Gods of Lucis Book One: Origins

Chapter Five

You stared at your fingertip, amazed. The cut was gone, leaving nothing behind to hint it was ever there. Twisting and turning your hand, you realized just how gifted the gods were. The thought made your insides twist with a mixture of awe and fear.

You had witnessed first hand the power of the gods -- a power you were taught to fear. Your mother had told you since you were young: the powers of the gods were horrid, decrepit things that have only ever caused harm to befall others. She said they were evil, that they wre unnatural and -- along with the gods and goddesses themselves -- were never supposed to exist.

You wondered if she would change her tune if she ever found out a god had helped to heal her eldest daughter.

I doubt it, you frowned. Your mother is as stubborn as they come. And she had only taught you what her mother had taught her. As far as you knew, all the women on your mother's side of the family were expected to pass down the fear of gods -- of the "demons living in the skies."

"Jeez, what a bunch of bullshit," you scowled, shoving your bag into your work locker. Thoughts of your mother and her family always soiled your mood. And when you worked as a barkeep at the most popular bar in the village? Yeah, tips'll go way down.

***

Prompto lay on his back, Iris looking over his body. Since Lady Medella had died, her title as the Greater Goddess of Medicine had been imposed onto her daughter.

Iris's fingers traced the old scares littering the blond's stomach and chest, the god flinching at the sensation.

"Sorry," Iris mumbled. Her dark brows were knitted together as she looked at each of the silvery-white markings. Her frown deepened as her chocolate brown eyes flicked to the scars on the blond's wrists. Again, her fingers grazed the skin, before they went up to touch the scars on Prompto's face.

"Careful. Don't poke my eyes out," the blond joked, noticing the tension in her shoulders. He only succeeded in getting a whack to the back of the head, a yelp falling from his lips.

"This is the best I can do for you, Prompto," Iris grumbled, eyes cast to the floor. Her hands were fisted at her sides, and the blond could only guess what was running through her mind. Pulling his shirt over his head, Prompto gave the young goddess a gentle, familial smile.

"Hey, no sweat!" he grinned, ruffling her hair. His hand stopped, resting on her head as his expression turned sad. "Really, it's cool, Iris. Man, it must suck, having the others expecting you to fill your mother's shoes so soon after--" Prompto cut himself short, sucking in a harsh breath. "I kinda get it, y'know? But don't worry. It'll get better -- you'll get better. And when you do, I'll gladly be your first patient." He waited until she raised her head before affixing his trademark crooked grin to his lips. With a final ruffle of her hair, Prompto gave her a small wave, heading for the door.

***

As Prompto left Iris's little clinic -- aka, her Citadel apartment's kitchen -- he had to lean against the door. A grimace replaced his smile and he rubbed at his temples.

"Shit." With shaky, unsure steps, Prompto made his way back to his own chambers within the Citadel. Those he passed gave him worried looks, and at some point someone had called for Noctis.

"Hey, buddy," Prompto grinned, holding a hand to the wall as support while the other pulled at his hair. He just wanted the pain to stop.

"C'mon," the prince whispered, pulling his friend's arm over his shoulders. "Let's get you to Dad."

Noctis watched as the blond held his free hand to his head. And he kept watching, even as tears gathered in the blond's eyes.

"It really, really hurts, Noct," Prompto whimpered. A sharp intake of breath, fingers tugging even harder at his roots. "I just want it to go away."