Archive of Our Own ^beta

There are a great many things to discuss when the dark-cloaked goddess of night descends into that place outside of place.

What a curious and novel experience, to have been unaware of occurrences, a blank space in one's omniscience, and then to begin imagining what may have transpired — not an activity that seemed necessary, until the mortal-divine child introduced the possibility that this information could someday become known. Possibility was intriguing and led to imagining, to guessing. And now, what was not known indeed becomes illuminated as Nyx fills blank spaces with story, with history. Her history.

The imaginings were in some cases correct, but not all. How delicious to find one's speculation proven or disproven by Nyx's revelations. 

All this made possible by the boy whose very existence defies the fates. Again and again, her stories return to him, framed by his presence and his absence. She did not birth him, yet she speaks of him more than of the countless offspring that came from her own essence. 

Nyx's face changes when she speaks of him. There is something new about her in these moments, something more mortal than divine. A softness, a vulnerability. Unexpected. Change is rare among immortals. 

"He is truly a remarkable child," she says. 

"Yes," they agree. They are not often surprised. It is hard to be surprised by anything, when you are the originator of all things. Still, somehow the boy accomplishes such a feat. 

"His heart," Nyx says. "He has such a kind and loving heart, like his mother. He is a bright flame." 

"Even you, the night, appreciate this brightness?" 

"I love him for it," she says. "He was a delight as a child, if an unruly one — very unlike obedient Thanatos, or even Hypnos, who rebels through inaction, my other children…" She catches herself with a gentle laugh, a long absent and dearly welcome melody. "Ah, but of course Zagreus is not truly my child, I know this. At the time, as I was raising him, I felt something of a mother's pride in him. And after years of pretending for his sake, I still find myself thinking of him and speaking of him as my own."

The boy has recounted this tale before in his own introduction, but from Nyx's lips it gains another layer, a richer tapestry of context, previously not considered — another surprise. She feels toward him something more than obligation, though she does not owe him even the responsibilities of parentage.

A response is expected. "He thinks and speaks of you frequently. He has had much curiosity about you, and about our relationship."

She smiles, finding humor in these words. "As a child, he asked endless questions. How, why, and especially why not. Forbidding him from certain knowledge only entices him to pursue it. I am not surprised that he sought answers from you."

That is an insufficient explanation of the boy's behavior. Clarification is necessary.

"He asked after you with intent, not merely to satisfy curiosity. It became clear that he desired to take action, to bring about this… reconciliation." They hesitate to speak the word aloud, unsure whether it is an accurate term. Reconciliation requires agreement between two parties; invoking the word without confirming Nyx's agreement seems potentially unwise. It is possible that she will reject such an offer.

She does not voice rejection — a pleasing revelation. Instead, she smiles again. "Ah yes. He meddles in the affairs of others. He has always done so."

"This is not unique" — they have observed such meddling incalculably often — "yet there is something about him that is different. He gives offerings, even when he receives no benefit in return. It is a most peculiar occurrence. Mortals and gods claim at times to be selfless in their offerings, a pretense to win favor, yet no such deception seems present in him. He truly expects nothing."

"He gives gifts freely, out of love." No laughter accompanies these words, yet there is a sense of implied humor, as she regards her own parent with a pointed gaze that once more indicates layers of meaning and context.

They must voice their astonishment out loud. "This is an impossibility. One does not love the primordial originator of all things."

"Zagreus has never heeded what is 'done' or 'not done.'"

The conversation continues in other directions. There is much, still, to be discussed.

Yet long after Nyx returns to her responsibilities and her machinations, her words linger, to be spun around and examined from every angle, to be challenged and tested and absorbed. 

Love?

Yes, that seems an accurate description of the tenderness in the child's voice when he speaks of her. And it defines the strangeness about Nyx herself when she thinks of him. She loves this boy — as a mortal mother would love her son. The bonds between the Olympians are self-focused, making them brittle and tenuous, prone to breaking. Mortals too are often selfish, but there is also something selfless in them that is seldom found in gods, something that burns within him and spreads like wildfire to those he touches, and everything and everyone is changed by that spark. 

Change is coming — change has already arrived — promising more delicious unknowns, more rare surprises.

The primordial origin of the universe has been feared, honored, revered, and forgotten — but never loved. Never so selflessly, by one willing to risk shame or rejection or even punishment as a consequence of his efforts to make someone else — his foster mother, the unreachable night — his foster mother's parent, an entity beyond mortal or immortal comprehension — happy. 

Is this happiness, this feeling in the wake of Nyx's reappearance? 

Is this… love? 

How easy it is to underestimate one infinitesimal young creature, to assume that a strange young god must act as all the others do. To expect ulterior motives, to bristle at the charade of supposedly selfless actions. 

How misjudged this boy has been. 

How anticipated his next visit will be. 

The universe is stirring after a long slumber; the universe remembers life; the unchanging creaks and shifts and, ever so slowly, begins to move. 

O