CHAPTER 141: IN THE WAKE

The bells tolled over Village AD18, low and solemn, carrying across the hills. The crowd gathered around the chapel, their muted voices folding into the summer air.

"Of all the places we’ve been dragged to," Somner muttered, fanning himself with the funeral pamphlet, "this one has the worst hors d’oeuvres. Not even a slice of cheese. Funerals should at least have cheese."

"Somner." Hermes’ voice was sharp.

"What?" Somner threw his hands up. "Don’t glare at me, Master. People grieve in different ways. I happen to grieve with snacks."

"You grieve with snacks on good days too," Ymir cut in, folding his arms. His frosty gaze swept over the chapel entrance. "Behave."

"Oh look," Somner sighed. "Ice prince plays funeral cop."

Magni, towering behind them, hummed. "In lava Void culture, we scatter obsidian flakes into the crater and let the body dissolve into nothingness. No hors d’oeuvres either, but much wailing and dramatic throwing of ourselves into the volcano too. Ah. I miss those days."

Somner blinked. "I... don’t know if you’re joking."

Hermes ignored them. His eyes had locked on the casket inside the chapel, where Elder Thales lay. He had known this was coming.

Still, seeing the man laid out like this made his chest knot.

"Breathe," Aphrodite whispered beside him.

He held Hermes’ wrist briefly before retreating his hand back into his sleeve.

Hermes’ jaw tightened, but he nodded.

The group entered together. Inside, the air smelled of lilies and wax. Villagers filled the pews, whispering prayers.

At the front, Dr. Dione Pleiades-Luxuria stood stiff and proper, her clothes and countenance immaculate even at a funeral. Beside her, her husband Jove Luxuria offered quiet smiles to the mourners, his posture gentle where hers was rigid.

Aphrodite froze when his mother’s sharp eyes fell on him.

"Aphrodite." Her tone cut clean.

"M-Mother." He lowered his gaze, clutching his book to his chest even though it was shut.

"You came." Her eyes flicked briefly to Hermes, then back to her son. "And you brought... company."

Somner waved brightly. "Hello! I’m company. Cael Mcnamara, though everyone calls me Somner. Delightful to meet you, Ditee’s Mom. I’m sure you’ve heard of me and my heroic escapades with my wonder Cloud Nine Squad?"

Dione’s brow furrowed. "Ah... A hero. My apologies, I don’t usually watch news about heroes. I was more interested in weather reports."

"Oh..." Somner blinked, now a bit sheepish. "That’s... great. Weather boys are pretty hot sometimes."

Ymir elbowed him. "We’ll be going now, Mrs. Pleiades-Luxuria."

Jove stepped forward smoothly, rescuing the tension with a warm smile. "It’s good to see you, Aphrodite. And you as well, Hermes. It’s been... quite some time."

Hermes inclined his head respectfully. "Mr. Jove."

Dione’s sharp voice returned. "You’re still staying in Haven City with Hermes?"

"Yes, Mother," Aphrodite said quickly.

His voice was quiet, but steadier than Hermes had ever heard him stand against her. "I... I wanted to. And I’m also part of the Golden Apple now. Not as a permanent employee, but like... an independent contractor. They request me for assistance for my... powers."

Dione frowned. "You have a job as a hero? Aphrodite, that line of work is very dangerous—"

"Dione." Jove murmured.

He touched her arm, his voice calm but firm. "Look at him. He’s not hiding behind the bookstore shelves anymore. He’s here, with his friends. Isn’t that what we prayed for? For him to find the courage to stand in the open?"

Dione’s lips pressed thin. Hermes knew she was very protective, even since Aphrodite was a child.

Her gaze lingered on her son, taking in the way he met her eyes. Hesitant, but not cowering.

"...Perhaps," She said at last.

Somner leaned toward Hermes and whispered. "I like Mr.Jove. He’s like... the human version of tea. Warm, calming, probably goes well with biscuits."

Ymir kicked his shin and hissed. "Shut up!"

Magni raised his hand suddenly. "Mr. Jove!"

The older man blinked, startled. "Yes?"

"Would you," Magni’s eyes glimmered, "happen to have books about human funerals? Particularly the symbolism of lilies, the role of eulogies, and why no one throws themselves onto the coffin in grief?"

Jove chuckled softly, unfazed by his excessive eagerness. In fact, he seemed happy to see someone hungry for knowledge, being a voracious reader himself.

"I do. I can send you some volumes after the ceremony, if you’d like."

Magni clasped both his massive hands together. "Glorious! I shall devour them with my eyes. Knowledge, that is. Not... the books. Unless it is human tradition to do so. Hm..."

Ymir smacked his arm. "I think you should start with reading books on manners and etiquette, Rockhead. Gods, everyone here is so shameless."

The ceremony began. Voices rose in hymns, low and reverent. Hermes barely heard them. His eyes stayed locked on Thales’ still face, memories clawing up from the depths.

The Rift. The blackhole he had seen in that recording. Thales standing over him, keeping secrets, always keeping secrets.

When it ended and the villagers moved outside to pay respects, Hermes lingered. Then he turned and found Dr. Dione watching him.

"Doctor." He said quietly.

She exhaled, as if she’d been expecting him. "...You want answers."

"Yes." Hermes’ hands clenched at his sides. "Why didn’t he tell me? What am I?"

Dione looked away, eyes flicking toward the casket. "...I don’t know. Not truly."

Hermes’ teeth ground. "You studied the Rift. You must know something."

"I stopped after that day," she admitted. "After we found you. I was pregnant at the time—I couldn’t risk it. I stepped away. Whatever Elder Thales saw, whatever conclusion he drew, he never shared it with me. Only that... you were special. Dangerous, perhaps. But worth protecting."

Hermes’ chest tightened. "...So all this time, you knew?"

"Yes. But I don’t know what you are, exactly." Dione corrected sharply. "Only that you were different. That is why we let the villagers believe the story of your mutation near the Rift. Only four of us ever knew otherwise."

Hermes’ head jerked up. "...Four?"

She nodded slowly. "Elder Thales. Myself. My husband. And the tour guide."

Hermes’ breath caught. The video. He remembered the shadow of a man at the Rift’s edge.

"The guide..." His voice rasped. "Who was—"

But he stopped. Because movement at the back of the chapel caught his eye.

A man had entered, dressed in a tailored suit that gleamed beneath the candlelight. His silver hair was slicked neatly back, his smile sly and polished.

Dante Quasar. CEO of The Golden Apple.

Hermes froze.

"What is he doing here?"