[WARNING: Once again, psychological manipulation (and maybe kind of horror) in the form of dream gaslighting.]
~Chapter Thirty-four: Have Trust~
It is a rare day that I feel like watching the universe that has moved on without me through the bronze eyes of the statue, as even after hundreds of resigned years, there is something about peering into a world I am disconnect from that never fails to tug at the strings in my heart, just enough to ache but not enough to genuinely hurt. It is unpleasant and makes me itch in a way that even were I able to move, I doubt I would be able to do anything about. It is a bone-deep itch, after all.
-
"Your mental defenses are quite impressive."
-
But beyond the deep itchiness of it and even the ache, it is disheartening.
Because who wants to live in a world that has long forgotten they even exist?
It took many decades for the mortals to recognize me the first time, as my birth was not heralded or foretold; that was simply not my pantheon's way. That besides, even had it been our way, the birth of the magic god would not have been heralded in particular. Not for disregard of magic or lack of magic practitioners but for reasons of safety. After all, a godling has far fewer protections than an older, much wiser god.
-
"Maybe...no, that won't work."
-
So, it took me a great many years to gain the recognition I eventually gathered, but now I am not even sure this universe knows my name. For surely even my own pantheon has forgotten my name by this point. Gods have fallen through the cracks before, and if hundreds of years truly have passed, then it is likely that I have joined in those forgotten numbers.
-
"But this..."
-
After all, it is not even a statue of myself that mortals capture still images of in their impossible, flat slabs and gaze in awe at on a daily basis; it is of the betrayer of my heart, a pretender of love, who I believed I had forgiven but have long since come to terms with the idea that the freedom I thought I had and forgiveness I thought had been earned was nothing more than something I imagined in my insanity.
For who would be sane after all these years?
-
"Who would, indeed?"
I stare at the endless darkness in incomprehension, not sure what precisely I am seeing but feeling the familiarity of it all the same. And once I realize that I can move, I tilt my head to the side a little to look more closely at the god standing almost directly before me on...air. Yet, I know for a fact that he is no god of wind. He is...
Who is he again?
The god drops his fingers from my face - he was touching me? - as he huffs softly. "That really does a number on you, huh?" He comments, eyeing my face shrewdly. When I just stare at Ep-something in confusion that is slowly starting to clear, he shakes his head and continues speaking, though possibly to himself rather than to me, "As much as I prefer you this way, though, utter mindlessness is not the desired outcome."
"Desired...outcome?" I ask haltingly, unused to vocal cords, despite knowing that I used them fairly recently. Because the last few years have not been a dream - this is. And this god is in control.
But a 'desired outcome' is new...I think.
Epial-something hums noncommittally. "Doesn't matter," he says. "You don't need to know, and you won't be figuring it out any time soon. You'll be too busy with what I have planned, and then I want for you to meet one of my brothers, Paralutikos."
"Doesn't sound like someone I want to meet," I reply pointedly, voice still hesitant but no longer pausing between words as I grow more confident in my understanding of what is real and what is not.
I think this is real, at least. Or as real as a dream can be, I remind myself, as it is getting harder and harder to remember what a dream feels like versus reality when I have just been jumping between dreams and more dreams. Will I even remember what reality feels like when I feel it?
That was, after all, the fifteenth time I had ended up sent back into a dream of the statue, after the seventeenth failed nightmare - some having failed faster than others. And what is worse is knowing that if Epiales has had enough time for that many failed attempts, even in the warped reality of dreams, then there has been more than enough time for my pantheon to pull me out.
Yet, I remain, and I know it is not for lack of trying on the outside. Gwyn would never just allow me to remain in some warped dream, after all, nor would the Dagda, Dian, or even Llŷr, for that matter. Even if not all of them care strongly for me on a personal level, then they would help because-
A sudden movement draws me from my thoughts, and I frown when I realize that that sudden movement was from Epiales flinching. And when I look more closely at his face, he appears to be sweating, too. Before I can even attempt to figure out what has changed in the last few seconds to make him look like that, a sneer warps mouth, and his hand snaps out towards my face.
"They can't have you back just-"
-
I blink up at an unfamiliar ceiling, the dull lights of the room nearly blinding, and then Llŷr's face appears to hover over mine. The frown on his face is deep, bordering on a scowl, but it lightens slightly when he sees that not only are my eyes open but also looking back at him.
"You with us now?" Llŷr asks, and then there is a hand on my forehead that definitely does not belong to Llŷr as it comes from the opposite direction of where he is standing. It takes a great deal of will power to move my head, as it feels like my body has atrophied greatly in the time that I have been asleep, but I still manage to tilt my head enough to see the owner of the hand - Dian Cecht.
I try to ask what happened, as I know that I was stuck in a dream but lack the knowledge of how I was woken up, but all that comes out is a dry, indecipherable croak. Clearing my throat does nothing but make me aware of how dry my mouth is - a feeling that is quickly eased when a glass of water is shoved under my nose and Dian helps me sit up far enough to drink from it.
"It's been o'er a month, Ainmire," Llŷr comments dryly, as he sets the glass aside, and Dian slowly eases me into lying back again, which I allow because my head is too busy spinning over what he said. A month? "Don't be expecting e'erthing to still be working jus' right jus' yet."
"What hap'nd?" I ask, and though it hurts to speak and the words come out as little more than a rasp, they are still distinguishable enough that Dian and Llŷr seem to understand what I am asking, as they exchange a knowing look.
"Caer - Caer Ibormeith, that is - was able to cut the," Dian pauses for a brief moment, seemingly searching for the right words, "string of consciousness tying you to the Oneiroi holding you, but in doing so, it strained your mind. Even after you were freed, you were unconscious for over a week."
I wince.
Explains why my head feels like it's filled with sea water.
"Gwyn?" I ask next, because even though I have not had a chance yet to look around the room, it is fairly obvious that my uncle is not here. If he was, there is no way it would be Llŷr standing beside my bed alone. After all, if Gwyn could not be convinced to share that side of the bed with Llŷr, then he just would have kicked Llŷr aside, as he would not dare do so with Dian when the god of healing is likely acting as my healer.
Dian shakes his head. "Waited as long as he could, but matters of the underworld do not wait for the living. He had to leave, though I am sure he will return once it has been sorted."
As unpleasant as that news is to hear, as I would have preferred to see Gwyn upon waking, it is not actually all that surprising, as he is the king of a separate realm, and I have been asleep for a month, as it would seem, so it was unrealistic to have hoped otherwise. Still, that does not stop me from feeling a crushing disappointment, especially since it does not seem like my mother is here either, though I was honestly expecting her to be here even less, what with the Dagda...
My track of thought falters as I realize that I am alone in the bed when I distinctly remember falling asleep beside the Dagda. Of course, it has been a month, so the Dagda is likely no longer confined to bedrest, but he should still probably be here somewhere considering his grievous injuries...
-
"'Grievous injuries'?"
-
I blink uncertainly, and while I cannot say why, my track of thought falters once more and dies, leaving me confused over what I was thinking about. When I try to call it back into the forefront of my mind, though, I get the sense that it is not something I should be thinking about, so I let it drop.
Instead, I focus on the weird feeling eating away at the back of my head. "You say something?" I rasp, confused, because I could have sworn I heard words, even if I cannot remember what they were.
Dian and Llŷr first glance at each other curiously before sharply looking at me when neither of them admit to having spoken. "Are you hearing voices?" Dian asks warily.
The answer to that question cannot be a firm affirmative, as I am pretty sure hearing voices entails actually hearing the voices, but it is not a negative either, as I could have sworn that I heard something. Which is why I settle for a hesitant, "Maybe?"
The god of healing turns his attention on Llŷr, who is already moving away from the bedside to do something that I cannot see without turning my head again, which seems like too big a feat when I am more interested in Dian's response. "We're not waiting. We're moving him now," the healer decides, no longer speaking to me.
"Way ahead of ya'," Llŷr replies, his voice somewhat muffled by whatever he is doing, but by the time I manage to essentially flop my head enough to the side to look at him, trying to figure out what he is doing, he is seemingly on a different task, packing something up into a rucksack.
"What?" I croak, turning my head in time to see Dian move away from the bedside as well.
It takes a moment for either of them to answer, but Llŷr eventually finishes packing whatever he needed and says, "The Dagda 'as been working ta' set up a safe place for ya' ta' hide out in for a while."
Though I try to cover it up by coughing weakly immediately after, there is no hiding my brief but sharp inhale of alarm. "Why?" I ask, once I am sure that neither of them really paid any mind to my reaction.
Llŷr looks at me like I am crazy, but it is Dian who responds. "If your dreams are being haunted by the Oneiroi, then Zeus is paying far too much attention to you, so the Dagda wants you somewhere thoroughly protected," he explains, patting my hand as he passes while moving from one task to another. "It's just for a little while, Ainmire."
That's what they said before the Titanomachy, and that lasted a decade.
"Where?"
"Last he spoke, the Dagda had found a place in the wilds of Faerie."
Despair is an unwelcome but not surprising companion that joined me somewhere between the moment Llŷr picked me up and the moment Dian announces that it is time to leave, and it does not dissipate, even after we teleport to a beautiful...castle...built with the strangest, head-achingly foreign style...
-
"...Damn it."
The curse is practically spat out, but the tone suggests it is more out of annoyance than genuine anger. The words do not tell me what is going on or why I have suddenly found myself once again in a dark void, suspended by glowing chains in front of a Greek god, though.
Wasn't I free?
Epiales' hand falls away from my face, and he takes a moment to rub at his temples. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to build a place from scratch and not make it mimic something real?" He asks, sounding mildly pained, which a small part of my mind is happy about, but a larger part is still very confused.
After a brief pause, Epiales scoffs. "No," he says, answering himself. "I guess you wouldn't. You might eventually learn, but how could you possibly know if you don't even know the basics?"
Since my mind is already failing to understand what is going on around me, I cannot even begin to try to understand what he is implying, but I know that he is implying something, and I am also pretty sure that it is important. Even if I am not sure why.
Epiales stops rubbing his temples and looks over at me, possibly curious about my lack of response, before a smile spreads across his face. "You're really out of it, huh?" He asks, stepping closer than is really necessary to brush a strand of hair out of my face. I glare at him for it, but my mind is still refusing to comprehend what I am starting to realize is true - that what I just experienced was nothing more than a dream - so I say nothing.
His smile widens. "Let's take it from the top."
- - - - - - -
It is a cave in a snow-capped mountain, carved into the stone by magic rather than weather and years of shifting earth. It is beautiful, glowing almost brightly in the night when we teleport in front of it, but that does not make it any less of a cage. No wards shudder as we pass into the cave proper, though, and my brow furrows...
-
"You think too much, Ainmire."
- - - - - - -
It is a well-warded hut in the middle of nowhere, and the first few days are not too unpleasant, but there is still the underlying awareness that I do not want to be here. And even after I have recovered physically and expressed my desire to leave, I have not been allowed to. The wards themselves keep me inside, but it is not as if I even have a chance to approach the door more than once to test their strength, as Dian gets in the way more often than not, and Llŷr has been quick to join in on keeping me in bed, even though I...never seem to sleep...
-
"You don't need to sleep. Stop thinking about sleep."
- - - - - - -
It is a farm with thick wards that mark the boundaries of the land, allowing me to traverse the property without actually being allowed to leave once I am back on my feet again. I have tried, though it has yet to bring me success. Instead, all it has brought me is a minder, as I can no longer leave the farmhouse without Dian or Llŷr hounding my steps, keeping me from approaching the wards or attempting to find a way through them.
Even when I ask to be allowed to leave.
Even when I beg.
Even when I cry.
-
Rather than words, it is a gentle croon that greets me when the scenery rapidly turns from the lush, green farmstead to the empty, black void. And rather than drop the hand that is always touching my face when I regain awareness, Epiales moves his hand away from my forehead to brush away the tears that have already started to gather in my eyes.
"Poor, little god," he says, and though it should be a taunt based on the words alone, his voice is too tender, which only makes the tears start to fall faster. My lips wobble, and I just barely hold in a sob as reality - false though it is - sets in once again, slowly chasing away the sheer dismay and hurt the falser reality brought about. "So caught up in his own dream."
My...own dream?
The way he says it makes my brow furrow as something - the tingling awareness of something important - comes to mind, but there is no time to explore it since Epiales reaches out with his other hand to brush the tears from the other half of my face. I eventually lean away from the hands, though it does very little when I can barely move, chained and strung up as I am. Even if I was able to completely move away, though, I doubt it would stop him, as he just continues to croon softly, offering comfort where there is no comfort to be found, while petting my face.
Yet, as much as I hate to admit it, it is comforting.
What is not comforting, though, is the fact that I now no longer believe that my pantheon will be able to pull me out of this, not now that so much time has likely passed, and even if they do, I am not sure I want them to. Not when Epiales is manipulating my concerns and turning them against my people. I am not even sure why he is doing it, but I imagine that if it eventually turns me away from my pantheon entirely, Epiales will probably still consider it a success.
Which just leaves Atlas, who swore to return.
Just like he swore he would be fine during the Titanomachy, which he lost and fell to. Just like he swore he would find a way to free me from the statue, which he never succeeded in.
I slowly shake my head, not to dislodge the hands but to try to settle my thoughts. I just need to have a little faith and a little trust, after all.
Just for a little while longer.
EXTRA
Freeing the Titans - her children and other kin - is only the first of many steps in Gaia's plan, as there is more to restoring balance to the Greek pantheon than just freeing her spawn. And she truly is trying to restore balance, as that is something her pantheon, as it would happen, is lacking. For what else could explain her pantheon's use of forbidden magics?
War though this might be, there is never an excuse to resort to those tactics.
So, while she loves her Olympian grandchildren and their ilk and respects their desire for a war with other pantheons, this war must come to an end, as only through a cease-fire shall the balance be restored.
Still, as much as she wants to move onto the next step of her plan, she is aware of the fact that the Titans are...distracted, to say the least. And though she would normally find it bothersome to not be able to move forward, she is content to wait for a little while longer before making another move towards her goal - until those of her pantheon have solved the matter of their distraction. After all, she cannot exactly blame them when she has found distraction, brief though it was, from the same source.
Baby dream gods are rather distracting to all who encounter them, after all.
[AN: So, if you're having trouble following what's going on, then just try to follow the single "-" dashes. Each single dash is essentially a shift in Ainmire's reality, which is confusing, but it's meant to be. This won't continue for much longer, though, I promise. That said, I hope you're all doing well, and have a great rest of your week!]