c. 351 - The Underworld
Erebos was inconsolable.
It had been close to a year now, since his wife gave into the sly Titan's persuasion. He had heard her when she said that it would happen. He just could not believe it. Not when she said it. Not any time after that.
But it happened, whether he believed it or not. His retribution -- cut short by his son, Aither -- had been vicious and swift, but not nearly strong enough to soothe him. He tried all methods of erasing that pain that he could think of. He had been half-mad from wine mixed heavily with ambrosia for at least two months, and though he did not remember anything that he did in those months, he could still remember the sound and sight of her as she gave herself to Krios. He almost even visited Lethe, but the shame of admitting to their daughter what Nyx had done was too much to overcome. When wine did not work, he took to self-harm.
Aither, it seemed, showed up at the most inconvenient of times. His son had forced him to stop, and extracted his promise that he would not continue. It was the second time this year that he'd horrified Aither with the violence he was capable of. This time, however, it had been himself that had been the brunt of it. Not some god, bent on an illicit affair.
Poor Aither. Of all their children... his and Nyxie's... Aither remained the only one who had ever seen their father enraged to the point of madness. Aither remained the only one who had ever seen their father broken to the point of drunkenness. To the point of tears. And beyond. And Aither bore it all, setting aside his own sadness and doing everything he could to try to help his father.
There was precious little that could be done.
This night, Erebos was staring into the fire across from where he sat. He had been like this for the last week, unmoving, lost in his thoughts. Aither, he sent away for a time, promising his son again that he would not try to harm himself. At least not physically.
But over and over in his head, he was replaying the things he had said to Nyx. The things she had said. The things that he might have done differently. He was trying to find out where he went wrong. And why. Why. Why Nyx had felt it necessary to give herself to Krios.
He had not yet found the answers. But he kept searching.
It had been close to a year now, since his wife gave into the sly Titan's persuasion. He had heard her when she said that it would happen. He just could not believe it. Not when she said it. Not any time after that.
But it happened, whether he believed it or not. His retribution -- cut short by his son, Aither -- had been vicious and swift, but not nearly strong enough to soothe him. He tried all methods of erasing that pain that he could think of. He had been half-mad from wine mixed heavily with ambrosia for at least two months, and though he did not remember anything that he did in those months, he could still remember the sound and sight of her as she gave herself to Krios. He almost even visited Lethe, but the shame of admitting to their daughter what Nyx had done was too much to overcome. When wine did not work, he took to self-harm.
Aither, it seemed, showed up at the most inconvenient of times. His son had forced him to stop, and extracted his promise that he would not continue. It was the second time this year that he'd horrified Aither with the violence he was capable of. This time, however, it had been himself that had been the brunt of it. Not some god, bent on an illicit affair.
Poor Aither. Of all their children... his and Nyxie's... Aither remained the only one who had ever seen their father enraged to the point of madness. Aither remained the only one who had ever seen their father broken to the point of drunkenness. To the point of tears. And beyond. And Aither bore it all, setting aside his own sadness and doing everything he could to try to help his father.
There was precious little that could be done.
This night, Erebos was staring into the fire across from where he sat. He had been like this for the last week, unmoving, lost in his thoughts. Aither, he sent away for a time, promising his son again that he would not try to harm himself. At least not physically.
But over and over in his head, he was replaying the things he had said to Nyx. The things she had said. The things that he might have done differently. He was trying to find out where he went wrong. And why. Why. Why Nyx had felt it necessary to give herself to Krios.
He had not yet found the answers. But he kept searching.