eyes gleaming. "It will be done."

Finally, Zeus' gaze rested on Hephaestus. "You will remain here. I have something to discuss with you."

The remaining gods exchanged glances, stunned into silence by Zeus' decisiveness. He rarely acted with such speed and clarity, yet now his orders left no room for hesitation.

Zeus leaned back in his throne, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. "Well?"

The word echoed through the chamber, carrying the weight of his command.

The gods sprang into action, their movements quick and purposeful as they left the hall. They knew the balance of nature depended on their swift response.

Demeter and Persephone lingered for a moment, their hands still clasped, before rising together. Persephone's expression was firm, her determination unshaken, while Demeter's gaze flickered with worry.

Zeus watched them go, his expression unreadable, before turning to Hephaestus with a heavy sigh. "Now my son, listen very closely..."

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Cycles of You, Cycles of Me | Chapter 06 Chapter 06 | hollowed frost⌟

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The days passed, blending together as the heat of summer faded into the cool, crisp air of fall. The leaves turned brilliant shades of red, orange, and gold, carpeting the ground in a blanket of warmth that belied the chill in the breeze.

And you, too, changed once more.

Your skin had shifted once more, the warm undertones of amber returning to your complexion, with faint russet hues curling along the edges of your fingertips like the leaves of autumn trees. Yet, traces of summer lingered within you: a faint glow in your hair, the occasional flicker of fire in your eyes when frustration bubbled to the surface.

You had become a living reflection of the shifting seasons, and with each change, you felt the weight of your existence grow heavier.

You spent your days lounging on a high branch of your tree, staring out at the world below. The hollow at its center was still your sanctuary, but now the branches above offered you solace as well—a place to observe, to think, to try and make sense of what you had learned.

When Persephone left for her time in the Underworld, you didn't join the nymphs and spirits who gathered to bid her farewell.

You couldn't bring yourself to watch the ground open and swallow her once more, couldn't face the weight of Demeter's sorrow as her daughter disappeared into the Underworld.

Demeter had lingered near the cottage that day, her golden eyes glancing toward your tree more often than usual. She didn't call for you, didn't ask you to join her, but you could feel her presence—a constant, watchful weight in the air.

You knew she'd noticed your distance.

She'd felt it in the way you avoided her gaze, in the way your words had grown fewer, in the way you now retreated to your tree more often than ever before.

Perhaps she suspected you had overheard her and Persephone's conversation. Perhaps she simply knew that something within you had shifted.

But whatever the reason, she didn't press you.

And so, the space between you grew.

You stayed in your tree, letting the branches shield you from the world, while Demeter busied herself with the work of autumn, her presence a constant weight at the edges of your awareness.

.☆.     .✩.         .☆.

Since overhearing Persephone and Demeter's conversation, something inside you had shifted. You saw everything through the lens of what you might be—the very seasons incarnate, bound to an eternal cycle—and reshaped your understanding of yourself.

You found yourself reevaluating your memories—every moment you had lived before this revelation.

You thought of your earliest days, how emotions had always felt strange to you. In spring, you had felt light and carefree, your curiosity boundless and innocent. In summer, your anger had burned hot and quick, your frustration nearly impossible to contain. And now, in autumn, you felt reflective and heavy, the quiet sorrow of the season seeping into your very being.

You could still feel, of course, but everything was muted, except for what matched the season/aligned with the world around you.

Your emotions burned hotter in summer.

You felt light and carefree in spring.

You felt reflective, deeply melancholic in fall.

And winter... you didn't want to think about winter yet.

It was as though your very being was tied to the world's natural rhythms, your soul moving in time with the earth—a constant reminder that you weren't like those around you.

And as the days grew shorter and the leaves continued to fall, the melancholy of the season seemed to feed your thoughts.

You felt as though you were standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable, the weight of your existence pressing down on you like the fading warmth of the sun.

You didn't know what it all meant—what you were meant to become, what role you were meant to play.

All you knew was that everything felt different now.

The world you had once seen as endless and full of possibility now felt small and fragile, a reflection of the turmoil inside you.

And as you lay on the branch of your tree, staring up at the grey autumn sky, you wondered if you would ever truly feel the same again.

☆

☆

The days of fall sped by in a blink, the season unraveling as if time itself were impatient to move forward. The once-vibrant leaves on your tree dulled, their fiery hues fading into muted browns and yellows before drifting to the ground in scattered piles. The wind carried a sharper edge now, brushing through the branches with a mournful sigh, stripping away the last remnants of color.

It was as though the world itself were shedding its skin, bracing for the quiet stillness of winter.

As the days passed, you found yourself retreating deeper into the hollow of your tree, curling into its heart. The world beyond the spiraling branches felt too vast, too loud, even as winter's approach muted its noise.

The solitude didn't bring peace. Thoughts churned endlessly, looping back on themselves, dragging you deeper into the weight of your own doubts.

Am I real?

The question echoed in your mind incessantly, a quiet whisper that refused to fade. Were you truly a person, or just a manifestation of the seasons' endless cycles?

Do I have free will?

Your actions, your emotions—were they truly your own? Or were they dictated by the world around you? Was your frustration in summer yours, or just the heat's influence? Was your melancholy in autumn real, or simply the weight of falling leaves?

Why am I here now?

You stared out from the hollow, arms wrapped tightly around your knees. The world beyond the branches felt foreign, less familiar, as if it had shifted without you noticing.

Am I just a product of endless cycles? What is my purpose?

That thought haunted you most of all.

Before you, the seasons had always existed in harmony, unbroken, moving forward without hesitation—rivers froze, leaves fell, life persisted. If the world had done so well without you, what did your existence mean? Were you here to guide the seasons—or disrupt them? To balance them—or push them to the brink?

And if you had no purpose, no role... why were you here at all?

Your forehead rested against your knees, your breath slow and heavy as the hollow seemed to shrink around you, its walls pressing inward. The gentle hum of the tree's energy, once comforting, now felt distant—unable to quiet the storm within.

You couldn't tell where your thoughts ended and the world's influence began.

Were my emotions truly my own? Or were they just an extension of nature, destined to move in endless, unthinking loops?

The grey autumn sky outside darkened as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the branches. The fading light bathed the world in muted tones, turning the leaves into brittle silhouettes, their once-vivid colors long gone.

Memories flickered in your mind like fragile sparks: Persephone's laughter as she wove flowers into your hair. Demeter's gentle hands brushing dirt from your face. The nature spirits dancing in spring's golden light.

They felt far away. Not just distant, but unreal—like fragments of a dream you had imagined, something fleeting, not meant to stay.

A trembling sound broke the stillness. It startled you until you realized it came from you: a quiet, uneven sniffle.

Blinking, you reached up instinctively, fingertips brushing wetness on your cheeks. Tears.

They fell slowly at first, then faster, rolling down your face, dripping onto your arms and the smooth wood below. There were no sobs, just a steady flow, relentless, as if the tears had been waiting for permission to surface.

"Will I ever truly feel? Or am I just... a cycle?"

The words fell from your lips, soft and broken, the thought wrapping around you like a vine, tightening with every second.

"No."

The word escaped in a whisper, defiant yet hollow. You curled tighter into yourself, as though the small act might shield you from the weight pressing down on your soul.

The questions spiraled endlessly, replaying over and over. What am I? Who am I? Are my emotions even real? The ache in your chest swelled, sharp and unbearable.

You hated it—the heaviness, the uncertainty, the ache that wouldn't leave your chest. It felt too much, too consuming, like it would swallow you whole.

A flicker of frustration ignited within you—hot, consuming, desperate. It built like a scream in your chest, threatening to break free. But just as quickly as it came, it fizzled out, leaving only the hollow ache behind.

You wiped at your tears angrily, the effort futile. You wanted it to stop—to go back. Back to when things were simpler, before you understood what it meant to feel, to question, to doubt.

And then, as you clung to the hollowness within, a sliver of detachment surfaced. It was faint, but it was there—a stillness you remembered from before. You latched onto it desperately, your breathing slowing as the weight inside you dulled ever so slightly.

Unbeknownst to you, as your despair deepened and you embraced that emptiness, the world mirrored your pain.

A biting chill spread through the air, subtle at first but soon sharper. The ground outside your tree hardened with frost, jagged lines creeping across the earth. Rivers froze mid-flow, their surfaces fracturing under the sudden cold.

The vibrant colors of autumn vanished overnight, replaced by a bleak world of grey and white. Across the land, the coldest winter in history began—a deep, unnatural frost that touched every corner of the world.

And you, curled in the hollow of your tree, never noticed.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Cycles of You, Cycles of Me | Chapter 05 Chapter 05 | a blazing longing⌟

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As spring melted into summer, the world seemed to come alive with fire. The sun rose higher in the sky, its rays golden and intense, drenching the fields and forests in warmth. The days stretched long and heavy, the air thick with the hum of cicadas and the scent of wildflowers in full bloom.

But as summer grew hotter, so did you.

What had once been quiet curiosity and gentle observation began to shift. The innocence that had defined your earlier days now gave way to a growing sense of restlessness.

The world beyond the boundaries of the meadows and fields seemed to call to you, louder than ever. You longed to wander farther, to see what lay beyond the hills, to feel the wind against your skin in places you had never been.

But Demeter wouldn't allow it.

Her love for you, once a source of warmth, had become suffocating. She refused to let you out of her sight for too long, her protectiveness intensifying with each passing day.

"No," she would say firmly when you asked to explore the forest's edge. "You stay where I can see you." Her voice carried a quiet fear, one that tightened her jaw and furrowed her brows. She would not speak of it openly, but you knew what she feared.

Another Persephone situation.

Her daughter had been taken once, spirited away to the Underworld, leaving Demeter to mourn her absence for half the year. She would not risk the same with you, no matter how ridiculous it sounds.

"You are safer here," she would insist, her hands gently brushing your hair or adjusting the flowers on your crown. "The world beyond these fields is unpredictable. I cannot protect you there."

You nodded, obedient on the surface, but inside, frustration simmered.

Her care felt like a cage, her love a wall that kept you bound to a life that felt too small.

So, you began to push back, subtly at first.

You lingered near the edges of the meadow, your gaze fixed on the horizon. When she called you back, you hesitated, your feet dragging as you returned.

"____, I told you not to wander," she would say, her tone firm but laced with concern.

You said nothing, only lowering your gaze, but the ache in your chest grew heavier each time.

The more she pulled you back, the more you longed to break free.

And the more you felt, the more the summer intensified.

The air grew hotter, the sun harsher, the earth beneath your feet dry and cracked. The plants, once lush and green, began to droop under the weight of the heat, their leaves curling at the edges.

It was as though the world mirrored your emotions, responding to the fire building inside you.

.☆.      .✩.          .☆.

As the days passed, the restless tension inside you grew unbearable. You'd always been calm, quiet, observing the world without complaint, but now, something inside you had shifted.

You were different now—older, stronger, more aware of the boundaries that confined you. Your body had matured again, and at 16, you stood taller, your limbs more defined. Your features had sharpened, your skin carrying a deeper, sun-kissed hue, golden undertones gleaming as if the sun itself had left its mark on you.

Your hair had grown longer and fuller, its natural flow entwined with streaks of sunlit gold, the blooms within it now fully vibrant and alive, their petals reflecting the bright hues of summer. Your eyes, once soft and muted, now burned with an intensity that hadn't been there before—a reflection of the fire stirring in your chest.

The summer heat seemed to cling to you, amplifying the energy you couldn't contain, and it all came to a head one evening as you stood before Demeter.

"You can't keep me here forever!" you shouted, your voice trembling with frustration as it echoed through the cottage.

Demeter stood across from you, her golden robes flowing as though the wind carried them, though there was no breeze. Her face was calm, but her eyes burned with a fierceness that matched your own.

"I'm doing this for your safety," she said, her voice steady but firm. "The world beyond these fields is dangerous, ____. You're not like Persephone or me. You're not a god."

Her words hit you like a blow, but you didn't falter.

"So what?" you shot back, your hands clenching at your sides. "I'm not a god, but I'm not weak either! You can't expect me to stay holed up here forever!"

Her jaw tightened, her hands gripping the edge of the table beside her. "You don't understand," she said, her voice rising slightly. "There are forces out there that would take advantage of you, hurt you. You're still growing. You don't know your limits."

Your chest heaved, your frustration boiling over. "And how am I supposed to learn anything if you won't let me try? How am I supposed to grow if I'm stuck here while every other spirit around here gets to live?"

Demeter's eyes flashed with something between anger and fear. "Those spirits are not like you, ____! They were born of the earth and trees. They are tied to this world, yes, but they do not carry—" She stopped herself abruptly, her mouth pressing into a thin line.

"Carry what?" you demanded, stepping closer, your voice sharper now. "What is it about me that makes you so afraid? Why can't you just tell me the truth?"

Demeter's silence was deafening, her gaze dropping for the briefest moment before meeting yours again.

"You don't need to know," she said, her voice quieter but no less firm. "What you need is to listen. The world is not kind, ____. I'm trying to protect you from it."

Your hands trembled, your frustration turning into something hotter, heavier. "It's not fair," you said, your voice cracking. "Other spirits can visit the domains of other gods, can explore and see the world. I'm the only one kept locked away like this!"

Demeter stepped closer, her voice rising with her frustration. "Because they are not you!"

Her words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding.

You stared at her, your face a mixture of anger and hurt. "And I'll never get to be anything but this if you don't let me live," you said, your voice trembling.

As the argument raged on, the heat in the room seemed to intensify.

The air grew thick, stifling, the temperature rising unnaturally. Outside, the sky burned brighter, the sun's rays unrelenting. The fields, once vibrant and green, began to wilt under the oppressive heat, their leaves curling at the edges.

The rivers, so full and lively just days before, began to dry, their beds cracking under the weight of the summer's intensity.

Across the world, the heatwave spread, its effects devastating. Crops withered, animals sought shade in desperation, and the air became heavy with the scent of parched earth.

And still, neither you nor Demeter noticed.

Persephone, standing at the edge of the field where she had been gathering flowers, felt it.

Her gaze turned to the horizon, the oppressive heat making her skin prickle. The air was wrong, too heavy, too still.

She glanced toward the cottage, where raised voices echoed faintly. Your voice. Her mother's voice.

Her mind turned over the whispers of the nymphs, the stories they had told about you, the way the world seemed to respond to you.

A thought crept into her mind, one she couldn't shake.

It couldn't be... could it?

But as she stood there, her flowers wilting in her hands, the first seeds of doubt began to bloom.

She didn't have all the answers yet.

But she would find them.

☆

☆

The days following the argument passed in tense silence, the oppressive heat lingering over the land. The air was thick, the rivers still low, the crops still struggling. Persephone had watched the world closely, the cracks in its rhythm becoming impossible to ignore.

She could feel it—the subtle hum beneath the earth, the way the seasons seemed to shift not naturally, but reactively.

Her gaze often lingered on you.

You, who had grown so quickly. You, whose moods seemed to ripple into the very fabric of nature.

She pieced together the whispers of the nymphs, the fragments of your story, the truths Demeter had shared and the ones she had not.

The timeline didn't make sense.

Tree spirits did not grow this fast. They did not affect the world around them so strongly. They did not carry the kind of weight that you did.

The more she thought about it, the more the truth became clear: You weren't just a tree spirit.

Persephone stood alone in the meadow one evening, staring at the sky as the sun dipped below the horizon. She took a deep breath, the weight of her realization heavy in her chest.

She had to confront her mother.

The cottage was warm, the firelight casting a soft glow over the wooden walls. Demeter sat at the table, her hands busied with weaving garlands of wheat and flowers. The faint scent of herbs lingered in the air, a reminder of her constant care.

Persephone stepped inside, her footsteps soft but purposeful. She stood for a moment, watching her mother's steady movements, before finally speaking. "Mother, I need to talk to you."

Demeter glanced up, her expression warm but wary. "What is it, my flower?"

Persephone hesitated, her hands clasping in front of her. She knew this would not be easy.

"It's about ____."

Demeter's hands stilled, her golden eyes narrowing slightly. "What about him?"

Persephone approached the table, her voice gentle but firm. "I've been thinking... and I don't think he's just a tree spirit."

Demeter frowned, her brows knitting together. "Persephone, we've discussed this. He's a unique spirit, yes, but—"

"No, Mother. I don't mean unique. I mean... something else. Something more."

Demeter blinked, her hands slowly lowering to her lap. "What are you saying?"

Persephone took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "The nymphs told me how he was born. From your emotions, your longing for me. That's not how spirits are made, Mother. And then there's his growth, his presence—" She gestured toward the window, where the distant fields seemed to shimmer under the fading sun. "He's not just existing. He's... influencing the world."

Demeter's expression hardened. "Persephone, don't be ridiculous," she said, her voice laced with disbelief. "He's just a spirit. A reflection of my love for you, nothing more."

"No, he's not," Persephone pressed, stepping closer. "He's been unknowingly dictating the seasons, Mother. The heatwave last week? It wasn't random. It started the moment he and you argued. Don't you see it?"

Demeter stared at her daughter, her lips parting slightly, but no words came.

"You weren't paying attention because you love him," Persephone continued, her tone softening. "And I understand that. But Mother... ____ wasn't born like other gods or spirits. He's a force of nature, bound to an eternal cycle. He's not meant to just exist. He's meant to change. To evolve endlessly."

The room fell silent, the weight of Persephone's words pressing down like a storm cloud.

Demeter slowly sank into her chair, her hands trembling as they gripped the edge of the table. Her golden eyes shimmered, not with anger, but with the glint of unshed tears.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head. "T-That can't be true. He's... he's my ____. My little one. How could I not have seen—"

Persephone moved to her side, kneeling beside her, her hand resting gently on her mother's arm. "It's okay, Mother," she murmured. "No one could have known. He's something new, something none of us have seen before. You were blindsided. We all were."

Demeter pressed a hand to her forehead, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. "What does this mean for him? For his future? What kind of life will he have if this is true?"

Persephone squeezed her arm gently, her voice steady. "It means we'll need to protect him. But it also means we'll need to let him grow, Mother. We can't keep him caged."

Demeter's shoulders sagged, her head bowing under the weight of her worry. "I just... I just wanted to keep him safe."

"I know," Persephone said softly, her hand moving to her mother's shoulder. "And you've done everything you could. But now, we need to figure out how to help him become who he's meant to be."

For a long moment, they stayed like that, the only sound the faint crackle of the fire.

Demeter closed her eyes, her voice barely a whisper. "What if the world isn't kind to him?"

Persephone leaned closer, her own voice quiet but firm. "Then we'll make sure he's strong enough to face it."

Persephone's words hung in the air, their meaning stretching far beyond the walls of the cottage.

Outside, the night was still, the only sounds the distant hum of cicadas and the faint rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. But the stillness was deceptive—it carried a tension, a weight that pressed against the earth itself.

You stood just outside the door, frozen in place, the faint flicker of firelight escaping through the cracks in the wood casting long shadows over the ground.

You hadn't meant to overhear.

You'd been on your way back to the cottage, your resolve shaky but present. It had been a week since the argument with Demeter, a week of uneasy silence between you.

You'd spent much of that time with Persephone, walking through the meadows and talking in quiet tones. She'd been gentle, careful, nudging you to understand the depth of Demeter's fear without invalidating your feelings.

"She doesn't mean to stifle you, ____," she had said one evening as you lay on the soft grass beneath the stars. "She's afraid. Afraid of losing you, just like she's afraid of losing me."

You hadn't wanted to hear it then, hadn't wanted to accept the truth in her words. But as the days passed, the edge of your frustration dulled, replaced by a quieter ache.

Tonight, you had finally gathered the courage to speak to Demeter again, to apologize—not for how you felt, but for how you had expressed it.

But now, as you stood outside, listening to the conversation unfolding within, you felt the world shift beneath your feet.

You heard every word. Persephone's quiet, insistent voice. Demeter's disbelief, her worry, her fear.

The pieces fell into place like the final strokes of a painting, revealing something you hadn't seen before—something that had been hidden in the spaces between what you knew and what you felt.

You weren't just a tree spirit.

You were something else entirely.

The truth was clear, but your mind didn't race. Your heart didn't pound.

You felt... nothing.

The information settled into you quietly, like a stone sinking into still water.

Your hand hovered just above the doorframe, but you didn't open it. Instead, you turned silently, stepping back into the night.

The cool air brushed against your skin as you made your way across the field, your steps light, your mind a careful blank.

You reached your tree without realizing how far you had walked, its familiar spiral trunk glowing faintly in the moonlight.

Without hesitation, you began to climb, your hands finding the grooves you knew so well. The bark was warm beneath your palms, a quiet comfort as you ascended to the hollow space at its center.

The hollow had always been your sanctuary.

The place where you had first emerged, where the cocoon had unfurled to reveal your form to the world. The space was smooth, shaped by time and nature into a cradle that fit you perfectly.

You curled up into a ball, your arms wrapped around your knees as you pressed yourself into the hollow.

The walls of the tree surrounded you, the scent of sap and earth grounding you, the faint hum of its energy lulling you into stillness.

You stared out at the moonlit world beyond the tree's branches, but your mind stayed fixed on the words you had heard.

"He's a force of nature, bound to an eternal cycle. He's not meant to just exist. He's meant to change. To evolve endlessly."

At first, you didn't react.

You didn't cry or scream or even think. You simply accepted the information, letting it sink into you like rain soaking into the earth.

But deep inside, a small crack began to form.

It wasn't visible, not even to yourself, but it was there—a fracture in the quiet certainty you had carried since the day you were born.

You'd always been different. But now, you knew you were something more.

What that meant, you didn't yet understand.

All you knew was that the world you had accepted as your own no longer fit.

And as you sat there, hidden in the hollow of your tree, the weight of that truth settled over you like the first chill of autumn—quiet, inevitable, and impossible to ignore.

A/N: will post the remaining chapters in an hour or two, finishing up any errors etc.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Cycles of You, Cycles of Me | Chapter 04 Chapter 04 | spring's return⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Days passed, as it always did, and the weight of winter slowly began to lift.

The snow that once blanketed the world in cold silence began to retreat, dripping from the trees, pooling in the low valleys. The air shifted, no longer sharp and biting but softer, carrying with it the faint, earthy scent of new beginnings.

The first blades of green broke through the frosted ground, tiny and brave, while the rivers began to stir beneath the melting ice. Birds returned, their songs hesitant but hopeful, filling the once-silent sky with life.

Your body had changed again, growing taller, your limbs less delicate now and more defined, your features beginning to hint at the sharp elegance of adolescence. At 11 years old, you now resembled something closer to a young tree—still growing, still unshaped, but stronger, steadier.

The warmth of spring brought with it a subtle change in your demeanor. The quiet melancholy of winter softened, giving way to something curious, something alive.

And Demeter noticed.

She fussed over you more than ever, her watchful eye never straying far.

That morning, she had bathed your face with cool water, smoothing stray locks of hair with care. She had pressed sweet treats into your hands—honey-dipped figs, candied nuts—though you didn't need to eat.

"You'll need your strength today," she had said, her tone light, but her movements overly precise, her hands lingering longer than usual.

You hadn't asked why. You rarely did.

But now, as you sat beneath the twisting branches of your tree, you began to wonder.

The sun, bright and warm, filtered through the canopy, casting dappled light across your face. Your back rested against the smooth curve of the spiral trunk, your eyes closed as you let the new warmth sink into your skin.

For the first time in months, the world felt alive again.

And then—

Giggles. Whispers. The sound of movement.

Your eyes opened.

Beyond the edge of the grove, the spirits of the land—nymphs, dryads, tree spirits—moved about with an energy you hadn't seen all winter. Their voices were excited, their footsteps quick, their forms darting between trees and meadows.

You furrowed your brows, sitting up straighter, watching them with quiet curiosity.

It wasn't until she appeared that you understood their excitement.

Ciro bounded toward you, her bare feet light against the grass. She stopped just a few feet away, her hands on her hips, her grin as wide as ever. "Do you know what's happening?" she asked, her voice nearly a sing-song.

You shook your head, silent as always.

Her eyes sparkled, and she leaned in closer, lowering her voice like she was about to share a great secret.

"She's coming back. Persephone is returning from the Underworld."

You blinked.

Before you could fully process her words, the ground beneath you shuddered—not harshly, but enough to make the roots tremble, enough to send a ripple through the earth.

Ciro gasped, her excitement spilling into a delighted laugh. "It's time!" she exclaimed, grabbing your wrist with a firm but playful tug.

You didn't resist as she pulled you to your feet, guiding you through the grove, her steps quick and eager.

The meadow stretched wide before you, its grass dotted with the first wildflowers of the season. The air hummed with energy, filled with the quiet rustle of nature spirits who had gathered to witness her return.

Demeter stood at the center of the field, her golden robes flowing in the gentle breeze, her presence commanding yet soft. Her hands were folded in front of her, but her shoulders were tense, her gaze fixed on the ground just a few feet before her.

You slowed as you approached, watching the way the other spirits stood behind her, their movements stilled, their anticipation almost palpable.

And then—the earth cracked.

The ground split open, slowly at first, before spreading wide enough to form a dark, jagged fissure.

You flinched at the sight, your eyes narrowing as you watched. Figures began to rise from the depths, emerging from the shadows of the Underworld.

The first was a tall, broad figure wrapped in heavy, dark robes. His face was pale, his eyes sharp, like the glint of ice in deep winter. His presence felt like a weight pressing against the meadow, a cold contrast to the warmth of spring.

You paused, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes locked onto him, a low gasp escaping you. He felt... familiar.

A deep, almost forgotten memory stirred within you, resonating with the chill that emanated from his form. The recognition was not of the mind but of the soul, an instinctive pull towards a presence you had inexplicably known before.

Before you can ask Ciro who he was, the name whispered into your mind like a memory. Hades.

Behind him came others, figures shrouded in shadows and adorned in dark finery—attendants, guards, spirits of the Underworld who moved silently, their faces unreadable.

And then—

Her.

A smaller figure stepped forward, her form bathed in the soft glow of new light. Her hair, light as gold, flowed in loose waves over her shoulders, and her eyes—vivid and alive—seemed to reflect the very essence of spring.

Persephone.

You didn't know her, but something in her presence made the air feel warmer, lighter.

Before you could fully take her in, Demeter moved.

She surged forward, her steps quick and desperate, her arms reaching out. In an instant, she engulfed Persephone in a fierce, unrelenting embrace, her golden robes wrapping around the smaller figure as though trying to shield her from the world.

"My flower, my sweet girl, you're home," Demeter whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Persephone smiled, her hands reaching up to hold her mother in return. "I'm home, Mother."

You stood still, watching the reunion, the warmth of it sinking into your chest like the first touch of sunlight after a long winter.

For the first time, you felt you were witnessing something... whole.

Something that had been missing, now returned.

The warmth of the reunion hung in the air, soft and tender, as Demeter held her daughter close, murmuring quiet words of love and relief. Around you, the nature spirits stood in reverent silence, their joy filling the meadow like the first bloom of spring.

But then—

A cold voice, low and steady, shattered the moment.

"Remember, Demeter," Hades said, his tone cutting through the air like a blade. "She is mine as well. When the first day of fall arrives, I will return for her."

The warmth in the meadow faltered, a chill creeping into the edges of the gathering as his words settled over them.

Demeter didn't turn away from her daughter, but her body stiffened, her embrace tightening around Persephone as if to shield her from his voice. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, her jaw clenched, her golden eyes cold and sharp as they locked onto his pale, unyielding form.

"Understood," she said, her voice low, steady, and full of restrained fury.

The dark god held her gaze for a moment longer, as if testing her resolve, before he turned away, his black robes flowing behind him like shadows made solid. His entourage followed, their silent figures descending into the fissure in the earth.

And then, as suddenly as it had opened, the crack in the ground sealed itself, leaving no trace of its presence.

The chill that had crept into the air began to lift, the warmth of spring reclaiming the space.

Demeter exhaled slowly, her shoulders relaxing slightly as the weight of Hades' presence faded. Then, with trembling hands, she engulfed Persephone in her arms once more.

"You're safe now," she whispered.

Persephone returned her mother's embrace, her own relief visible in the softness of her expression. But then, as if sensing something, she opened her eyes, her gaze drifting across the meadow.

Her eyes landed on you.

For a moment, she simply stared, her expression curious, almost puzzled. Then, she gently pulled back from Demeter as she tilted her head slightly.

"Mother," she began, her voice soft but inquisitive. "Is that... a new tree spirit?"

Demeter turned, her golden eyes following her daughter's gaze until they landed on you, standing silently at the edge of the meadow. Her stern expression softened, her shoulders lowering as a faint smile touched her lips.

"That," she said, her voice warmer now, "is ____."

Persephone blinked, her curiosity deepening. "____..." she repeated softly, testing the name on her tongue as she began to step forward.

Demeter followed, her hand resting gently on her daughter's arm as they made their way toward you.

As they approached, you straightened slightly, your gaze flickering between the two goddesses.

Demeter stopped a few steps away, her voice calm but carrying a quiet pride. "He was born from the tree—your tree. A gift from the land, nurtured by my love and... my longing for your return."

Persephone's lips parted slightly, her expression shifting from curiosity to something softer. Understanding.

She crouched before you, her movements slow and deliberate, her hands resting lightly on her knees. "Hello," she said, her voice gentle.

You didn't move, your gaze locked on hers. There was something about her presence—warm, inviting, alive.

She reached out, her hands cradling your face, her touch soft and careful. Her thumbs brushed against your cheeks as she studied you, her eyes tracing the delicate features of your face—the faint golden undertones of your skin, the way your hair shimmered like sunlight through autumn leaves.

But there was something different now.

Something new.

Her voice was a soft murmur as she spoke again. "You look like him... but also not."

Her words lingered in the air, but she did not explain them. Instead, she smiled, her expression brightening with something close to delight.

"What's your name?" she asked, though she already knew it.

For a moment, you hesitated. You had not spoken much since that day by the river. Words still felt strange on your tongue, heavy and unfamiliar.

But something about her made it easier.

"____," you said, your voice quiet but steady.

Her smile widened, her hands still cupping your face. "It suits you."

Her warmth seemed to sink into your skin, wrapping around you like sunlight. You didn't understand why, but something about her words, her touch, made your chest feel lighter.

"You're beautiful," she said softly, tilting her head as if admiring a delicate flower.

You blinked, your lips parting slightly, and for the first time, you felt something that wasn't just warmth or curiosity. Joy.

Her hands fell away, resting on her lap as she leaned back slightly, her gaze still on you.

"I can't wait to spend more time with you," she added, her tone playful yet sincere. "We're going to have so much fun, aren't we?"

Before you could respond, something stirred.

A soft rustling sound filled the air, and the nature spirits nearby gasped, their eyes widening.

Persephone tilted her head, her expression curious. "What's this?"

You felt it then—the gentle pull of energy running through you, surging.

From your hair, small blooms began to sprout, their petals delicate and vibrant, their colors shifting in the light—pink, yellow, white, green.

The nymphs gasped in delight, whispering among themselves.

Persephone's hands flew to her mouth, a small laugh escaping her. "Oh! Look at that—flowers!"

Demeter, standing just behind her, smiled, her eyes soft with pride. "It seems you've brought spring to him, my flower."

You reached up, touching one of the blooms gently, feeling its soft petals against your fingers.

In her presence, you felt different—lighter, warmer.

Persephone continued to study you, her gaze still curious but filled with affection. She didn't ask why you were different, didn't question the oddness of your existence.

She simply smiled and said, "You're perfect, ____."

And for the first time, as the warmth of spring settled into your chest, you believed it.

☆

☆

The days that followed were unlike anything you'd known before. Persephone, as if drawn to you by some unspoken bond, spent nearly every moment at your side.

She was a constant source of light, her energy vibrant, her laughter contagious. She pulled you into the warmth of spring, showing you a world that felt alive in a way it hadn't before.

Every day was spent outdoors.

She taught you the names of the flowers blooming in the meadows and how to weave them into garlands that she draped over your shoulders.

She led you through the forests, her voice light as she sang songs that made the trees seem to sway with her melody.

At night, she would lie beside you beneath the stars, pointing out constellations and telling you stories about the gods and the heavens, her voice soft and full of wonder.

You followed her everywhere, watching, listening, absorbing.

And for the first time, you felt alive.

You smiled more often now, laughed quietly at her jokes, and found joy in the simplest things—the feel of grass beneath your feet, the sound of rivers flowing freely once again, the way the sunlight filtered through the trees.

But with Persephone back, Demeter's protectiveness seemed to double.

She was never far, her golden eyes watchful, her hands lingering on your shoulders or your back whenever she passed you.

Even when Persephone coaxed you into games or adventures, Demeter's presence was always there—a shadow of worry, a quiet reminder of her fear.

She called you back earlier from the meadows, insisting you eat, rest, or stay close to the cottage.

She fussed over Persephone in the same way, smoothing her hair, pressing her hands to her cheeks as if to reassure herself she was truly there.

But with you, it was different. Her grip on you felt tighter, her watchfulness sharper. It was as though she feared that if she blinked, you might vanish.

You didn't protest. You never had.

But you felt it—the restlessness building inside you.

The world around you was bursting with life—flowers blooming, rivers flowing, the air warm and endless.

And yet, you felt bound.

Demeter's protectiveness, once comforting, now felt like a cage. Every time her gaze lingered too long or her hand pulled you back, you felt the ache of something unnamed inside you.

You didn't know what it was.

You didn't understand why the world beyond the fields seemed to call to you, why the wind brushing through the trees made your chest feel tight, or why the stars above felt like they were whispering secrets you couldn't hear.

But you allowed it.

You allowed her worry, her commands, her presence. You stayed within the boundaries she set.

Because you loved her.

Because you knew, in some quiet part of yourself, that her fear wasn't just about you. It was about something she had already lost.

But that didn't stop the feeling.

The restlessness.

The sense that you were bound to something you didn't understand.

.☆.     .✩.        .☆.

Persephone sat beneath the shade of a flowering dogwood, her nymphs gathered around her in their usual lively chatter. She was absentmindedly braiding flower stems into a garland, her fingers quick and nimble, but her golden eyes weren't focused on her task.

Instead, she watched as you and Demeter walked further into the meadow, your figures growing smaller and smaller.

Demeter had insisted you help her tend to the fields, reviving the growth of crops that had been dormant through winter. The goddess always kept you close when there was work to be done, her protectiveness never wavering.

Persephone tilted her head slightly, her gaze lingering on you as you walked beside her mother. You looked so different now.

When she had first arrived, you had been small and delicate, your features soft with the youth of spring. But now, as the sun shone down on you, she could see the changes that had taken place in just a few short weeks.

You looked to be about 14 years old now. Your limbs were longer, your features sharper, more defined. The faint glow of your skin seemed richer, deeper, and your hair had grown fuller, the blooms within it brighter, more vibrant.

For a goddess, time was a fluid thing—days felt like moments, and seasons passed like breaths. But even so, she couldn't ignore how quickly you seemed to be maturing.

Her fingers stilled in their braiding as the thought struck her.

"How fast do tree spirits normally mature?" she asked aloud, her tone light but curious.

The nymphs, startled from their chatter, glanced at her. One of them, a soft-spoken dryad with mossy green hair, tilted her head thoughtfully.

"It depends on the tree," she said. "Some grow quickly, others take their time. Why do you ask, Lady Persephone? Are you thinking of making more tree spirits?"

Persephone smiled faintly, shaking her head. "No, I was just wondering."

Another nymph, this one with golden curls and mischievous eyes, leaned closer, a teasing grin spreading across her face. "Is it about ____?"

Persephone blinked, her expression briefly stunned. "W-What? No!"

The nymphs burst into soft laughter, the golden-haired one clapping her hands lightly. "It's always about ____ lately! You can't hide it, my lady. You're as curious about him as we are."

The others giggled in agreement, their voices overlapping as they began to share stories.

"When he was born," the moss-haired dryad began, "he didn't smile or cry. He just... watched. He was so quiet, it was almost eerie."

"Remember when we tried to make him laugh by throwing leaves in the air?" the golden-haired nymph added. "He just sat there, staring at us. It was like he didn't even understand what laughter was."

Another nymph hummed thoughtfully, twirling a strand of her hair. "He's still not like the others. He doesn't play or chatter. Even when he smiles now, it's... different."

"But he's maturing quickly," the dryad noted. "If he keeps this pace, he might be fully grown by the first day of fall."

The golden-haired nymph's grin returned. "Maybe Demeter's keeping a closer eye on him because she knows he's not a typical tree spirit."

Their laughter quieted as Persephone listened, her fingers resuming their braiding but at a slower pace.

They were right.

You weren't like the other spirits. From the moment she had met you, she had felt it—the subtle but unmistakable difference in the way you moved, the way you watched the world, the way the earth itself seemed to respond to you.

Her golden eyes softened as she glanced back toward the meadow, though you and Demeter were long out of sight.

"Thank you," she murmured to the nymphs, her tone even, though her thoughts were elsewhere.

They nodded and returned to their own chatter, but Persephone remained quiet, her hands weaving stems with practiced ease.

The garland in her lap grew longer, the flowers intertwining like threads in a tapestry, but her thoughts stayed on you.

She didn't have an answer for why you were different, but the seeds of suspicion had been planted.

And they had already begun to grow.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Cycles of You, Cycles of Me | Chapter 03 Chapter 03 | flurried whispers⌟

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❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Time moved forward, and so did you.

Your body continued to grow, shaping itself with the seasons. What had once been a toddler's fragile form now resembled a child of five, though time held little meaning for you.

Your features, once soft and round, became more defined, yet still carried the delicate traces of something not entirely human. Your limbs, once full of boundless youth, now felt heavier, your energy slowing with the world around you.

Winter had arrived.

You didn't understand why the air had turned sharp, why the trees had stilled, why the once-golden fields were now coated in a layer of frost that crunched beneath Demeter's feet.

The world was quieter now, wrapped in cold and shadow.

And so, you slowed with it.

You found yourself lethargic, reflective, as though something in your very being understood that winter meant stillness.

The nymphs whispered stories to pass the time, their voices soft as they gathered inside warm cottages, their breath curling in the cold air like fragile smoke.

It was from them that you first heard her name.

Persephone.

You listened as they spoke of her, of the goddess of spring, of the one who danced through fields of flowers, of the one who brought life and warmth and color to the earth.

But you'd never seen her. You had no memory of her.

Only the name.

Only the weight it carried in their voices.

You didn't understand her absence, not in the way the nymphs did—not in the way Demeter did.

But as the winter deepened, you began to feel it.

It wasn't a sharp pain, not something immediate or loud. It was quieter, heavier, something that settled into your chest like the weight of the snow pressing down on the earth.

You didn't know why you felt it, not yet.

But the air carried a kind of emptiness, a stillness that stretched through the land, through the bare trees and the frozen rivers.

And it wasn't just the land that felt empty.

.☆.     .✩.         .☆.

The fire in the cottage crackled softly, filling the space with a golden glow. Outside, the wind howled low, whispering against the frost-covered glass.

You sat curled in Demeter's lap, your small body tucked into the warmth of her embrace. The thick fabric of her robes draped over you like a second skin, shielding you from the winter chill that seeped through the walls.

She held you gently, her hand moving in slow, rhythmic strokes along your back—a soothing motion, one she'd done since the day she first carried you from the tree.

Her breath was steady, warm against the top of your head, and for a long while, neither of you spoke.

You simply watched.

The snow flurries danced beyond the window, falling in soft, endless waves, coating the earth in white.

You didn't understand the winter, not fully. But you felt the way it made everything still.

Everything waited.

Everything quieted.

Even her.

Demeter's arms tightened around you slightly, and though her face was calm, there was something in her silence—a longing, a quiet ache.

Then, her voice, gentle and low, broke the hush of the room.

"Persephone always talks about the snow, you know."

Your small fingers, curled against the edge of her sleeve, twitched slightly. "She does?"

A soft hum rumbled in her chest as she nodded. "She's never experienced it but would often stand in the fields, arms open as dandelion pappus kissed her skin, imagining them as snowflakes."

She exhaled, the sound thick with memory. "She would hold them in her hands and blow them to watch them dissapear."

Your brows furrowed slightly.

You thought of the leaves that had fallen from your tree. The way they never returned to the branches.

Gone.

You turned your head slightly, resting your chin against her shoulder, staring up at her. "Where is she?"

The question was small, but it halted her breath.

You felt the slight tremor in her chest.

She swallowed, shifting slightly beneath you, her fingers pausing in their gentle caress before resuming—slower now.

When she finally answered, her voice was softer than before.

"She is gone... for now."

It was not a full answer.

It didn't explain the ache in her voice, the way her hand hesitated over your back, the way she stared through the window, her eyes lost somewhere beyond the falling snow.

But you didn't ask again.

You only turned back toward the window, watching the endless white.

The snowflakes fell, the wind hummed, and somewhere beneath the quiet, you felt the weight of something you didn't yet understand.

☆

☆

The heavy stillness of winter stretched over the land, folding itself into the trees, the rivers, and the bones of the earth. It wasn't loud like summer, nor soft like autumn—it was waiting, a season of rest, of holding its breath.

As the world shifted, your body continued to change, your once-childlike softness solidifying into something steadier. Your limbs grew longer, your features sharper, though still delicate, still touched with that same otherworldly air. By the time the frost had thickened, you'd grown into the shape of an 8-year-old.

And with that change, something else began to stir inside you.

Recognition.

Emotions, once distant concepts, now drifted toward you, pressing against your chest like the winter cold—not fully understood, not fully formed, but felt nonetheless.

You began to notice things.

You noticed the way the nymphs spoke in hushed whispers when Demeter was near, how their gazes lingered with something soft and sorrowful.

You noticed the way the fire burned lower at night, how the cottage felt emptier despite being full of warmth.

And most of all, you noticed her.

A Goddess in Grief

Demeter didn't speak of it, but you could feel it.

She carried her sorrow in small ways, in the moments in between—in the way she exhaled at the window, in the way she held you just a little tighter at night.

She wasn't absent. She still smiled, still braided your hair, still sat beside you, whispering old stories and pressing soft kisses against your forehead. But there was a slowness to her now, a weight in her shoulders that hadn't been there before.

She tried to hide it.

But you—you absorbed.

You didn't ask why. You didn't press.

Instead, you mirrored.

As Demeter withdrew into herself, so did you.

When she spent longer hours staring at the fields, lost in thought, you sat beside her, quiet and still.

When she sighed in the evenings, pressing her hands over her heart, you felt something in your own chest tighten, though you didn't know why.

When she missed Persephone, so did you.

Not because you knew her.

But because Demeter did.

And if something could make her sad, if something could pull at her heart so deeply—then surely, surely, it was something worth longing for.

And so you did; you longed for something you'd never lost.

A sadness that wasn't your own.

And yet, it settled into your chest all the same.

.☆.     .✩.         .☆.

As the stillness of winter remained, Demeter's careful watch over you grew stronger.

It was subtle at first. The way her hands lingered when she fixed your cloak before letting you outside, though you didn't need it. The way she called your name more often, ensuring you were always close.

But then, it became more than that.

She no longer let you wander alone, no longer allowed you to stray too far from her reach. Even the nymphs noticed how she would always keep you in her line of sight, how her golden eyes flickered with unease when she saw you near the edges of the grove.

You didn't understand why.

You'd never strayed, never run, never disobeyed.

Yet she clung to you as if the wind itself might carry you away.

She never said the reason aloud, but deep inside, you knew.

She was afraid.

Afraid that you, too, would be taken.

It had been another quiet day and winter was beginning to loosen its grip, the sky still cold but no longer weighed down by thick clouds. The trees remained bare, but the air smelled less like endings and more like waiting.

You were outside, watching the nymphs and a few tree spirits from the evergreen groves. Unlike most of the other dryads, the evergreens didn't hibernate, their bodies strong and firm through the cold.

They played in the open clearing, laughing, running, twirling beneath the pale winter sun.

You didn't join them.

You never did.

Instead, you sat beneath a thin-barked birch tree, your knees tucked to your chest, watching.

The nymphs didn't mind your quiet presence. They'd long since accepted that you were different, that you were more of a shadow than a spark, more of an observer than a player.

But then, a familiar voice broke through the air.

"Come with us."

You turned your head slightly.

The young nymph—the one with honey-colored eyes and wild curls, Ciro—stood before you, her warm brown skin glowing softly under the pale winter sun as she stared at you with a sort of expectant impatience.

She was short—your height barely reached her shoulder—but there was something about her presence that felt larger, brighter, as though her mischievous energy filled the space around her. Her figure was soft, her frame slightly chubby, which gave her an endearing roundness that matched her warm and lively demeanor.

Her wild curls, dark and unruly, framed her face like a halo of chaos, bouncing with every movement she made. Snowflakes clung to a few strands, glinting like tiny crystals against the deep darkness of her hair with occasional streaks of white. Her honey-colored eyes, sharp with mischief, locked onto yours with an intensity that was hard to ignore.

She grinned, motioning toward the others with an exaggerated flick of her hand. "We're going to mess with that river god again," she declared, her voice filled with a playful confidence that made the air feel warmer for a moment.

The others giggled from a distance, their excitement clear.

It was something they'd done before—poking at the river's guardian, tricking it into rising from its slumber, taunting it just enough before running away. A game they'd played since the start of time.

You knew this.

And normally, you would have done as you always did.

Watched. Stayed. Listened.

But instead—

"Okay."

It was soft. Barely a breath. But it was a word.

A choice.

A willingness you'd never shown before.

Ciro's eyes widened slightly, but then her grin returned, bright and delighted. "Come on, then!"

She reached for your wrist, tugging gently, and for once—you let her.

The air was cold as you walked across the frozen ground, the soft crunch of snow beneath your feet. The lake had begun to thaw at its edges, a thin shimmer of ice stretching across the water's surface.

The nature spirits whispered and laughed as they neared the bank, mischief in their eyes.

The river god was a small one, more a spirit than a true deity. Its waters were ancient but not strong, deep but not endless. It had slumbered through the winter, curling beneath its frozen surface, its presence barely a whisper.

But they knew how to wake it.

The nymphs darted ahead, their hands brushing against the water's edge, whispering taunts, calling to it in singsong voices while the tree spirits threw rocks and sticks.

At first, nothing happened.

The lake remained still, its surface glassy and unbroken.

But then—

A ripple.

A single disturbance.

The giggles grew louder, the nymphs pressing forward, their feet daring to touch the edge.

Then—a groan.

Deep, low, a sound that rumbled through the earth like the shifting of stones beneath the riverbed.

The ice cracked.

And suddenly—the water surged.

It was not playful.

It was not slow.

It was angry.

A massive current rose from the depths, twisting like a serpent, lunging toward the shore.

The nature spirits screamed, their laughter turning into shrieks as they tried to run, their bare feet slipping against the ice.

You felt it before it happened.

A pull—cold, forceful, unnatural.

The water reached for you.

And then—

"ENOUGH."

The sky darkened.

The air stilled.

And suddenly, the water froze mid-motion, solidifying into jagged shards just before it could reach you.

A presence loomed behind you.

Heavy. Unyielding. Furious.

Slowly, you turned.

Demeter stood at the edge of the bank, her golden robes billowing despite the stillness of the wind.

Her expression was not one of relief.

It was not one of gentle scolding.

It was rage.

Her hand lifted, and the frozen water began to drain, sinking back into the earth as if the river itself had been unmade.

The nymphs and tree spirits clutched one another, their wide eyes filled with something that looked almost like fear.

You only watched.

Your heart beat steady.

You didn't understand why she was so angry.

You didn't understand why she looked at you like that.

Like she'd almost lost you.

Like she'd already lost before.

Her voice came sharp, clipped, the weight of divinity pressing into every syllable.

"Come here, ____."

You obeyed without hesitation, stepping toward her, your small hands still damp from the river's reach.

She scooped you up, holding you too tightly, as if to press you back into herself, as if to undo what had almost happened.

And then—she turned.

She didn't look at the nymphs.

She didn't offer words of warning.

She only left.

And you, wrapped in her arms, watched over her shoulder as the river lay dry in her wake.

The silence that followed was heavy. The spirits didn't call out, didn't chase after you. They only stood there, eyes wide, staring at the dried riverbed where the water had once been.

Where it should have been.

But Demeter didn't look back.

She carried you all the way home, her grip firm, unyielding. You didn't fight it. You didn't speak. You simply rested against her, feeling the weight of her heartbeat, the way it pounded harder than usual.

Even when you reached the warmth of the cottage, she didn't put you down right away.

She pressed you close, fingers curled so tightly around you that it was almost painful. Her breath came slow and deep, measured—but you could hear something beneath it. Something unsteady.

Then, finally, she placed you on your feet, knelt before you, and cupped your face between her hands.

Her golden eyes searched yours, fierce, desperate. Checking. Reassuring herself.

"I forbid you from going with them again."

It was not a question.

Not a warning.

A command.

You blinked up at her. "Why?"

Her grip on your face tightened ever so slightly, her thumbs brushing against your cheeks.

"Because I will not lose you," she whispered. "Not you too."

She pulled away then, smoothing down your hair, letting out a breath before she stood. Without another word, she turned and busied herself—cleaning, preparing herbs, tending to the fire.

Her hands moved with purpose, fingers pressing dried leaves between her palms, whispering something low under her breath. The scent of crushed rosemary and thyme curled through the air, mixing with the faint smokiness of burning wood.

But you could tell.

She wasn't truly focused.

Her movements were quick, almost sharp—the kind of motion that wasn't about the task itself, but rather about keeping her hands moving, keeping her mind from lingering too long in the quiet.

She was distracting herself.

From what? You weren't sure.

Maybe from the river.

Maybe from you.

Your chest felt heavy again, the feeling you still could not name creeping into the spaces between your ribs.

So you turned away from her.

You stepped away from the warm glow of the fire, away from the scent of herbs and the weight of unspoken things in the air. Your feet made no sound as you crossed the room, moving toward the wide window at the front of the cottage.

The glass was cold beneath your fingertips as you pressed a small hand to it, the frost clinging to the corners like delicate lace.

Outside, the world was still.

Silent. Frozen. Waiting.

The trees stood bare, their branches dark against the pale winter sky. The rivers that had once carried laughter and movement had stilled beneath thick layers of ice. The flowers that had once bloomed beneath the sun's warmth were now buried beneath layers of snow, their colors lost to the season.

Everything was gone.

Everything had disappeared.

You leaned forward slightly, your breath fogging against the glass, as your mind traced the thought further.

Everything disappeared in winter.

The rivers. The warmth. The flowers.

The laughter of the nature spirits.

Even Persephone.

Your fingers curled slightly against the windowsill.

You'd heard her name many times now—spoken in hushed tones, carried in the weight of Demeter's voice when she whispered it. It was always there, woven into the silence she left behind.

Persephone was gone.

And Demeter was afraid.

Afraid in a way you didn't fully understand.

But you'd seen it today.

In the way she'd held you too tightly, in the way she'd dried the river without hesitation, in the way she'd stared at you, like she'd already lost you once before.

Like the river could've taken you.

Like winter itself could've taken you.

The thought pressed heavier against your mind.

You stared out at the frozen trees, at the brittle remains of the world that had once been full of life, and for the first time, you wondered.

"Why does everything disappear in winter?" The words left you before you could stop them, barely above a whisper, barely even a thought.

You pressed your forehead against the cold glass, watching as another flurry of snowflakes danced down from the grey sky.

"Why must things disappear?"

Why did the flowers die?

Why did the warmth leave?

Why did Demeter ache when she spoke of Persephone?

Why did she fear losing you?

Your breath fogged the glass again, a small, fleeting mark that faded just as quickly as it had appeared.

And then, the final question slipped from your lips, so quiet that even you barely heard it.

"Will I... also disappear one day?"

The thought settled inside you like the frost on the windowpane—cold, quiet, unshakable.

The fire behind you crackled, filling the space with warmth.

But you didn't move from the window.

You only sat there, watching as the world remained frozen, waiting for something—anything—to return.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Cycles of You, Cycles of Me | Chapter 02 Chapter 02 | aeon's witness⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

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Time didn't touch you as it did mortals. Days turned to weeks, and yet you aged swiftly, your small body unfolding like a budding sapling.

What had once been a fragile, vine-wrapped form now took the shape of a toddler, no older than three or four in appearance.

Your limbs, once thin as new branches, became soft and round with the fullness of youth. Your skin still carried the warmth of autumn, its hues shifting ever so slightly in the light—bronzed like late summer, tinged with gold like the turning leaves.

Yet for all your growth, one thing remained the same: your silence.

You didn't cry; you didn't laugh. You simply watched.

The world moved around you, vibrant and full of life—nymphs dancing, rivers laughing, birds calling to one another in the trees—but you remained still, absorbing rather than participating.

It wasn't sadness. It wasn't detachment.

It was simply how you were.

.☆.       .✩.             .☆.

One afternoon, as the golden hues of autumn deepened, a group of nymphs gathered around you.

They twirled through the clearing, their laughter light as drifting petals, their bare feet rustling through the fallen leaves. They danced in a circle around your small form, their voices ringing like wind chimes, their arms sweeping through the air as they cast handfuls of crisp, red leaves into the sky.

The leaves swirled and spun, catching the sunlight, fluttering down like a rain of fire and gold.

Yet, even as the autumn colors rained around you, you didn't react.

You sat there, legs tucked beneath you, hands resting in your lap, watching.

The youngest of the nymphs, a girl with curls as wild as climbing ivy, pouted as she twirled closer. "Why won't you laugh?" she huffed, kneeling before you, her large, honey-colored eyes searching your face.

You simply blinked at her.

The other nymphs giggled behind their hands, whispering about how cute you were, how strange it was that you never reacted the way other spirits did.

The young nymph huffed again, more determined now. She reached out, her small hands gently squishing your round cheeks.

"Awww, look at him!" she cooed, squeezing lightly. "Such a cute little tree spirit!"

The others awed in agreement, watching as your chubby face scrunched slightly under her touch.

Still, you made no sound.

You didn't swat her hands away. You didn't frown. You didn't giggle.

You only tilted your head, your wide, knowing eyes locked onto hers.

A single leaf from your tree drifted down, settling softly onto your petal-crowned hair. Another fell, landing gently against your cheek, curling against the warmth of your skin.

The nymphs paused.

The young one, still kneeling before you, stared into your deep, unblinking gaze, her lips parting as if she finally noticed something different. Something unspoken in the way you watched rather than reacted.

Her voice softened, curiosity overtaking her playfulness.

"Why won't you smile?" she asked.

The wind stirred.

You simply kept staring, as if the answer lay in the space between falling leaves and fading seasons.

The moment stretched—until a voice, soft yet strong, called through the air.

"Little one," Demeter's voice carried through the grove, warm and rich as the earth itself.

Your head turned instantly.

Without hesitation, without question, you reached out.

Demeter approached, her golden robes trailing through the fallen leaves, her presence like the last embrace of summer before winter's arrival. She knelt, scooping you up into her arms with ease, holding you against her chest.

"You always find trouble, don't you?" she murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You didn't respond.

But you did lean into her warmth.

The nymphs watched as she carried you away, their once-playful expressions now tinged with quiet wonder.

They didn't speak until Demeter and you had disappeared beyond the trees.

Then, the young nymph whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

"...He doesn't behave like a tree spirit."

The others, for once, had no response.

Something about you unsettled them. Not in fear, not in distrust—but in a way that made them hesitate. Tree spirits, though silent and strong, were meant to be lively, playful, full of light.

Yet you...

You simply watched.

And that, more than anything, made them wonder.

☆

☆

Demeter treated you with the same care as her other spirits—yet she never left you alone for too long, and it clung to her in the way she touched you, in the way her hands lingered just a second longer when she tucked your hair behind your ear.

She taught you everything. The sky, the rivers, the cycle of life, the meaning of the seasons.

She took your small hand in hers, guiding you through wheat fields and flowered meadows, showing you how the wind carried seeds, how the earth made space for growth and decay.

She pointed to the sky, explaining the constellations.

She told you how the sun chased the moon, how the stars whispered secrets, how the rivers ran endlessly to the sea.

You didn't ask many questions, not the way the other nature spirits did.

Instead, you observed.

You watched how the clouds moved with purpose across the sky.

You watched how the wheat bent beneath the wind, yet never broke.

You watched how the rivers carried fallen leaves, never returning them.

And the more you watched, the more you began to wonder.

But what gripped you most, what made you feel something deep in your chest, was watching things end.

It started with the leaves.

One day, as you sat beneath your tree, a gust of wind came, shaking the branches. A single, golden leaf broke free, spiraling toward the ground.

You tilted your head, watching as it drifted, slow and soundless, before settling into the earth.

Gone.

You reached out, small fingers brushing the fragile edges.

It didn't move. It didn't return to the branch.

You looked up, waiting, as if it might change.

But nothing happened.

The leaf didn't go back.

Your brows furrowed—not in frustration, not in sadness, but in deep, quiet thought.

That evening, as Demeter sat beside you, her hands weaving wildflowers into a garland, you finally spoke.

Your voice was soft, careful.

"The leaves always fall."

Demeter paused.

She turned to you, her golden eyes searching yours. "Yes," she murmured, twining another flower into the braid. "The trees must let go of their leaves when the seasons change."

You stared down at the leaf in your lap, its color already fading at the edges.

"...But why?"

Demeter exhaled, brushing a hand over your hair. "Because the trees must rest. And when spring comes, they will grow new leaves."

You thought about this for a long moment, your small fingers turning the leaf over.

"...But this one won't come back."

Demeter stilled.

The weight of your words settled into the space between you.

She reached out, taking the leaf gently from your grasp, rubbing it between her fingers before placing it on the earth. "No, ____," she admitted softly. "That one will not come back."

You blinked, staring at where it lay among countless others.

The wind blew again, carrying some away—gone forever.

Your hands curled slightly in your lap.

You didn't know why, but something about that made your chest feel strange.

Like a small, quiet ache you didn't yet understand.

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Cycles of You, Cycles of Me | 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓! 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭… Chapter 1.5 | 𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓! 𝐁𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭...⌟

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❘ prev. chapter ❘༻✦༺❘ next chapter ❘

Hey lovelies! Before we jump into this story, I just wanted to take a moment to lay the groundwork for what you're about to read. The first 10 chapters are all about setting the stage—they're the foundation of this world I've been crafting, where the seasons, gods, and myths all intertwine.

Think of it as a chance to dive deep into the lore and really feel the weight of everything before the bigger plotlines kick in. Let me explain why I structured it this way:

1️⃣ Creative Freedom: Starting this way gives me the space to just let loose creatively without tying myself down to a strict plot. It's all about exploring, worldbuilding, and making everything feel alive. You're basically getting a front-row seat to how this universe came to be, and I get to sprinkle in all the little details I've been obsessing over.

2️⃣ This Idea Has Been Sitting in My Brain Forever: Seriously, this concept has been sitting in my mental "story queue" for so long, and I figured, why not? It's time. I've always loved the dynamic between nature, gods, and mortals, and this was the perfect excuse to let that idea bloom (pun intended).

3️⃣ First Official Male!Reader Story: This is my first real attempt at publishing a male!reader fic (though short), and I'm so excited to finally share it with you all! It feels like the perfect opportunity to dive in before I start working on other projects featuring male!reader perspectives.

4️⃣ Freedom for Requests: By establishing the world first, it gives both me and you a shared understanding of the background. This way, when the plot picks up (or if you send requests for specific chapters or ideas), we're all on the same page. Plus, it's a fun way to let you influence the story while still keeping it cohesive!

5️⃣ Persephone and Demeter Deserve Better: Let's be real—Persephone and Demeter's relationship is so often pushed into the background or made toxic for the sake of Hades/Persephone romance arcs (*cough *Lore Olympus *cough* other retellings). While I'm not opposed to a little indulgence now and then, I wanted to shine a light on their dynamic as a mother and daughter, giving it the depth and care it deserves.

So, overall, I hope you enjoy this little piece of my brain that I've turned into words! I poured a lot of my thoughts and feelings into this, and I'm hoping it resonates with you. Let me know what you think, and as always, thank you for reading and supporting my chaos.

Love ya! 💕 —XANI

[winxanity-ii]

⌜Cycles of You, Cycles of Me | Chapter 01 Chapter 01 | the beginning⌟

╰ ⌞🇨‌🇭‌🇦‌🇵‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌ 🇮‌🇳‌🇩‌🇪‌🇽‌⌝

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Knowledge of EPIC: The Musical isn't technically needed; this can be read with just common knowledge of Greek mythology and Persephone's Abduction...

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Summer stretched long and golden, its warmth clinging to the hills and fields like a lover reluctant to let go.

The days in the mortal world felt endless, bathed in golden hues, the scent of ripe fruit and tilled earth filling the air. Yet, for all its beauty, for all the life bursting from the land, Persephone couldn't shake the weight pressing against her chest.

Her time above was slipping away.

A week.

That was all she had left before the seasons turned against her, before the call of the Underworld pulled her back into the arms of the dead. It had been eons since she first became Hades' wife, and while time softened the raw edges of her fate, it didn't erase the ache that grew every summer's end.

She still missed her mother. No matter how many times she left, the separation always carved a hollow space inside her, an emptiness nothing else could fill.

Persephone sat beneath the shade of an olive tree, fingers running absently over the earth, deep in thought. The soft hum of cicadas filled the air, the sound mingling with the distant laughter of nymphs dancing in the wheat fields.

She should have been spending these last days savoring every moment, clinging to the warmth of the sun and the feel of soft grass beneath her feet. But instead, her mind churned, restless.

She hated leaving her mother with nothing but sorrow.

Then, a thought struck her suddenly, sharp and certain—a gift. Something that would last even when she was gone. Not just a token, not some lifeless trinket, but something living, something that would carry their love through the seasons, even when winter swallowed the land.

Her fingers pressed into the soil, feeling its richness, its quiet, waiting power. And then, she knew.

A seed. A tree. A living memory of the love they shared.

She worked quickly, with the kind of focus only a goddess could possess. From her palm, she summoned a seed no larger than a pearl, cradling it in her hands like something sacred. It was more than just a seed—it was a piece of herself, woven from love, sorrow, and longing. She breathed upon it, whispering secrets of life and growth, feeding it with the warmth of her presence.

It took root beneath her fingertips, delicate but determined, a tiny twiglet pushing through the soil. Its leaves trembled under the summer sky, catching the golden light like pieces of the sun itself.

Each day, she nurtured it, whispering to it in the quiet hours of dawn, running her fingers over its fragile form.

She spoke of her mother, of the love that stretched between them like an unbroken thread, of the ache of parting and the joy of reunion.

She infused it with memories—the way Demeter's hands brushed over her hair, the laughter that echoed through the fields, the way her embrace felt like home.

And against all odds, the twiglet survived.

By the final day, it had sprouted three small leaves, vibrant and full of promise. Persephone's heart ached at the sight of it, pride and sorrow mixing in equal measure. It was ready.

The hour of departure arrived too soon.

Demeter stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed tightly over her chest, her usual radiance dulled by the weight of another goodbye. Hades was already waiting, standing just beyond the trees, his presence like the creeping shadow of winter itself. His dark robes fluttered slightly in the breeze, but his face remained unreadable, patient.

He would not rush her.

Persephone turned to her mother, cupping the small twiglet between her hands. "For you," she said softly.

Demeter blinked, her gaze flickering down to the fragile thing resting in her daughter's palms. For a moment, she didn't move, as if afraid it would crumble beneath her touch.

"What is this?" she asked, though her voice betrayed her—she already knew.

"A gift," Persephone murmured. "A piece of us. It will grow... even when I am gone."

Demeter swallowed hard. Slowly, almost reverently, she reached out, her fingers brushing against the tiny leaves. She could feel it—the power humming within, the undeniable imprint of her daughter woven into its essence.

Persephone smiled, though there was sadness in her eyes. "I don't want you to only feel loss when I leave."

The silence between them was thick, heavy with unspoken things.

Then, with a deep breath, Demeter pulled her daughter into a crushing embrace, her fingers tightening as if she could keep her here, as if sheer willpower could stop the turn of fate. Persephone buried her face in her mother's shoulder, holding on just as fiercely.

A cough from behind them—Hades.

The moment shattered.

Demeter let go first, reluctantly, her hands trembling as she stepped back. Persephone didn't look away as she moved toward her husband.

And then, as always, it happened.

The sky darkened...

...The warmth faded...

...The world stilled.

Hades reached for her, and Persephone took his hand.

As the ground split open beneath them, swallowing them into the depths of the Underworld, Demeter felt the weight of loss settle into her bones once more.

And then—

A tear slipped down her cheek, falling silently onto the tiny twiglet's leaf.

The moment the tear met the fragile green, something shifted. The air thickened, the earth hummed, and for the smallest fraction of a second, the twiglet pulsed with something—something ancient, something more.

But Demeter, lost in grief, didn't notice.

She only clutched the fragile thing to her chest and whispered, "Grow well, little one."

And so... it did.

☆

☆

Seasons passed, turning the world in endless cycles of warmth and decay. The twiglet, so fragile in its first days, rooted itself deep in the sacred soil, stretching toward the sky with quiet determination.

It grew in silence, through years of sun-drenched summers and frostbitten winters, its leaves shifting through the colors of time—spring's soft green, summer's golden glow, autumn's russet reds.

Centuries blurred together, yet the tree never stopped changing.

It didn't grow like a typical tree, standing tall and straight, reaching evenly toward the heavens. No, this tree was different. Its trunk twisted in an elegant spiral, its base thick and sturdy but curling upward like a slow-moving river frozen in time. Its form bent toward the sky as if seeking something it had lost.

At the very top, nestled within the curvature of its branches, was something rare—a cocoon-like teardrop, a natural cradle formed by the tree itself. The spiral of the trunk led to this suspended sanctuary, where the branches branched out in wide, sweeping arcs, creating a woven canopy of leaves and buds that shimmered in the sunlight like molten gold in the autumn months, only to fade to silver in the winter's hush.

Each season left its mark on the tree, but none more than autumn.

Autumn, the season of longing. The time of change. The quiet in-between.

It was during those months that Demeter stayed closest to the tree.

In the early years, before the tree had taken its full form, she had simply tended to it as she would any beloved plant—watering its roots, whispering to its branches. But as the decades rolled into centuries, it became more than just a tree.

It became a ritual. A sanctuary. A place where mother and daughter could exist together, untouched by the passing of time.

When Persephone was aboveground, they spent their days beneath its shade.

Some days, the young goddess would weave crowns of flowers with the nymphs as they sat beneath the twisting trunk. Demeter would sit at her daughter's feet, Persephone's fingers deftly working through her long hair—dark as fertile soil—braiding it with delicate strands of wheat and olive twigs.

On warmer evenings, Persephone would sing songs with the dryads, their voices carrying through the rustling leaves, as the two of them cared for the tree together. They would lay beneath the tree's spiraling form, speaking of old memories and new hopes, their words winding between the roots as if the tree itself were listening.

But when Persephone was gone—when autumn deepened into winter—Demeter cared for the tree alone.

She would run her fingers over its rough bark, tracing the familiar twists and turns, whispering to it as though it could somehow carry her words to the Underworld.

She would sit beneath it in the evenings, singing soft lullabies to the empty air, filling the silence with a mother's longing.

She would press her forehead against its trunk, closing her eyes, feeling the pulse of life within it—the life she and Persephone had nurtured together.

The tree never withered, never failed to bloom again. But in the colder months, its cocoon-like top would tighten, its branches drawing inward, as though curling in on itself to endure the absence.

It was as if the tree mourned with her.

Demeter had always noticed this—how the mythical tree responded to the seasons as if it, too, longed for something lost. In the winter, its buds would seal themselves away, wrapped tightly like sleeping seeds. In the spring, it would unfurl once more, stretching toward the sky with renewed life. And in the autumn, just before Persephone was called back to the Underworld, it would always tremble slightly, its spiraling trunk seeming to waver—as if bracing itself.

But this time, something different happened.

It was the morning after the first deep autumn frost. A crisp, golden dawn stretched across the sky, casting long shadows over the sacred grove.

Demeter sat beneath the tree's twisted trunk, her voice weaving through the rustling leaves as she sang softly—a song of longing, of missing someone who was too far away.

She didn't expect an answer.

Then the ground trembled.

At first, it was just a small shift beneath her feet, like a sigh escaping the earth. But then it grew—a deep, rhythmic pulse, as if something buried within the roots had awakened. Loose leaves trembled, the grass quivered, and birds from the nearby trees scattered into the sky in a flurry of startled wings.

Demeter's breath caught. Her first instinct was to rise, her divine senses flaring—was it an omen? A shift in the balance of seasons? A threat?

But before she could act, she felt it—the pulse of life, raw and undeniable, radiating from the tree's core.

Then, the tree moved.

The great spiral shuddered, a slow, creaking groan filling the air as the branches at the very top began to unfurl. The cocoon-like cradle—sealed for centuries—peeled away in delicate layers, like petals of a blooming flower.

Demeter could only watch, her hands hovering in the air, her breath caught between fear and wonder.

And then—

A small, fragile coo echoed through the grove.

It was soft, almost lost beneath the rustling of leaves. A sound not of the wind, not of the earth, but of something new.

The last of the cocoon's spiraling layers peeled away, revealing a figure curled within—tiny, wrapped in vines and petals that shimmered like early morning dew.

You.

You were small, your form delicate, yet undeniably human in shape. Your skin, soft like the inside of a freshly bloomed flower, was tinged with the faintest hues of autumn—warm undertones of amber, traces of deep russet curling along the edges of your fingertips.

Petals crowned your head like a newborn's first wisps of hair, their colors shifting subtly as they caught the light. Vines wove gently around your arms and legs, not restricting, but cradling, like remnants of a protective cocoon not yet willing to release you fully.

Demeter took a step forward, hesitant, yet drawn to you in a way she couldn't explain.

The nymphs and dryads, sensing the shift, had begun to gather. They emerged from the surrounding trees, peering between the branches, their wide, curious eyes reflecting the newborn light.

"Ohhh," one of the younger nymphs gasped, clasping her hands together, "A dendrite!"

Another nymph knelt beside you, her fingers hovering just above your shoulder. "He's beautiful," she murmured, voice filled with awe. "Look how delicate he is! A gift from the land itself!"

A dryad, older and wiser, observed you carefully. "He is unlike any tree spirit I've seen before," she mused, tilting her head as she traced the way the vines curled around your limbs, as if reluctant to let go. "But there is no doubt—he belongs to the earth."

The nymphs cooed in delight, reaching forward to gently brush your petals, to whisper sweet words of welcome.

But you didn't react.

You didn't giggle or cry, didn't reach for warmth or pull away in shyness. Instead, you simply watched.

Your eyes, still adjusting to the world, were deep and strangely aware, as if you had been observing long before you had even been born.

You blinked, taking in the figures around you—their eager, delighted faces, the way their hands moved, the sound of their voices.

But you felt no urge to respond.

You only absorbed.

Demeter, watching this, felt something stir in her chest.

Dendrites were born from the land, silent and enduring, their essence brimming with emotion. Yet you... you were different. Too quiet, almost.

Still, she couldn't deny what she felt—the connection, the certainty.

Her heart, so often heavy with longing, softened.

She stepped forward, and with careful hands, she lifted you from the cradle of vines. The moment she held you close, she felt it—something deep, something old.

You weren't just any spirit.

You were born from something more.

A gift from the land. A gift from her.

And so, she named you.

A name whispered like the first autumn wind. A name shaped with longing, with sorrow, with love. "____."

You nestled into her arms, your body warm against the lingering chill of morning.

The nymphs continued to whisper around you, their delight filling the grove, believing you to be a child of the earth, a young tree spirit given form by Demeter's lingering emotions.

And so, they welcomed you as one of their own.

But later that evening—when the golden hues of autumn bled into twilight—something changed.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, as the leaves whispered in the cooling breeze, you shifted.

The nymphs, once so quick to chatter, felt it first. They paused mid-laughter, their eyes flickering toward you, as if sensing something just beyond their reach.

Demeter, holding you close, felt it too.

It wasn't power. Not some divine force shaking the heavens.

It was simply... a feeling.

The air around you thickened, tinged with a quiet melancholy. The wind slowed, the trees shivered—not in fear, but in recognition.

And for the first time, your gaze—so passive, so still—shifted toward the falling leaves.

You watched them descend, slow and soundless, drifting to the earth like fading memories.

And for a fleeting moment, the air felt heavier.

As if autumn itself had exhaled.

And from that breath, you began to change.

Born from the unbreakable bond between a mother and daughter, your existence weaves together the warmth of Demeter's care and the longing of Persephone's heart. Each season shapes you as you grow, whispering secrets of the earth in a rhythm you're just beginning to understand.

As the cycles of nature sway around you, and you come into your own, feeling the pull of the seasons and the call of something deeper, you start to wonder:

Are you merely a creation of divine will, or is there a path of your own waiting to be discovered?

A/N: hey, winxies! 🌟 first off, thank you so much for deciding to give 𝐂𝐘𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐄, 𝐂𝐘𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 a shot. i know this is just the first chapter, but Iireally hope it was enough to hook you and keep you curious about what's to come! honestly, i didn't want to make this too long—mainly because i've started so many stories that ended up shelved because i didn't know how to wrap them up. (relatable, right? 😅)

that's why i came up with the one-shot idea for this universe! it lets me explore different stories and scenarios while keeping things manageable and fresh. i'm so excited about the possibilities, and i hope you'll be just as excited to send in your requests! want to see the MC in a specific situation or interacting with a certain character? let me know—i'm already hyped to start crafting those one-shots. 😄

thank you again for starting this journey with me. can't wait to see where it takes us

(p.s. i know i said i'd post it all at once, but  it's like 4am where i'm at so imma just post the first part and the rest when i get up)