Dying Ichor

FIFTY-NINE

  The Hecatoncheires acted as a barrier between those outside of the palace gates. They help Hera and Elias get inside, but it won't be long until the main home of Olympus gets invaded.

Hera is grasping Elias' hand, running as fast as they could to get to the entrance.

"Hecate, Hestia and Nemesis have taken Eris inside! They're finding a way to make her give back our powers. We'll just have enough to send you back home, and you won't have to worry about us anymore!"

"Will this even work? Hera, promise me you'll send me home!"

"I will!" She stops momentarily to hold his face, looking at him with determination. "You're going home. Not everything was Eris' fault. It was mine. It was Zeus and his brothers and-"

She couldn't even go on. So many things have happened, but none of that matters anymore. Hera takes off with Elias again, making sure to lead him away from the incoming rubble.

"Hera, your wounds!"

"I'm fine, just ignore them."

"But there's so much blood—ichor, and I-I don't know how to help-"

"Don't feel sorry for me. Not after... I did so many things to you, yet you still..."

The both of them couldn't figure out what to say. Even when they finally breached the doors of the palace, momentarily safe from the pandemonium and anarchy outside, Hera finds herself on the verge of crying again. She's gripping Elias by one shoulder, her hands shaking and eventually loosening to her to where she held her face in her hands.

This poor child.

He hates her, despises her existence and everyone else. But even then, why was he so worried for them? After what they've done to him?

Even now when she's no longer holding him, when she's trying to push him away to the end of the broken halls to move, Hera feels him clumsily grab her wrist to pull her close. He's leaning down, staring right at the large gash on her leg and on the side of her rib cage. Hera doesn't look up at his face. She refuses to, unsure of what expression she'll see.

"I... I-I'm sorry." The apology came out more as a desperate gasp. She's holding onto his hands as if she's begging for divine forgiveness. "What I've done to you is—I can't even explain, I'm not sure if I can—I'm sorry... I'm so sorry! I'm sorry that I'm like this, that I brought you in here and made you suffer. That everyone around us is nothing more than miserable fools too, that what you've went through was-"

"Hera."

The tone is quiet. It wasn't as harsh as she expected, but she would've deserved it if he had come out angrier. And when she finally met his gaze, she flinches in return and tries to shrink to make herself smaller.

I'm sorry?

Did she even deserve to say such a thing?

No, of course not. Hera doesn't even know why she felt so compelled to apologize when they both knew that wasn't what Elias wanted. It sounded more as an excuse despite the genuine intention behind that word.

I'm sorry for what I've done to you. What everyone did.

Still, there's a mantra of apologies and guilt swimming in the back of her mind. It pulsated on her tongue, left something so bitter and disgusting that she wanted to say it again even though it shouldn't be said out loud. Hera hung her head low, something crawled up in her throat and made its way out into a small sob.

"I want go to home."

Hera nods. He's still holding her hands. Her grip trembles, but she doesn't want to let go.