4- THUS SPOKE THE CHILD OF AZURE

The way mortals saw it, the gates of Heaven were gleaming white—larger than the weight of life itself. They called it Heaven, a place where daylight, twilight, and nightlight walked together without fear of parting.

The sun wandered in solitude at daytime, drifting cotton wisps keeping company. It longed for conversation, stretching towards the mountains dawn and dusk, yet for nought, for its voice never seemed to reach.

Dusk greeted the moon, its ethereal presence brightening the quiet sky. Stars gathered round like flickering dancers, close but never close enough, companions who could never embrace, friends who could never quite meet, likenesses of Icarus to his burning sun etched into the ink sky.

Past the golden gates, things were not bound by distance or silence. The sun and the moon did not drift apart—they met and danced as they had always wished. Here, the earth did not bow below but rose to hold the sky in its arms, as though the two had always been meant to embrace.

And yet… such a utopia belonged only to Morpheus’ realm. Dreams wore the mask of truth there, land traded places with sky, the sun lay hand in hand with the moon, men became beasts, beasts became women, and women became flame. It was a realm where the subconscious spoke freely, where every buried desire, every regret, every hope took form.

That was what the gates of Heaven resembled: not just an entrance, but a stage. A threshold between order and dream, between what gods declared and what mortals longed for.

And it was here, in the shadow of those radiant gates, where Adithya waited. Not yet judged, not yet condemned—caught in the still moment before the curtain rose.

It was here that voices reached him. Familiar ones. Friendly ones.

“You’re lost.”

Adithya looked up at the petite figure of the moon goddess, legs dangling from where she sat upon a half-finished pillar, the soles of her bare feet glowing with pale moonshine like the rest of her.

“Artemis?” he asked, unsure.

The woman with her short, black hair laughed as she scanned the stone-made golems guarding the gates, “It’s Eri this time around, Adi. Artie is asleep.”

Adithya attempted a weak laugh, “Thought the Goddess of the Hunt never slept.”

Eri rolled her eyes, “With the mess you caused with the Bogborn Strangler, the Dragon Kin had to be dispatched everywhere. That lake was a major tributary, you know?”

“Your mercs?”

Eri nodded, "Phoebe was having a hard time; her circuits were fried.”

“I’m sure you had fun maintaining her.” Adi smiled wryly at his attempt at humour. Eri only laughed. “Nothing like that’s gonna happen for some time, kiddo—”

“I’m not a kid.”

“—She’s tired as is, looking after them kids.” She waved him away.

Adi looked down at the ground, hearing Phoebe’s predicament, gaze refusing to meet her eyes — one black, the other covered by a bionic patch. But Eri only laughed, “Don’t look so down, Adi. Your hair will fall off.” She flicked his forehead, but got no response. She sighed, gaze softening, “Pheobe’s a capable android. She’s my woman for a reason.” A flash of pride coloured her features, before she wrinkled her nose, “Plus, Poseidon’s body looked too perfect for my liking. About time his vessel had her pubes singed.”

“Are the people okay?” he asked, voice cracking with guilt.

Eri nodded, her grin turning into a smile. “The survivors? Yeah… Not the rest.”

Adithya gritted his teeth, “So, just as always…”

Silence fell like a shroud, Eri’s glow highlighting the single tear that ran down his cheek. The sudden scent of fresh flowers and cattle permeated the air, causing the tension to dissipate, vines caressing his back with tenderness.

“How many did I burn this time, Kaeda?”

A sandalwood-haired, autumn-eyed woman walked up to him, a soft frown on her features, “Enough for it to feel like I got tazed.”

Adithya sank to the floor, but the vines were as stubborn as the caring woman. She sat on the floor next to him, twirling a bit of hair on her fingers. “Pan knows you didn’t mean it.”

“It’s not Pan I’m concerned about.”

“Then I’m aware that you didn’t mean it. There’s sorrow in your eyes, the dryads see it, the nymphs do. Your fire is only lost—”

“—and dangerous. Every time my flames touch what you cherish, I see her face—my sister’s. And then yours. It feels like she’s dying in my arms again, but this time, instead of him, it’s me…killing you.”

“Then, as always, my garden is always open to you. The dryads love it when you water them; the quintuplets of mine love you, too. And Noboru? He’s just analytical, but he sees potential.”

“Potential for chaos like Kronos wants?”

“For growth,” Kaeda corrected, “Like he wants. Kronos, being his God, hasn’t taken his rational side away, surprisingly. The titan’s personality hasn’t bled into him like the rest of us. But that’s not the point. Me, her, him, Hestia, Ereshkigal and the rest, we know you need someone… And you will find someone. Someone who knows you don’t mean to hurt them, someone who makes you realise.”

“But what if I did?” his fingers curled into a white fisted grip on nothing. “I’m his son after all.”

Kaeda’s eyes narrowed, “Well, do you?”

He shook his head, “I don’t… But when these cursed things rise in power… I can’t— I can’t stop it…!”

Eri sighed, standing across from him, the tear on her face exposing her teeth through her cheek as she talked, “Repressed emotions make power harder to control. They weigh on the subconscious, making you drag your feet on the shards of glass that are your memories.”

“And what do I do about that…”

“Talk about it, genius.” Eri chided, “You have people who care—”

“—out of vigilance, not kindness.”

The two women looked at him, their eyes casting downward, “Is that really what you think?” Kaeda asked.

“Isn’t that what it is?”

Kaeda shook her head, “No, it—”

“Kae.” Eri raised her hand, her voice soft yet stern. “He’ll have to learn himself. Just ‘cause we insist doesn’t mean he’ll trust us. He isn’t part of the wild for us to feed. He’s a man with a Goddess who doesn’t speak unless spoken to. He’s an immortal individual like the rest of us, so he will learn, just as we once did from our loved ones.”

Kaeda sighed, “I… I understand.”

“You always look like you’re carrying the whole sky on your back,” Eri said, voice casual but eyes sharp. “That’s Atlas’s job, not yours.”

He tilted his head. “…and you?”

“I just look pretty.” She grinned, but it faded quickly. “Don’t pretend around me, Adi. You’re allowed to…you know, not hold it all together.”

He turned away, hands gripping the rail. “…If I drop it, someone gets crushed.”

“Then let us stand under it with you.” Kaeda’s hand brushed his sleeve, barely a touch. “Neither of us is offering to take it away… but just… don’t make us watch from a distance.”

“The moon doesn’t burn like the sun, it nurtures and brings peace of mind,” Eri said, “The hunt strikes down wild beasts, but it guides lost animals back to the herd.”

He didn’t answer, but when he finally exhaled, it sounded almost like a thank you.

—-

Kaeda and Eri’s exit was followed by the presence of another figure, the smell of lilies filling the air. Unlike her wide, shyster’s grin that she put as part of her play of personalities, this person was more modest, her clothing consisting of a long, dull skirt, which clashed with Hera's love for large dresses.

The figure smiled small, almost troubled. Their eyes met, and her close-eyed smile met with his curious gaze.

She had a basket of bread in her hands, carrying it with both hands, “You look like a boy who hasn’t eaten in days and is hungry, yet too tired to throw a tantrum.”

Adi’s eyes narrowed before softening, noting the concern in her tone. “You’re not…Hera, are you?”, he asked gingerly.

The woman chuckled almost bitterly, “Heavens, no.” She smiled, “Aurora.”

“Adithya,” he nodded.

“I know.”

“As everyone does.”

She laughed, “Your shoulders look heavy for someone as young as you are, young man. I’d tell you to straighten them, but the Gods know I never did back then.”

“Inexperience did not make them pause before preaching what they do not practice. Why should you be any different?” he asked defensively, sparks behind cold embers.

“Oh, I don't try to be. I am just familiar with the pains you carry, is all.”, she said, her tone soothing. Silence followed, where they both did not look at each other. The woman didn’t fail to the man’s expression slightly soften, his eyes narrowing in curiosity. The man didn’t notice the way she held the hem of her dress as if concealing something, her eyes staring down, wandering.

Adithya let out a sharp exhale, looking into Aurora’s turquoise eyes, “I thought you hated me.”

“Oh, Hera sure does!” she rolled her eyes, her head following the movement as if too animated, “She hates those she can’t bend, those she can’t toy with, the so-called children with a lack of discipline.”

“...and you?”

She smiled, a serene smile which answered his question, setting the basket to her side as she lowered herself to the floor, sitting next to him with her knees touching. “You don’t have that hollow look I’m all too familiar with. The look a person has when they are robbed of more things than they could count.”

“And yet, I’ve lost that many.”

She sighed, “So I’ve been told.”

His jaw tightened. “And yet you still bear her. After everything she stands for.”

“She gave me power when I had none. A voice when mine was stolen.” She shrugged, bitterness flickering on her face for a heartbeat, then softening again. “I used to love her, adore her, but now…I don’t. I don’t forgive her either. After all, she wants to see how far I can carry the byproduct of defilement, as she’d like to call my son.”

Adi’s fingers clenched into a fist, “No mother—”

“—should say something like that about a child, I know. I've heard that plenty.” She looked at him with a neutral gaze, and yet, the borealis in her eyes clouded over with grey, “But, Gods are fickle, just like us.”

“And just like the ones that took everything away.”

She smiled. “ Yes, and hence, I live with her. Same way I live with scars. So that I can show both that I would not yield to their influence, as much to her entertainment.”

“Chinnamasta was the same,” his gaze softened. “She gave me power… But at a great cost, staining my hands with blood, staining my words with cruelty.”

“But unlike Hera, your Goddess is of self-sacrifice, of retribution, of healing. She wants you to heal. Just like a few want you to.”

“And you?”

She tilted her head, her fingers tracing the edges of her basket, “Me?” she asked curtly, “Why do you care so much for the opinion of a stranger you've just met? Careful, you shouldn't be too trusting of strangers.”

“You're one of the few that haven't shunned my existence at first sight, so,” he pressed, eyes staring at her, who was looking at the basket intently.

“You’re like my son, Archibald,” she exhaled and responded, her eyes reminiscing, meeting Adi’s, “So unfocused, yet with a fire that’d calm when stoked right.”

He looked at her for a long moment, unsure whether to trust the warmth in her tone. Yet, her smile, albeit a little crooked, betrayed her lack of indifference. “Eat, young man. Let the gods keep their grudges. We mortals…we share bread.”

—-

The young man continued standing in the garden outside, regretting his decision to come early. He'd decided that caring for Pan’s garden, as he had promised to Styx, was a much better pastime than being dragged until bloody by the shadows in his mind, shadows that threatened to overlap with his regret and guilt.

The haunting phantoms persisted: the figure of the burly man, the older girl, the guilt of patricide weighing heavily as he felt the coldness of the room, or perhaps it was the scent of death that made the flowers fade in colour.

Not a warmth, nor even the rustling of grass, nor a shadow. It—rather she—came as the absence of weight in the air beside him, still flowing, yet with interference.

Her hand gingerly moved to one of the petunias, the flower bowing in response, and she, who noticed it, stopped halfway as a blade of grass phased through her. Her visage was pale, translucent like the afterimage of someone who should have been long gone. A girl, younger than him in form, though her eyes were older.

“What are these flowers called?”

Her voice was soft and smooth like the waves of the ocean, her speech akin to a person with a lot of time on her hands, yet too tired to make an active effort.

“Petunias,” Aditya replied.

“How do they feel?”

Adithya noted the lack of warmth, the lack of presence and for the first time in hours, his lips curled into a sad smile, “Soft, delicate.. beautiful if watered well.”

She smiled faintly, “Do you water these yourself?” she asked, adoring the flowers with a soft gaze.

He shook his head, “Considering the scale I’ve destroyed of nature, I should be. But Pan and the dryads help me, much to my protest.”

“Yet, I see none but you.”

“Because I am passing the time as I wait for my curtain call.”

Her eyes widened slightly, “So you are Chinnamasta.”

He laughed, sadder still, “The one who sullies her name, yes.”

“The one who carries her heart for retribution, you are.”

He chuckled briefly, “By retribution if you’re sarcastic—”, he started, but he only saw sincerity. He shook his head, “I’m not worthy.”

“I’ve heard whispers.”

“Don’t you agree, stranger?”

She smiled faintly, no pride, nor pity. “Stranger…huh?”

Adi nodded, “Who are you then, miss?”

She gave him a rueful smile, “No one important. Just a phantom. At least to them,” she nodded, neither to herself nor to him. “Just… a witness carrying golden blood, fated to watch and not touch.”

Adithya shrank at the way she looked at him, as if she could see through the cracks his spirit had. Yet, her cold drew him to the twisted warmth she offered.

“Don’t stand too close. This fire may singe you.”

“My kind can’t burn.”

His jaw tightened, “Then you’ve not come close enough.”

She tilted her head, her voice a whisper, “You speak as if you’ve lost someone.”

“Takes one to know one, as they say,” he said, eyes shifting to the rows of flowers behind her.

“So they do…” she said, offering only a melancholic smile and soft silence.

He froze, but the silence urged him on, as if something in her compelled him to, “...Centuries ago. Death robbed me of her.”

Her pale eyes reflecting nothing, stared into his sunset. “Sometimes Death doesn’t choose, Adithya Naicker. It only listens to the ones too tired, ready to go.”

He laughed quietly, “And you might know a lot of that, huh?”

She smiled, distant, for once, “Maybe I’ve seen him, yearned, wished.”

“We’re the same then.”

For a moment, they just sat. His fire flickered and waned as he ran his hands through the flowers, watering them; her form shimmered. Opposites, yet not repelling one another. She glanced at his hands, the scarred skin, the restless sparks.

“It must be heavy. Carrying flame like that. Always burning, even when you want rest.”

“I'm used to it.”

“Doesn't mean the weight gets any lighter.”

Adithya stared at her, then laughed under his breath, bitterly, “And you’d know something about rest, would you?”

Her eyes softened, “I know what it’s like to want it, and not find it.”

“Have you found it yet?” he asked, eyes searching hers, in hope of an answer to his own.

“Death, no, time gave me that.”

A long silence. His anger ebbed, replaced with something he didn’t want to name. When the gates rumbled, summoning him, he stood. But he glanced back at her one last time.

“Esphyr,” she said, answering his unspoken question, “Much better than calling me a stranger.”

He smiled, “Esphyr… If you’re no one important, why stay?”

“Because,” she said, with a faint smile waning like mist, “even phantoms yearn for a light-filled sanctuary, much like how a fire deserves someone to see it without fear.”

The gates opened. He walked forward. Behind him, her form shimmered and disappeared — leaving only the echo of her words.