Thanatos's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Thanatos knelt at the edge of the burning river and let a butterfly settle on his palm. Its wings glowed pink and gold against the red light. He was the gentle god of death, and he wanted every soul in the world to pass through his hands alone. Not his sisters' claws. His sisters tore. He carried. Behind him rose the great gate he had built for the newly dead. Bronze pillars. A quiet arch. A doorway where no one had to scream. He had shaped it stone by stone, hoping the Keres would see it and bow. They had not come. They never came when he called. His twin stepped from the smoke without sound. Hypnos held a curved horn against his hip, and a second butterfly rested on his shoulder. "You summoned them again," Hypnos said. "They laughed again." "They will not listen to me," Thanatos said. His voice was soft. That was the problem. Softness did not frighten the Keres. They fed on shrieks, not whispers, and they mocked the small touch of his hand. Hypnos lifted the butterfly from his shoulder. "One wing brings sleep. The other brings death. You have only used the first." He set the creature on Thanatos's wrist beside its twin. "Use both. Build a swarm. Then call them again." Thanatos closed his fingers around the two butterflies. He felt their slow, certain pulse. The plan settled in him like a stone dropping into still water. He would not beg his sisters anymore. He would raise an army of quiet wings, and the next time the Keres laughed, the laughter would stop in their throats.