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@karmicagony    /  yes ! ( this is my main ) 

᭡.         for a heartbeat , chysaor did not answer . he only looked at her , head tilted ever so slightly , as if weighing the air between them—a quiet sort of curiosity sparking behind those amber eyes. outside , the wind pressed against the windows , carrying the scent of the sea , and for a moment the world felt hushed , suspended , as though even the gods were leaning closer to listen .
            
            then he smiled . not the careless grin he gave merchants or admirers , but something gentler , more deliberate—a slow sunrise kind of smile that held both amusement and intrigue .
            
            “ something about me , you say ? ” he echoed, the lilt of his voice carrying warmth , humor, and that familiar cadence of half-song . “ that is either the kindest compliment I’ve received this week … or the most dangerous .”
            
                          - -@dearpreys

bernadette could only stare with warmth towards this beautiful stranger. she could feel his soul, it was warm, and it oddly reminded her of golden, of home. she was naturally a curious one, and this man seemed to defy every shred of darkness that existed in the world. she wondered if she wasn’t in front of some sort of deity, one who was different by the ones that relied on greed or lust. pure, he was pure, as he emanated such a scent of almost virginal purity.
            
            "ah, but i can offer you forever, but only if you’re willing to share." her words were teasing, playful, yet it masked some sort of loneliness. it wasn’t like bernadette lacked friends, she was friendly and extroverted enough to try and talk with anyone that crosses her path. it was probably the first time in a while that a man seemed so interested in her craft. 
            
            she guessed that he wasn’t any man though…he was way more than that. it was impossible that he could be less than divine. 
            
            "you’re flattering me." she said, taking a few steps forward before sitting right on the counter. she extended her hand, her fingers were lightly touching his soft hair, running through them. she smiled, softly poking his nose in a rather playful way. 
            
            she hummed, head leaning a bit back. "hm…what have you done to them? or do you think that they seem to dislike you without a proper reason?" 
            
            @xenowrath 

᭡.          for a moment , chrysaor said nothing. the words ' you can stay here forever' seemed to settle over him like the softest of veils , unexpected and impossibly kind . his usual lighthearted poise faltered—only for a breath—and then returned with the ease of someone who had long learned to hide surprise behind charm .
            
            he smiled , that unmistakable sun-warmed smile that seemed to carry laughter even when he wasn’t laughing . “ forever ,” he repeated , the word lilting from his lips as if he were tasting it , testing its shape . “ careful , lady—offer a weary traveler forever,  and he might start believing in paradise again . ”
            
            he wandered a few paces deeper into the space , fingers brushing the shelves and trinkets with reverence . everything seemed to interest him—the way the light touched glass , the faint scent of honey and old parchment , even the quiet hum of life that lingered beneath it all . he moved like a man reacquainting himself with wonder , his gaze flicking occasionally toward bernadette with unguarded warmth .
            
            “ It’s rare , ” he said softly , “ to find a place—or a soul—that welcomes strangers without question . you must forgive me if I linger longer than courtesy allows .”
            
            at the mention of gods , however , his steps slowed . he turned back to her , that same gentle smile still in place , though something behind it had dimmed just slightly . his eyes—bright amber, ever expressive—held a flicker of thought , of memory .
            
            “ ah , ” he mused , his tone turning quietly playful to mask the undercurrent of reflection , “ one in particular, you say ? I should’ve guessed . It’s always the beautiful ones who catch divine attention .”
            
            he leaned against the edge of a nearby table , posture relaxed , the light from the window painting gold against his hair. “ you must forgive me , ” he went on , “ I’ve met a few of their kind . they don’t take kindly to me .”
            
                      - - @-agnusdei

bernadette observed the young man with slight curiosity, yet her expression morphed into one of warmth as soon as he spoke. she could sense that he was a kind soul, it was probably his whole demeanor that gave him away to her keen gaze instantly. people like him were always welcomed, those who saw the beauty even in the most modest of things.
            
            "don’t fret, you can stay here even forever if that’s what you wish." she took a few steps back, letting him wander around for as much as he wanted. there was no limit to the time that he could spend there, and she definitely won’t kick him out. bernie was the welcoming type, maybe even way too welcoming at times. 
            
            she chuckled, a soft and clear sound, one of pure joy and amusement. "oh? the gods?" she tilted her head a bit before fixing the bow on her dress. "mhm, i have quite the close relationship with one in particular." she rested her chin on the palm of her hand, observing chrysaor with a certain air of amusement written all over her face. 
            
            @xenowrath 

᭡.             the word heretic rolled from her tongue like honey touched by venom , and saor felt it settle against his skin with strange familiarity . the shop around them seemed to recede—the flicker of oil lamps dimming to a faint gold haze , as if even the flame itself dared not intrude upon the exchange . her laughter , sharp and cold , coiled around him like smoke .
            
            “ fear you? ” he echoed softly , tilting his head just so , the golden strands of his hair catching firelight. “ no , my lady . fear belongs to men who wish to live forever . I am long past that indulgence .”
            
            he took one step closer , the faintest trace of a grin slipping back into place . the air between them pulsed—sunlight and shadow in collision .
            “ as for the gods …” he murmured , the words tasting almost like laughter again , though it was quieter now , tempered by years and scars . “ oh , yes—they shattered . their pride cracked before me like marble beneath thunder . tell me , lilis— ” his tone dropped , low and intimate,  “—is that not what they were made for ? to be adored , to be feared , to fall when men dare to look them in the eye ? ”

⚰︎ . " and it seems that you too, know who I am. " she furrowed her eyebrows, tilting her head to the side ; as if she were watching a new, strange species that was barely discovered. " yet you do get on your knees. Why so, heretic? " she asked, a wicked smile growing on her face; yet her eyes, as always, remained emotionless. " do you not see me as a being to fear? " Lilis stayed silent, inspecting him further. 
            
            " no, " she shook her head. " you do not fear gods. You laugh at them. " Lilis let out a snicker, imagining the gods he utterly and completely distraught and disgusted, by a mere human laughing at them. " tell me, heretic! " she raised her voice, her cold tone replaced with a sudden glee. " were the petty gods’ egos, simple and fragile, completely destroyed? speak. " 

᭡.              the sea wind carried the scent of salt and myrrh as chysaor stood at the edge of the square , the sun a molten coin melting behind him . he had been humming under his breath—something soft , something almost like prayer  . . . though he’d never call it that . the song died the moment the air turned cold .
            
            he felt her before he saw her . the shadows bent oddly , curling away as if ashamed to touch her feet . the wilted flowers gave their dying breath , the petals crumbling like offerings to some forgotten altar . he did not turn at once ; he had learned long ago that divinity enjoyed the performance of being noticed .
            
            when at last he did , he moved slowly . . . graceful , deliberate , as though addressing a queen and a storm in one body . his eyes—sunlit amber , dulled now by long years and longer silences—met hers without flinching . a smile ghosted across his face , the faint , dangerous kind that had made priests curse his name .
            
            “ I am called many things , my lady ,” he said , his tone lazy , almost musical , yet threaded with amusement . “ fool , morta l, heretic , delight of the sun and disappointment of the gods . . .but aye— ” he inclined his head just slightly , not in reverence , but acknowledgment , “ I am chysaor of delos .”
            
                                - - @veiledrequiem

     mature      themes     ,         iwc 
            
                            original   character   and   writing , 
                                               do     not     steal. 

reputation   ᭡.  /  while the youth of delos mimicked his swagger, his bright words, his defiant grin. yet the elders frowned , calling him apollo’s fool, a mortal too bold for his own good, & the priests whispered that one so irreverent would not live long beneath heaven’s gaze. still, saor moved through life like a flame; beautiful, restless, 
            & unafraid . . . until prophecy found him. by then, he was already legend: the laughing mortal, the sun’s jester, the boy who made even the gods pause to listen.
            
            
            
            
            
                     aura   ᭡.   /  observant to the point of cruelty. . . able to see the fears people hide, the truths they avoid. In private, his thoughts turn philosophical: the nature of joy, the cruelty of time, the quiet dignity of dying well. he can spend hours by the sea, watching waves rise and fall, speaking softly to himself or to gods he no longer fears. theres melancholy in him, yes, but also reverence. he believes that to live fully is to understand sorrow intimately
            . . . that joy without pain is counterfeit.
            
            
            
            
            
            
            
            
            ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀“ If   I   must   die
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ let   me   die   laughing . . . 
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ so   the   gods   never   
            ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ see   me   weep ”
            

                                             ⠀⠀⠀ info?!
            
            
            
                  beliefs    ᭡.    /    he do not tremble before the gods. . . he thrives in being their echo. the laughter that spills from his mouth is not mockery but reverence, for joy is the purest offering a mortal can give. what use has apollo for another prayer mumbled in fear, when he could have a song bright enough to rival dawn? for he believes life was made for the bold, for those who drink the sun and do not apologize for thirst. the gods gave us breath not to beg, but to sing. so he will laugh until the sea answers, he will love until him chest aches with it, & he will die, one day, still believing that beauty was worth every sorrow it invited. If there is sin in that, then he wanted the heavens to envy.
            
            
                              
            
            
                skills    ᭡.   / saor of delos was a boy born with a lyre in his heart & laughter on his lips, a creature of sunlight & seafoam whose every word felt like a performance touched by the divine. he was a master of speech and song, his voice carrying the rhythm of waves & the warmth of festival fires; people said he could make a priest grin or a merchant forget to bargain. his kithara sang as though apollo himself guided his fingers, & when he played beneath the sun, the air seemed to shimmer in delight. he retold myths with mischief & wit, turning tragedy into comedy and daring to laugh where others prayed, believing joy itself was a form of reverence. the common folk adored him . . . he brought color to dull days & laughter to weary souls . . .