after recent events, you feel a spike in your strength. where you once might have doubted it before, now it's clearer than ever that the blood of immortals flows through your veins. you're quicker and stronger than you've ever felt. one night, you fall asleep and "awake" in a dream. something about it is familiar, like you've been there, or maybe you've seen it from somewhere.
There's a forest just outside Seattle with gentle hills and large rocks. If you get there early enough, you can see the fog roll around and below, watch the sun peek up from the land- hear the distant roar of the ocean.
the trees erupt around you as if being painted by the second. with each passing minute, your memory brings your surroundings into focus. the fog is thick, a gray blanket that envelops large rocks, almost blots out the sun. but it, too, creeps through, sending rays of light dancing against the trees and flora. the sound of the ocean is a distant ebb and flow, a constant rhythm, that soothes you. something catches your eye, though, surrounded by the fog. it swirls around the figure until you can almost make it out, as if the fog is solidifying around it.
Mark turns towards the being- can you call something a creature if you're not sure what it is? He waits patiently as the form approaches, blinks in confusion when the swirling cloud reveals a much smaller shape than expected. How is it possible for a butterfly to move so much air? It's not the strangest thing he's seen, beautiful and ethereal in a way he's always associated with the natural world and the peace he finds in this place. He rises slowly to approach it, awe apparent as he takes in the otherworldly glow and pattern. This creature- for it certainly is one, almost looks like it's made of shadow and light entwined, an ever-shifting balance with no cessation in sight.
the shadow and light twist and turn, an ever churning flutter with every beat of the butterflies wings. it hovers in front of you until it flies around you in circles before resting on your shoulder. then, suddenly, you hear it. a voice. it seems to be coming from the butterfly! it's muffled, as if speaking through glass or underwater, distorted somehow. you focus, concentrate on the voice. it becomes crystal clear after a moment of focusing.
The butterfly is too close to see easily, but perhaps it's for the best. Now it's incredibly simple to focus his hearing in that direction. In the same way it's very being contains different facets, the voice of the butterfly seems to be woven together of a hundred voices in song, harmonizing into something he can almost feel caress his skin. It rings in his mind like a perfectly shaped bell, echoes like a chorus in an open hall- makes him feel both insignificant and immeasurable. The voice makes him picture himself alone in the universe, but also the universe he contains within himself, similarly ever-changing.
the voice chimes through you, a chorus of a thousand voices that makes your blood sing along. "i've been waiting for you, son of thanatos. why have you come here, to this place?"
It's a serious question, one he's stopped asking himself in the last few weeks. He hadn't noticed it's disappearance from his thoughts despite the fact that it had been nearly all he could concentrate on in the beginning of his life here. "I'm sorry to keep you waiting," the apology is automatic. "I- well. I suppose I'm here to learn. If you mean this place, I think it's because it's the place that let me feel connected to things beyond myself. Or at least to do it without endangering others."
the butterfly flaps its wings, shadow and light dancing together before it ascends to the air, hovering in front of you now. "you feel as though you're an endangerment to others? or is there potential for harm within you?"
Mark wraps his arms around himself sheepishly. "W-well I'm not so s-sure? I thought- for a really really long time, I thought that I was somehow the reason people around me died suddenly. And that was before I even found out who my dad wa- is. Who he is. When my mother told me, everything made sense, of course the son of Death would kill people. Even on accident. There's potential to harm in everyone, especially those of us who live these lives. But I don't- I don't want that to be how I build a legacy." He sighs and sits on the rock again. "I've started to realize what a tiny cog I am in this war machine, and I'm not quite sure I like seeing all the people it'll crush on the way to battle. And now that I'm learning about my f-father, I'm just.... Not sure where to go, what fine line I can walk between my morals and my duties."
the butterfly flickers in and out of the fog as it flies around you. it's quiet for a moment, as if contemplating the hesitation in your words, the dilemma that you seem to be in. "death does not have to be destructive and evil. it can also be a gift if you allow it. who you are and who you will be doesn't make you a bringer of death, or a cause for it. those around you do not die because they are around you." the butterfly lands on top of your head, allowing you to think of the words that it says. before you, the fog seems to clear, three paths making themselves known to you. they don't seem to be paths you're familiar with. one is dark, veering to the left, the one straight ahead seems to reveal itself, only to fade back into the fog once more, and the right, seems to be a lighter path. all three don't show anything other than that. "go down a path, it is your time."
Even the extended moment of silence is not enough to digest the words of the butterfly. Mark's heart pulls him towards one path, then another, indecision nearly crippling before he sighs and extends a hand towards the creature on his head to bring it within view. "Do you have a name I may call you by? Will you sta- will I see you- Nevermind, stupid question, sorry. I thank you for your time and wisdom, and... Your kindness." Some small part of the interaction rings true and familiar to the story of his father Kruna had told, though the situations are vastly different. It settles his mind as he looks at each of the paths, first dark, then light.Duty, Morals, and the fine line Between. He straightens his back with a small sigh and moves straight down the middle path.
the butterfly rests on your finger, wings still flapping quietly as it nestles against your skin. "i do not have a preexisting name. you may name me if you wish. for now, you may think of me as a guardian, a remnant of your father's power inside of you." there's a warmth and then a coolness that flows over your skin. the butterfly goes quiet as you begin moving forward, down the road in the middle. the fog remains thick, making it harder for you to see. "even with the conflict inside of you, you decide to teeter on the balance. why?"
"I may not be the monster in the dark that I see in the mirror," he starts quietly. "But neither am I free of sin and doubt and shadow. Power comes with a price. I am not the dark or the light." A heavy sigh escapes him as his footsteps slow. "Like my father, if all goes well, I will simply be the inevitable. All things end and are born anew, that's just the way our universe works. Maybe it won't be so bad to watch the ebb and flow of life for eternity?" It sounds like he's trying to convince himself- mostly because he is. It's strange to voice the thoughts he's had for so long now that they're connected to him so personally. Some of these conclusions he'd reached as a child- yet still they remain relevant. "Not sure I'm on board with the whole Grim Reaper schtick with the scythe, but if it comes with the job, right?" His chuckle is dry and ends quickly as he falls back into thought. One foot in front of the other. And again.
"the end is not always the end nor is it a beginning for some. inevitable, yes." the butterfly moves from your finger now, its wings, much like the path you've chosen, a constant flux between light and dark, where one ends and the other begins remains almost indistinguishable. "your father has many faces, a reaper is but one. you do not need to don his mask to wield his power. a scythe is an instrument, you are its master." as you mention the scythe, it appears before you, hanging in the air as if suspended by an unseen force. "if you do not wish for a scythe, what is it you wish for?"
Mark remembers a conversation he'd had once with a man that hurts to think of. Everyone has a mask, some people have one for everyone they meet. It's how we approach people's expectations, how we face the world when it's too cruel to do head-on. Sometimes I wonder if I would recognize myself without it. He can see why his father would have many in that regard. The scythe is beautiful, otherworldly, sharp, and cold even as an image. A home, is the first thing he thinks of, but that's not the question. "I have no problem with the scythe, what I want is a means to an end," he starts slowly, "an instrument or a tool, it serves its purpose when used correctly. If I get the time to become its master as you say, then the tool and its purpose can be fulfilled with my own goals." He shrugs.
“are your goals to find the means to the end, as you say?” the butterfly shifts again, dipping low before rising once more. it begins to circle around you, leaving an intertwining stream of light and dark behind it, circling you like ribbons.
"It's more of a continuous one than a finite goal," he admits again. "But that just makes it a sequence of many ends, no?" Mark turns in a circle opposite the movement of the butterfly, smile growing as the traces wind around him.
the light and dark begin to spiral around you, mixing together, blending and blurring. it's both hot and cold, a warmth and a chill that reminds you of the living and the dead. "what is it you want, son of thanatos, when wielding your father's power—your power?"
"I want to protect the people I care about," his soft voice is clear. Even from myself. "I want to stop those who threaten the balance of the world for their own gain." His voice rises in this cocoon of energy. "I want to guard the things and people that need it. I want to... help." His voice drops to a murmur, "I want to help people be less lonely than I am. Show them someone still cares."
"i believe i'm beginning to understand you." the butterfly picks up speed, twisting and turning around your body, leaving streaks of light and dark behind it. then, the butterfly shoots straight up into the air and the ribbons of differing sides tighten around you, caress your skin, before dissolving. the butterfly flutters back toward you at eye level. "death is not always the enemy, it can be a friend to some, a gift. it is not to be feared, when the time is right for a person. you will be the one who shows them the way."
Mark's not sure if he's expecting the energy to be warm or cool to the touch- finds it's both and neither, leaves his skin tingling as it dissipates. It's strange, sinking deeper into him as a warmth blooms outwards from his bones, only to meet and fuse and fill him. It leaves him.... energized, but not in a frantic way. "Thank you," he whispers. "I'll do my best."
"i will lend you my power and together, we will grow." the butterfly comes to rest on your nose, wings flapping as tendrils of light energy mix with the dark, wrapping around your body once more. "believe in yourself, son of thanatos. do not doubt your power or your reason for being here. self doubt is the worst type of killer, it is slow and painful, and makes you hollow inside." the butterfly flaps its wings once more, tickling your nose. "until we meet again."
you begin to watch as it takes off, flying around the foggy scenery and then you wake up, panting, gasping for breath. you feel hot and cold and neither, as if something has awakened inside of you. for a moment, you think it's all a dream, but something about you feels different.
when you fall back asleep, it's the most restful sleep you've had in ages, maybe for as long as you can remember.
