delta

one

At least he didn't hit. She'd seen the bruises on friends that thought they were hidden from watchful eyes, ugly patches of purple and yellow and every colour she could think of.

He didn't hit but he didn't care either. It was an in-between they were stuck in and could never get out of. Not in this time and age.

It was a good thing her mother wasn't around for moments like these — moments where the man she called 'Dad' was lying on the floor, his seventh bottle of beer in hand, while his daughter sat outside feeling safer there than she did inside.

That was only during the night. During the day, he was perfect. She couldn't have asked for a better father when day came around.

But, as the girl they called Delta sat with her head in her hands as she prayed to someone who wasn't listening, fate just had to make those lonely nights longer than the days.

━━ ♜ ━━

FAR AWAY, IN A place where the nights were not as long, a boy stood on a balcony.

His eyes, as gold as the walls and floors of the palace, watched the lights in the city turn off one by one, until there was nothing left but a golden glow.

The boy wished he didn't feel the breath of warmth and gold on his skin, dripping through his veins. His fists gripped the balcony edge — even his fists turned the lightest shade of gold.

Gold eyes trailed over the silhouettes of the mountains far in the distance, bathed in yellow and bronze. Beyond that, it was dark. Real, true darkness. Not gold but something better than the glamour that covered up all their problems.

He wanted to go beyond that. Even if it burned him.

Footsteps approached from behind him, growing louder and louder until he could feel the floor shaking slightly from the force. Metal clinked together as the visitor knelt down.

The boy didn't turn around, with no doubt knowing who it was and what they wanted, "speak."

"θεός-"

A hand raised swiftly cut through the visitor's words, "I know."

The air from the visitor breathed hesitation and uncertainty, not sure whether to leave or stay. He was new.

The boy moved his legs so the sides faced the man he watched from the corner of his eye. Armour draped around his shoulders and chest were nothing short of gold and topaz, hiding the pile of bones and broken flesh beneath it. The boy's eyes travelled down the man's entire being down to his twitching legs.

Something like guilt knocked on his ribs for the man who clearly hadn't chosen to be here. There was only so much that the beauty of gold could conceal from the eyes of his people. Talk of him dripped from people's mouths as easily as flames attracted moths. The man, his palms clammy and forehead sparkling with perspiration, was a moth.

"Leave," the boy spoke, his voice quiet but presence domineering. He flicked his wrist and the visitor struggled back to his feet and scurried away faster than he could blink.

He stared blankly after the man, trying to bleed out all the insecurities in his head. Try as he might, they were part of him — an endless pit in his stomach, a cloud above his head.

A grow of aggravation let itself out of his throat at the same time he banged his fist against the balcony railing. His head dropped down, his fist pressing into the railing while his other lay flat on top of it.

Fraud.

The word rung in his head like church bells. He felt dirty for living in gold, for breathing it in when some couldn't even afford factory fumes. He felt like a fraud for acting like he was above them.

If anything, he was there to serve him. Not that his brothers would ever agree.

Suddenly, the air around him grew quiet. It became still, stiller than the ocean before a storm, stiller than the sun in the sky. His hand trailed along the rail, his fingers lingering before falling to his side as he knelt before his true King. The true King.

"Aether."

He didn't look up, not at the sound of that name. All his fingers on each hand curled into fists, pressing into the ground with enough force to dent it. They both knew the King knew he despised that name.

The King wouldn't have it, tapping the heel of his golden boots against the ground sharply, his voice low, "Look at me."

It couldn't be more risky refusing the King than flying into the sun, the boy knew that much. Still, he kept his head down low as he rose and swivelled around to show the King the splendid of the robe decorating his back.

"I will kneel if you push me to the ground, I will eat dirt if you bring it to my mouth, I will kill," his fingers twitched, "if you give me a sword in my hand but you can never force me to let my eyes bleed the gold you have covered them with."

He didn't say anything and neither did the King but the low murmur of a threat under his breath spoke enough for the both of them.

"Remember your place, Adonis, or else I will have to show you it."

The boy's jaw clenched, his teeth biting his tongue from saying anything. The footsteps receded and with them, his last question and it's answer.

Over his shoulder, he could see the swishing of the King — his brother's — cloak. A saying popped into his head as the crown on top his head disappeared around the corner; the mighty have fallen.

The boy - no, he wasn't a boy - turned his back on the drowsy lights of gold and into his palace made of it.