So Valentine's Day is coming up... would you guys like a one-chapter special featuring some of your favorite characters? Sam and Hades? Thanatos and a mystery girl/boy? Aphrodite and Heph?

Comment down below if you think I should write one!

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Omniscient POV

Time is constant.

It is relentless, it is unchangeable-- its essence does not fail to collect its dues. Even in his natural ignorance, the child understands this. Time is a faithful companion, it does not cheat, it does not lie, and it does not steal-- its steady passage rights the wrongs done to the innocent, it carries with it the transgressions of humankind. Whether making them concrete or dissolving them, it does not matter which, for time harbors no favorites. It does not aid, and it does not hinder-- it simply is.

It remains the sole existence --apart from death-- which forgives and ceases to be for no one. It comes swiftly, like the birth and growth of a babe in its mother's eyes-- it comes slowly, as an illness devouring the very stems which propelled the life of the once robust-- it comes steadily, as the promising drops of water on a level surface in a torture chamber.

It can be spent in liberty-- a price which has been paid by sovereignty and defenders of country, and it can be spent in agony-- as the lives dedicated to protect and serve a particular people. Time is loyal, it is a lover and it is a friend. It is unyielding, it is stubborn, and it can not be reasoned with-- it is redemption and it is comeuppance-- it is payment and it is reward.

Time is constant.

Yet, in its passage lies a hidden truth. In its existence lives another which harbors enough power and will to wield it seamlessly-- they are as cruel and unforgiving as their very ability. The master of chrónos is a dormant being, one whom was enchanted into eternal slumber for sins which he absolved for himself but not others. He is corruption. He is malevolence, and he is greedy thirst.

But as Fate should have it, there abides another whom has grown increasingly sensitive to the subtle vibrations and fluctuations of the element's existence. The individual is but a meager meter in height, not yet seven summers in age, and but a mere six hundred fifty ounces.

His physical state is not that of a healthy individual-- especially considering his body needs all sustenance it can imprison, for he is yet to cease development. But in his inexperience, the element has devoured his cherub countenance and ravaged the reservoirs of his stamina-- feasting then, upon his slight form as he travels to alternate existence unwillingly.

His mop of ebony curls drift lightly in the wind-- a breeze which has become characteristic of his unexpected excursions-- as his tiny feet lay bare upon the vacuousness of everything and nothing, a plane of continuance and permanence. The naked kiss in which his skin partakes in with the heat of navigation burns him, though he remains eerily silent.

Though he is young, he accepts that there is no one to hear his plea, and therefore, it is futile --foolish, even-- to utter words of discomfort or grievance.

His location intersects the boundary of Thanatos' domain and his lively counterpart, a neighbor to void-like insanity and sane, incorruptible reason. The child has become familiar with its entirety, he has become closely acquainted with the jaundiced fingertips of Fate herself, though in all her knowledge and ever-presence, succeeds the child in wisdom.

His small, gaunt form fights naught the abiding progress of the element, flowing instead within the wavelengths of existence, as would light without a concrete or stable medium. In an extension devoid of sound and energy, the only driving force bursting forth the movement of the child is his immature, ensconced ability-- whose continued presence has not yet been made known to his caretaker, much less to the child himself, whom in his innocuous thought, believes he dreams.

His little fingertips reach about to explore the blankness surrounding him, yearning to somehow make sense of that which ails and devours the stems of his undernourished body. His trip comes to an abrupt stop --which as the child quickly realizes-- it has always done.

Nothingness soon gives way into chilling darkness, a state of being which he is not afraid of. Rather, he welcomes it, for the child has grown to call the damp refuge of the deceased his home. The muffled sound of his bare heels touching barren earth alert him of his arrival, for the wavelengths of such can not breach the threshold of his travel's medium.

He eagerly treads amidst the palpable obscurity, extending his frail arms to run into the welcoming embrace of the three- headed beast guarding the immense structure of his father's gothic palace.

He hears the padding of his heavy step resound within the crevices of his lord-father's realm, contracting their foundations with his enthusiastic step. Seconds following, he regards three pairs of glowing, cobalt eyes.

"Cerby!" the child calls elatedly, swiftly latching himself onto one of the beast's legs. Whines and cries surround the child, blowing light caresses around the ringlets which so closely resemble his father's, lifting their length about his pale face, imitating an innocent halo crowning his untainted animation. 

The child knows not which portion of the timeframe he has traveled to, for while his trips are unexpected, so are their corresponding destinations. He knew only that his father's --whose paternity was made known to him during one of his previous journeys-- loyal hellhound would chance upon his visits punctually-- without fail, and without hesitance. As if he had learned to expect him in each era, in each version of calcified reality-- as if he simply knew in the mysterious ways which only beasts understand-- that the child would arrive as he so frequently did (albeit reluctantly).

Cerberus groans, blinking his eyes away from the thing which is a replica of his master's features. Indeed, the animal has grown accustomed to the thing's scrupulous arrival. In all alternations of the thing's authentic inception, he has learned to wait patiently --as a sane-minded god would-- at the place by the torrid whirlpool located in Tartarus.

The thing emerges from the vacuous hole every so often, appearing as delectable to his fangs as the soul of any condemned mortal-- yet he understands that his stern master would be displeased if such harm were to befall the little thing. He may earn himself a lashing or only a portion of his daily feeding if he caused pain to it.

What is it? the beast thinks, tilting his heads to the side. Its eyes of cobalt behold the tiny being, the animal -- in its unique manner of rationale-- wills his serpent hind not to inject venom into its bloodstream, choosing instead to pace around it in contemplative circles.

It does not smell vile, as mortal's blood does. Rather, it emanates the odor of sweet honey cakes-- the beast's favored snack-- as his master's form does, and -- though the animal hesitantly recalls-- his golden haired mate as well.

His wet snouts bump into the thing's thin center curiously, wondering how it is possible for such thing to resemble his master so closely. In the likeness of his master's years, so did Cerberus faintly recollect the conception of their famed friendship. Hades had never appeared to him as tiny as this thing, and he had never been so feeble either-- the mere slight thrust of his snouts atop the thing's middle has him stumbling backwards several a step. 

He sniffs the air surrounding the thing furiously, cocking his heads to the sides as he attempts to fix its appearance with what he may have seen in the past.

"Cerberus."

The deep voice of his master disrupts the curious thought of the beast's regard. Immediately, his eyes snap to his displeased frown.

"Be cautious whilst you deal with the child."

A child. Is that what this thing is? What is a child? Is it a thing as well? Cerberus tilts his heads to the sides, gazing with perplexity upon the approaching figures of Hades and his golden-haired mate, the latter which Cerberus absolutely can not find fondness for.

He regards her with apprehension, lowering his eyes to the swell of her abdomen. Has she grown distended so quickly? If so, how? And why, the beast contemplates, is it able to distinguish a separate flow of honey-smelling nectar arising from that same swell?

Deciding to investigate, the hound steps forward, hesitantly sniffing the air surrounding her body. Hades swiftly steps in front of her, hands extended.

"Cerberus. Be gentle, she expects."

The eyes of his master's mate narrow with silent laughter, just as his very own did decades ago, when she first chanced upon Hades' realm.

"My love, has he hurt you?"

The golden haired companion shakes her head slightly. Satisfied, Hades returns his attention to the child, reaching to brush away debris from his pale cheek with a soft thumb.

"How were your travels?"

The child shrugs his shoulders, suddenly enraptured in Samantha's swollen abdomen. With childish curiosity, he sidles up to her, extending an index finger, and jabbing it into the distended area, causing her to groan quietly as she takes a small step back.

With widened eyes, Hades steps forward, intervening.

"Daniel! Be cautious!"

Dark eyes filled to the brim with concern flit to his consort, and he places a gentle hand atop her womb. 

"How do you fare? Has he injured you?"

She rests her hand atop his own, shaking her head.

"One little poke won't hurt me. We're fine."

Almost absent-mindedly, he begins to rub soothing circles along the surface of her stomach, angling his torso to press his lips to hers, snaking his free hand behind her neck. Their silent bliss is interrupted by the child's blunt voice.

"Why are you so fat? Can your stomach make music like drums?"

Hades instantly pulls away, lest the child decides it is wise to strike her womb with fisted hands. Against his better judgement, the Lord of the Dead chuckles, extending a hand to run his fingers through the child's curly mane-- once again, struck not only by their uncanny resemblance, but by the honesty of his son's words.

"She is not fat, Daniel. She expects."

The child knits his brows, tilting his head to assess Samantha.

"But she is fat."

"Daniel, call me fat one more time and I'm telling Hades your secret."

The child's lips dip in despondence at her words, knowing to which hidden truth she referred to, prompting a curious brow from his father.

"A secret?" he asks, amused, stealing a glance to his companion. Even expectant, she radiates beauty-- though a better description would imply that her beauty did not diminish, it simply changed-- more so since he knows he is the cause behind the child's presence in her womb.

Ignoring him, Daniel taps her abdomen, leaning in to press his lips atop her stiff bump.

"Why are you fat?"

Hades sighs, knowing he must continue to correct the child until he understands. Placing a heavy hand atop his shoulder, he explains.

"She is not fat, she carries a child within her."

Daniel frowns, tilting his head. A child fits in there?

"How did it get inside?"

"I placed it there."

"How?"

Samantha's brows shoot up, amusement lifting the corners of her lips at the child's inquiry. Her keen gaze rests upon Hades' perturbed one, prepared to tease him. He is opening his mouth to speak, but just as he is about to retort an answer, the child begins to elevate, alarm suddenly appearing in his eyes.

"Daniel!" he calls, scrambling to reach for the child's little legs.

His hands, however, do not make it to the boy's feet on time, and so does the exact previous medium inhale his small form back into its uncertain limits. The child presses his lips together, bracing himself for the next unwilling journey his undiscovered abilities will introduce him to, repeating within the confines of his immature thought that he wishes earnestly to be within his mother's safe embrace.

The invisible presence existing within him transports him back to blank nothingness, thrusting forth the child into the arms of the alternating time sequence-- a phenomena which only he is privy to. Unknown to the enlightened babe, the early wielder of his potentiality is fervently aware of his being, and even in his enchanted state, gripes and moans about the prophecy soon coming to be.

"And so come into fruition the blessed words of Uranus. The cosmos will be possessed by the weak seed of Kronos-- the late bloom of bloodshed will soon avenge our catastrophe."

The thick, asphyxiating atmosphere encompassing the breathing forms of ancient life is pierced by the mumbled words, engraving into it an undertone of unity and finality-- prompting onward the whispered hisses of ire-filled assent.  

The child knows pain is imminent. Though in his inculpable thoughts he believes his travels are mere dreams-- he understands that in their life-like state of being, he will experience excruciating agony, pain no mortal or immortal has sensed since the very inception of Gaea's planet-- torment of which only Poseidon and Hades are capable of comprehending.

The simple reflection of such danger is sufficient in bringing the child hair-raising tremors, reminding him of the unexpected trip he had partaken in only few hours prior-- a voyage which had led him straight into the mouth of his nightmare, the gaping hole of Malevolence's voracious gut.

A breeze absent of heat or coolness whips his tender skin, taking lashing after lashing at the softness of his face whilst he glides across alternate accounts of happenings. The hardness of something beneath his feet beckons the child's attention, drawing his gaze to the sudden appearance of a steampunk clock lightly striking his bare toes and heels-- whirling and unlocking portions of its surface as would a weapon created with its wielder in mind.

It accommodates itself to the size of the child's body, having previously coalesced in the size of a dining room table-- transforming instead into a manner which would prove useful to the child's needs. It lessens the draining of his stamina reservoirs, so aiding him in evading the use of his ability to not only acquire passage through the wavelengths of time, but the full transportation of his concrete body as well.

Bright, blinding light suddenly assaults his vision, erupting from deep within the crevices of the steampunk vessel-- unknowingly being the device by which he finds himself abruptly dematerializing, stimulating fear and anxiety to twist the insides of his empty stomach.

It is a new sensation to the child, for he'd not yet experienced travel by clock, and its sudden existence brings discomfort to his chest, more so considering his very body breaks away bit by bit as it removes him from his current location. In mere seconds, he disappears, rendered immobile and senseless -- having been detached from materialistic standing, robbing him of vision, smell, touch, taste, and sound-- while the invisible phenomena transfers him elsewhere.

It would have been futile to remain solid anyway, for as soon as he begins to lose contact with concrete reality, everything around him comes to a cease-- intersecting with the approaching ingress of another time plane.

The clock unravels once more, bursting forth white light-- combining all colors of the surroundings and compacting them into one impenetrable wall of luminescence. Had the child been in the company of others, they would not have had the capacity to cross the boundary-- only the child.

It was an unknown fact to both him and any potential companions, that had they attempted to follow him into the realm which only he could manipulate-- they would not go through unscathed, members of their bodies would be lost in the process of dematerialized transportation, even had they been profitable in succeeding his steps.

The stench of rotten carcass greets him before he has fully transported, alleviating the strenuous unease which had begun to pool within his gut. Slowly, his body comes to his surroundings, coalescing once more into its original form.

Damp, rich earth and the beginnings of cool waters lap the skin of his toes, summoning his previously detained awareness-- making him realize his senses have now been reactivated. The sound of his elated giggle would have traveled as Orpheus' music to an onlooker's ears, for the expressions of relief and comfort on the child's angelic countenance were of great measure. And that is lovely sound and sight.

The pounding thud of a beast's approach call upon his gaze, directing it to the running form of the sole being in all versions of existence whom remains the same-- willing to wait for him by the banks of Tartarus or any other portal by which he travels from.

"Cerby!" he greets, allowing his tiny feet to take flight.

They bound atop the mounds of cool, sodden earth-- at the pace of a winged creature-- towards the massive form of Hades' three-headed hound. As he runs to his embrace, the child senses the bond he shares with the ruler of the realm, thoroughly cognizant that in this version of existence, so does he remain his father.

The beast jerks the tiny thing forward, momentarily losing grasp of the only amount of reason granted to him-- that he is indeed, of much larger size than the creature in front of him, and that should he slip again, he may cause it harm.

And he so understands that should his master come to find out of the injury inflicted upon the thing, he will be very much displeased. Letting out a low groan, the hound stretches its spine, thrusting his powerful serpent-tail behind him, and wagging it furiously-- causing the air being struck to create whipping sounds succeeded by the keen hiss of his rear end. 

He lightly butts the child's thin chest, hoping to elicit some kind of response from him, such as the throwing of a large object, or the petting and scratching of his three attention-seeking heads. The movement is much too forceful for the body of an undernourished child, however, and instead of reaping the anticipated reaction, the honey-scented thing falls backwards on his tiny hind, landing tersely with a sharp whimper.

Sensing his master's form, the hound quickly nudges the boy once more, hoping it will be sufficient in encouraging him to move from his sprawled position, and stand erect.

"Cerberus."

The stern voice of Hades disrupts the beast's goading, immediately flitting his eyes to the fallen thing.

"Be cautious whilst you deal with the child."

The hound tilts his heads to the sides, gazing with perplexity upon the approaching figures of his master and his russet-haired mate, the latter which Cerberus harbors special fondness for. He regards her with apprehension, lowering his eyes to the swell of her abdomen. Has she grown distended so quickly? If so, how? And why, the beast contemplates, is it able to distinguish a separate flow of honey-smelling nectar arising from that same swell?

Deciding to investigate, the hound steps forward, hesitantly sniffing the air surrounding her body. Hades swiftly steps in front of her, hands extended.

"Cerberus. Be gentle, she expects."

The eyes of his master's mate narrow with mild amusement.

"My love, has he hurt you?"

The russet haired companion shakes her head slightly. Satisfied, Hades returns his attention to the child, reaching to brush away debris from his pale cheek with a soft thumb.

"How were your travels?"

The child shrugs his shoulders, knowing his answer will not matter, for the dictation of this existence follows a similar pattern to the one he happened upon previously-- to reply would be a waste of breath. Ignoring him, he becomes distracted with Persephone's swollen abdomen. With childish curiosity, he sidles up to her, extending an index finger, and jabbing it into the distended area, causing her to groan quietly as she takes a small step back.

With widened eyes, Hades steps forward, intervening.

"Daniel! Be cautious!"

Dark eyes filled to the brim with concern flit to his consort, and he places a gentle hand atop her womb.

"How do you fare? Has he injured you?"

She rests her hand atop his own, shaking her head.

"The child and I are in better health than Apollo, a light strike will not hinder us."

Almost absent-mindedly, her husband begins to rub soothing circles along the surface of her stomach, angling his torso to press his lips to hers, snaking his free hand behind her neck. Their silent bliss is interrupted by the child's blunt voice.

Though mere minutes ago --it may have been years or decades, or even a mere few seconds, but in the ways of his journey, the measure of time is not certain-- he experienced a state of being quite alike to this one, the child still finds himself unable to resist following the laws of this universe. Thus, he replies in the same fashion he had beforehand.

"Why are you so fat? Can your stomach make music like drums?"

Hades instantly pulls away, lest the child decides it is wise to strike her womb with fisted hands. Against his better judgement, the Lord of the Dead chuckles, extending a hand to run his fingers through the child's curly mane-- once again, struck not only by their uncanny resemblance, but by the honesty of his son's words.

"She is not fat, Daniel. She expects."

The child knits his brows, tilting his head to assess Persephone.

"But she is fat."

Spring twists her mouth in vexation.

"Daniel, it is unseemly for a prince to speak in such manner."

The child's lips dip in despondence at her words, knowing that had his travels permitted him to remain an extended portion of time in alternate realities, he would have come to detest this particular one-- for he felt her speech too formal when directed even to her flesh and blood.

Perhaps one thing he appreciated of the versions which included Samantha, was her informal manner of speech-- one that is characteristic of those whom have lived in more modern ages on Earth. He feels, in a way, closer to his mortal mother when she speaks informally-- enveloping him with the warmth of familiarity which reminds him of his mamá.

"Your mother is right, Daniel. Such is not suitable speech for one whom carries royal ichor," he says, stealing a glance to his companion. Even expectant, she radiates beauty-- though a better description would imply that her beauty did not diminish, it simply changed-- more so since he knows he is the cause behind the child's presence in her womb.

Ignoring them once more, Daniel taps her abdomen, leaning in to further inspect her swelling. He repeats his previous words so as not to rupture the continuance of time, for though he is lesser in years, he understands the importance of executing an exact pattern.

"Why are you fat?"

Hades sighs, knowing he must continue to correct the child until he understands. Placing a heavy hand atop his shoulder, he explains.

"She is not fat, she carries a child within her."

Daniel frowns, tilting his head.

"How did it get inside?"

"I placed it there."

"How?"

Persephone purses her lips in distaste, irritation dipping the corners of her mouth at the child's impertinence. She inherited her mother's stern ways of character, and she rests her keen gaze upon Hades' amused one, prepared to chastise him for coddling the child so. He is opening his mouth to speak, but just as he is about to retort an answer, the child begins to elevate, alarm suddenly appearing in his eyes.

"Daniel!" he calls, scrambling to reach for the child's little legs.

The boy merely stares at him in return-- because for the first time since his unexpected travels began, he is eager to be relinquished to the embrace of his authentic version of existence.

Rubbing his eyes, the child braces himself for the continuation of his journey, this time not caught ill-prepared as the steampunk vessel appears beneath his feet-- facilitating the progress of the medium through which his abilities have chosen to express themselves.

As his body dematerializes, he closes his eyes, welcoming the unusual ways of transportation while his little chest trembles with excitement-- for this time, when he awakes, Samantha will be there...

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Hades

Apollo makes grand gesture of appearing.

He steps forth from the portal opened by Thanatos in the form of brilliant and dazzling light-- dimming considerably as he takes step after step to the place atop which Samantha and I stand, his feet bounding to us with youthful eagerness. His mouth dances with an impish grin as his eyes rake in her form, glimmering with a subtle undertone of mischievousness which arouses an irritated feeling within me I am not acquainted with.

Instinctively, my gaze flits to her. She remains erect beside me, her lips turned down in vexation as she inspects herself from top to bottom-- searching and no doubt finding flaws in her attire, dissatisfied with what she chanced upon in my wardrobe. I'd have preferred to have her fervid leer fixed on me, yet considering Apollo's persuasive charm is on full display, I am content with her absorption in her appearance.

"Greetings, Apollo," I say stiffly, feeling the same irritated sensation swell beneath my breastbone as he strides to us.

We stand upon the granite steps of my palace, the ones which give way to its elongated structure, casting upon us its keen, somber shadows-- cloaking us in majestic darkness. The god of light bows slightly before us, beckoning one's mind to wander in the direction of our appearances, and question if in some manner, light will ultimately yield to darkness as he does to our forms.

Gliding across the last level with the airy grace of a winged creature, he comes to a stop-- pinning me with a leering gaze before boldly pressing his lips to my own.

"Greetings, Lord of the Dead."

His words sound muffled, suppressed by the position of my thinly closed mouth beneath his, prompting disturbance to take residence within my gut, for I know whom his lips will be caressing once he pulls away.

And the mere thought of it provokes bile up my esophagus.

"And greetings of course, to his lovely consort," he adds, stepping back and approaching Samantha with eyes full of voracity.

In one large, impatient stride, he reaches her and envelops her body with his own-- caging her with an arm wound around her neck and the other around her slim waist, pulling her down into a passionate embrace as he angles himself to her and connects their faces with a long, searing kiss.

The irritated sensation from earlier returns as he fervently brushes his mouth up and down her own --nudging and biting her lower lip to tease a response from her stunned expression-- and slithers up my abdomen to fondle my chest, causing me to contemplate ripping his golden figure off hers and feeding him piece by piece to Cerberus, as if he were a mere chew toy.

Yet, I do no such thing. For it is not in my nature to behave impulsively, no matter how great the urge. And the urge is immense, especially as -- in her surprise-- he manages to part her lips open and slips his tongue inside.

"Apollo," I say tersely, reaching to grip his shoulder with firm force, "The child suffers the more you prolong your fondling."

The golden youth looks up briefly, dazed, before nodding and mumbling something as he leans in to continue kissing Samantha. Suddenly incensed with his impertinence, I tighten my grip on his shoulder, condoning his audacity only because his abilities as healer are needed for the child.

"Apollo," I repeat, "The child."

"But I've not finished greeting her!"

Seemingly regaining her senses, Samantha pushes him off, sending me a guilty glance as she moves to stand erect. Her fingers reach to entwine with my own as she sidles up beside me, having successfully managed to pry off the handsome god, but I can not find it in me to return the affectionate gesture.

Looking up to a solemn Thanatos, I motion for those present to follow me, regrettably taking note of the flash of pain which momentarily crosses her features.

Her despondent expression pains me, perhaps because the Fates united our strands and I can now feel her sorrow as my own, or perchance it is because I know she did not return his fervent embrace-- only stood there motionless by the shock. With a bothered frown, I wander my hand to her own, bringing it up to my lips and pressing a kiss on her skin, assuring myself of eyeing her apprehensively while I do so.

I can not quite place the sensation which welled in my breast when Apollo practically ravaged her mouth, but I am not fond of it. I've not experienced it afore, and it is not fitting for someone who conducts proceedings. I need all clear rationale which I can grasp, yet the feeling the sight of his lips on hers caused me fogged my better judgement. 

Her thumb strokes my hand, and the relief it brings me is sufficient in cooling down the unsettling emotion, prompting me to ask myself if this is jealousy in its truest form. I've experienced and understand the pain of seeing one's beloved in the arms of another-- or as it happened to be in my case, beneath the needy, fervid embrace of their hips-- but I'd not yet known the animosity of valid covetousness.

And all which Apollo gave Samantha was an enthusiastic greeting. What if in some other version of our existence I chanced upon them in the same position I would happen on Persephone and Adonis in years past? Would the same emotion threaten to overtake my senses? Is this a necessary aspect of companionship? To be constantly in worry of their faithfulness?

If it is so, then Aphrodite's domain of expertise is both blessing and curse-- for who would willingly enter companionship if its sole description was mental agony accompanied by frequent paranoia, and impassioned arguments? How does one soothe such consequences of jealousy? What is the antidote?

Samantha's slight movement catches my interest, summing forth my gaze upon the hand she brings to her lips, kissing my skin as she regards me warily. She smiles tentatively, most likely unsure of the small token of affection because of her shared kiss with the sun god. It is not her fault he chose to greet her as is tradition for most Olympians-- with too much nearness and tongue in abundance-- neither of us saw his embrace approaching.

Turning to see if Death and Health follow us, I find them deep in conversation-- the former appearing annoyed with the latter's incessant, flirtatious chatter-- causing me to feel bold enough to lift Samantha's chin with an index finger, and lower my mouth to hers.

Parting it open briefly, I too slip past the barrier of her lips-- wishing to taste and wash away any lingering savor my brother's bastard left in her mouth. I pull away when the advancing steps of those behind us begin to subside in pace, gazing into her eyes longingly when our figures come to a halt in front of the child's chambers.

She tastes of sunshine.