when someone said something about ‘the big three’, rod didn’t know what to think, at first. was it too-big a role to fill? was it a seat of power, of respect, of authority? did it mean anything? then, looking at the other two in the position--
rod knew credence better than viktor, only seeing the latter (re; larger) in passing. but both appeared so wound-up, so interwoven among the camp, such focal points. maybe that was what ‘big three’ meant.
maybe that came with time. maybe that came with presence, with power, with personality. but rod knew he could make it from one end of the camp to the other, barely turning a head on his way. it’s quiet, almost as quiet as his life before was. there were friends here and there, but if he didn’t show up tomorrow, then life would go on. it’s an odd position to be in. were the other sons of hades touch-and-go, did it leave a transient mindset behind? do they look at him and see another soon to go?
rod could dwell on it, or he could find his own meaning in his new existence. he’s joined a story somewhere in the middle, leaving it up to himself to find the plot. there was one try, a shot on the dark, but maybe he was thinking too small. maybe he wasn’t practiced enough. maybe the ghosts looked at him the way other demigods might. but that wasn’t a bother; he wasn’t on a timer here, no loans that might collapse his family under their weight if he failed to obtain (and maintain) extra support, in time.
the only life on the line was his own. and he had no problem taking that into his own hands.
with items and tools in use the way morgan had shown him, rod didn’t set up at a ziggurat. he placed himself in the tomb of demigods, a hall of etched names of those who fell from grace. the call didn’t go out to the sons and daughters of hades -- rod reached for any of divine blood that fell against the goddess they call eris. it’s a beacon. a boon. a pathway. for those who were stuck, those who were left behind, those who didn’t know what to do.
“tell me,” he whispered. “show me,” he asked. “and I will guide you home.”
and so he listened, for tales of the goddess’ villainy, of heroism, of horror. he watched, for final stands, for attacks in the night, for deals made and promises paid. and he felt; for and hands, paws, or hooves reaching for his own, that he might guide them across, himself.
he himself was alight, an aura of hellfire and thinning veil surrounding him. whether it reached to the building? the names, the spirits, the whole of the tomb itself?
that would depend on his power, and his reach.
dailybridgerton
areudirty
amandla
