There is chaos and confusion, a state Olympus hasn’t faced in a long time as whispers spread with rumours. Someone was taken, stolen away when no one looked. The goddess of harvest is livid, wrecking havoc on her way as she refuses her duties.

But that is not all there is to it.

Indeed someone gets stolen and someone steals, but not in the way that the whispers indicate. Before that, there are two gods and one shared glance.

The first time Wonpil sees him, he’s not supposed to be there.

Humans wage wars, their cities burning as brightly as the sun, and songs about heroes fill the air shortly followed by the cries of mothers and soldiers alike. The gods watch upon the mortals in disapproval, glee, boredom, every single emotion there is but not stopping them, not unless it will affect them personally.

His own mothers frowns at the events happening and the gods’ inaction, yet she doesn’t do anything herself. She only confines Wonpil to a small meadow within the borders of her realm, far away from the battles in the mortal world. She tells him it’s for his own good, to keep him safe, but he only feels more caged in. His mother is restricting in her protectiveness, always restricting, never benevolent.

And Wonpil is a good son, a gentle soul, and he listens to her wishes always. Yet one day he can’t ignore it anymore, can’t ignore how he can feel the flowers and leaves cry for him from far away, the nature weeping and hurting under the fire and destruction that the human are putting them through in their mindless wars.

So quietly he steals away from his mother’s grasps for one evening, leaving the meadow that he isn’t supposed to set a foot away from. But his mother won’t, doesn’t notice, for her son is a good son and would never refuse her words. And it is in that lack of attention that Wonpil runs towards the fields he once roamed. Fields that are now a deep black and grey as ash rains down on it from the sky and coals burn where once flowers had bloomed and grass had grown.

He touches the remnants of what is left, the plants sighing as they lean into his touch and he tries not to cry, his tears sprouting into new buds as they hit the ground. He caresses the burnt leaves gently and slowly they regain their colour and grow new stems and roots. The grass under him starts to sing again with every step he takes, and slowly the field around him comes to life again, vines and roots covering broken weapons and shutter. The flowers bend towards him and as the wind picks up on the once dead place again to carry his song.

Wonpil watches a few petals fly away with the wind, tracing their path to the very edge of his old realm. There he sees him, standing dark and opposing amongst a field of bodies, souls whisping around him in despair until they are swallowed in the shadows that surround him. The petals he had been watching are carried towards him and he catches one, grasping it in his hand softly, almost as if to not hurt it, and studies it silently.

Then he turns around, his gaze meeting Wonpil’s and Wonpil’s heart stops. He knows he should be afraid of him, should heed his mother’s warnings about him, should be intimidated by his tall form. Yet he is lost in the sharp eyes that look back at him intensely, the leaves and grass around him rustling lightly in the wind.

They look at each other, gazes never wavering and immortal hearts beating in sync. And for a moment Wonpil feels like he found a kindred soul, someone that mirrors his own emotions of loneliness and captivity, the long stretch of land between them reducing to nothing.

But then he feels his flowers calling for him, calling from the meadow he is restricted to far away and singing of his mother’s presence closing in, and he breaks his gaze away, turning to run back reluctantly.

He spares one last glance over his shoulder to see him still looking, and the flowers around him turn a pure white in his steps.

He returns again a few moons later, unable to forget the piercing eyes. The grass bends to his touch as he cards through it with the tips of his fingers, kneeling down to kiss a small rose bush gently. Flowers immediately start to bloom on its stems, the buds opening to him with a sigh.

Far away he spots him again, his back turned towards him and Wonpil hides behind the fresh shrubbery. He watches the other god with wide eyes, his breath held. Around him smoke still wafts from the ruins and blood still seeps from wounds of corpses piled up new.

The other looks at the wreckage around him bitterly, and in that moment he looks so tired, Wonpil’s heart aches for him. Death seems to surround him wherever he goes, painting the world around him in darkness and cold. It scares Wonpil, terrifies him even. But he also knows what loneliness looks like.

Biting his lips, Wonpil gathers a bit of earth in his palm before enclosing it and kissing his fist gently. Then he opens it again and softly blows the earth away, the wind carrying it with it and towards where the other god is standing. Immediately daffodils start to sprout from where the grains have landed.

Wonpil smiles at the flecks of colour and life surrounding the other god and quickly leaves again, hoping that he could give him a bit of comfort.

He misses how the other bends down, studying the flowers and cradling them carefully like they were something precious.

Wonpil lies in between grass and flowers, his hand dipping into the pond in his meadow and creating small ripples in the clear water. The sun shines down on him warmly, his simple tunic rustling in the wind as he is lost in thought.

The battles the mortals wage leave much damage in their wake, even more when one of the gods has meddled with it. The field where he had seen him is just one of many places destroyed by it. And Wonpil knows that they send him to do their dirty work. It bothers him, how they use the god of the underworld like some underling, yet they still fear him so much.

A waterlily bends towards him, caresses his cheeks softly, and Wonpil turns to listen to its whispers. The other flowers start to whisper to him as well, carrying a message to him with the wind that someone is at the edge of his meadow.

Wonpil quickly sits up, the petals in his hair shaking lightly with the motion. He cranes his neck to try and get a better look of his surroundings, peers into the dark of the woods surrounding his clearing. But he sees no one around him, only his plants and the light shining down on his fair skin.

He wonders if perhaps his mother had done a quick check-up on him, but the grass around him rustles in denial. He frowns in confusion and asks who it was, but they can only tell him that they were hidden in shadows, drawing in all the light around them.

He stands behind his mother’s seat, mostly hidden from view. Usually he doesn’t spent a lot of time in Olympus, prefers the company of his garden more than that of the other gods. And usually he isn’t needed often up here with him being a minor deity. But his mother is an important role, has a word in almost everything, and the person be warned that does not bend to her will. And Wonpil is her pride and joy (and prisoner), and if there’s one thing she hates, then it’s Wonpil being far away from her and out of her sight.

So here he is, silently watching from the background as the gods of Olympus finally hold council about what to do with the wars in the human realm. Wonpil doesn’t really listen to their talks, doesn’t like to involve himself with the gods’ plays and plans.

His attention is only drawn when the ground crackles near the entrance of the hall and seemingly starts to in the light as darkness spreads from that point.

Silence immediately settles in the room as the god of the underworld enters, and Wonpil’s breath catches. Clad in all black attire and shadows wafting from him like smoke in his leave, power oozes from him as he takes his seat right by Zeus’ side and completes the top of the rulers of the three realms.

The other gods shifts slightly in discomfort of his presence, but Wonpil peeks around his mother to get a better look. The talks resume, but Wonpil is too distracted to mind them.

“Younghyun, you will take care of it then?”

Somehow the god of the underworld looks even more closed off than when Wonpil had seen him on that field and he only nods silently at his brother in acknowledgment. His dark hair doesn’t reflect any light with the movement, so very much unlike Wonpil’s own.

He is so lost in thought, he doesn’t notice how much he has stepped out from behind his mother’s seat until she nudges him back behind her, shielding him from prying eyes as they turn to look at the rare beauty normally hidden away by his mother. She glares at them all and they cower back immediately. Wonpil quickly hides himself again, but not before he locks gazes with impossibly dark eyes.

The water is soothing to his skin as he pulls himself out of the pond by the edge, having just taken a small dip to cool himself down. His white tunic clings to his wet skin as the light reflects on it, makes him glimmer in an ethereal light. Wonpil smooths his wet hair from his forehead and a few petals fall from it.

His tunic is still wet and almost translucent from the water as he lays down in the sun to dry himself. He lounges by the water’s edge, making a circlet of flowers and humming softly while he waits for his skin and robe to dry when he hears it.

There’s a mumbling coming from the woods, the leaves rustling to warn him of a presence hidden within them. But when he looks closer he can only see shadows and darkness where the light doesn’t reach in the deep of the forest.

“I know you’re there,” He calls out softly, “Please, reveal yourself.”

As if on command the shadows part and a dark figure steps out. Wonpil gasps when the smoke wafts and reveals Younghyun from behind it. Wonpil immediately sits up, his tunic slipping off one rosy shoulder with the movement.

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was you.” The words tumble out of his mouth as he tries to straighten his tunic that still sticks to his body, wet skin glowing in the golden light. “I thought perhaps a being of the forest…”

Now that the other god isn’t in hiding anymore, the powerful aura radiating off him is palpable, making his identity clear.

Younghyun bows his head politely in return, expression unreadable. “It’s me who needs to apologize, I didn’t want to startle you.”

Wonpil bites his lip before he gets up and slowly walks towards the edge of his meadow. The other stands a few steps away, keeping distance between them and not entering his mother’s realm – a wise decision on his part. “What bought you here?” Wonpil asks curiously.

The elder stays silent for a while, seems to contemplate what to answer before he states calmly, “I heard singing and I became curious what was calling to me from Demeter’s realm.”

At that Wonpil blinks up at him, his lips curling into a coy smile. “Calling for you?” He giggles. The foliage from the woods rustles at the sound, reaching out towards Wonpil, yearning for his touch.

“Is it your first time here?”

The furrow of Younghyun’s brows is enough answer for Wonpil and he bites his lips to contain a smile before he breaks out in soft laughter.

The sound is like bells chiming to a melody, flowers seemingly opening up to the music. Wonpil smiles brightly at Younghyun, eyes and skin glittering in the sunlight that seems to shine solely on him. Younghyun’s fingers twitch.

The sun is warm on his fair skin, making it shine golden as he stretches. The grass around him nuzzles him softly where he lies to watch the clouds. It lulls him into comfort and he ends up falling asleep in the warmth.

When Wonpil wakes up again, it’s to dark smoke wafting in from one side, curling around the edges of his clearing but not quiet entering. He turns to see Younghyun standing close but not crossing the border.

Wonpil looks up at him, cold and emotionless face looking back down at him. He is breathtakingly handsome. Wonpil smiles.

“I’m glad that you’re back.”

“I’m the god your mother warned you about.” Is what Younghyun tells him in return. Wonpil sits up, the flower crown on his head slightly crooked and Younghyun itches to right it.

“She warned me about all of them,” Wonpil says and glances at the shadows that dance around the other’s feet. Younghyun gets down to his knees to be at the same eyelevel and Wonpil automatically inches closer.

“I couldn’t forget you.” Younghyun confesses quietly, darkness d