"And what have you learnt so far?"
Mount Etna pitched unbelievably high from the average ground level, maybe almost as intensely high as Victor's anger. The cold air brushed by a violent wind where he had knelt, and no matter how much it did seem he should be used to it by now, he still shivered.
His knees ached— beyond bruised from where he'd knelt for a week. The jagged edges of the mountain didn't seem to help him in return. He could feel it piercing into a wall of blood in his legs.
Victor Dreadmoore embraced the pain, still.
His blackened hair danced with the wind like it needed no other dance partner. His skinned thinned and his bones shrunk. The extent to which his lips had dried reminded him that they were bound to fall off soon. Overhead, he could feel the sun warm the cold in his bones. The vultures had resumed their morning squawks, flying over him in circles as if patiently anticipating his death.
These were things he'd definitely learnt.
"Patience, at most." He replied, his eyes shut away from the god. But he definitely could hear Pan try to stifle a wild laughter through a snicker.
That didn't faze him. Seven days he had been here. Seven days without food nor water. Seven days on his desperate kneels. He had a mission. And not even the consistent cold weather had discouraged him. Neither the searing pain that surfaced his knee. He was not about to shift resolve because of a god's laughter.
No, not today.
"Why do you still do this?" The god of the wild asked. "I told you boy, I can't help you out."
"You're a god. You have the power to."
He did, right? If there was anyone as powerful—constantly roaming the mortal world— it was Pan, the god of the wild. And as far as Victor realized, his situation way beyond mortal intervention. He was born a demigod, one who could awaken his parent's essence. He would let this one slide if he was born of a lesser god, but he wasn't. His father was Hades.
And lord Hades was anything but a lesser god.
But how much had Victor done to inherit the bloodline of the dead? He'd gone on a solo monster hunting rampage. He'd enrolled in an academy for demigods and had survived every quest— barely. And yet, nothing had changed.
Not his strength, neither his utterly bad luck.
"You're quite ignorant, boy." Pan spoke again, this time with exaggeration. "You come to me— a god who barely ruled over the wild and the beasts— to help you discover your affinities?"
"I came because I remember you—"
"I don't need your remembrance, or anyone else's." The god shot, his voice letting off a touch of pain, like he was suddenly reminiscent of a bitter memory. "Go home, boy."
Victor heard Pan's footsteps as he turned, starting to walk away.
He asked. "Why won't you help me? You have helped your kind in time past, you even helped Hercules become stronger."
Pan stopped in his tracks. "Well, you see, I helped them because the gods willed it. At least, in their eyes, they did not see a threat."
Victor's curiosity hinged, and so he opened his eyes. It didn't matter afterward that he was staring a wee bit old man with gray hair, a draped tired mustache and beards like thick forest. Or that he tried to conceal his white goat hoofs with a large gown and a walking stick.
His appearance was anything but divine. Hilarious— if it required a likely description.
"What do you mean, threat?" Victor asked, trying hard to look away from his hooves.
"Do you think it's normal enough that you have honed yourself this much and yet, nothing has changed?" The god gave an obvious frown, almost throwing his stick at him. "Your affinity has been sealed, boy."
"Sealed? By whom?"
Pan contemplated for a sheer second. "Your father, Hades." He finally replied.
Hades? Victor wasn't sure he'd met the god once, but somehow he seemed to be playing a responsible part behind the reason for his powerlessness. Why Hades of all gods? Why couldn't it have been Zeus? Zeus was petty.
"I would go to him then." Victor frowned with resolve. He wasn't sure how he was going to find the ruler of the Underworld, but he he had found the god of the wild, he was confident he could.
"Don't." Pan stopped him, sheer panic unhidden in his face expression. "If he figures out I told you this, he would definitely come after me."
Victor frowned. "Why doesn't he wasn't me to know?" He asked.
"I don't have the answer to that, but apparently, the sealing of your affinities came with a front warning. ΜΗ ΛΈΓΕΙΣ, ΜΗ ΒΟΗΘΆΣ."
"And what does that mean?" Victor asked.
"It means, "DO NOT SPEAK, DO NOT HELP." Pan interrupted, earning Victor's astonished look. "That's Hades handwriting on your forehead, only visible to the divine eye."
Victor never replied, his knees crumpled down, piercing even harder into the glazed mountain rocks. He didn't register when a drop of tear rolled freely down his left eye. Why? Why did it have to be his own father?
What was his big offense that he just had to pay for by being powerless, unidentified?
"You should be grateful I ignored the risks to tell you this." The god continued. "I believe you should now see why I or any other god won't be able to help you. Don't be mistaken, excluding me, there are a lot of gods who can help you unseal your affinities. But no one knows why your father commanded that, and we won't want to seek his wrath."
The god turned and started to take steps away, his walking stick clamping against the hard ground.
"Give up boy. You have been proclaimed powerless— and powerless, you shall remain."
.
.
.
Author's Note: Questions? Ask me.