Icarus couldn't help the twinge in his chest as he looked down at the sleeping demigod. He was just a shade now, albeit one with a strong sense of self and able to speak and do more than the average shade. Not that he felt good about that—a sacrifice had been necessary to bring him to this state, and guilt still ate away at him for it.

Shades and gods, even half-gods, didn't go together. He knew that. And there was something profoundly ironic about the one he'd rescued being a chіld of Helios, of all things. His over-eagerness in approaching the sun had cost him his mortal life, and now here he was, flying too close to its radiance once more.

But he couldn't help it. Something about this chіld of Helios just sang to him. There was a literal radiance to the demigod, yes, shimmering skin and gleaming hair, equal parts mesmerizing and dangerous. But there was also a less tangible radiance, a pull that made his heart stutter and his stomach flip, and he couldn't help the desire to be near.

He reached out, fingers trembling, and stroked his knuckles down the demigod's cheek. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his expression tender. "I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have approached you. But..."

Icarus closed his eyes. "I've been alone for a long time, and I think, even though this will eventually hurt me, hurt you, I just... I'm selfish."

With the doors to the underworld thrown wide open, Icarus could be out here, in the mortal realm, helping slow down Chronos's fleets and doing his part in the war. He could be here, with the demigod, chatting about his inventions, taking flight together, basking in the same light that had once brought about his demise.

But, once the underworld was returned to its rightful master, he'd have to return. They'd never see each other again.

"By the gods, what am I doing?" he murmured, withdrawing his hand. "I'm just a shade. There is no point." But no matter what he said, his feelings remained. His heart was foolish. He was foolish. "Gods have mercy on me."