...****************...

...When I was a little girl, my grandmother’s house was a world unto itself, full of strange, whispered secrets and stories that stretched far beyond the walls of her modest living room. She would sit by the fire, her hands busy with knitting or cooking, but her voice was always free to weave tales—stories of nymphs dancing in the forest, of mischievous satyrs playing pipes at dusk, and gods who walked among mortals, watching and waiting....

...Her stories filled my nights with both wonder and terror. There was always a warning at the end, a lesson I could never forget: "Always look a stranger in the eye," she’d say, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Make sure their reflection isn’t inverted. If it is, they’re not human." It scared me, deeply. As a child, my world was full of shadows that could hide monsters, and every passing stranger became a potential danger. I used to hold my breath whenever we met someone new, peeking into their eyes to make sure I wasn’t staring at something unnatural....

...But those stories... they were just that—stories. I grew older, as we all do, and I outgrew the fantastical world my grandmother had spun for me. There are no nymphs, no satyrs, no creatures lurking behind friendly faces, waiting to pounce. And as for gods? Well, if they ever existed, they must have long since abandoned us. Reality, as it turns out, is far more predictable....

...Yet, despite knowing that her stories were nothing but a product of her imagination, one habit from my childhood remains. I always look someone in the eye. Not out of fear anymore, or any real belief in magic. It’s just a part of me now, like breathing or blinking. I lock eyes with every stranger I meet, searching for something I no longer believe exists. Maybe it’s just muscle memory, a quiet homage to the girl I once was—or perhaps a part of me, deep down, still wonders....

...Even if I’d never admit it....

...****************...

The city was alive with its usual chaos-streets packed with people rushing in every direction, horns blaring, conversations merging into an indistinct hum. Yet, amidst the noise and motion, a man in a sleek black coat walked as if the world bent around him. His steps were deliberate, smooth, and exuded a confidence that bordered on arrogance. His dark sunglasses hid his eyes, but his lips carried a smug curl, as though he knew every gaze that lingered on him-and that it bored him to no end.

Girls paused mid-stride, their murmurs floating through the air as they stole glances at him, their admiration barely concealed. He was the kind of man whose beauty made people stop in their tracks, yet he offered them nothing but silent disdain. He was tired of their looks, tired of the attention, tired of it all.

Pushing open the door to a nearby coffee shop, the warm smell of roasted beans and chatter greeted him. Heads turned, as they always did, but he paid them no mind. He approached the counter, where a female barista scrambled to compose herself as he stood before her.

"Uh... what can I get you, sir?" Her voice wavered as she fumbled for a pen.

"Black coffee. No sugar." His tone was flat, laced with impatience.

She nodded quickly, dropping her pen in her fluster. He sighed in dismay, his annoyance barely contained. Taking a seat by the window, he crossed his legs and gazed outside, mouthing silent curses as his eyes roamed over the crowd.

He caught sight of the girl across the street-stealthy, her cap pulled low as she brushed past an unsuspecting man, casually relieving him of his wallet. A small scoff escaped his lips.

"Huh... Little thief," he muttered, shaking his head with a mix of boredom and amusement.

Before he could fully indulge in his cynical observation, the seat across from him was occupied by a woman. She wore a pristine mint green terno, her silver hair catching the light like moonbeams. She didn't even glance at him as she smoothly ordered her coffee.

"Double shot espresso, please." She smiled at the waitress, and then turned her attention to the man across from her, her smile disappearing as quickly as it came.

He sighed, rubbing his temple. "I was hoping you'd cancel, y'know. I have other things to do."

"Like what? Sulking?" she shot back, raising an eyebrow. "You're practically a tourist attraction, the way people were staring. I was half-expecting someone to ask for an autograph."

"Trust me, they've tried." He leaned back in his chair. "I had to sign a guy's shoe last week. He insisted."

She snorted, shaking her head. "And how tragic for you, having to fend off hordes of admirers."

"Tragic is putting it mildly," he deadpanned. "You have no idea how exhausting it is being this beautiful."

The waitress returned with their order, Her eyes were restless, briefly taking stolen glances at the man,  hands trembling slightly as she set it down. The man rolled his eyes. "See? This happens everywhere."

The woman smiled at the waitress watching her walk away with embarrassment, before she took a sip, her lips twitching as she tried not to laugh. "I'd offer sympathy, but frankly, I'm enjoying your suffering too much."

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, don't hold back on my account, Cousin. Mock my suffering."

"I wouldn't dream of holding back." She flashed him a saccharine smile before slipping a small envelope out of her bag and tossing it onto the table.

The man eyed it suspiciously. "That better not be another autograph request."

"Your target, you idiot," she said, shaking her head. "Can you Focus?"

He picked up the envelope, flipping it between his fingers. "How considerate of you to ruin my morning with this." His tone was flat, though a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"As if your day could get any worse. You're practically drowning in self-pity," she shot back, sipping her espresso.

He gave her a mock glare. "Says the one who drowns herself in booze..."

"At least I'm pretty, but you--- I've seen what drowning in booze does to you," she retorted. "Not so... pretty."

"I can't believe we were even related" he muttered, feigning disbelief.

"Were? I thought we still were," she quipped, raising an eyebrow.

He grinned, leaning back in his chair again. "We were, before you decided to drag me out to this overpriced coffee shop."

"You love overpriced coffee shops," she said, nonchalant. "It's the only place you can brood and feel superior to everyone around you."

He opened his mouth to retort, but she cut him off with a smirk. "Don't deny it."

He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. "Okay, fine. But this-" he tapped the envelope with a finger "-this better be good."

"It's as good as it's going to get." She stood abruptly, adjusting her skirt. " Well I guess my job's done. Have fun hunting, and don't forget to tip the waitress, you old scrooge "

She turned to leave, but he quickly called after her. "Hey! You didn't pay for your coffee!"

Without breaking stride, she raised her hand in a dismissive wave. "See you around, cousin! ."

He blinked in stunned silence before his lips curled into a wry grin. "Seriously, You're still...unbelievable. "

He sat there, momentarily speechless, watching as she vanished into the throng of the bustling city.

A quiet sigh escaped him as his gaze dropped to the envelope in his hand, its weight heavier than it seemed.

How did it come to this? he wondered. His mind drifted to a distant memory, where echoes of laughter and friendship still lingered.

They were all friends, they were a family, yet now they were nothing more, but beings bound by duty-forever caught in a web they never asked for.

The morning sun hung high in the sky, casting a soft golden light across the park. The air was crisp, still holding a touch of the night’s chill, and dew clung to the grass, sparkling like tiny jewels. It was peaceful, quiet, save for the occasional sound of footsteps on the path and birds chirping in the trees. Abby sat on a bench, her oversized shirt and jacket doing little to keep out the cold. Her tattered jeans and worn sneakers barely drew a glance from the few early morning joggers and dog walkers.

To most, she was invisible — just another soul blending into the backdrop of the city. But Abby wasn’t here to be seen. She was here to work.

Her sharp eyes scanned the sparse crowd, calculating. She had honed her skills over the years, reading people, their movements, their behaviors. She could sense vulnerability from a distance.

“Not him,” she muttered to herself, watching a man in jogging gear, his phone strapped to his arm. “Too alert, he’s focused on his run.”

Her gaze shifted to an older woman walking slowly with a cane, her purse dangling carelessly from her shoulder. Abby frowned. “Easy pick, but… nah. Not today.”

She took a sip of her canned iced coffee which she got from a vending machine earlier,  the cold drink contrasting with the warm morning air. As she scanned the park, a beggar shuffled onto the bench beside her. It was an old woman, her clothes torn and dirty, her face lined with exhaustion. She settled down with a groan, rubbing her tired calves for relief.

Abby glanced at him, her instincts telling her to keep her head down, but something stopped her. She knew what it felt like to be at rock bottom.

“Hey,” she said quietly, holding out the canned iced coffee in her hand. “Here, have this. "

The old woman blinked in surprise, looking at her with tired eyes. “For me?” he asked, his voice weak and raspy.

Abby nodded, offering a small smile. “Yeah. I just took one sip, don't worry, it's clean. "

The woman took the cup, her fingers trembling as she lifted it to her lips. She drank slowly, savoring the coolness of the drink. “Thank you,” she said after a moment, her voice thick with gratitude. “Not many people would bother.”

Abby shrugged, feeling a bit shy . " Well, it is what it is, don't thank me, it's just coffee."

“No,” the old woman insisted, hee voice growing stronger. “Kindness, always makes a difference, child. ”

Abby shifted in her seat, glancing away. “Yeah, I guess so--- " she said softly, almost as if speaking to herself.

The beggar nodded, her eyes reflecting years of hardship. “ Your kindness will always be repaid with kindness. Don't lose faith. "

Faith. Abby had lost faith years ago. Her faith didn't feed her. Her faith did not save her sister from cancer. Her faith never spared her from a lifetime of struggle. Her faith was useless.

They sat in silence for a moment, the morning stillness wrapping around them. Abby felt a pang of something she hadn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time — guilt, maybe? Or was it a yearning for something better? She couldn’t dwell on it.

Abby wanted to look the beggar in the eye, but just as she was about to, the sunlight pierced her vision, making her look away. Darn this sunlight!  she could only hissed internally. Why would I care to look in her eyes? She's just a beggar Abby! Have a little heart! Fucking-

“I’ve gotta go,” Abby said abruptly, standing up and brushing her hands against her jeans. “Take care, okay?”

“You too,” the old woman said with a smile, his eyes watching her with a quiet understanding. "In life, hard choices are made to survive. But choices come with consequences, so tread carefully, My child."

Abby felt the weight of the old woman's words, but she just shrugged it off,  giving a brief nod before turning her back and walking out of the park.

The city streets pulsed with a chaotic energy, a symphony of honking horns, chattering voices, and the rhythmic clatter of footsteps. Abby navigated the throngs with practiced ease, her movements fluid and almost imperceptible.

Then, she spotted him — a man in a sharp business suit, walking briskly along the path with a phone pressed to his ear. He was too absorbed in his call to notice much around him. His wallet bulged in his back pocket, an invitation Abby couldn’t ignore.

“Perfect,” she thought, her heart picking up pace.

Adjusting her cap to slightly cover her face, shewalked toward him, adjusting her stride to match his path. When they were close enough, she executed her move with precision — a light, practiced bump, her hand slipping into his pocket, retrieving the wallet in one fluid motion. It was a move she had perfected over years of navigating the city's underbelly,

“Hey, watch it!” the man barked, barely sparing her a glance as he kept walking.

“Sorry,” Abby mumbled a feigned apology, keeping her head down, already walking away, disappearing into the crowd like a wisp of smoke. The city swallowed her whole, leaving behind only the echo of her fleeting presence. Her fingers closed around the wallet, feeling the weight of cash inside.

_______________

A few moments later, Abby found herself  in an empty alley, with a lollipop on her mouth. 

Its not even lunch yet, but the sun is already scorching high. She was only able to pick pocket a few wallets since early. Abby lets out a sigh of disbelief and frustration.

Crouching down, She took out three wallets from her pouch, One was green, that she had taken from a woman by the bus stop, The other was leather from the  smug businessman,  A pink one--- Abby rolled her eyes. Pink. She hates pink.

Flipping the wallets open one by one, she took the bills out, every last peny, and discarded the empty wallets on a bin near her. She counted the money meticulously, Every dollar counts. With an exasperated sigh, Abby choked from the thought,  That the money she had was only enough for food, and medicine for her sister Violet, but it may only last for a day or two.  She must work harder, to make ends meet.

Abby's mind snapped back to reality, when her phone buzzed in her pocket, startling her. Abby pulled it out, her heart sinking when she saw the name on the screen. It was the hospital.

“Hello?” she answered, her voice tight with anxiety.

“Abigail?” a woman’s voice replied. “ It's Sylvia . Violet just finished her tests and sessions today, you can come and pick her up, and ---” Abby's friend, Violet's doctor paused briefly. " And I also need to talk to you, About Violet's condition. There have been complications. " in a hushed tone, the female doctor continued.

Abby’s blood ran cold. “Complication? Is she—?” Her voice broke, her breath catching in her throat.

“ I'll explain it to you when you get here ” the doctor said gently. " Hurry up, don't make your sister wait too long. "

Abby’s heart pounded in her chest. She hung up, her hands shaking as she shoved the phone back into her pocket. She didn’t have time to think — only to act.

With the stolen money hidden safely inside her pouch.  Abby broke into a run, her mind focused on one thing: getting to Violet.

......................

Abby walked briskly, Her stomach twisted with fear as she neared the hospital.

Is it worse? she wondered, the thought gnawing at her. Is there more we can do? More treatment? More money?

As she approached the hospital entrance, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She ignored it. Nothing mattered right now but Violet.

Inside, the hospital smelled of antiseptic and the familiar mix of sterilized air and coffee. Abby hated this place, hated how often she had to come here. It always felt like time slowed down when she stepped inside, the air too heavy, the lighting too harsh.

At the reception desk, she spoke quickly. "I’m here to see Dr. Sylvia Hoffler."

The nurse gave her a quick glance and smiled. " She's waiting in her office, Ms. Kane. "

Abby’s heart pounded as she made her way through the sterile halls. Memories of past visits flickered in her mind — the first diagnosis, the rounds of chemo, the unbearable waiting for test results. She hated it all, but she couldn’t let that show. Not in front of Violet.

Sylvia's office was just ahead. She knocked once, hesitating before stepping inside. The doctor, a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a tired face, was sitting behind her desk, reviewing charts.

"Abby," she greeted her with a small nod, her voice calm but serious. Sylvia paused, her eyes scanning Abby's distraught expression,  " Did you run? "

" Y-Yeah" Abby replied, nodding her head, feeling her throat tighten. "What’s going on with Violet? Is something wrong?"

Sylvia sighed and gestured for her to sit. Abby stayed standing, too restless to sit still. " Abby, Violet’s condition is worsening," she said gently. "Her cancer... it's becoming more aggressive. The treatments we’ve been using aren’t working as well as we’d hoped."

Abby’s stomach dropped. She felt like the air had been knocked out of her. "What do you mean? Is there anything that we can do?"

"We need to change her treatment plan," Sylvia explained, her expression heavy. "There’s a new medication that’s shown promise for kids in Violet’s situation, but it’s experimental--- "

Abby bit her lip, struggling to maintain her composure. "How much?"

Sylvia hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the question. " A lot-- Abigail this will cost ten or a thousand to millions but this is the only hope we have, " the doctor stated, with sincerity in her eyes.

Abby’s heart sank. Tens of thousands to a million?! She had barely a few hundred from the stolen wallets, just enough for their immediate needs. This was beyond anything she could manage, even with her street skills. She could feel panic clawing at her chest, but she couldn’t break down. Not now.

"I... I’ll find a way," Abby muttered, her voice thick with emotion. " Set the treatments, I'll make sure to bring the money."

"Abby---," Sylvia said, her voice softer. " You don't need to worry, I'll make sure that everything will be set, and I'll find us a sponsor too. "

Abby nodded, though her mind was spinning. She couldn’t let Violet down. She wouldn’t.

"Can I see her?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Of course. She’s just outside in the waiting area, drawing, She's been waiting for you." Sylvia said with a small smile, as though trying to find some light in the darkness of their conversation.

" Thank you, for everything, Sylvia. " In a low shaky voice, Abby muttered.

Sylvia nodded with a faint smile, a deep understanding etched on her face.

Abby swallowed the lump in her throat and turned, walking out of the office and into the waiting room. There, sitting on a small chair with her sketchbook open in her lap, was Violet. The seven-year-old smiled at her as soon as she saw her big sister. She was pale, her eyes a bit sunken, but her bonnet was perched on her head, as always, and her bright smile was unmistakable.

"Abby!" Violet chirped, her voice filled with innocent excitement. "Look! Look! I drew us again!"

Abby forced herself to smile, pushing down the ache in her chest. "Yeah? Lemme see, Vi."

Violet held up the sketchbook. She had drawn them both as superheroes again — Abby with a cape and Violet in her signature bonnet, standing on top of a building. The words "We can do anything!" were scrawled at the top of the page in colorful crayons.

Abby crouched down beside her, brushing a strand of hair out of Violet’s face. "You make us look like we’re ready to save the world, So cool." she said, her voice trembling with affection.

Violet giggled, her small hand slipping into Abby’s. "That’s ’cause we are! You always say we can get through anything, right?"

"Right," Abby whispered, squeezing Violet’s hand tightly. She didn’t trust herself to say more, not without her voice cracking.

Violet leaned closer, her big eyes sparkling with the innocence only a child could have in the face of something so terrible. "Abby, can we get a cake today?"

Abby swallowed hard, forcing a bright tone into her voice. "Yeah,! Anything for my Vi, How about we go home and buy the best chocolate cake ever? "

" Chocolate cake! " Violet beamed, her energy flickering for a moment. Abby stood, fighting the overwhelming sense of helplessness. She had to find a way. For Violet’s sake, she had no choice but to keep going.

As they left the hospital, Violet’s tiny hand in hers, Abby made a silent promise. Whatever it takes, she thought, glancing down at her sister. I’ll save you. I don’t care what I have to do.

......................

Once  Abby and Violet reach their small apartment-

Abby's phone buzzed in her pocket again.

It was Liam.

She glanced at Violet, then at the phone.

Violet met her eyes, almost with a pout.

" Are you leaving for work again? " Violet softly tugged on the sleeve of her jacket, lips pressed together, " Can't you stay today? "

The child's earnest plea tugged Abby's heartstring, as she forced a smile, gently caressing Violet's hair. " No..Who told you I'm going anywhere today, if it's my princess Violet's birthday? I can't do that, can I? " Abby softly appeased the child,  " Uncle Liam just wants to say hi.. So how about you head inside and take the cake with you, and we'll eat it together, Huh? I won't take long, I promise. ” Abby said handing Violet the small box of newly bought chocolate cake from a bakeshop near their apartment.

Violet nodded, giving her a wide grin, careful with the box of cake in her hands, then disappearing up the stairs,  Abby answered the call, her voice cold and determined.

“Liam,” she said, her breath steadying. “Do you have anything for me? I- I need the money.”

Liam’s voice came through low and serious. “ I do. That's why I called. How is she? "

" She's--Getting a new treatment..." Abby's voice choked, as she held back her tears.

" Abby--- " Liam hesitated for a moment. " We'll get through this. I have something that might help a little, Can you meet us at the usual place, tonight? " Sighing heavily, Liam stated. Liam had known Abigail's struggles, even if she hadn't talk about it much. He knew that deep inside, Abby was a scorned woman. A woman who silently carried the weight of the world on her shoulders.

" I'll be there. " Abby exhaled, the weight of her decision sinking in. This was her chance, her only chance.

...

...

The night air was thick with the scent of decay, a cloying aroma that clung to the cobblestones like a shroud.  The moon's light, a pale sliver in the inky sky, barely reached the ground, casting long, distorted shadows in the twisting alleys of the old city. Kyros walked through it with a slow, almost casual stride, his boots echoing in the silence. His long black coat billowed slightly with each step, the collar turned up against the chill, and his eyes, gleaming with a predatory hunger, scanned the shadows. He wasn't here for the thrill; this was beneath him. But still, it amused him to play with vermin every now and then.

The creature had been leaving bodies in his territory. Unacceptable. As the son of Hades, he tolerated a lot, but not sloppiness. Each victim had been drained completely, the life snuffed out of them without any regard for his presence in the city. Disrespectful.

As he neared the end of the alley, the shadows deepened unnaturally, and a low hiss echoed in the darkness. A twisted figure emerged, pale skin stretched over sharp bones, eyes glowing a sickly green, fangs dripping with venom. The creature slithered closer, claws clicking against the stone, its movements jerky and unnatural.

Found you.

"Look what we have here," Kyros said, his voice dripping with arrogance. He stopped, standing tall as he eyed the creature with cold disdain. "You must be the little pest causing all this fuss. Funny, I thought you'd be taller. Or, I don't know—less pathetic."

The creature bared its fangs, a guttural growl rumbling in its throat. "You dare mock me, mortal?" it hissed. "I am the bringer of death, the devourer of souls. You are nothing but—"

Kyros cut it off with a sharp laugh, his hand resting lazily inside his pockets, "Mortal?" He raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh, I see. You really don't know who you're dealing with, do you?"

He stepped closer, his face twisted in a cocky grin. "I am Kyros. Son of Hades. Prince of the Underworld. The one who decides where you end up after you die, you brainless sack of rot. You're standing in my domain, and you have the audacity to think you could keep feeding on these pathetic mortals without me noticing?"

The creature sneered, standing its ground. "A god who plays babysitter to mortals? Pathetic indeed. Perhaps your father banished you because even he saw you for what you are—an arrogant, spoiled child."

Kyros' smile faltered for a second, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "You're going to regret that," he said, voice low, dripping with menace. "But I'll give you points for the effort."

In a blur of motion, Kyros unsheathed his sword out of thin air and slashed at the creature, not aiming to kill but to wound. His blade sliced through its shoulder, sending dark green blood splattering across the alley walls. The creature howled in pain, staggering back, but Kyros wasn't done. Not even close.

"Come on," he taunted, leaning forward with a wicked grin. "What happened to all that confidence? Surely the 'devourer of souls' isn't scared of an arrogant and spoiled god like me?"

The creature hissed, lunging forward, but Kyros sidestepped easily, backhanding it across the face with such force that it crashed into the wall.

"You know," Kyros said, strolling over casually as if they were in the middle of a friendly chat, "I could end you right now. Snap my fingers, and you'd be nothing but dust. But that would be too quick." He crouched down beside the creature, who groaned in pain, trying to recover. "No, I think I'd rather drag this out a bit. Let you feel what it's like to be hunted."

The creature spat at his feet, defiant even as it trembled. "You're nothing but a coward hiding behind your father's name!"

Kyros laughed again, darker this time. "Coward? Oh, I don't hide behind anything. I'm exactly what you see—a god who's about to make your last moments on this earth very unpleasant."

He raised his hand, and the shadows around them deepened, swirling like a vortex. The air grew colder, and the creature's eyes widened in terror as tendrils of darkness began to creep toward it, wrapping around its limbs, pinning it to the ground.

"Let me show you what true power looks like," Kyros said, his voice soft but deadly, as he knelt beside the creature, his face inches from its own. "Feel that? It's your soul being torn apart. Slowly. Painfully. And there's nothing you can do about it."

The creature screamed, thrashing against the bonds of darkness, but Kyros simply smiled, watching with cold amusement.

"You thought you could mock me," Kyros said, standing up, his gaze hard and unfeeling. "But in the end, you're just another creature begging for mercy."

With a snap of his fingers, the shadows constricted, and the creature let out one final, agonized wail before its body disintegrated into ash, blown away by the wind.

Kyros brushed off his coat, his expression returning to its usual smugness. "Well, that wasn't so fun," he muttered, turning to leave,  Yet notices the blotches of green revolting blood that had stained his new coat. "Damnit. Seriously.. These are new..." He mumbled, trying to wipe the stain using his hand, looking so displeased. " I fucking hate this job." he mumbled under his breath .

But then he paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You know, I should start charging for these clean-up jobs.  Imagine, 'Kyros, God-Slayer, Professional Monster Extermination Services. Guaranteed Results or your Soul Back!'" He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that echoed in the empty alley.  "Maybe its time that those scum gods would finally pay me what I'm worth. How annoying."

Kyros turned to leave, but suddenly, jittery energy stopped him in his tracks. A lanky figure, Phobos, the god of panic, emerged from the shadows, his wide eyes reflecting a nervous tremor.

"Haven't I told you to stop appearing out of nowhere like that?" Kyros snapped, clutching his chest in mock distress. "One of these days, you're going to give me a heart attack!"

Phobos blinked innocently. "You're a god, Uncle Kyros," he replied matter-of-factly. "You're not going to die from a heart attack."

Kyros shot him a frustrated glare, running his hand through his hair. "That's beside the point! Just... stop doing that."

Phobos, unfazed by Kyros's irritation, simply grinned as if this was all part of his daily routine. But Kyros's expression changed as he realized something was amiss.

"Wait... where's your brother? You two are never apart." He tried to sound casual, but his curiosity was piqued.

Phobos fell silent for a moment, fidgeting with his fingers. After what felt like an eternity, he muttered, "Deimos is with our father. Father requires his presence."

Kyros rolled his eyes, knowing exactly what "plans" meant when it came to his cousin. "Right. Using him to torment mortals, no doubt." He crossed his arms, shaking his head. "Your father is a scumbag. He's long overdue for a good beating."

Phobos chuckled nervously, though he didn't argue. Even he knew how reckless his father could be. But then he remembered why he had appeared in the first place.

"Oh, right!" Phobos said, straightening up. "I almost forgot why I came. His Devine Highness wants everyone to attend the family assembly at the end of the month. And—" He hesitated before adding, "Your mother also specifically asked for you to be there."

Kyros clenched his jaw, his entire posture stiffening at the mention of his mother and his Devine Highness--His Uncle. The family summit. It was nearly that time of year again. He hated these gatherings.

"I'm not going," Kyros stated firmly, eyes narrowing.

Phobos's jaw dropped. "What?! How am I supposed to tell them that? Especially your mother? She'll... she'll kill me!"

"Stop being so dramatic, Kid, My mother won't." Kyros said, waving his hand dismissively. "Just tell them I'm busy. " Kyros winked playfully wearing a mischievous grin.

And with a flick of his wrist, he vanished into the night, leaving Phobos standing there in disbelief, his mind racing in a hundred different directions.

" Her Royal highness, Persephone is definitely----going to kill me,Uncle." Phobos muttered to himself, wide-eyed and panicked, as usual.