Methys looked beyond the branches around her, eyes straining for a glimpse of her beloved. A few yards ahead, she could see her lover lead a group of children from the Setessan community into a clearing, each of them holding a staff. Above her, the sun pierced through the leaves and passed through her dark, ashen skin.
“Into formation!” she heard Agapea call out to her charges. The children, clad in tunics and worn sandals, formed straight columns and rows. They laughed with each other, and Agapea indulged their joy with a small smile of her own. “That’s enough fun, let’s begin our drills.” she shouted. “Form one!”
“Ha!” The children struck down with their staves. Agapea walked around, correcting a stance here, adjusting a grip there. From her hiding place, Methys could see Agapea’s chestnut hair glint gold in the sun, and she imagined her hazel eyes crinkled at the edges with stern humor.
“Beautiful, isn’t she?”
Methys spun around. Behind her, a pale brunette woman with a long green chiton stood, a golden spindle in one hand and a shimmering net in the other. Pearlescent threads seemed to float around the stranger’s form, suffusing the air with a soft glow. She looked sadly at Methys.
“It is hard to leave those you love behind.” she continued, “But this is not your destiny.”
Methys glared at the stranger and raised her chin. “Love is stronger than fate. Stronger than death.” she retorted. “I still love Agapea. We belong together.”
The woman shook her head. “Your love may endure, but your time here is at an end. Do you really think she would welcome you back with open arms? The soul of her wife, still bearing the wounds that killed her?”
Methys looked down and traced the torn flesh of her stomach and waist. Not even her grey stola covered the gaping hole in her side, mauled open by a minotaur’s horns.
“Blood has not coursed through your veins for ten years.” the woman said quietly. “Agapea has moved on. She knows her own destiny. It is time to embrace yours. Let her go, Methys. The living and the dead do not make good lovers.”
Methys shuddered, refusing to look at the woman. She turned around and beheld her wife one last time. Agapea had a squirming boy in a firm, one handed grip, and a sulking girl in the other. It was clear they were being chided for striking too aggressively during practice. She smiled as Agapea released the children and resumed the drills.
“Until we meet again, my love.” she whispered, and turned to the woman. If she could cry, her face would be streaked with tears. “Emissary, do your duty.”
The woman smiled, and real compassion imbued her face.
“Thank you.” She walked closer to the lost soul, draping her net gently around Methys’s shoulders. The threads flashed a brilliant gold, and Methys was gone.
—
“AHHHH!!!” Euthalia shrieked as another pot launched itself at her face, diving out of the way as it shattered against the wall. Oil splattered everywhere, and olives tumbled to the floor haphazardly. Euthalia’s husband held a shield in front of him and their children as they backed towards the front door, which suddenly banged open to admit a burly, barrel-chested man in a short green chiton. The intruder easily deflected a plate thrown at his head with a golden spindle, its glowing threads connected to a shimmering net in his other hand.
“Alright, Glakos.” He bellowed, stalking into the room. “This has gone far enough.” Euthalia squeaked and dashed behind her husband’s shield, protectively curling around their two small children.
“Father! Please stop!” Euthalia yelled as the kitchen table began to float off the ground. In the corner of the small room, a massive revenant stood in a grey robe, his pale face purple and eyes bulging. His mouth opened and closed in an effort to speak, but no words emerged. “Why are you doing this to us?!” she cried.
“Oh, I think you know.” The stranger said. He quickly tucked the spindle in his belt, then used his net to catch the table being flung at him, redirecting it to another wall where it shattered. He turned around, looked at the cowering family, and asked: “Don’t you, Hyginos?”
“Wait.” Euthalia said. “My…my father?! What do you know about my father?”
“He’s dead!” Hyginos yelled. “Long dead!”
“Looks like he’s still got some business to settle with you.” the man said. “But no matter. Glakos, you have to let this go.”
The soul of Glakos pointed at the cowering man behind the shield, mouth open in an attempt to speak. His other hand touched his throat, where the imprint of a rope could be seen.
“Did you, did you kill him Hyginos?! You told me he drowned when you both went fishing!” Euthalia cried. “You strangled him! You killed my father!”
“I had to!” Hyginos stood, looking down at his wife and family. “He was hurting you, he beat you – “
“And you murdered him!” She sobbed.
The stranger glanced at the scene behind him, then turned to confront Glakos. “I think you’ve done enough damage to them for one lifetime.” He said, “Time to go.”
The soul snarled and raised a huge hand, holding an enormous carving knife. With a roar, he charged the stranger and swung the blade down. The stranger moved gracefully, fluidly throwing his net out to ensnare Glakos. The net wrapped around the soul as the stranger dashed past, then he turned and stabbed the soul in the back with his golden spindle.
For a moment, Glakos stood there, mouth gaping. Then the net glowed a brilliant white and the soul vanished.
“Thank you, Emissary.” Hyginos stood in front of his family, shield at his side. He looked squarely at the stranger’s face. “Will you report me?”
The stranger shrugged. “Matters of justice are for Ephara. I am here to make sure destiny is fulfilled.”
Euthalia stood as well, hands around her children’s shoulders. She backed away from her husband, eyes wary and red from weeping. Hyginos dropped his shield and turned to his wife, sorrow written across his face.
As they began to argue, the stranger walked through the front door and back into the night.
—
“How many have we lost so far?”
A woman, blonde hair braided and pinned back, knelt before Klothys, eyes lowered. Her long green chiton pooled around her, and a golden spindle and net rested on the stone floor by her side.
“Five Emissaries, at our last count.” the woman replied. “They are not dead. But they have been defeated, again and again, and refuse to pursue her. Elspeth remains untethered to her proper destiny.”
The god frowned. Around her, unseen to mortal eyes, Klothys could see the strands of fate tied to each life spinning away in every direction, creating the warp and weft of Theros itself. With every soul that was brought back to the Underworld, she saw the threads in her grand tapestry settle obediently back into place. Each string contained memories, lives and events that would allow for new threads to be spun and woven, new patterns to emerge. It was a cycle that had held for thousands of years, and must be maintained for eons more.
“We must bring her back.” Klothys said. “The weakness of one strand can undermine the entire weaving. Her actions disrupt the very nature of our world, Phaidra. Already she has driven Heliod to a paranoia beyond measure, and the gods are again at war.”
Phaidra nodded solemnly. When the Gods fought, mortals paid the price. More lives were ferried by Athreos into the Underworld every day, casualties of Heliod’s pride and fear.
“It is clear that whatever solution there is, it starts with bringing her back to where she belongs.” Klothys bent down to address her Lead Emissary, silken hair falling in sheets around her. “Well done Phaidra. Rest now, and I shall think of what to do next.” The blonde woman picked up her instruments and stood, bowing to Klothys. Then she walked away, leaving the god alone to ruminate.
Sitting on her throne, Klothys allowed herself to fade into her realms within Nyx, summoning an enormous loom made of starlight and darkness. She stood to behold the giant tapestry, lightly running her fingers over thousands and thousands of threads. The images on the weaving replayed history to her – the creation of Theros, the evolution of its inhabitants, the destruction of the titans and the gods emerging to save the world. She had always considered imprisoning the enormous monsters her finest moment, giving up eons of potential worship to keep the weaving of Theros whole. She was not afraid of them; after all, she knew their destiny as well as hers.
Then Elspeth Tirel arrived. Klothys’s nail caught on a snag in the weaving, and she could trace with her fingers the sudden lumps, bumps and tangles that Elspeth’s thread created in its wake. She counted each mistake, one by one. Here was a victory, meant to be a defeat that would have made its survivors stronger. There, a romance that was never meant to exist. The unforeseen events piled up, creating bulges that denoted the release of the titans and the war between the gods. As she traced Elspeth’s white, shining thread to its conclusion, she peered more closely at it, trying to discern its components.
There was trauma, yes. So much trauma. Violence, desperation and hope. The rest of the tapestry disappeared as Klothys isolated Elspeth’s thread, noting how tightly it was spun, how many individual strands of memory and emotion were imbued in each twist. A formidable woman, to be sure. But Klothys had known many formidable heroes in history. What made Elspeth different?
And there it was. A silver fiber, almost too small to be seen, glinted in Elspeth’s thread in the starlight of Nyx. It radiated power that was not of this world, tying Elspeth to other realms, other planes –
Klothys stepped back, shaking her head. This could not be. Realms outside of Theros? Even other worlds?
The thread vanished, and Klothys sat down again, head spinning. This was unheard of. Focus, she told herself. Leave the philosophizing for Kruphix.
What she did know was that this fiber – whatever it was – was the core of Elspeth’s power. The only way to bring her back was to match it with a thread just as tough, just as finely spun and crucially, with that same fiber.
Klothys reached out to her basket, which sailed across the room into her hands. She took out clouds of Nyx wool, imbued with life and mortal energy. At the very bottom of the basket, past dark puffs of goat hair and silken strands of seaweed was a single, small silver cloud. She smiled, took the cloud out, and began to integrate it with her other materials. Combing the wool straight, she made sure the silver fiber was well mixed with the fine long hairs, then attached the blended materials to her drop spindle using her leader thread. With a flick of her wrist, she twirled it and a new, glittering strand began to form.
—
“Phaidra.”
The blonde woman looked up at Klothys, seated again in her temple. It had been three days since their last meeting, and she had never seen the god look so pleased.
“Yes, Klothys?”
“I would like to introduce you to someone.”
A man stepped out behind Klothys, and walked confidently towards Phaidra. He was built like a dancer, all lean muscles and graceful movements. Stars glittered in the shadows of his tanned face and green vestments, and he held a golden staff capped with a large spindle. Pearlescent threads emanated from the spindle and wafted around him as he made his way towards her.
“It is a pleasure to meet you.” He said, and nodded companionably.
“This is Calix.” Klothys said. “He will be my Emissary for Elspeth.”
“I hope she will listen to me.” He said earnestly.
Phaidra looked at him and smiled. She had seen larger, more experienced warriors in her tenure. But none of them radiated power and sincerity as much as this man.
“I hope so too.” She replied.
“Please update him on her movements, and let him know what to expect.” Klothys said. “I look forward to your success, Calix.”
Calix turned and bowed to the god. “I hope I serve you well, Klothys.” He straightened and looked at Phaidra. “Come, tell me more of this Elspeth.”
Phaidra turned and bowed towards Klothys, then motioned towards a nearby chamber. “Gladly.” she replied, and the two walked away to strategize.
Klothys smiled.
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