...
The white light cleaved Caster in two, straight down the middle, his head and his heart destroyed with a single strike.
In a flash of sky-blue, the boundary that Geryon had created folded in on itself, returning him to the Acropolis's peak. In the same moment, whether due to the pressure or something else, what remained of Dionysus's physical body transmuted into a purplish-red liquid with such force and intensity that you couldn't even say that he 'melted'. It was as if his body were a shattered wine glass, spilling its contents at the same moment it fell apart. It drained into the cracks between the cobbles, puddling at Geryon's feet.
He did his best to keep his breathing steady. His body was falling apart- or so it felt. The pain was penetrating; he wasn't sure he could even move. Both his own, spiritual body, and the human body at his center were torn to shreds, but, with maximal effort and grit teeth, he righted his body and stood straight. He looked ahead, forward and up. The tabernacle gleamed white-gold, the column towering into the sky. The clouds overhead seemed to be parting, thinning, revealing a sky so brilliantly indigo that it seemed to shine- the barest glimpses of morning cutting into the dark night. At the same time, rain began to fall. It stung his wounds, and as some of it slipped underneath the cracks in his mask, he tasted it and saw that it was wine. It littered the stones, and it became difficult to tell it apart from the blood. He could feel, in his essence, that the boundary established around the Acropolis, as well as the other spells Caster had placed, were becoming unraveled, and even the smoke wall surrounding the peak fell away, as in Jericho.
He closed his eyes, and allowed the wine to wash him over and drain into his lips. It was sweet and bitter, rich and smooth. Better than any he had ever tasted.
And he was satisfied.
He released the breath he'd been holding. Blue-white light washed over him, and there was Athena, bloodied, bruised and pale. She fell-
Into the arms of her beloved. With one arm, he supported her head and shoulders, and the other wrapped around her. His fingers touched a wound in her side, painting his hand in her blood. He felt himself torn between maintaining her comfort and staunching the bleeding.
And yet, she didn't seem to feel any pain. She turned to look him in the eyes, and greeted him with a weary smile.
"We did it... we won."
He smiled as much as he was able; the glee in her voice causing him to chuckle in spite of himself.
"Yes. Yes we did."
She raised a heavy arm, managing to hook it around his neck. With great effort, she began to pull her lips towards his, he found himself leaning in-
He strengthened his hold around her shoulders, keeping her from moving any further,
"Athena, hold on. It's not over. Not yet. You're not dying on me, okay? Just a little longer- we're almost there."
Her breath shuddered. It was difficult for her to speak. Not because of the pain, but because her body was refusing to obey her will, and her thoughts seemed to float unmoored from her skull.
"No, Chrysaor. There's no time. Please... let me..."
She couldn't finish the sentence.
He bit his lip. His romanticism was at war with itself. Which ideal should he adhere to? Should keep his promise, or should he yield to the desires of his beloved?
He cradled her in his arms. She was unable to lift her head, so he raised her up to himself, and he kissed her. Her lips were weak but soft, weary but tender, and in them was the fullness of her love. His were strong and affirming, firm but relenting. He seized her with an unabashed greed, so that there could be no doubt to whom she belonged, at the same time he held her with a gentle humility, so that everyone knew to whom he bent his knee. It was a touch unlike either had ever felt, and every moment of anticipation and desire leading up to now were justified by their fulfillment in this kiss. It seemed as if their whole lives, long and short as they were, had led to this one moment; that their whole lives apart only existed for the sake of this single moment together. On the one hand there was contentment, the sense that all was as it ought to have been, and the story reached its end. On the other hand was an incredible desire that the story go on forever, and each day allowed its place in the history books for the miracle that it was.
He heard her voice echo in his head as they kissed, 'I love you, Chrysaor... Thank you...'
He tried to send some sort of response, but his thoughts seemed to resound back into his skull. Yes, despite her greatest efforts, Athena's lips would fail her, her cheeks and eyelids falling to rest. Her fingers, daintily dancing on the nape of his neck, began to slip, and her arm went limp at her side. Her chest, too, was still.
It was difficult. He couldn't find his breath. As her body went limp, his locked itself and refused to move. It wouldn't obey him. It seemed to believe that, if he stayed in this place long enough, he would blink and awake from the dream. He knew better of course. His blinking served only to avert the tears, and nothing else.
He raised his face to the tabernacle.
He knew, logically, that what lied in there was not the Holy Grail. But -still- it was some kind of wish granter, wasn't it? The key to divinity? To immortality?
He rose to his feet, still carrying her in his arms. He believed, and had been taught, that there was a time, a brief time, between the moment of death and the release of the soul; that there was a time when the soul resided in the dead body, and life could be restored.
-And yet he moved so slowly. One foot in front of the other. Time was of the essence, but his body wouldn't believe him. It trudged along, equally terrified of both action and inaction- of disappointment and of regret. But he had to have hope. He demanded it. There was no choice.
He found himself standing in front of the tabernacle, staring, hypnotized, into the pure gold-white light. He might have stayed there forever, except that his focus wavered- only a second. He blinked and came to himself, his gaze drifting to the girl in his arms. He stared into her face, searching desperately for any life that remained there, but he found nothing. There was nothing left of the woman he loved; only a body. An empty husk. A puppet without her strings. It was heart wrenching. He was so close, and yet so far from the one who he loved. He held her in his arms, but couldn't speak with her- he couldn't even see her. Not in the way that mattered.
He couldn't bear to look at the broken doll for even a moment longer. He stared back into the light.
"You're a wish granter, aren't you?"
There was a low, constant hum emanating from the column of light.
"This is my wish: bring her back. Give her a long, healthy life."
He blinked away the tears which threatened to break.
"Please."
He took a step forward, allowing her body to enter the column of light. His own arms were elbow-deep, and he could feel an electric tingle dancing on his fingertips, and what felt like a bolt of lightning striking through his heart. A beat skipped in his chest, but when it passed he felt more awake, more alive than he had a moment before. Her body became lighter in his arms, seized by the gravity of the tabernacle, and he removed himself from the column, putting a step's distance between himself and her. He held his prayer in his heart; unable to even speak it for fear of being heard by some invisible saboteur; afraid that some nearby devil may witness his weakness and prey on it.
Her body raised higher within the pillar, her chest pulled upwards to become the peak of her silhouette.
He held his breath, watching closely for any change.
It was subtle, he could hardly see it past the blood, but he noticed the wounds starting to stitch themselves back together. As if to announce themselves, like a stage pulling back its curtain, like a bride removing her veil, the bloodstains were washed away after the wounds were healed, so that they peeled back to reveal flawless skin with no sign of cut or blemish whatsoever. The skin itself was pale at first, but soon became flush with life. And it did not come suddenly, with drama and fanfare, but modestly, with only the slightest fullness of her lips, and the most tranquil rising and falling of the chest. One would be led to think that her death was, to begin with, only a trick of the light, and that she had been merely sleeping as an infant does, so seeming like death that it worried her nurse.
Her body began to right itself within the column, and now her clothes were seeming to peel off her in much the same way the blood had, as if it were a smudge to be wiped away. At the same time, as if in a rush to maintain her modesty, light was filling in the gaps left behind. When it was done, she was adorned in a pristine white gown that fell like hanging curtains from her shoulders; tight and loose, disguising and accentuating. More than that, he couldn't help but feel that her hair was just a tone lighter, her skin just a tone darker, her lips only a shade richer, and that her eyes, her eyes which opened lazily to meet life once more, glittered like stars in the night sky as the hadn't before.
Yes, he was certain: she had never been more beautiful than she was now.
Light danced around her left arm, decorating it as if in golden bangles. Three rings fell upon her forearm, appearing to cascade towards her elbow like running water, meanwhile a star with two wings imprinted itself on the back of her hand.
And yet, she took no notice of it. As consciousness returned in full, her gaze fixated onto Chrysaor, her friend, her Servant, her beloved.
She smiled.
He smiled back, disguising his sobs as a soft laugh.
"We did it."
"Yes," His laugh became fuller, and more earnest, "Yes, we did."
"Well-?" She smirked with pride, and held out her hand, "Aren't you coming?"
"About that-" He kicked half-heartedly, tongue in his cheek, "You used your last Command Seal, remember? I'm... not your Servant anymore."
She could detect the playfulness in his voice, and decided to go along with the act. She held up her left hand, all her glowing bands of light finding their home there.
"I used those Command Seals, yeah, but I have more right here."
He nodded and crossed his arms, a smile still dancing on his lips, "Right. It's the Command Seals left over from the war, so I guess you're qualified to be a Master. But our contract did still end, so, if you really want me to be your Servant still, we'll have to make a new one."
She snickered, "What are you on about, Chrysaor?" It was becoming harder for her to hold back her laughter, "Don't tell me you have conditions?"
The corners of his lips turned ever upwards, "I do."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, not with concern, but with curiosity. No, her faith in him hadn't dwindled at all, but she enjoyed playing the princess, and decided to keep the role going a while longer.
"I guess I'll hear you out. What are your terms?"
The words felt so ridiculous on her lips. She felt like she was an actor in a play, or, more than that, that her life had itself become a stage. She was no actor; she was a character. She was living in a fairytale. The anticipation of the drama, that shameless timidity, kept her heart dancing in her chest.
He uncrossed his arms and looked into her eyes for a long time, such that she began to wonder whether she had forgotten her lines. As she began to mull over her inner script, he dropped to one knee.
She beamed. She hadn't forgotten her lines; he was only hesitating. He was shy. The words he had prepared to say were so scripted that he felt ashamed to speak the lines he himself had prepared. It was beautiful.
"Athena. Let me be your guardian. Let me be your sword and your shield. Let me be the clothes on your back and the roof over your head. Let me protect you. Let me serve you for as long as I live, however long that may be, even forever. Allow me that honor. Promise me this, and I will be your Servant- forever."
She closed her lips, doing her best to mimic the flawless queen she held in her imagination. She held out her left hand for him to take.
"I accept these terms."
His head shot up with a wide, boyish grin, seeming at this moment to be a true child. But, despite his glee, he took her hand as a gentleman would, and stepped through the threshold to stand by her side. As he did, he, too, underwent a transformation; his skin becoming enriched, his hair becoming fuller, his eyes turning brighter, and his clothes replaced with bands of light; pants and a matching tunic. One band of light attached as a bangle around his arm, and he saw that one of the three she had was now removed from her wrist.
His glee was partly replaced by confusion, "Athena? What's this?"
Sobriety entered her face, "The best lies have a hint of truth. Caster had a point. Our relationship... has been one-sided. You shouldn't be the only one wearing a leash."
"What are you saying?"
A chuckle escaped her lips, "I'm saying I've had my fill of being a Master... at least for now. Don't worry, I'll keep my promise. You can serve me as much as you like; I'd like nothing more. But, from now on, I should serve you, too. I don't know how to be useful to you, not yet, but I'd love it if you'd let me try."
"You want... to serve me?" He let out a full throated laugh, before finally saying, with some shyness, "No one's ever said that to me before."
"Well- that's their loss."
They exchanged bright, brilliant smiles; each one's lips seeming like pearly gates to the other. Finally he seized her, hoisting her up in his arms and pulling her into a fierce embrace of arms and lips; their bodies meshing so tightly together that they almost seemed like one person as they spun joyously in their dance.
When they did finally pull away, looking into one another's eyes, they noticed the light around them had dimmed. There was a sound like an opening door, and there, to their right, near the Acropolis's edge, was a doorway into something impossible. Rolling green hills and starry skies, all so familiar, yet so fantastical. So near to this world, yet possessing some indescribable, ephemeral, dream-like quality that made it seem more alien than any other planet could've been.
"Is that-"
"Yes." He nodded towards the door, "The land where gods dwell, the Reverse Side."
They exchanged a glance, and they smiled.
No words were needed. Destiny lied beyond that door.
"Athena-!"
A voice cried out from the Parthenon. The couple turned and there, having just climbed the stairs, was Monika, fallen on her knees, bittersweet rivers running down her cheeks. Heping was a few steps behind her.
The sister choked back her sobs and waved with both arms, desperate to be seen.
"Athena! Take care!"
She fell onto her hands, and whispered to herself, "-And thank you. Thank you for being my sister."
Athena smiled to herself. She had heard it all. She placed those words in her heart for safekeeping, and held out her hand for Chrysaor to take once more. He did so happily, greedily even, as if it were his rightful prize, and together they walked into the light, leaving this world, and all their regrets, behind.
It was the end of their story. In another way, it was a beginning. Their earthly lives had served their purpose; the purpose of preparing them for what came next...
THE END
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