Blessings from Khaos

|I Was A Careless Fool, And I Fell In Love With You Anyway|

Hermês had not known what to expect when they made their way into the Throne Room. Perseus and Leaneíras dead? Krónos defeated? Olympos actually razed to the ground?

It was worse.

Much worse.

His beloved son, his beautiful boy. He stumbled backwards, Apóllōn and Dionysos taking hold of him as he felt weak at the sight. His Luke, dead upon the golden-floor of the council chamber, eyes forever unseeing of the world around them. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he took note of Perseus, Annabeth, and Grover standing over Luke's—his precious child—broken body, in the dim warm light of the hearth. Absently, he took note of his Leaneíras with eyes glowing with hint of burning divinity yet still so very mortal crouching over two bodies of broken half-bloods by his throne and yet...

"Percy," Poseidón called, awe in his voice. And why was there so much awe when Luke—his son—was dead? The world should not look so wonderfully hopeful. "What... what is this?"

"We need a shroud," Perseus announced, facing them but his eyes—filled with life while Luke was...oh Phanes, how was he... how was he going to face May?—his eyes were on Luke. "A shroud for the son of Hermes."

Hermês wailed.

His boy—his beautiful boy—gone from the earthly plains after being without the light of the gods for so long.

His siblings descended upon him, all reaching out to him in comfort. Persephónē, Eleuthyia, Bellōna, Hêbê, and Alêtheia joined them and yet, they were all pushed aside as their Father moved through their ranks to embrace him in his arms. Hermês clutched to his Father for strength. He knew how hard it was to lose a child and though he lost Pán just the year before, he still had hope that his Luke could be saved. More fool of him. Tis a bitter pain.

"My son," his Father murmured, pulling him away just enough to brush away the tears at his eyes. "Post tenebras spero lucem." Hermês knew that he wished to say more, but... his Father was a King first and foremost. The God of gods turned to gaze at them all, "Come. Let us finish this so that we may grieve in peace."

He felt the overflowing power of his Father, the resources of cosmic and mystical energies of Olympos, the sum total of Ζεύς Panellênios, pour into his very essence, giving him strength to get through the rest of this. It was inexpressible, the feeling. It was enough to make a blue whale feel like a paedophryne amauensis frog. It was equally terrifying to know that only the other children of crooked Krónos and Aphrodítē equaled him power and even then, Father still had an edge to them.

Be as it may his faux human heart ached as the Moirai appeared with Pepromene, Adrasteia, and Heimarmene at their sides. It was a good thing that they were the ones that wrapped in a white-and-green shroud to take him to the Underworld. Hermês doubted he would have had the strength to take him. He probably would have tried to steal his soul truthfully.

They gathered him up, and began to carry him out of the throne room before panic clawed its way through him.

"Wait," he said, having been changed by Aphrodítē and her retinue out of his battle armor. He was now dressed in his favored chlamys, sandals, and winged-leather petasos. The wings of his helm fluttered as he walked. Mártha and Geōrgios curled around his kērū́keion, murmuring, Luke, poor Luke.

He stepped close to his boy, seeing the child that he thought was long lost. It was hard watching him walk this path even if he knew from his first breath that this was his fate. Such was the way of life, but it was never easier to watch his children die. Mayhaps be why he sired so many to fill the void the previous one left.

Hermês unwrapped Luke's face and kissed his forehead. He murmured some words in Ancient Greek—a final blessing.

"O Anankê, whose mercies cannot be numbered: Accept my prayer on behalf of my son, and may Aiakos grant him an entrance into the domos Aïdao; may his memory be eternal." His hand cupped his face, thumb brushing against his cheek as he allowed himself to look over his darling boy once more. He thought of May, his sweet May, alone in her kitchen, baking cookies and making sandwiches for a son who would never come home.