βWell, a few others have found their trial site alreadyβ Credence, Kiβ,uh, Greyson, Jules, and myself, but,β he pulls back, nose wrinkling. βWeβre gearing up to do Credenceβs next, unfortunately. Mineβs probably not for a while.β Hudson runs a hand down Gideonβs chest, smoothing out the fabric that separated them. βIβm kinda scared no oneβs gonna wanna go, honestly.β Shoulders droop as he says that, only to bunch up the next moment, a bright smile crossing his face. βBut hey, enough about that, did you know I found two new sisters? From my fatherβs daughters.β He cringes. βWell, he doesnβt call them that. Turns out, heβs a jerk and calls them hisβ¦ his creations.β Taking his hands into his own, Hudson gives Gideon a small smile. βLamiaβthe first sister I foundβ has been wanting to meet you for seven months now. Do youββ he freezes, looking terribly ashamed. βI was going to ask if you want to head down to her shop but, are you tired? Hungry? Needβ¦ anything? I know I was when I first came back from the underworld.β
gideon nods his head along with hudsonβs words. piles and piles of information, of names that he recognizes. he catches the way that hudson almost stumbles over a half-said name before itβs abandoned, tossed to the way side. maybe he did start moving on. he thinks to himself, the smile still resting on his lips.Β
then the time frame hits him like a truck to a wall.
seven months.
his smile cracks, shatters to pieces like a rock to a mirror. it takes him only a millisecond to pick up those pieces and shove them back into place. he hopes that hudson doesnβt notice.Β
βmaybe after iβve settled in.β he says with a half-smile, though itβs not said in the same promising tone as anything before. he already broke one promise, he doesnβt want to make it a habit.Β βyou found your trial? you donβt hate your powers anymore?β
So there is no true afterlife, then. A perpetual state of non-existence, an emptiness. Maybe a suspension in time for the rest of eternityβif it never ends. That is the meaning of eternal, isnβt it? Julian looksβto him, at him, through himβand frowns. He feels that icy chill trickle down his back and slowly seize his nerves. It spreads to wrap around his chest, lungs, and heart to squeeze what warmth he kept to himself out and snuff it.Β
Not for good; itβd come back as always, like an abandoned pet left to the wild. Julian moves his other arm and brings Gideon in for an embrace. Thereβs an initial hesitation for the act, debating whether to give in to his desires and cravings for touch or abandon it for something harder: distance. Run a mile away and leave his heart in the dust once and for all.Β βIβm sorry.βΒ This isnβt Gideon the smirking, determined man that sways their camp and bolsters camaraderie. It isnβt the same man from capture the flag that has unwavering loyalty from his team. This Gideon has that same charisma and influence, but that determination and supernatural stubbornness is broken.Β
βIβm sorry weβre not done here, not without you.β
the hug is unexpected and he freezes against julian. his arm comes up reluctantly to hug him back. thereβs a desperate need for warmth that doesnβt come, not yet at least. he wonders if julian can feel it radiating off him in waves, if his own cold chill would infect the rest of them.Β
βitβs not your fault, donβt be sorry.β i was the one that died, i was the one that was too stubborn to back down. his mind tells him.Β βthere was something else. after. a warmth.β he admits. what he doesnβt say is itβs a warmth he wants to chase again, wants to feel and bathe in.Β βi think, wherever i was, when i came back, it made me forget about it. i donβt know where it was.β he says slowly, a frown creasing his brows.Β
βyou guys never needed me. youβve all lasted this long.βΒ
Heβs upset, but heβs understanding. Heβs tired, but heβs kind. Is he unrelenting, stubborn to the death that Gideon had been? Still is, perchance? Maybe so. Julian is so many things, but after the same routine, more or less, in such a short time? Itβs best to leave his heart in his chest, where it belongs. Good thing he buried the ring months ago. He can sense the truth off the son of vengeance, justice. Gideonβs not steered him wrong and he doesnβt think anyoneβonce deadβwould dream of returning so soon. Or at all; isnβt it better on the other side?Β
At least Gideon can answer that. He softens his gaze, features domesticating themselves from a sterile shape that itβs almost alien to his kind nature.Β βI donβt think anyone asks to be back, but thereβs a reason youβre here,β he says, tone shifting to a kinder note, as if itβs an olive branch between them. So he nears at last, reaching a hand out to rest on Gideonβs shoulder. Heβs tired, heβs weary, and his heartβs far to weak to handle another blow. Maybe heβll come back too, right? But we broke up. He gave me his violin bow; Iβve not gotten a text from him even when I travel to the cities. Iβve not heard anything.
Heβs gone, and itβs all my fault.
βWhat do you remember?β
what is the reason for his returning? a need to appease someone? the fact that dexter had stayed so long in the underworld and didnβt know about those up top? the fact that he was the only demigod that theyβve lostβthat dexter knew aboutβand that was why hades allowed it to happen? was he destined for more? what was destiny but a fickle bitch who toyed with their emotions and teased them time and time again?Β
gideon inhales and holds the breath in his lungs. the icy chill of it doesnβt make him feel any better.Β
βan emptiness.β he answers honestly. he catches julianβs gaze and holds it, letting the heavy words sink like an anchor.Β
Blues meet brown and never does he feel such a strong, visceral recoil in his gut. I saw your soul, I watched you move on in the underworld. I watched the camp grow restless in your absence. I watched Dane and Dexter share what you wanted us to do. I did my damnedest to keep us and the new recruits in the fight for you, yet here you are. None of that spills past his lips, for his heart acts as a dam and quells the typhoon to one, strong, current: we missed you.
Julian wrinkles his nose and doesnβt need to consult the next hex-witch nor Dexter for this one: Gideon Knight is, in fact, alive. He all but drops the crate of clothes, wraps, and trinkets on the snow ground as he makes his way closer. Julianβs eyes are unrelenting, however, as they look over the man before him. Sad, too, if the anchor sinking in their icy depths says so.Β βWhat happened to you?β Why are you here, are you going to leave tomorrow?
gideon knight is not ready for the storm that is brewing in julian dorado. he is not ready for the questions. he is not ready for the guilt, the anguish, the unrelentling waves of it that would beat him like water against rocks. he can see it in those icy blue eyes, can see the depth of his frustration and sadness. itβs palpable. if it wasnβt snowing already, the air around them would turn to ice.Β
thereβs a scorn to julianβs gaze, he thinks, as if thereβs a score to settle, a vendetta that must be sealed. the question punches a hole through his chest and gideon does his best not to flinch at it. between credence and hudson, he knew he would be safe with his return. this is what he wasnβt prepared for.Β
βiββ he starts, not knowing where to go, where to start. but he knows that julian wants and expects truth. so heβll give that to him.Β βi didnβt ask to come back. i was happy.β a pause, a palpable silence.Β βat least i think i was.βΒ
Sanity was an easily-defined state of mind before flying off to Norway, pegasus-bound. Any mortal definition was overshadowed by greecian myths and olympian challenges consuming their new lives. In Julianβs case, after another night by the trails and staring down a patch of bluebells, he took himself away. The lake was off-limits, just as much as the forge, Magiea, and training grounds. Aspidaβs steps werenβt allowed for him, neither. On the same note, nor was his own room.Β
Julian was constantly waiting for a voice or two during his time at camp. Be it a smooth, controlled breath bated with a smirk or a soft, honeyed lilt romanticized in southern films, he misinformed himself that people came back from the dead. That, in fact, they returned from a world of amnesia to one of immortal memory. He didnβt think it should bother him so much, yet it still grew on him. Festered, bloomed, consumed him like hellhounds would have if it werenβt for him.Β Another concern for another day. Julian didnβt hear anyone as he carted belongings off to the little village and supplies to the infirmary; he did, however, see someone in the corner of his eye.
βIf youβre looking for someone, I donβt think I can help you.β A first for everything, wasnβt there?
the cold winter night was a biting reminder of his mortality, of his presence back at camp. the nothingness that was the blink of an eye stretched to months of time lost, precious time that he no longer had with those that he was getting close to. it still feels strange to be here, to be back, and, for the most part, heβs kept to himself outside of the handful of people he knew he needed to see.
itβs not as if his presence could be missed. itβs not every day that someone returns from the dead. itβs not every day that more beliefs are upended by their godlihood.Β
gideon folds his arms over his chest, hugging his large coat around him. itβs so difficult to stay warm now. the fever that was once in him is gone, heβs been cold since he left. he looks up at the voice that cuts through his muddled thoughts. honey eyes meet sky blue.Β βoh.β he shakes his head.Β βi wasnβt looking for anyone in particular. just alone with my thoughts.βΒ
Hudson studies his face silently, trying desperately to find some kind of discrepancy, something that could prove this was all in his head. His hands trace over the sharp edges of his cheek bones. βGood,β he says, seemingly satisfied, closing the space between them for a kiss. βYouβre not allowed to do that ever again! You hear me?β He presses his forehead against Gideonβs and gives the taller man a tight warning squeeze. βYouβre going to meet your spirit guide, weβll find you your trial site, and youβll beat all the crazy ass puzzles and monsters your mom pits at us, and youβll get some badass weapon out of it.β A grin tugs at the corner of his lips, rubbing his nose against the otherβs. βAnd then we can do that whole accenting thing.β Hudson freezes, a look of confusion crossing his features. βAccenting? Axe-ending? β¦Ass-ending? None of those sound right.β
itβs easy enough for hudson to believe the truth of the matter and it doesnβt take long for the icy moment between them, the disbelief, to thaw. the kiss catches him off guard but his eyes fall closed and the warmth of hudsonβs lips on his sends a shock through his system. heβs been dead for months and just like that, hudson picks up where they left off. had he thought about moving on? had he started to and then he showed back up? question after question fills his mind but he pushes them to the side when heβs bombarded with word vomit. he nods along, half-heartedly agreeing, and when hudson stops for a breath, gideon chimes in, serrated smile on his lips.Β βdonβt think iβll be doing that any time soon. thereβs plenty of you who are more ready than i am.β he gives hudsonβs shoulders a squeeze.Β βlike you, iβm sure.β he wonders if hudson is still fighting with the demons of his powers or if heβs overcome them.Β
iβve missed so much.Β he thinks to himself, the smile never faltering on his face, at least not until heβll be alone.
he said thank you to dexter because it was the polite thing to do. itβs what his parentβs taught him,
he should be thankful for it. a second chance at a life that he only just begun, a life that would lead to adventure and glory, to have his name written in the myths and legends that would one day be toldβhopefully.Β
but thereβs a void, an emptiness, a nothingness that threatens to consume him.Β
there were ghouls and a woman with a fiendish sword that cut him down like he was nothing.Β
then there was warmth, peace, a knowledge that those he left behind would be okay and that theyβd succeed where he failed, an absence of time and space, and a never ending feeling of completion.Β
then there was nothing.
maybe thatβs all he is in the end: nothing.Β
maybe thatβs what it means to be back from the dead: nothing.Β
nothing. nothing. nothing.Β
a void.
his fingers grip the hilt of his great sword and he hefts it with ease. it feels both familiar and foreign, like it belongs to him and also doesnβt. he rotates the blade side to side, admiring the cold steel of it, the sharp edges. he molded himself after a blade once and it got him killed. his confidence now as serrated as his smile.Β
no one else has died since him, at least as far as he knows.Β does that make him weak? does that make him foolish for having this fearlessness that radiated from him, that drew others to him? would that mettle get others killed? he can only imagine the dangers that they have faced since his death, more gruesome and foul than his own quest, and yet he was the only one to falter and fall.Β
maybe it was the fateβs way of saying that it was his time. maybe his destiny was meant to be cut short.
yet, someone he called a friend helped make a bargain to get him back. how could he turn that down? how could he say no to a god?Β
he brings his hand to his chest and rubs at his pec, over his heart, where a jagged scar from that devilish sword still stains his skin, puckered and gruesome. itβs a constant reminder of his own hubris, of the very thing that his mother smites.Β
maybe she wanted him dead, too.
maybe that was her plan to show that no child of hers would succumb to foolish ideologies of glory. he is to be the balance, the scales, and he tipped his own too far and toppled to an early grave.
he swings his great sword and imbeds the blade into the trunk of a dying tree. he leaves it buried there for a moment, panting in the cold winter air. his breath forms wisps around his face. his honey colored eyes almost glow like magma, molten and furious.Β
that fury is directed inward, toward himself.
he should be happy that heβs back, and some part of him is, but thereβs a part of him that resents the second chance. thereβs so much pain, so much anguish, so much uncertainty. thereβs too many emotions when, wherever he was before, made everything feel so simple.Β
he closes his eyes and thereβs flashes of moments that he doesnβt quite remember: a beautiful garden, never ending warmth, the sound of angelic singing, lush golden apples that made him feel full.Β
he shakes his head and heβs back to the cold, bitter winter of norway. he doesnβt realize the few stray tears that run down his cheeks, turned to icicles against his winter kissed skin. he wipes them away with his thumb, lets those tears crumble to dust just like he should be now.Β somewhere, in the graveyard dedicated to the demigods, there is a tombstone with his name on it.
yet, here he stands.Β
he collapses onto his knees in front of the tree and rests his hands on his knees. his chest hurts, a spiderwebbing pain that trickles out from the scar to the tips of his fingers and toes explodes through his veins.Β
βi can do this.β he tries to sound convincing, if only for himself and the quiet wilderness around him.Β βi can still be strong for them.β he runs through a list of names in his head, both new and old.Β βi have to be.βΒ
he grabs his sword from the tree and sheaths it, looking at the scar heβs cut into it.Β βthey can never know.β he says to himself.Β βthatβs my vow, my own oath of vengeance.β he looks up to the sky, hoping his mother can hear him.
βthey can never know that, wherever i was, i was happy.β
he closes his eyes and lets the snow fall upon his face before he bundles himself with his coat and walks around the campβs perimeter once more, left alone with his thoughts.Β
ππππ π πππππ π ππππ, pulling out the metaphorical βbig gunsβ. it wasnβt the first time heβd heard that insult, nor would it be the last, he figured.Β βi talk like kite eklund, because i am the very same demon.Β
βspout all the trash youβd like, while i smoke a cigar over your corpse.β
the psalm, however, manages to shake his secret technique - two furrowed brows later, kiteβs stern gaze watches the knife as it glides between gideonβs digits.Β βdanger, delightβ¦ two sides of one coin,β he replies, pulling his turtleneck up over his mouth in order to look as mysterious as possible,Β βand i take pleasure in both. perhaps i was wrongβ¦ perhaps we shall clash on the fields of battle: a deadly test of bone, sinew, and metalβ¦βΒ
kite forces a single chuckle, unfazed by gideonβs show of strength.
βdeath is nothingΒ compared to vindication. you shall die twice, as do shadows.β the son of hephaestus stands, too - nearly eye-to-eye with the other man, but just the tiniest bit shorter.Β βmy intention is not to scare you, fool: if it was, i wouldβve already gouged out the fourth eye of destructionβ¦ it would take me 2.5 seconds if i were to remove the weights slowing me down.β kite answers, resolute, and doesnβt back down from their little perceived pissing contest.Β βand that is the absolute truth, lich.βΒ
quite frankly, gideon knight has had enough of this strange, wannabe demon man.Β
βweβre gonna clash, donβt worry about that.β he makes a mental note never to go on a quest with kite eklund, mostly because heβs ten out of ten going to make sure that the man dies so he wonβt have to come back to camp to deal with it. his mother is the lady of vengeance after all, whatβs a little personal vendetta if not in her honor?Β
gideon smiles and rolls his shoulders.Β βhere, let me help you remove those weights.β
and then gideon knight grabs kite eklund by the shoulders and throws him through the side of the banquet hall.Β βlooks like you didnβt have much weighing you down!β gideon calls out as he walks the other direction, out the door and into the openness of the camp.Β
βππππππππβ¦ ππ'π ππππππππππππππβ¦β kite finally turns to look gideon in the eye, turning his face upwards with what could only be described as a crazed grin,Β ββ¦but youβve activated my trap, fool! BEHOLD!! my SECRET TECHNIQUE: AURA OF WAXING INDIFFERENCE!!!β
thank godΒ heβd had that chat with genaro oberon wardwell. thank godΒ heβd figured out the failsafe way of defeating other holders of ancient eyes.
kiteβs gaze instantly becomes aloof, supporting his head with a palm.Β βhmphβ¦ nice line, but hereβs a better one:Β βbeware the fury of a patient manβ. or, perhaps,Β βeverything comes to he who waitsβ. your eye is as good as mine, foul wretch.βΒ
he turns himself back to his food, and tries his hardest to fully ignore gideon knight,Β βfufufuβing into various meats and cheeses.Β βi can feel your mediocre power draining, even as we speakβ¦β
another person whoβs indifference could be weaponized. if only this moron knew who he was dealing with. casually, gideon leans back in his chair and waves a hand dismissively.Β βyou talk like youβre some 90s anime antagonist.β he gives him a smile, a curt nod.Β βitβs laughable.β gideon does not, in fact, laugh.Β
his hand reaches for one of the steak knives next to his plate. he picks it up, spins it between his fingersβsome things just seem natural to him and, even after being dead, using a knife doesnβt seem like a foreign concept to him. not like dealing with people is.Β βfear the man who can out wait the most patient, for he is the one they consider most deadly.β he makes the words sound like a psalm, some sort of ancient text that only he would know. heβs bullshitting, but his face doesnβt show it.
βmy power is waning, huh?β gideon tosses the table, with their plates, clear across the banquet hall, sending it crashing toward the wall before it splinters to pieces. he stands up, dusts himself off, and looks down at the wannabe villain.Β βiβve already died once. you donβt scare me.β
being new around here seemed to be enough grounds to cause panic. already in the matter of a short while he was compared to two other demigods, asked if he belonged, and some people said they already knew him. if spidey senses were a thing, he would feel a shiver crawling up his spine, through his neck, and resting in the back of his brain.Β
still, he offered the man a curt nod while shaking his hand just as firmly. his eyes never wavered away from gideon in the process, making sure to keep his confidence up. he had to remember that he wasnβt always meeting a political figure in his motherβs campaign.
βas new as this week.βΒ then he dropped his hand back down to his side. it was probably obvious that he wasnβt a veteran at camp, especially if gideon was.Β βmy mother is hecate and iβm representing house aspida.βΒ that seemed to be the basic information everyone needed.Β βgoddess of retribution, correct?βΒ he asked when hearing the name nemesis.
son of hecate, house aspida. a cool dread trickles down gideonβs spine and he removes his hand from the otherβs grip to look him over, almost sizing him up.Β βwhereβs dane?β he asks, although he doubts the other man would know. was he dead? how many had they lost since his own death? one of his closest friends, someone that he could let loose around, someone he could just sit in darkness with, was gone. he buries those feelings for later, when heβs not in front of some stranger.Β
βvengeance, retribution, justice. itβs called many things.β he answers back.Β βhouse pali.β even if this man is to be one of theΒ βtanksβ, he doesnβt look like much. gideon could probably bench press four of him easily and then throw them off the nearest mountain.
the thought wasnβt running through his head or anything. not because heβs angry, but more so because heβs feeling overwhelmed. months on months and everything has changed. new people, old people. people that he thought he knew who had moved on and changed themselves.Β βnice to meet you.β he grits out, offering the most genuine smile he can musterβserrated, made for war, ready to slice him to ribbons.Β
Hudsonβs eyes flicker between the amulet and Gideonβs face. He feels light headed, scared, a frown creeping its way across his face and for a brief moment he almost looks like he could cry. Was this real? With shaky hands he reaches out to touch the man, to feel him. This could be a dream, a voice tells him. You could be trapped in some beingβs elaborate mindfuck, another voice pipes in. Maybe Kian and the others are right, maybe heβs lost it. Or maybeβ¦ βAm I dead?β he asks, voice strained but as he pulls Gideon in for a gentle embrace, pressing his ear against the manβs chest, his frown slowly changes to a smile. βAre you here to take me to thatβ¦ that garden?β His gaze turns to his room around him. Or maybe, this was someplace else in the underworld, someplace for those less deserving than the beautiful garden he had seen Gideon enter. βOrβ¦β his face falters, βis this the bad place?β
gideonβs arms instinctively wrap around hudson when the son of deimos pulls him closer. the embrace is light, gentle. somehow, even though heβs only just returned from the other side, hudson seems more fragile than him. he huffs out a small laugh at the words and shakes his head.Β βno, youβre not dead.β he pulls hudson away to stare at him, to offer him a smile.Β βand neither am i.β a brighter smile, the bladeβs smirk sharp, but soothing.Β βnot anymore.βΒ
gideonβs outfit is mostly based around comfort. dress pants that are loose fitting and breathable, a shirt that will show off his chest and arms, comfortable loafers, and a large coat to keep the biting winter at bay. in all black and grey, of course.Β
ππ ππππ ππ ππππ ππππ ππππππ, he knows.Β
the quiet confidence that radiates off the son of nemesis is nigh palpable; much like theΒ βsecret barrierβ that kite clearly possessed.Β
βi know exactly what you are, devil.β
he sits next to the man in the dining hall, leaving a single seat between them. despite this, he doesnβt look at gideon - instead peering down at his plate.Β
βyour silent intensity is befitting of the holder of the fourth eye of destructionβ¦ and genaro oberon wardwell already informed me that they are here, too.β
the implication is obviously there.Β
βknow this: i am kite eklund, ultimate genius, destroyer of nefariousness & bearer of the evil eye of deduction.β the son of hephaestus frames his left eye with a dramatic flair of his hand.Β βi would never cast a spell against you while we are allies, but when the time comesβ¦ i shall gouge the legendaryΒ fourth eye of destructionΒ from your skullΒ and ascend to my final form.β he takes a bite of his food after heβs done monologuing, and only then does he actually bother asking questions.
βand what is your trueΒ name, devil? spit it out.β
@swordofvengeanceβ.
as soon as the man addresses him, gideon stops moving. his fork hovers over the plate of food he has before him, mostly untouched, and he gives the man a beat before he slowly turns his attention to him.Β
he sounds delusional, as if heβs stuck in some sort of video game or some bad anime. does he think that all of this is a joke? he places the fork down beside his plate and leans back into the chair, giving the man his full attention.Β
for now, heβll humor him.Β
βi donβt care who you thinkΒ you are.β gideon responds after the other blows his hot air. the smile that cuts across his statuesque features is sharp, serrated edges and teeth that could kill. his honey brown eyes almost blaze with that silent intensity that this clown says he has.Β
βknow this,β he mocks, leveling kite with an unimpressed, indifferent gaze.Β βif you threaten me again, itβll be the last thing you do. do you understand or do i need to leave a better impression?β the smile grows, his head lilts to the side and he leans in, imposing in on kiteβs space to intimidate him.
the tips of his fingers felt like they were charged. for a brief second he thought back to a spell jar in his room that had exploded once. of course, that wasnβt good, but finally he could know what it felt like.Β
as he was going to go out to explore the new land, the power running through the soil, he almost bumped headfirst into the tall male. genaro jumped back on his heels and his expression quickly changed to that like a criminal caught by the police.Β
βiβm so sorry, i should have been looking where i was going!βΒ then almost like a switch, his demeanor changed. he was much more poised as he extended his hand out.Β βgenaro oberon wardwell, a pleasure to meet you.βΒ
the camp hadnβt really ever felt like home to him. it hadnβt been enough time for it to feel like a place he belonged, but coming back to it gave it that sense of meaning, that sense of purpose. it felt like homecoming. heβs standing in the winter chill, his coat fastened tightly to his chest. his eyes are closed and heβs just being.Β
thatβs when he feels someone bump into him. he turns around slowly and looks at the man. itβs like two sides of a coin the way his expression shifts from one to the other, like both are him, but it depends on who heβs speaking with.Β
βyouβre new.β gideon states. too many months have passed, heβs glad thereβs some familiar faces. he takes the hand, shaking it tightlyβjust like he was always taughtβand introduces himself.Β βgideon knight, son of nemesis.β then, a raised eyebrow and a sharp smile.Β βwhoβs your parent?β
βi am too self-absorbed to be addicted to something,β he said, then made an eye-roll as the bottle went rolling across the bedsheets.
gideon knight had been here for seconds and credence wanted to break something, possibly himself. in the otherβs presence, it was almost instinctual for him to want to pull his old armor up once more, hide behind the cold iron he knew well.
but, they were way past hiding, werenβt they?
at his next comment, credence carried his blue eyes back over towards him, appraising. for a dead man, he looked alive. credence wouldnβt know what to compare this gideon to though, because the casket was a closed one and there was no body, no crime.
βi didnβt,β credence answered briskly when questioned.Β
no more secrets, no more hiding.Β
βi had a little case of feelings for you, did you know that?β a laugh, coarse as sand. credence reached for the ambrosia bottle again and did a mock toast. βanother thing to take back to your grave.β
βfair point.β gideon agrees. credence wright is many things, but an addict isnβt necessarily one of themβattention and validation seeking, maybe, but not an addict.Β
he keeps his distance, seated on the frame of the window. the winterβs chill feels welcome. there had been a warmth where he wasβthe underworld and allβand thatβs all he remembers after the blade sank into his chest, after his soul was ripped from his body. he didnβt know why he came here, to see credence, after seeing hudson. was it because there had been feelings on his behalf, too?Β
of course. but they both played games, they both denied it to one another and hid behind steel armor and sharp blades.Β
he lifts an eyebrow when credence goes for the ambrosia bottle again. maybe he isΒ an addict for something. demigods could have some sort of alcoholism in their blood. his honey brown eyes move from the bottle to credenceβs face and he gives a mock, two fingered salute.Β
βwishing me back into the grave already?β gideon questions, though thereβs no sharpness to his words. he swings his other leg over the windowsill.Β βit was nice seeing you, credence. iβm sorry if i ruined your night.βΒ
with that, he pushes himself off the window and drops the few stories to the ground. he lands easily, agile and strong, and begins to walk through the winter chill that blankets the camp.
He felt one of the amulets beneath his clothing shift beneath his shirt and armor, startling the demigod. It isnβt until Gideon pulls his hand away that Hudson realizes which amulet was awakening, the ridges of the scales poking out from beneath the layers. βDonβt say that, it wasnβt your fauββ Hudsonβs brows crease as he felt the metal against his skin grow more restless by the second. He pulls it out, letting the thing tug him closer to the son of Nemesis, noting the dullness of the gem was gone. βGids?β he asks, just before another sharp jerk of the chain. βOw! Okay, okay! I know, maβam!β Hudson struggles with removing it, cursing at nothing in particular beneath his breath. βItβs him. Give it back, I get it!β
the crease in his brows doesnβt let up. he stares at hudson, honey brown eyes like shifting magma never leaving the manβs face. thatβs when he sees it, the subtle movement beneath hudsonβs shirt before hudson pulls the chain of his necklace. itβs reacting to him, his presence. he nods his head, slowly at first and his serrated smile dulls into a soft upturned edge, a gentleness to it. he steps forward, helping hudson remove the son of nemesisβ necklace. it feels warm in his hand, the grey pyrite glows lightly, almost like moonlight, against his palm. then, as if agathys was doing it herself, the necklace levitates into the air. the chain unbinds and glides up to gideonβs throat before it hooks itself together and rests against his chest.Β βyeah, huds, itβs me.βΒ
πππ ππππππ
π πππ ππππ. Β Β gideon alistair knight.
πππ. Β Β gideon, gid, giddyup, gids.
πππ. Β Β 27, born november 21st, 1993.
ππππππ & ππππππππ. Β Β cis-male. he + him.
πππππππππππ. Β Β bisexual / biromantic.
πππππππ. Β Β demigod.Β formerly dead.
ππππππππππ. Β Β former bartender, mma fighter, law school student.
ππππππππ ππππππππππ
ππππ. Β Β brown
ππππ.Β Β Β honeyΒ brown
ππππππ. Β Β 6β²4Β
πππππ. Β Β mesomorph / athletic. Β
πππππ. Β Β one on his chest where he was stabbed in japan..
πππππππ. Β Β none, yet.
πππππππππ. Β Β right nipple and tongue.
π πππ πππππ. Β Β brenton thwaites.
ππππππ. Β Β used to see a therapist once a month during his teenage years for slight anger issues.
ππππππππ. Β Β good health.
πππππππ. Β Β heβll tell you heβs not scared of anything but heβs scared of his loved ones dying and enclosed spaces.
ππππππππ. Β Β 20/20.
ππππππππ ππππ. Β Β right.
ππππ πππ. Β Β recreational marijuana.
πππππππ πππ. Β Β yes.
ππππ. Β healthy food. occasional junk one off days, but pretty healthy.
