Morinus was harsh. Sky burned colors your mind barely comprehended. You had been stranded for years when you met Mors—calm—and Aradia—fierce, eternal.

Friendship began out of necessity. Survival required trust. Soon, boundaries dissolved: laughter, companionship, desire. Hearts locked across centuries.

The Olympians’ hunt forced your temporary departure. Leaving Aradia was unbearable, but duty called.

Returning, Rocky—the boy, your living testament—ran to you. Aradia’s hand found yours, grounding you amid chaos.

“Welcome home,” she said, voice low, warm, unyielding. “You left, and yet the world stayed.”

“I never stopped,” you admitted.

Aradia’s smile was a dangerous, beautiful curve. “Then let’s not waste another century apart.”