Tithonus awoke in darkness. Not the gentle shade of night, but the breathless black of a place forgotten by sun and star alike.
The air was thick with the scent of mildew and something older, like the kind of dust that only gathers in places where no voice has echoed for years. Stone walls rose around him, cracked and veined, their silence absolute.
He sat up slowly, the groan of bone and muscle grounding him in this new, cold reality.
The room was empty save for tattered, moth-eaten drapes sagging from rusted rods and the remnants of once-ornate tapestries. Bits of broken furniture lay scattered: a splintered chair, a warped table, a shattered mirror that no longer remembered faces. Cobwebs clung like burial shrouds to every corner.
He moved toward a narrow window slit in the stone. Outside, he saw only void. No moon. No stars. Just a murky, unnatural twilight. The world remained frozen in that haunted pre-dawn hour. Just as it had since the day she died.
Tithonus lowered his gaze to his hands.
"I carry them now," he whispered.
The essence of two gods and a cursed soul who gained a fragment of divinity from punishment.
Eos's radiance still lived in Aetherfang. The dagger was no longer a dagger. It shifted in his grip like thought, becoming spear, bow, blade or whatever he imagined. It bloomed with a golden glow that could breathe life into the half-dead, just like a ray of light after dawn. Her light, her warmth, now pulsed in his veins. In her final gift, she had entrusted him with the power to ignite growth where the sun had failed.
Then there was Helion the god of harmony, of edicts and cosmic order. His power sang through Tithonus like chords of divine music. Aetherfang had morphed into wings of woven light during the fall, carrying him safely to the earth. They were a remnant of Helion's domain.
And finally, Sisyphus.
The strength of stone. The resolve of punishment. From him came raw physical might: muscles like coiled steel, stamina that bordered on monstrous. But more than that was an unyielding will. The power to endure, to repeat, to persist even when hope rots and crumbles.
He gritted his teeth. The weight of it all pressed on his chest like iron.
But they could not be used freely. The more he used them, the more vitality the blade stole from him. Aetherfang fed not only on gods but on him too.
Then came the memory, as soft as a lover's breath.
Eos.
She had knelt beside his withered form, her hand trembling as she placed Aetherfang in his frail grasp.
"This blade, Tithonus," she had whispered, "can drink the fire of divinity.It absorbs essence of godhood, memory, power and then binds it to you."
He had tried to speak. No voice came. Only the dull rattle of breath.
"And when you slay a divine," she continued, her voice breaking, "you'll be transported to the next nearest source of sacred essence and if you suffer the same manner of death they did, you'll journey forward."
Tithonus had stared at her eyes hollow, heart cracking. He hadn't even the strength to weep.
Eos had smiled through her tears.
So go. Keep going. Let this blade make you strong enough to resist them.If the gods come to punish you… let them find something stronger than fate."
He had screamed her name in silence as she turned the blade on herself. And then the world had burned gold.
Back in the present, the memory faded, leaving behind only the familiar ache. His fingers clenched. Doubt swam in his gut.
Was he right to do this?
Is revenge worth this path?
He buried the thoughts deep. There was no turning back now.
Tithonus rose to his feet. The blade at his side shimmered faintly, its golden glow barely visible in the thick dark.
He stepped out of the room into a crumbling hallway. His boots sank into dust. The air was heavier here. He could smell decay.
Then he heard it.
Squelching.
Followed by a voice somewhat broken. Screaming.
"Help! Oh gods, someo-"
Tithonus stilled, pressing himself against the cracked wall. The cries echoed down the corridor. He crept forward, slow, silent.
He peered into the dark and saw movement there were hulking shapes hunched over something.
Human looking rats!!
They were massive almost half the size of a man, their limbs unnaturally long. Curved spines rippled with muscle. Their fur was patchy, covered in grime. Long, yellowed teeth glistened with blood. One tore a chunk from a still-living man's leg. Another lapped at the floor.
The man screamed again. A whimper now. Weak. Almost done.
Tithonus watched.
Not with pity.
But with purpose.
He raised his hand. Aetherfang flared.
"So be it," he murmured. "Let's see what gods' blood can do."
And the hall filled with light.