At Hunter’s question, Iphis’ face lit up with a dazzling smile. “Of course!”
“No!”
This second reply came as a distant shout from the workshop, and all three of the table’s occupants turned their heads in that direction.
Then, as though he hadn’t heard anything, Iphis scooched a little closer to Hunter and asked, “What gave us away?”
“Uhh, well… my daughter seemed to think you were?” Hunter answered, then paused, worried he might have unintentionally thrown Euphy under the bus. “But maybe the game was vague and she got it mixed up. I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Shouldn’t you know yourself? I thought you’d played the game.”
”What? No, I just watched her play sometimes.”
Iphis paused, blinked a few times, and then chirped, “Wow! That explains a lot.”
Hunter scowled.
Should he hit him? He really wanted to hit him.
“Still, you must remember some of it? Tell me about my character—no, even better, tell me about Moros!”
“Or, better yet, neither,” Moros announced, exiting the workshop with his face hidden behind a tall stack of books. “Calliope doesn’t want us learning too much about our ‘game selves.’ She thinks it’s unhealthy.”
With this, he thunked the books down on the table and faced Hunter.
“And, for the record… While we are partners, it is not that kind of partnership.”
Hunter just stared blankly in response, too stunned by Moros’ revitalized appearance to come up with a reply.
The dark circles under the man’s eyes had vanished, and his skin, while still pale, had lost its alarming pallor and now looked as fresh and dewy as a rose. In addition, the previously gaunt angles of his face had filled out and softened, making him appear not only livelier but decidedly younger.
Earlier, when he’d been wrapped head to toe in thick outer robes, Moros had given off a sense of fragility, as though he was somehow in danger of freezing to death despite the summertime weather. Now he’d shed those heavy layers to reveal a white linen suit, and its clean and tasteful design served to emphasize the fact that it was tailored to fit. With his long blonde hair swept over one shoulder and a pair of chic sunglasses perched on his nose, he now gave off an air of posh and leisurely elegance that would have put Jay Gatsby to shame.
Seeing this, Hunter couldn’t help but wonder what the hell they’d done in that bathroom. Moros couldn't have just taken some medicine, could he? He’d never heard of a drug that could make someone look like they’d spent a week at a spa, and even though the toiletry products Ianthe stocked were high end, he was pretty sure they weren’t capable of fucking miracles!
And for that matter, while Hunter approved of Moros’ decision to wear vacation-appropriate attire, did he have to be this fancy? Just looking at him made Hunter feel like he’d underdressed for lounging about his own damn apartment.
When Hunter failed to reply, Moros frowned in evident displeasure. Taking a step forward, he reached out and casually placed a hand on the back of Hunter’s chair, leaning down to get closer to him.
“Let me be clear… Iphis might find those rumors amusing, but I don’t.”
He tilted his face towards Hunter’s, allowing his dark glasses to slide down and fully reveal his pale blue eyes. Those eyes, which had been misty and unfocused, suddenly became so sharp and chilling that they pierced right through Hunter, mercilessly pinning him to his chair.
“Hunter… do you find them amusing?”
Hunter put his hands up and shrank back, breaking out into a cold sweat as he thought,
What, don’t tell me you’re a scary pervert, too?
The way Moros had spent most of the day uselessly flopping around the apartment like a sad wet butterfly made Hunter think of him as a lower threat, but now it occurred to him that anyone who could put up with Iphis for so long couldn’t be sane either.
“No, of course not!” Hunter defended himself, trying and failing to break eye contact with Moros’ threatening gaze. “I was just asking to clarify…”
Unsatisfied with this response, Moros loomed closer until the frames of their glasses clinked against one another’s. In a desperate bid to prevent anything more uncomfortable from happening, Hunter ingratiatingly added, “I mean, Iphis kids around a lot, right? It must be hard on you.”
At this, he was awarded a soft snort, and Moros finally let go of his chair and took a step back. Adjusting his sunglasses to cover his eyes again, he agreed, “Yes… it’s best not to take him too seriously.”
“Moros, don’t bully him,” Iphis chided, giving the man a tug on his sleeve. “He’s been under a lot of stress.”
“I only encouraged him not to make bad jokes,” Moros snapped, turning that cold look on Iphis, who froze in place like a school-boy caught putting tacks on someone’s seat. “I hope I won’t need to do so again.”
Sitting up properly and placing his hands flat on the table, Iphis did his best to appear chastened and promised, “You wont, I’ll be good.”
“Liar,” Moros said, and he gave Iphis a quick smack upside the back of his head as he passed by before disappearing back into the workshop.
Iphis rubbed the spot and gave Hunter a pathetic, watery-eyed look.
“Hunter, I think my partner’s mad at me, what do I do?”
From the bottom of his heart, Hunter wanted to say, You could start by leaving me the hell out of it!
He was sure Euphy hadn’t dug this pit for him on purpose, but that didn’t make falling into it any more pleasant. Still, he understood why she’d been confused, since it was obvious to anyone with eyes that even if they weren’t in a romantic relationship, there were some crazy fucking emotional undercurrents passing between these two. People with normal platonic feelings simply did not go from zero to killing intent because someone asked if they were dating their coworker! If anything, Moros’ reaction only made Hunter convinced that these two would either end up married to or murdering one another.
That said, maybe this could be a good thing for him? If Iphis focused on teasing Moros, and Moros focused on beating up Iphis, then they’d both have less time to pay attention to Hunter. As long as he could avoid getting caught in between, becoming an ignored third wheel was probably the safest position he could take.
“Why the heck are you asking me? I’m a single father.”
“But you have a daughter, surely you must have had relationships before?” Iphis asked. He reached out to choose another pastry for Hebe, only to be blocked by Hunter, who grabbed a cheese stuffed square and lured the cat’s attention towards himself instead.
He patted her soft head as he fed it to her. Once again, the cat is the only reliable one.
“Who says that’s a prerequisite? Anyway, besides harrying innocent old men, I still don’t get what you guys actually do for the Temple.”
Taking the bait, Iphis brightened back up and declared, “Lots of things! Hunting demons of course, but we also handle malicious spirits, mana ruptures, cult activity, abominations, aberrations… or we used to, anyway.”
He dramatically wilted and began drawing sad little circles on the table, muttering, “Calliope sent us here five years ago to watch Ianthe, and I’ve been dying of boredom ever since.”
“Wow, a cushy teaching job on a beautiful island… That must have been hard on you.”
“Right? I knew you’d understand.”
Moros emerged from the workshop again, carrying a smaller second bundle of books, and he dropped them next to the others on the table.
“Are you two done gossiping?”
“No,” Iphis replied.
“Probably not,” Hunter seconded.
It was hard to tell for sure since his eyes were covered, but Hunter got the feeling that Moros was surprised by this, which turned to confusion as his white-blonde brows twisted.
“Oh, but I thought…”
Moros made an unhappy humming sound, then let out a frustrated puff of air and said, “Alright, in that case… I’m going to take a nap, wake me up when it’s time to work.”
By the tone of his voice, Hunter realized that Moros was genuinely a little upset by their response, but before he could clarify Iphis stood up and caught Moros by the arm.
“You’re also invited to gossip,” Iphis insisted. “We’ll all sit down and chat, and then the questions come up naturally later.”
Moros frowned, looking between Iphis and Hunter and back again, then said plaintively, “But… I don’t want to?”
“But you could make a friend?”
“I don’t want friends,” Moros replied, and pointed at Hunter. “I just want him to answer my questions.”
“Moros, think about it,” Iphis argued, pulling the shorter man closer as he leaned in and continued in a low, conspiratorial tone. “If I wasn’t your only friend, then people wouldn’t always assume we’re dating.”
Moros opened his mouth, his face darkening like he was about to get angry, but then he glanced at Hunter again.
Whatever he saw made him pause and tilt his head like he’d decided to seriously consider Iphis’ argument instead.
“… You really think so?”
“Yes! And, if you befriended Ianthe, nobody would assume you were dating her, because nobody in their right mind would dare.”
Hunter felt like there were a lot of holes in Iphis’ logic, but he wanted to see where this was going so he kept his mouth shut.
“… Okay,” Moros agreed with a reluctant sigh, and allowed himself to be dragged into a chair.
Iphis, delighted by this victory, sat beside his less enthused friend and immediately got to coaxing him.
“Here, Hunter made you some tea, and I brought snacks,” he said, sliding a cup towards Moros while warming it up again in a quick flash of reddish mana.
“Stop fussing, I already sat down, didn’t I?” Moros replied, his face gloomy and his shoulders hunched up like a surly cat.
“If I do, will you cut my hair later?” Iphis asked, pressing his shoulder against Moros’ as he shamelessly tugged on one of his friend’s white-blonde locks. “It’s too long now. You know I can’t stand having long hair, and I can’t cut it as well as you can.”
“Yes, yes, alright,” Moros agreed, pushing Iphis away with both hands. “Now calm down before you give me another headache.”
“Oh! That reminds me: you’re both wearing sunglasses. Would it help if I dimmed the lights?” Iphis asked, raising a hand to cast a spell.
Hunter, who instantly recalled the blacked out windows in Ianthe’s office from the other night, stood up fast enough to knock his chair back and shouted, “No!”
Iphis, Moros, and Hebe all paused what they were doing to stare at him in surprise.
“I… uh… don’t like the dark?”
He gritted his teeth, regretting that he hadn’t come up with a better lie, but he hadn’t expected Iphis to try covering the windows again and the thought made him so panicked that he spoke before he could think.
He braced for some kind of pushback, but instead Iphis asked Moros, “Do you mind keeping your glasses on?”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Alright, natural light it is,” Iphis agreed, then gently tapped Hebe’s forehead and asked, “Should we put on glasses too? I’m starting to feel left out.”
Hebe responded by extending a paw towards the food box, and was rewarded with yet another pastry.
Drained by how anticlimactic their reactions were, Hunter slumped back into his seat and rubbed his face.
He knew he ought to feel grateful, but every time Iphis accommodated him without question like this, something about it bothered him.
Maybe it was the thought that someone was watching him closely enough to pick up on things he wasn’t trying to share, that they were using those observations to paint a portrait of who he was in their heads that he had no way of looking at, no way to predict if the dissonance between the real and the ideal would one day come to haunt him…
Oy vey.
He pinched his eyebrows together and sighed.
His paranoia hadn't been this bad in years; he really needed to find a way to cool it.
“Are you wearing glasses because you have a migraine?” Moros asked him.
“No, I’m wearing them to be considerate ‘coz my eyes are creepy. What about you, do you get a lot of headaches?”
“Sometimes, yes, but generally… my eyes are just very sensitive to light.”
Hunter nodded, thinking absently to himself that Moros wasn’t so bad to talk to when he wasn’t getting worked up over his not-boyfriend.
He’d always had a soft spot for beautiful voices, and now that Moros was healthier, his vocal quality had improved significantly alongside his appearance. While his accent was still rather sibilant, his words no longer held the hoarse and strained quality that’d made listening to him almost painful. Instead his timbre was smooth and gentle, with a naturally relaxing quality that would have been perfect for bedtime stories or a meditation podcast.
The only lingering downside was that Moros kept pausing in strange places to catch his breath, although Hunter got the impression that this was now out of habit rather than necessity.
He tapped his fingers on the table, thinking it was a shame that the capability of recording spells in this world was so limited.
“That’s why I was asking you about curtains, earlier,” Iphis chimed in, and Hunter noted that his steady baritone was a natural complement to Moros’ soothing tenor. Hypothetically, if Hunter or Moros sang lead, then the three of them would only be a bass short of a barbershop quartet…
Unable to stop himself, he imagined using magic to give Hebe a bass meow, and gave her a strange look.
Okay, it’d be an undeniably weird combination, but wouldn’t it be worth it for an excuse to put her in a tiny sailor suit?
Meanwhile, Hebe stared back at him and inched closer to Iphis, her ears flattening in suspicion.
“Hunter,” Iphis asked, “Are you drifting off again?”
“Do you think Hebe would be willing to wear a little straw hat if we cut her some ear holes?”
He received a chorus of confused silence in return.
“I don’t know where you go sometimes, but I wish you’d take me with you,” Iphis sighed.
“Ahem—right, curtains, sorry,” Hunter corrected, straightening up and trying to get his mind to focus back on the conversation at hand. “I’ll see if I can pick up some thicker ones once you guys are willing to let me leave the apartment.”
“Thank you, I appreciate the offer… I see you’re rather considerate of physical needs,” Moros observed, activating his storage bracelet and pulling a leather journal and pen out of thin air. He opened them both, then posed as if to begin writing and asked, “I read Iphis and Chiron’s reports… it seems you’ve been living in human form for fifty-two years?”
“I… yes? Because I am human.”
“Wait, Moros, you’re skipping the chatting part,” Iphis protested, but Moros waved him off.
“Hunter, do you recall how many years you’ve had a sense of self-awareness, and do you mind me asking… what sort of domain you’ve developed?”
“I—what? I don’t have a—Iphis, come on, help me out here.”
“Moros, Hunter isn’t a spirit.”
“But Chiron told me he was…?”
“I’m not.”
“He isn’t.”
“You’re sure…?”
“Yes,” they both replied.
“Nya,” Hebe helpfully added.
“Oh… okay, if you say so,” Moros shrugged.
Hunter didn’t think he was being sarcastic, but felt unsure and glanced at Iphis for confirmation.
Iphis put his hand over his heart and reassured him, “Don’t worry, he believes me. We have an unbreakable bond of trust.”
“No, it’s more like… you’d play around more, if you were messing with me,” Moros denied, then paused to write something in his notebook.
Noticing a subtle tremble in Moros’ hands, Hunter grabbed the edge of the box and slid it closer to him. “Hey, you’ve been working for a while, right? Why don’t you eat something?”
“Oh… okay,” Moros said, leaning forward to inspect the pastries. “Perhaps I should apologize for taking so long to finish my report earlier… It’s just that I had to look through all of Ianthe’s things, and read through all her books, notes, and records…”
“Wait, you actually read all of that?” Hunter asked.
Moros nodded absently, now engrossed in perusing the variety of pastries.
Hunter frowned at the living area covered in random piles of books and papers, and thought about the stuffed bookshelves Ianthe kept in the other rooms.
No wonder the poor guy wanted to take a nap earlier.
“People like her are good at hiding things, so I didn’t want to overlook any details,” Moros continued, selecting a little doughy green ball from the tray and holding it up to inspect it.
“You won’t like that one,” Iphis warned. “Find any good books?”
“There weren’t any rare magic books like what she was keeping in her office, but if you were asking about novels, I’m not sure you’d be interested… they were all about pirates.”
Then, ignoring Iphis’ advice, he bit into the green ball and almost instantly scrunched his face up in disgust.
“Really, pirates?” Iphis asked, handing Moros a little flaky golden puff and taking away the rejected snack, which he then ate in one bite himself. “Pirates doing what, exactly?”
“Hmm… mostly falling in love?” Moros accepted the new treat and nibbled it. It must have been acceptable, because he quietly finished it before softly adding, “And fucking.”
Hunter, who’d been taking a swig of coffee, choked on it.
Hebe tilted her ears back in annoyance and glared at him as he thumped his chest and coughed.
“Oh,” Iphis replied, sounding disappointed.
Hunter, slowly recovering from the coffee he’d inhaled, wondered why of all things Moros had to bring up Ianthe’s damn romance novel collection.
He couldn’t help but feel a little uncomfortable with the subject. After all, weren’t some women kind of sensitive about people knowing they read that stuff? He personally didn’t care, but he remembered that one time he’d caught Euphy reading Outlander, and he’d made the mistake of saying he’d read it too, and then she’d refused to look him in the eye for a week.
Then again, he tried to imagine Ianthe getting embarrassed over anything, and couldn’t do it.
“A few of them were good,” Moros continued.
“Yes, but… I have complicated feelings about pirates,” Iphis murmured, rubbing his chin with his gloved hand. “How good is ‘good?’”
“One very good, two good good,” Moros replied. “Oh, I forgot to mention… none of them were about men.”
“Well, in that case.” Now Iphis turned to Hunter and asked, “Can I borrow some of your books?”
… What?
Hunter read a lot of books, particularly science fiction and fantasy, and that meant that while he’d never sought out romance as a genre, he’d never avoided a good story just because romance was part of it.
Usually when he had this kind of conversation with other guys, his role was to go, ‘I know it’s technically romance, but it’s really good and you should read it anyway,’ and then cross his fingers and hope their reply wasn’t too heinous.
So this new style of conversation was really throwing him for a loop.
“… It’s fine if they’re not men?” Hunter asked, trying to figure out if this was a ‘gay stuff is cool so long as it’s girls kissing for my entertainment’ sort of deal.
“Oh, ah… My father was a privateer,” Iphis explained, and the sheepish way he sank down in his chair as he admitted this made it clear this wasn’t something he was proud of. “My mother was an Acidalian priestess he kidnapped during a raid, so they didn’t have a very healthy relationship.”
Hunter’s brain took a few seconds to process what he’d just heard.
… Your father was a what? Who did what!?
“I… also didn’t have a good relationship with him,” Iphis mumbled, eyes downcast as he misinterpreted Hunter’s shocked silence for condemnation.
No kidding! No, more importantly, how can you just drop that casually into the middle of a conversation? How do I even reply to that!?
“Really? That’s, uh… That must have been hard to grow up with, I’m sorry to hear that,” Hunter replied. Then very hesitantly he asked, “Is that kind of thing common here…?”
Iphis, obviously relieved by Hunter’s non-judgmental response, answered, “Not as much as it used to be.”
Okay, Hunter thought, nodding. So this country has bride-napping, note to fucking self I guess?
“And the books, you’re sure you still want them…?”
With a shrug, Iphis replied, “Well, I’d at least like to try? Anyway, the pirates I know now are much better people than my father’s family, and the stories might not bother me if they’re only about women. Anyway, when Moros recommends something, it’s always worth reading.”
Moros nodded in agreement, treating Iphis’ statement as fact rather than praise.
“Unfortunately, you can’t borrow Ianthe’s copies even if Hunter says it’s alright… She wrote in code inside them, so they’re evidence.”
He gestured to the books he’d placed on the table, and Hunter, who hadn’t bothered to look at them before, now realized that every single one was a pirate-themed romance novel.
He supposed that even villainesses had to have hobbies, but still, what a ridiculously niche thing to obsess over. It wasn’t like Ianthe had interest in any other romantic novels or anything else pirate themed, as far as he knew she literally only cared about the direct intersection of the two.
“Really?” Iphis asked, crestfallen. “So I’d have to buy them?”
“Well, or you could wait until they’ve been examined and copied,” Moros answered, picking up one of the books. “Actually, if Hunter can read the notes… that might not take long at all.”
“Um… I can try?”
Moros opened the book and handed it over to Hunter, who looked down to see that there were little comments scrawled here and there in the margins. Unfortunately, while he recognized Ianthe’s handwriting, he couldn’t remember her writing it or read the script it was written in…
No, that wasn’t quite right. He had a vague feeling that he did recall, but the knowledge had a slipperiness to it that he’d learned to associate with the demon, and he didn’t think it’d be a good idea to mention that.
“It feels sort of familiar, but I can’t understand it,” he said, pointing at his head with a pastry Iphis had just handed him. “I’m missing a lot of her knowledge, and this must be a part of that.”
“But you can speak and write Cydonian from her memories, can’t you?” Moros pressed.
“Yes, but… I guess this is different?”
“Then do you at least recognize who this book is from?”
Moros picked up another volume, this one visibly older than the rest. Written on its worn cover in faded golden letters was its title, The Sacrificial Bride of the Pirate Queen, and when Hunter opened it he saw the same familiar script on its first page.
Only, the handwriting was different.
Also, whoever wrote it had also drawn little hearts and some cute stick figures holding hands on a badly drawn boat, so it definitely couldn’t have come from Ianthe.
“I recognize the book, but I don’t know who wrote this, or who gave it to her…” he began, then stopped short.
Even if he couldn’t pin down any details about the writing, he did remember Ianthe reading some of these books, and he knew that this book was special to her because of its mystery.
“… But I can tell you that Ianthe also didn’t know who wrote in this other handwriting, or who gave this book to her, and that frustrated the hell out of her.”
Moros frowned and took the book back to inspect it, asking, “Really? So at least two people know how to write in this alphabet, but… Ianthe doesn’t know who the other person was? Then how did she learn to read it?”
“I dunno… school, maybe?”
Moros shook his head. “This script isn’t from any language on this or the Southern Continent, I’d recognize it if it was.”
“Sorry pal, beats me.”
“Do you have any guesses as to who this person could be? Any idea of who Ianthe was close to… when she received it?”
“Well, there’s Anemone, but… I feel like if Anemone knew this alphabet or had written any of this, Ianthe would have figured out it was her over the years.”
Also, Anemone was such a proper lady, if she’d caught Ianthe with a book like this she probably would have just pretended not to see it.
“Alright… then will you take a look at this for me?”
Now Moros offered the journal he’d been writing in earlier, revealing a page that had a replica of the complex circle Hunter had arrived in.
At the time he’d dismissed the writing on it as satanic gobbledygook, but now he realized it was just like the notes written in the novels.
“Can you read any of this?”
“No.”
“Not even the epithets of the gods the spell is invoking?” Moros asked, tapping a few places.
“Still no.”
“How about understanding the circle itself?”
Now Hunter hesitated, looking closer.
He didn’t understand it as a whole, but he recognized parts of it from other spells he did remember.
“Yeah, some of it, like,” he pointed at a section with his finger, “I’m pretty sure that’s some kind of transference prompt, and this one looks a lot like a stasis command.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
Moros fell silent and glanced down at the book with a frown. For a while, nobody said anything.
Then Moros reached out to tug on one of Iphis’ sleeves, and with a pleading lilt in his voice he asked, “Iphis, would you… threaten Hunter for me?”
Hunter, who’d taken this opportunity to lure Hebe from her chair into his lap with another cheese pastry, asked, “What?”
“Moros, I already threatened him the other night.”
“Did it work?”
“Um, somewhat?”
“… Maybe you could try again?”
“Hey! You two!”
Hunter did not like it when people snapped at others to get their attention, he’d always felt it was a condescending thing to do, but he was sick to death of being threatened so he snapped at them so hard it was like he was trying to pop his damn thumbs off.
“Why do you want to threaten me!?”
From their expressions, they also found his behavior rude, so he snapped harder at them again in revenge.
Hebe watched this from his lap, fascinated.
She opened her mouth and made a noise that sounded exactly like a finger snap, and Hunter paused and looked down at her.
… He decided to ignore that.
“I want him to threaten you because you’re suspicious,” Moros said, pouting in offense. “You know how to write and speak our language, you even recall the construction of some spells, and yet… the most helpful knowledge you could provide, even though it is in those categories… is conveniently missing?”
Hunter bit his tongue and scowled.
Well, yeah, he supposed that was fair. It was almost like there was some sneaky little demon preventing him from remembering a bunch of stuff on purpose!
“I’ve said it before, I didn’t get to choose what to keep, and plenty of crap I do have also has holes in it. Iphis and Chiron can both testify to how badly I’ve been embarrassing myself with all the basic things I don’t know!”
“So you’re blaming it… on the Goddess, then?”
“No, I think it’s more to do with how humans usually make memories a second at a time, but my new brain got forced to digest fifty-two years in a fucking day!”
“Or maybe you’re just covering for Ianthe,” Moros countered, his eyes narrow with suspicion.
Damn it.
Okay, someone was, but it still wasn’t him!
“How would I even know to do that? Do you think she was my inter-dimensional pen pal? Does the underworld have carrier pigeons I coulda borrowed? I was dead, and when I got here, she was already gone!”
Moros glared at him and he glared back, but since they were both in sunglasses their eyebrows had to work overtime to properly convey their sudden animosity.
Trying to hide his amusement, Iphis eventually coughed and broke the tension, saying to Moros, “Take a deep breath, there’s no need to fight. The Saint will be here tomorrow, and she’ll clear everything up.”
“But then I might have to ask him everything twice!” Moros protested, grabbing onto Iphis’ collar and giving him a shake. “Iphis, you know how busy I am… and now, on top of everything else, I’ve got imperial dogs yapping at my heels! Can’t you just frighten him a little? As a favor to me? … Please?”
Iphis took hold of Moros’ hands where they held his collar, giving him an affectionate look. “I love it when you beg…“
“Iphis!” Moros hissed.
“However,” Iphis continued, gently prying Moros’ hands off of his clothes and giving them a comforting squeeze, “I think Hunter’s still pretty upset with me over the last time I threatened him, and also Hunter and I are friends now, so I can’t let you be too mean to him.”
“But… usually you…” Moros trailed off, as though this was some heartbreaking betrayal.
Iphis shook his head with regret and insisted, “I’m sorry, the answer is no.”
Moros immediately pulled his hands out of Iphis’, then crossed his arms and turned his face away with a stormy expression.
“Useless!” he spat.
“Ha!” Hunter said, hugging Hebe as he shot Moros a victorious look.
“Snap!” Hebe said.
… Okay, he couldn’t ignore it twice.
Hunter ceased his gloating and chided, “Mayn ketzeleh1my little kitten, don’t do that, it’s rude, and also normal cats don’t make that sound.”
“…Mya,” she corrected, staring up at him innocently.
He gave her another pastry and said, “Good girl.”
Iphis rested his cheek on his fist as he glanced between Moros and Hunter, whining forlornly, “Why won’t anyone hold me and feed me pastries…?”
Deciding that Iphis choosing not to threaten him while simultaneously defending him from Moros was in fact worthy of praise, Hunter offered him a pastry and said, “Alright, you’re a good girl too.”
At this, Moros gave Hunter and then Iphis the same strange, pointed look, but Iphis waved off his concern and happily accepted the pastry, saying, “It’s fine, it’s the thought that counts.”
“Alright, I give up, now will you both cut it out? Let’s just get this over with,” Moros grumbled, pinching at his forehead like his headache was coming back. “Hunter, was there any sign that Ianthe’s body was a corpse when you arrived? Such as abnormally low temperature, joint or muscle stiffness, or… ”
“Yeah, buddy, I know what a corpse is like, and no, her body was definitely still alive when I showed up.”
“Do you think Ianthe did the ritual to kill herself?”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s way easier ways to do that, and even if she wasn’t a happy person, she wasn’t depressed enough to kill herself.”
“How can you be sure?”
“‘Coz I know what that feels like, and in all the memories I have of her, she never came anywhere close.”
He missed the concerned look Iphis gave him in response to this statement, too busy glaring at Moros to notice.
“Then what is it you think she did?” Moros asked.
“I mean, if I had to guess, I’d say she wanted to escape—”
He almost said ‘her curse,’ but hesitated.
Clearly that was what he wanted to escape, but what about her?
From what he knew so far, the demon seemed to care about her, though it was possible those feelings were one-sided.
However, if he were her, and he didn’t consider the demon an issue, then the only reason he’d be willing to ditch this body would be…
“I think she wanted to escape her father.”
“Really…? Why do you say that?”
“‘Coz the guy is a monster, and… wait, how much do you two know about the game’s endings?”
Moros and Iphis exchanged a glance, and Iphis said, “We’re aware Ianthe always dies, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“And that her father is usually the one who kills her,” Moros added.
Hunter shrugged and continued, “Look, I’m not saying she knew for sure what he’s planning, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d caught on. More importantly, she hates that madman more than anyone else, there’s no way she’d be willing to die unless she could take him down with her.”
Moros considered this quietly for a moment, then said, “Hmm… I suppose, if this was just a rather extreme move to evade him, that would explain why she planned to take her body back eventually.”
“I’m sorry, why she planned to do what?” Hunter asked, his voice rising in panic.
As though he had not just dropped a bombshell on Hunter’s fragile peace of mind, Moros once again calmly presented the drawing of Ianthe’s circle, indicating one of the areas he’d pointed out before.
“This design is almost identical to the spell hospitals use to stabilize coma patients. If that’s indeed what it is, then I suspect… Ianthe must not have planned to let her body die. My guess is she just needed it to last long enough to be found, and then someone else could… take care of the rest.”
“Oh,” Hunter whispered, hugging Hebe to his chest for comfort. “I actually stole someone’s body. Holy shit. That’s really fucked up.”
“No, don’t worry, it’s fine,” Iphis reassured him.
“How exactly is that fine!?”
“Because determining the placement of souls is within the domain of the Dread Lady,” Iphis replied confidently, as though they were discussing flower arrangement rather than body snatching. “If She put you there, then that body is yours now. The will of the gods always trumps that of mortals.”
As a soul in need of a body, Hunter felt like complaining would be ungrateful. However, he couldn’t get behind the whole ‘will of the gods trumping mortals’ thing.
In his opinion, even if Ianthe was a jerk, the Goddess stealing her body out from under her was undeniably a dick move.
“Yeah? How would you feel if the Goddess kicked you out and stuck some rando in your body?”
“Oh… honored, I guess?”
Studying his face, Hunter realized that Iphis wasn’t joking.
He sighed and put his hand to his head.
Right. Iphis was nuts. He’d almost forgotten.
“Holy shit, that reminds me!” Hunter said, straightening up suddenly. “This whole time I thought Ianthe was gonna let Anemone find her corpse, but she probably just expected Anemone to find her unconscious, and then get her help!”
It was still an unkind thing to do, but not quite as awful as his earlier assumption.
Moros hummed in agreement and said, “Yes, that makes sense. If Head Secretary Anemone had found Ianthe in a coma, she’d certainly have taken her to Chiron, and… Chiron would have been able to keep her alive long enough to get her stabilized in Kastri Hospital.” Then, spreading his hands in a wide shrug, Moros continued, “That said, without a body to return to… I’m not sure where that leaves her now?”
“Could she have found a new one? Or, I don’t know, bind herself to an object like a ghost?” Hunter asked.
Iphis shook his head.
“Ghosts can do that because they’re just fragments, there’s no way she’d be able to pay the amount of mana it would cost to bind an entire soul. And even if she somehow could, that doesn’t change the fact that she shouldn’t have been able to leave her body like that at all. The only people I’ve ever heard of with the power to manipulate souls are my—I mean, a few of the Saints, and even then, they couldn’t do anything like this.”
“Could another god have intervened?” Moros wondered aloud.
“Who? Outside of the Big Three, who has that sort of domain?” Iphis countered.
Hesitating, Hunter suggested, “Um, could it maybe be a foreign god? Or… a new local one?”
The Cydonian religion didn’t reject the idea that other gods outside their pantheon existed, but as someone raised in a primarily monotheistic society, Hunter couldn’t help but feel like this was an offensive question.
However, neither Iphis nor Moros seemed to mind, and both wore serious expressions as they considered the possibility.
“If a smaller local god tried to develop such a power… I doubt any of the Big Three would let them live long enough to get this far, they’re… notoriously territorial about that kind of thing,” Moros murmured. “That said, I suppose a foreign god is not impossible… although why one would want to take such a risk, I haven’t a clue.”
“Still, the only other idea I can come up with is that, for some reason, one of the Three betrayed the others just to help a mortal go into hiding,” Iphis added, rapping his knuckles on the table irritably. “That might be even worse.”
“Uh… would it really?” Hunter asked, feeling nervous.
This comment reminded him of a thought he’d been sitting on since Iphis had shared his divinity with him, one he’d held back on mentioning for fear that these knuckleheads would freak out over it.
“Yes, the Three’s loyalty to one another is the backbone of Their pantheon, so that kind of betrayal might not go over well,” Iphis elaborated, “And the last time the gods went to war, it didn’t go great for us.”
“They can do that!?”
“They’ve done it at least once or twice,” Moros confirmed.
“Don’t worry, They made an effort to make sure we didn’t get completely wiped out,” Iphis reassured Hunter. “Otherwise, we’d be too extinct to have this conversation.”
As though eager to dash those hopes, Moros cut in, “Yes, but… aren’t we already facing a Calamity? Wouldn’t this just be… one on top of the other?”
“Oh, good point. We’ve barely made it through individual Calamities.”
“Mmn, two at once would be excessive…”
“Huh, still, wouldn’t it be funny if that was the reason we ended up with two Saints?”
Both men paused in unison as they processed this idea. Then, Iphis suggested,
“Moros, let’s leave this bit out of our report.”
“I agree, I really don’t have time for… that many extra meetings again…”
“If we find any actual evidence we can just say something then.”
“Mmhmm, since there’s no way to know yet for sure, it’s better not to worry everyone…”
…
At this point, Hunter had become so used to the hot water he’d landed in steadily heating up that he swallowed down his anxiety and quietly accepted this new development with nothing more than a sigh.
Screw it, Moros was right. What was the point of worrying? It wasn’t like he had any solid proof, just crackpot conjecture, so it was probably better to keep his thoughts to himself.
Iphis and Moros continued discussing how to doctor their report so as to best manipulate the reactions of their superiors, and so Hunter quickly grew bored with listening and tuned them out. Instead he focused on petting Hebe with one hand while he flipped through the romance novel Moros had handed him earlier with the other.
He soon found that, not only was the second person’s handwriting on the first page, but they’d also left notes in the margins of the rest of the book. Ianthe’s own handwriting usually followed these, and occasionally they seemed to go back and forth for a while, like they were writing replies to one another.
He had no idea what they were talking about, but it struck him as kind of cute. He’d done something similar when he was younger, writing down and replying to the reactions and opinions he and his friends had in the margins of the cheap dime store novels and comics they’d passed around to each other.
With a frown, he traced a finger over a few of the mysterious letters, thinking.
Maybe this person was just Ianthe’s friend? Maybe Moros couldn’t recognize its source because they’d come up with this script together to keep their thoughts away from prying eyes?
Whether or not that was true, there really was something about the shape of these letters that he found incredibly familiar, but try as he might, he couldn’t recall what that was.