The God and The Youth [IdentityV JosCarl]

Bargaining (Unedited)

Something about the air seemed to thicken as the days pass. It was only day 3 since Aesop's confirmed passing. Solemn and woe stricken, the halls of the training grounds seemed quieter, eerily so. The sounds from the kitchen and the pitter patter of soft foot steps being he only things to break the silence. The other warriors watched as Leo Beck moved the halls as though a shadow loomed over his head making him bow, they all understood what he felt. That day, was the day they had first seen the strong commander shed tears. Even he notices this fact. For the last time he had broken down the same way as he did was the day that damned Freddy Riley lost his daughter in the woods. Emma, she was so young back then,

He remembers promising to himself, the day he saw Aesop, an orphaned boy who remembered little to nothing, that he won't allow Aesop to have the same fate—the fate of falling into death's hands so young. However fate is a prickly deity who held no regard for the good and bad but only for what will amuse them, and in the end—his little boy was stolen from him the end age of 22.

Usually, Leo Beck preferred his funerals the same way he delivered his enemies to the dust. To bury them as quick as possible with ceremony for the sake of respect. However, he couldn't bring himself to immediately deliver his only son to Gaea's arms. So he lay in a dark room, lit by candles; it did not fit him, not at all. Aesop, despite having the visage of the moon's silvery grace—was a child that drew brighter in the sun. The darkness that swallowed him was a selfish monster.

The mourning father sighed as he continued to tread the halls, uncertain of his destination. He looked out to see the gray skies with no sun in sight. it seemed as though even the sun mourned his death in secret. "Sir Beck." The aforementioned man looked back to see one of his warriors, Joseph Desaulnier, approach him with heavy soles. Joseph Desaulnier, the new recruit half or so a year ago. The same recruit his son had a mutual fondness for. Leo beck remembered the way his son's cheeks bloomed at the flowers the other boy left him—and now he laments knowing that they both will never see that sight again. "What is it Desaulnier." His voice gruff and low. Joseph stood straighter as he asked "Can—can I please see.." can I please see him? His name went unsaid in his lips. The man blinked before nodding as he stared beyond into the sky, "You were one of his close friends, it is only fitting." "Thank you sir." He bowed and lead himself out, and as he did Leo Beck only felt sorrow surround him as his mind kept rewinding into the times he lost his two precious persons.

The dark room was a cellar Leo Back never bothered to use. It was cold and had he seen it any other day—he wouldn't be unsettled but he is. It was as though that room morphed into a place from the underworld. As the sun god descended upon the stairs, he could hear his footsteps echo in the chamber; he could feel the cold bite at his skin, but by now he was used to it. Since that day, the heat the usually radiated inside him like a furnace burned out—Joseph grimaced. When he arrived, he felt a lump join to his throat. There lay Aesop Carl, his flower, still in a bed of silken cloths with candles surrounded him. Drawing closer, he saw the body wearing the garment he had both for him, the very same garment Aesop saw that day in the market. He remembered fondly when Aesop said it was too lavish for him, when in fact nothing was enough in his opinion. The youth deserved the world and everything it can give him.

Aesop Carl looked like a young god despite the cool shadow on his face. The garment showcased his effeminate grace as well as his normally androgenous features. The gold accents highlighted the litheness of his hands and ankles. It was a shame, a great shame, that he would never be able to run wearing it. Silently, Joseph took a hold as Aesop's hands and clasped them into his own, slightly wincing at the cold touch. "Death does not suit you my dear." He murmurs into the soft expanse of his skin. It had been three days since that day when the heat in his heart that burned like a furnace went out cold. Three days since he had sequestered himself back at his estate in Olympus where Emma had watched as he shed the tears he was unable to release, hidden away from prying eyes except from his blessed. It was Emma herself that made him go, for closure she had said, but really—