Areios takes time to come back to his senses. Zenobios and Athanasia stop pressing him with questions, understanding his disoriented state. Athanasia signals for water, and the maids rush to tend to him. Zenobios exhales in relief.
"Perhaps it is exhaustion from your journeys," he says. "You came straight here without rest. And you know how the Póthos weakens you in Eden. Here you feel more mortal than divine."
Areios slowly raises his head from his brother's lap and turns onto his back. Something tugs at him, as though he has forgotten. He glances at his arms, then gasps.
"Vyrian! Where is he?"
He looks around, frantic.
"He was taken upstairs," Zenobios answers calmly. "When you collapsed, he woke in your arms and began crying. A maid is soothing him."
"…I see," Areios murmurs.
"You are burning with fever," Zenobios adds. "You've pushed yourself too far."
"I…" Areios falters, glancing at Athanasia before lowering his gaze to his palms.
Was it real? A dream? No… it felt too vivid.
He sinks into thought until Zenobios' hand presses his shoulder.
"Enough. You need rest. We'll talk later. I'll have food sent to your room."
Areios blinks back to awareness. "Yes, brother. Later."
Zenobios smiles, rises, and offers his hand. Areios takes it with a wry smile, allowing himself to be lifted.
"Shall I escort you to your room?"
"No. I'm fine. Thank you."
Zenobios nods as his brother leaves, the guards falling in behind to guide him to the guest quarters.
***
The guest room is modest, a kline at its center, a brazier casting soft light. Maids stand ready at the bedside. Areios dismisses his guards with a nod, and they bow before withdrawing.
He lowers himself onto the couch, leaning on one elbow. Servants present a meal, rich and plentiful, but his stomach stirs with no hunger. His thoughts circle back to the vision, to his nephew.
Was that divine revelation? Or madness? He is only a child… how could it be true?
Exhaustion presses down, drowning his doubts.
"Ah… sleep. The one thing earth denied me," he murmurs.
The Póthos strips him of divinity here, forcing him to feel human frailties. Yet tonight, the weakness comforts him. He leaves the food untouched, draws his himation tighter, and lets fatigue drag him into slumber.
***
Zenobios sighs, worry etched into his features.
Athanasia watches quietly. She has never seen Areios' works firsthand, but she knows the praise surrounding him: mortals hail him as Prophet, savior of faith in a time when demons ravage the world and hope wanes. Though a god, he has never denied the title. His words have lifted kings, his miracles restored the broken, and his endurance on earth—shielded by his godhood—has inspired devotion so deep that mortals would die for him.
"Your brother has given his all, has he not?" she asks gently.
"Yes," Zenobios admits. "Too much, perhaps. I know his mission is vital… but still—"
"It is his path," Athanasia interrupts softly. "Not ours to question. If Eden endures because of him, then we should support him while we fight our own battles."
Zenobios thinks, then concedes. "You are right. Support, not criticism."
A faint smile touches her lips.
"But still," he adds with mock sternness, "I'll lecture him for his recklessness."
Athanasia laughs. "Do not go too far."
Zenobios looks away with exaggerated dignity, drawing another chuckle from her.
"It grows late," she says, rising. "Vyrian needs me. I wonder if he has stopped crying."
Zenobios steps close and lifts her into his arms. "Let me take you. You should rest."
She wraps her arms around his neck. "Thank you."
Together they ascend the citadel's ramp, servants trailing. At her chambers, a maid parts the curtain.
The empress' quarters are serene: tall windows breathe cool air, lamps flicker against soft curtains, and a cradle rests beside the bed where Vyrian waves his tiny arms at the Platágon dangling above him. A maid rocks him gently.
Zenobios lays Athanasia upon the bed. "That should do. I'll… leave you now," he says awkwardly.
"Thank you, dear. I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight."
"Yes. Rest well," he answers softly.
He leans over the cradle, pinches his son's plump cheeks, and kisses his forehead. "Goodnight, my son." Sharing a last smile with Athanasia, he departs, his footsteps fading down the hall.
Athanasia waits until the room is quiet, then gestures to the maid.
"Bring him to me."
The maid bows and lifts Vyrian, placing him gently in her arms. His dark eyes sparkle faintly in the dim light, melting her heart. She kisses his forehead.
"My sweetheart," she whispers.
Tears rise unbidden. The maid looks concerned, but Athanasia waves it off. She loosens her robe, nestles Vyrian to her breast, and he feeds quietly.
A wave of warmth floods her—motherhood, fulfillment. She once thought she would never have this gift, not with Zenobios' duties to kingdom and heaven. Yet here it is, alive in her arms.
"I feel so complete," she murmurs. "This is everything I have ever wanted. No regrets."
She gazes at her son, smiling with fierce tenderness.
"Grow strong. Become a god whose name the heavens will honor. Become the symbol of Eden." She kisses his head once more.
"Your mother will always watch over you."