The New Helel

Dareios IV

Dareios stared at the remains of his home. The scorched facility had collapsed overnight. Once a mighty structure, it was now nothing more than a clump of charred wood.

A single tear leaked out of his eye as he stared. "Father," he said to himself, "Remember when we first saw this house? How perfect we thought it was?"

He lifted his head and closed his eyes, trying to envision the familiar scent of tea coming from the next room over. He could almost feel the softness of the plush chair he always liked to sit on, hear the classical music that floated throughout the house. Everything was fine then.

But not now.

He rubbed his eyebags and dragged his feet on the ground until he got to the center of the pile.

He looked down, his feet encased by the singed lumber. He longed to beat himself over and over again. To cry out Azazil's name and witch-hunt the man. To fall asleep and never wake up. At least then, his home would be there. However, Dareios did none of those things. He simply shifted the timber in the form of a bed and slept.

In the morning, he awoke to the sound of birds chirping. At least they are enjoying themselves.

The birds looked so free, so peaceful. Dareios watched as they fluttered around and played, mesmerized by their flight. If he could fly like a bird, could he have avoided it all? On second thought, probably not.

The wind blew his hair gently, his bangs making their way in front of his eyes. Instead of brushing them away, he let the stray strands stay in their places.

Letting aloud a yawn, he wondered what his next course of action would be. His high status would grant him the ability to become a priority in Gehinnom's construction companies. If he could call some time reversers, they might be able to preserve some of the antiques and photographs. They unfortunately couldn't save the entire house, but he supposed some memories were better than nothing. In the meantime, he would have to find a place to stay. He stood up, trying to decide which to attend to first.

Or ... he could just sleep. He debated back and forth in his mind about what to do. Responsibilities. Sleep. Responsibilities. Sleep. Responsibilities. Sleep.

He chose to sleep.

After a short while, he was awoken by none other than his former lover. "Hey there, sleepy head," she said. "You're staying with me for the time being."

*

Dareios lounged on Bethesda's couch as he sipped on the glass of red wine. "You have a very ... modern apartment," he dryly remarked.

A smirk played on her lips. "What, are you jealous?"

Dareios shook his head. "Definitely not. It is certainly interesting, I will say."

"Hey, at least you have a place to stay now. Better an ugly home than none at all."

"Yes ... about that. Thank you. I very much appreciate it."

Bethesda patted his back. "No problem, love."

Dareios shook his head, sighing. "That nickname plays on my ears rather atrociously, I must say."

"Oh, but you used to love it back when we were a thing," she teased. "What happened now?"

"I wonder about that as well," he remarked quietly.

"Bah. Loosen up a little, will you? Sulking about your house won't do you any good."

"I suppose so."

Bethesda pulled out a scrapbook. "Remember this, love?"

A look of dread made its way on Dareios' face. "Oh no."

Her smirk grew even wider. "Oh yes." Dareios attempted to rise from the sofa, but Bethesda grabbed his arm and wrapped him close to her. "Remember this?" she asked as she pointed to an old piece of parchment.

Dareios' face paled. "Please tell me it isn't that."

"Oh yes it is. Now let's see here ... 'Dear Bethesda, my heart aches for you everyday. What I wouldn't give to have you close to me at this very moment ...'" When she was done reading, she noticed that Dareios was doing an excellent job at playing dead.