Ceremus stared at the black waters, who have remained still since their descent, with a troubled look on his face.
He wasn't happy to hear he'd have to swim in its waters, but he had no choice.His expression was grim as he stripped away his outer garments, casting them aside. The frigid air stung his skin, but he hardly noticed. His gaze remained locked on the river, unblinking.
The cold swallowed him whole, seeping into his bones as he cut through the water. It was deathly silent beneath the surface, the pressure of the deep pushing against him like unseen hands.
He recalled Tiresias' words before he leapt: "The plant resembles a flower, yellow in colour and hard to miss."
His eyes scanned the murky depths, searching for the yellow flower.
That's when he saw it—a glimmer of gold nestled among the riverbed's shifting sands.
His heart pounded as he propelled himself forward, reaching for the flower that would decide Hael's fate. But before he could do so, a hand stopped him.
Ceremus looked down at his hand in alarm, wondering what had just touched him when an image materialized in front of him—the image was none other than his father. But this time, even as he faced him, Ceremus was no longer alarmed or afraid. He faced Peleus right on, ready to wrestle with any lingering regrets he might've had.
He knew he was going to have to face his father someday and explain to him all the things he had done, how he had wronged not only him, but his people as well. Believing himself unworthy of atonement, he delved deeper into a life of sin, losing himself to the world. He opted for a reckless life rather than a righteous one. Instead of putting his people first, he selfishly did what he wanted. Instead of caring, he ignored.
But after meeting Hael, seeing the way he lived, treated others well, expecting nothing in return, being righteous and staying true to his beliefs without being corrupted. He thought perhaps he was still capable of change. And after going on this journey, being convicted of his wrongdoings, he finally saw the light.
People make mistakes, this makes us human. The problem is what we are willing to do after we make said mistakes. Learning from them and growing.
So as he looked into his father's face that smiled warmly at him, he knew what needed to be done.
"I am sorry, father, for everything I have done until now. Though it is my greatest wish to see you again, now is not the time. I still have to atone for my transgressions and give back to the people who have been waiting for their king's return. Only then will I hope to return to your arms, a better man than I once was."
As soon as he said those words, the image of his father disappeared from the waters, fading into the abyss. Ceremus was able to retrieve the plant, swimming back to the surface, where he found Atilla and Tiresias awaiting his return.
As soon as he resurfaced, the young knight let out a breath of relief, and quickly grabbed the towel Tiresias had brought to dry him off. Ceremus graciously accepted the cloth and dried his body until there wasn't a single drop of water left. Once he put his clothes back on, he handed over the plant to Tiresias, who inspected it and nodded.
"You have found the plant of life. Not only that, you've overcome your burdens." He said simply. "You can now go on with your journey and save the one you love. But remember to guard the plant with your life as there is only the one."
Ceremus nodded, and the three went back to the cavern to warm up after being out in the cold. Tiresias suggested for the two to stay the night before setting off, which Ceremus accepted as it had gotten late.
The following day, the king and the young knight left Tiresias' dwelling, taking the boat back to civilization. This time, they rode its waters with no problems, and made it back to the village safely.
With their mission accomplished, the pair felt less weary and at peace, knowing that Hael could be saved as they faced the long and arduous journey back to Trojas.
Meanwhile, in the celestial realms, Dicaeus wasn't happy to hear how well things were going for the king.
Though he was glad that Hael was down and slowly approaching death's door, he wasn't thrilled at the guard's chance of survival. Not one to let go of grudges, he devised a plan that would affect the king without getting directly involved. His mind churned, weaving threads of misfortune as he set his sights on the mortal realm.
As for Kaleeso, who had been carefully guarding Ceremus and Hael the entire time, caught wind of this and had no plans of letting Dicaeus do as he saw fit.
"No harm shall come to these two humans while I am still around." She declared.
She turned her gaze toward Ceremus and Hael. The guard still clung to life, his breathing shallow, but the light within him refused to be extinguished.
~*~
It had been a month since the king's departure, and Anthanasia, faithful to her promise, tended to Hael every waking hour.
She had taken a break from her huntsmen duties to stay by Hael's side, monitoring his conditions whenever she could. Some colour had returned to his face, which was a relief given that a few days ago, Hael had been convulsing and then broke out in an intense fever for a while.
No matter what she did, the young man never seemed to wake, which broke her heart. All she could do was sit by his side and hope he would recover. During this time, Loki had finally fallen out of his depressive state and came to pay his friend a visit.
Loki perched on the windowsill, his light feathers gleaming under the afternoon light. His sharp eyes lingered on Hael, taking in the rise and fall of his chest, the slight color that had returned to his face. Relief swelled within him, but it did little to ease the ache in his heart.
Anthanasia sat beside the bed, her fingers idly tracing patterns on the fabric of Hael's blanket. She looked weary, as if the past month had drained everything from her. "You finally showed up," she muttered, not even turning to face Loki.
The divine bird fluffed his feathers but said nothing to her—there was no point. Instead, he hopped onto the bedside table and tilted his head at Hael's face. His emerald eyes narrowed, his voice low and meant only for the unconscious man.
"You stubborn fool," Loki rasped. "Do you have any idea what you've put us through? Three months, Hael. Three full months, and you still won't wake up."
His talons gripped the wood tighter as he leaned in slightly. "You shouldn't be the one lying on this bed in such a sorry state. None of this would've happened to you if you had just remained in the Forest, where you belong. But gods know you are being the stubborn fool that you are…you would've left even if it meant never seeing us again, seeing me again."
He brushed one of his wings against Hael's cheek, his eyes softening. "At least the king is doing whatever he can to save you. He isn't the heartless man I believed him to be. I hope for all our sakes his search proves to be useful…"
Anthanasia sighed next to him, running a damp cloth over Hael's forehead. She glanced at Loki but said nothing—he was always talking in those strange chirps and whistles, and it made no sense to her. Still, she could feel how disheartened he had become.
Loki let out a slow breath, lowering his head until his beak almost touched Hael's hand. "If you can hear me… wake up already, you idiot."
A long silence stretched between them. Then—just as Loki was about to pull away—Hael's fingers twitched.
Anthanasia jolted upright, eyes wide. "Hael?"
Loki's wings flared slightly, his heart pounding.
Another moment passed.
Then another.
Then nothing. The sliver of hope the two had felt at that moment had all but vanished. Hael went back to being still, unmoving.