[Third person POV]

Lucian and Medea both turned at the exact same moment, as if choreographed. Their hands clamped tightly over their mouths, shoulders trembling with barely contained laughter. Their eyes were squeezed shut, their bodies shaking as they fought valiantly to suppress the snorts and giggles threatening to escape. The last thing either of them wanted was to draw the attention of the God of Death during such a delicate conversation—but the absurdity of the situation made it almost impossible to hold it in.

Meanwhile, Hades sat stiffly, hiding his face behind a fold of his regal toga as though he’d suddenly discovered something fascinating in the fabric’s texture. His lips were pressed tightly to one side, and he took a long, deliberate breath in through his nose before exhaling slowly, clearly trying to maintain his composure.

Persephone wasn’t faring much better. Her lips were clamped together so tightly they were turning pale, and her shoulders occasionally twitched with the effort to stay composed. Her flushed cheeks betrayed her internal struggle as she kept glancing up at the ceiling, desperately trying to focus on anything but the story being told—to keep herself from bursting out into unrestrained laughter.

Markus, however, stood apart from the rest, silent, his eyes fixed on his father with a look that blended disbelief, confusion, and a small measure of horrified fascination. Of all the things Thanatos could have confessed or revealed during this conversation, this had not even crossed his mind.

What truly baffled Markus wasn’t the bizarre circumstance, nor even the unlikely emotional vulnerability of the God of Death. It was the sheer fact that his father had somehow survived the situation, moved past it, and had even managed to create him. It felt unreal.

“How the hell did you possibly even recover from that?” Markus asked, scoffing with incredulity, folding his arms across his chest as he gave his father a sideways glare.

Thanatos, unfazed, responded in a measured tone, the weight of memory in his eyes. “When I saw her again, it was during the moment I came to collect her father’s soul. I was panicked—utterly horrified—fearing that she’d think I had orchestrated the entire thing. I stumbled through my words, trying to explain that it wasn’t my doing. But instead of outrage…”

He paused, smiling faintly. “She laughed, but the way someone laughs when they’re overwhelmed. It was clear, even in that moment, that she didn’t blame me. I was relieved, but then… she began to cry. Her laughter crumbled into grief and anguish, the kind that had been buried deep and finally broke through the surface.”

Thanatos’s gaze softened as he looked at Markus, seeing faint traces of the woman he once loved etched into his son’s features.

“I did what no God of Death is supposed to do. I stayed. I comforted her. I didn’t just observe or stand aside—I held her. I became part of that moment in a way I shouldn’t have. I broke more than one of my words that day.”

He paused again, the memory clearly stirring a storm of emotions.

“You have to understand, Markus… that day, she didn’t just lose her father—she lost the only family she had left in the world. She was utterly alone. Maybe it was sympathy. Maybe it was something more. But I couldn’t let her bear that pain alone. I let her see her father one last time—let them say their farewells…”

Thanatos exhaled, dragging a hand down his face before continuing. “Her father… he asked me to make sure she wasn’t alone. He knew he was leaving her behind with nothing and no one.”

He looked up again, a flicker of pride and sorrow passing through his eyes.

Markus tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Ha. Nice to see you kept your word,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every syllable. There was no warmth in his voice—only bitter resentment.

“I did keep my word,” Thanatos replied, his voice calm but not without emotion. “She was never alone, Markus. Not really. Because from the moment she had you, she always had someone. You became her world. I visited her when I could, stayed as long as I dared. And then… you were born.”

Markus stood quietly for a few moments, arms still crossed. He was grateful, in a strange way, to finally understand how his parents had met, how he came to be. But one truth still eluded him—one question remained unanswered.

“That still doesn’t explain why you had to stay away,” he said coolly. “I’m still not understanding what it is I’m not understanding.”

Thanatos sighed, shoulders sagging as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Markus… like I’ve told you already, your mother had no one left. Losing her father devastated her, but your birth gave her a reason to keep going. You became her light in that darkness. Her comfort. Her greatest joy.”

Markus’s expression softened despite himself. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips—but it quickly faded when he noticed the conflicted expression on his father’s face.

“But also her greatest concern,” Thanatos said quietly.

Markus blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I’m not sure if you fully understand yet… but demigods rarely live long lives,” Thanatos explained gently. “Not because your bodies are weak—far from it—but because of the constant dangers you face. Monsters. Curses. War. Most demigods don’t survive to see their 20th birthday.”

Markus nodded slowly. “Yeah, I’m aware,” he said, his tone steady. “Lucian and the others made sure I learned everything about the supernatural world I was walking into.”

He shot a look at Lucian, who immediately started swiping his hand furiously across his neck, eyes wide. The message was clear: Drop it.

When Thanatos turned to look in Lucian’s direction, the boy immediately threw his hands behind his back and grinned like an innocent child.

Thanatos narrowed his eyes and scoffed, his voice dripping with cold sarcasm. “I suppose you’re the one I have to thank for finding Markus and dragging him here?”

Lucian cleared his throat and offered a strained, sheepish smile. “Please don’t kill me.”

Thanatos let out another scoff, though this one carried a touch of dry amusement. “I’ll think about it,” he muttered, eyeing Lucian with narrowed eyes. “Perhaps I’ll just curse you.”

“Please do!” Lucian blurted out without hesitation, a wide, unhinged grin spreading across his face like a kid getting the gift he always wanted. ‘I’ve been waiting for this! I already finished digesting 99% of my potion! All I’m missing is that one percent! And I’ve tried everything! I even consulted my intuition!’

Of course, Lucian’s so-called “consultation” with his intuition had been less of a spiritual awakening and more of a frustrating wait, one that ended with being told to him that the time will come.

‘Maybe this is it…’ he thought to himself with hopeful intensity, eyes gleaming.

Thanatos stared at him, utterly baffled. His expression quickly shifted into concern as he turned toward Markus, voice low and flat.

“Please… choose your friends with more care.”

Markus offered a tight, sheepish smile and rubbed the back of his neck. “Lucian’s not that bad once you get to know him.”

“I don’t think I want to,” Thanatos said plainly, shaking his head in mild exasperation. He paused, gathering his thoughts. “Now, where was I… Ah, right.”

He straightened slightly, his voice becoming serious once more. “Since Lucian already took it upon himself to explain the supernatural world, then I assume you understand what happens once a demigod learns the truth about their heritage. It draws attention. Unwanted attention. The kind of attention that brings danger and trials. Tests that all demigods must eventually face.”

“Yeah,” Markus nodded, “I know. But I’m different. Being your son and all… those ‘trials’ kept their distance.”

Thanatos gave a small nod, but his eyes dimmed slightly. “Yes, that is true. Your blood did shield you… to a degree. But Faith—your mother—was still terrified. Just because some threats kept away didn’t mean all of them would. She lived every day with a constant fear gnawing at her heart.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle.

“She was afraid of losing you, Markus. Terrified of watching you fall before you ever had the chance to live. The thought of you dying young, hunted her. it would have destroyed her. In her fear… she even began to see me as a threat. Not because of anything I’d done, but because of what I represented: the other half of your existence. The supernatural half.”

Thanatos’s voice dropped to a quiet murmur, one laced with regret. The atmosphere thickened with solemn tension.

“To her, the only way to protect you was to cut you off from that side of yourself. From me. She believed that for you to have a chance at a long, peaceful life… you needed to be separated from everything connected to it. Including your father.”

Markus stood still, his expression tightening with every word. What he was hearing didn’t just sting—it shattered something inside him.

“It was the first time she and I ever truly fought,” Thanatos said, his voice distant, heavy with memory. “A real, bitter argument. And the worst part? I didn’t fight back much. Not really. Because I was weak when it came to her. Maybe… maybe I should have fought harder to be a part of your life. Maybe I should’ve defied her wishes.”

He sighed, eyes dropping to the floor. “But what’s done is done.”

Thanatos looked back up at his son, gaze steady and filled with quiet sorrow.

“We reached a compromise. I would not reveal myself to you. I would have no contact, no interference. Not unless she passed away… or unless you had already followed your mortal path to its natural end. Only then would I be allowed to come forward, to tell you everything. To tell you the truth.”

His eyes flicked toward Lucian again, gaze sharp with suspicion. “But the Fates… they have a strange sense of humor. I didn’t come to find you, Markus. You came and found me.”

Markus’s breath hitched. He stood frozen, his chest rising and falling with slow, uneven breaths as the truth slowly crushed its way into his mind. His lips parted, a soft, stunned whisper escaping them.

“No…” he muttered. “That can’t be true… My mom. She wouldn’t… she would never…”

He looked down at the ground, his fists slowly curling at his sides. He felt everything he knew crumbling around it.

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