From Kryx's body erupted a cyclone of silver and golden butterflies souls in their purest form. They screamed silently as they spiraled upwards, vanishing into the dark sky above the altar. The blood pooled around his feet, but the body remained standing for a moment longer, suspended by sheer will—by pain—and then crumpled like a broken offering at the gods' feet.
Zagreus didn't scream. He didn't cry. He simply shattered. Not in body, but in spirit. He crawled toward Kryx's fallen form, whispering prayers not even Hades himself would recognize.
"No… no, no… Moirai, please. Fates, take me instead. Hermes, guide him gently—don't let him wander… don't let him get lost…"
The gods did not answer. The altar lit with runes—old ones—glowing faintly in the cracks of the stone. The kind of runes that meant a soul had passed unjudged. Unclaimed.
Kryx had defied his fate.
A crime against the natural order.
And now… the Underworld would remember.
From the shadows behind Zagreus, Nyx herself stirred mist coiling around her as she stepped silently forward.
"You loved him," she said, voice like night wind. "And yet your love destroyed him."
Zagreus didn't move.
"Tell me, Prince… will you carry this burden, or shall I erase you too?"
Zagreus looked up, tears carving through ash. "Erase me? No. I want to suffer. I want to walk the same path… until I find him again."
Nyx smiled faintly. "Then suffer you shall."
With a snap of her fingers, Kryx's body dissolved—not into dust, but into a trail of stardust and butterflies that wove through the air, disappearing into the darkness.
A soul removed from the cycle.
A soul hidden.
A soul lost.
Zagreus remained on his knees, bathed in silver ash and silence.
The altar stood quiet, but the Underworld had changed.
Something sacred had been broken.
And someone would pay the price.
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Present Year, 2040
The classroom buzzed with life. Laughter bounced off the chipped walls, desks dragged noisily across the floor, conversations overlapping in a mess of tangled voices.
"Did you read that book I recommended?" a girl whispered excitedly to her seatmate, twirling a pen between her fingers. "The one about reincarnation?"
"Oh, that fantasy thing? Yeah. I liked the twist at the end… being reborn with all your memories intact? Crazy."
In the farthest corner, near the window streaked with grime and tired sunlight, sat someone who didn't join in.
Khryzz.
Head down. Hood up. The kind of presence so quiet, it faded into the background. Even the teachers forgot to call his name during roll sometimes.
He stared out the window, not really seeing the world beyond it. Just the blur of motion, life continuing without him. A ghost in his own life. His pencil tapped a slow, restless rhythm against the desk, a silent metronome for the chaos in his chest.
"Reincarnation..." he thought, lips barely moving. "If only I had that privilege... maybe I could finally escape this hell."
No one noticed the way his hands curled into fists beneath the desk. No one knew what he returned home to each day.
The stench of spilled liquor. Ashtrays scattered like landmines. A man who once answered "father" now reduced to slurred curses and swinging fists.
And three small voices waiting for him at the door. Voices that always called, "Brother… are you home?" Their words gentle, trusting, always hopeful.
He cooked. He cleaned. He stitched holes in old clothes, helped with homework under the glow of a dying lamp. He brushed tangled hair, tucked them in at night, made up stories about heroes and gods—anything to distract them from the truth clawing at the walls around them.
He bore it all, not because he was strong, but because no one else could. No one else would.
They didn't see him, not really.
But something else did.
Far beyond the mortal world, something ancient stirred. And soon… someone would whisper his true name again.
They didn't see him. Not really. Just a quiet boy who never spoke unless spoken to. Just a name on paper, a shadow in the hallway.
But the world had a way of bending under the weight of unnoticed pain.
That day, as the clouds gathered low and heavy outside the classroom window, something shifted.
It wasn't much.
Just a sudden chill in the air.
Just the flicker of the lights above.
Just the faintest whisper of his name—Kryx—echoing where it shouldn't.
Khryzz blinked, glancing up, heart skipping. No one else seemed to notice. The chatter continued. The teacher scribbled on the board. Pages turned.
But something had changed.
He didn't know it yet, but the world had just taken its first step toward him.
And far beneath it, in the depths of the forgotten realm, a prince stirred from mourning.