"W-What do you mean by that, Thanatos…?"
The words hit me like a bucket of ice water. My body, still warm from our lovemaking, tensed instantly.
"Why so surprised?"
Thanatos twirled a lock of silver hair around her finger, unfazed.
"You've already done this with Demeter."
Her ruby eyes gleamed as she spoke, and my heart lurched. Cold sweat prickled down my spine.
"H-How did you—?"
"We spoke yesterday. Communication magic." She propped her chin on her palm, legs idly folding and unfolding. "She tried desperately to act normal. But I coaxed the truth out."
Her gaze was unreadable—somewhere between admiration and revulsion.
"Relax. I didn't tell a soul." A sigh. "Though I warned Demeter to keep quiet. The others won't hear it from me."
Silence.
"...I see."
Thanatos' voice softened, a rare tenderness bleeding through. "In the end, you couldn't help yourself, could you?"
The moonlight cast shadows across her face as she asked:
"Do you want me to be like Demeter? Broken by another man, crying in his arms?"
My throat closed. The lack of an answer was the answer.
"Then I'll do it."
Her smile was serene—like a goddess bestowing mercy.
"Wait, really? But you despise—"
"I still do."
Thanatos had always viewed men (aside from me) with icy disdain. A goddess's arrogance, yes—but hers carried a smile that made it cut deeper.
"But what choice do I have? If even Demeter—pure, innocent Demeter—could debase herself for you, how could I refuse?" Her fingers traced my collarbone. "Unless you'd love her more than me…"
"That's not—"
"Can you swear it?"
Her face was inches from mine. I faltered.
"Exactly." She huffed, burying her face in my chest. "I won't let another goddess have your heart. Though… that's not the only reason."
"Then why?"
"Because I hate seeing you suffer."
Her hand cupped my cheek.
"Did you think only Demeter noticed your pain? The way you pretended everything was fine?" She nipped my shoulder, pouting. "I loathe that look on you."
Her warmth seeped into me, a stark reminder of my own wretchedness.
"That's why I flirted with those thugs earlier. To see your reaction." She arched a brow. "And oh, how you stiffened."
No rebuttal came. I'd been transparent all along.
"That's when I knew." Her lips grazed my ear. "'To love him, I must love his darkness too.'"
"Thanatos, I—"
"Don't." A finger pressed to my lips. "No apologies. Just know this: no matter your desires, you're mine."
Her nail dragged down my chin.
"But I choose the man."
A wink. My pulse spiked.
"...Who did you have in mind?"
Thanatos tapped the sheets, feigning thought. Ion's memories and Pure Pan's lore failed me—I couldn't imagine her tolerating any man.
Then she said it.
"Hugo."
My breath stopped.
Hugo.
My friend.
Hugo Daveram was the definition of mediocrity.
Average magic. Average intellect. A man who'd stumbled into wizardry because it was the only trade that would feed him.
From childhood, Hugo was the friend who hesitated too long when picking teams for games. The one who missed passing grades by one question. The fool who'd invested his last coin in a doomed venture, losing even the roof over his head.
A walking cliché of incompetence.
So when Hero Ion Rayhard—his childhood friend—invited him to dinner, it felt like divine intervention. Their friendship was Hugo's sole stroke of luck in a life of failures.
Yet Hugo never exploited it. Ion's integrity forbade nepotism, and Hugo's pride (what little he had) kept him from groveling.
Until now.
With creditors seizing his home, pride was a luxury. Tonight, he'd beg.
"Welcome, Hugo."
Ion's smile didn't reach his eyes as Hugo entered the mansion's opulent dining hall.
"Long time." Their handshake was perfunctory.
Then she stepped forward.
"Hugo Daveram." Thanatos' voice was honeyed. "How lovely to see you again."
"Y-Yes! Goddess Thanatos!" Hugo stammered, bewildered by her warmth.
Ion cleared his throat. "Let's eat."
Hugo missed the edge in his friend's voice as they took their seats.
Thus began the dinner that would haunt Hugo forever.