Chapter Text
Danny stopped in front of the painting, a rather large mural. The landscape was strange but almost recognizable. The sky was one of those colors only ghosts can see, so Danny couldn’t find a name for it in English. It was brighter than blue, and richer than purple, but also clearly tinged with the that bright neon green that haunts the ghost zone. Maybe this was in the ghost zone?
He could practically taste the air, the way it was charged with energy and emotion. Beneath the eerie sky in the focus were two beings, locked in a portrait of grief. One was hard to even behold, as if the eyes couldn’t get a fix on them. They were composed of void, and somehow the painter made this void feel tangible, as if you could be sucked in. They were holding the second, who was almost too bright to behold. They too were darkness, but the darkness obliterated by stars, like looking at the night sky itself. But this second one was nearly gone, the eldritch blood pouring off the side of their face, one horn broken. The life was all but gone from their eyes, and they hung there limp. Even in the darkness of the void, he could see the grief on the first figure’s face. Maybe even guilt?
Around them stood men in high-collared cloaks. Every visible inch of them was covered in eyes. He was reminded of Argus from Greek myth, but he thought there had only been one. The disjunction between his knowledge of myth and who these must be frustrated him. And what were these men doing? What was their purpose there? They did not have grief on their faces but—victory?
These beings didn’t look like any ghosts he knew. He didn’t know why but it all seemed so familiar. He looked at the two faces. He knew these two—brothers? He knew that he knew them! Why did he know them? He stared at the eyes, begging the painting to communicate something more to him. Anything. But all he got was a nearly something. That itch of a memory you can’t place. The loss made him feel empty.
“Who were they?” Danny asked Clockwork. His voice felt hollow. Clockwork sighed.
“The sons of Nyx. Do you know the story?” Danny shook his head, still not looking away from the fallen brothers.
“Nyx had many, many children, but these two are Pothos and Astra, the void and the stars. Pothos was said to symbolize the void of what lies beyond the mortal plane, and Astra the stars that draws you into that void. Astra was a very joyful being, despite being a child of night. He loved to play pranks, to make people laugh, and he especially loved mortals. This was before the gods regularly conversed with mortals, so he was strange for it.
“Pothos felt estranged from his brother whenever he visited with mortals. All he wanted was to play with his brother, and his brother did play with him, but that was not enough. Like the void he was, Pothos always yearned for more. He could never have enough of anything. He was always wanting, always seeking, always sucking in those around him.
“One day Pothos finally had enough. He wanted Astra to stop running around. So he made a deal with the Theâties.”
“The…Watchers?” Danny asked, quickly translating the Greek looking at the eye-covered men. “You mean—“
“Yes, the observants. They had less power in the age of the gods, but they were not powerless. Pothos made a deal with them so that Astra would stop running around. Little did he know that they would abuse that deal to end Astra’s life.” Danny turned from the painting finally to look at Clockwork, his eyes filled with pain and longing. He had no words. Clockwork nodded, acknowledging the boy’s grief.
“Pothos was angry, because this was not what he had made a deal with them for. In his grief he unwillingly absorbed Astra’s power and energy, like a black hole absorbs whatever comes unto its gravity. So in some sense, the Observants did keep their end of the bargain, for now Astra was inseparable from Pothos. But that was not what he had wanted. So what you don’t see here is Pothos exacting his rage and revenge upon them, destroying all who were present. Like the void he was, he consumed each and every one of them.”
“Do you mean—“
“You know that famous Goya fresco of Saturn eating his children? Yes. Like that. Pothos was taken by a kind of vampirism, needing to fill the void of his need, his grief, and his loss. There was no end to his rampage, he devoured every observant he could find. But just like a black hole, as he consumed he grew, until finally he was consumed in himself.
“But that is not the end of their story.”
“It’s not?” Danny said eagerly, turning again away from the mural to look at Clockwork. He had the anticipation of a child’s face when you leave their bedtime story as a cliffhanger. Clockwork nodded again in encouragement.
“Yes. As primordial deities, they essence cannot be forever muted from reality. They reappeared throughout history, like binary stars, always bound to the others. They didn’t always leave a trace on human records, and not all of their records are extent, but you can see them throughout history. Some say they were Apollo and Hermes, but both of those gods lived too long to be Pothos and Astra, in my opinion. Agamemnon and Achilles, Julius Caesar and Pompey, Arthur and Mordred, Elizabeth and Mary, Tesla and Edison.”
“All of those rivalries are Pothos and Astra?” Danny asked. Clockwork shrugged.
“People have guessed, but not all have been confirmed.” Clockwork explained. Danny turned back to the painting to stare again. He was silent for a few minutes, considering all that his mentor had said.
“Tesla and Edison—That’s recent. Who was who?” Danny asked, a tone of hopefulness in his voice.
“Can you guess?”
“Hmm, judging by Edison’s capitalism and competitiveness, and Tesla’s love for wonder and death due to poverty and illness…Edison was Pothos and Tesla was Astra.” Danny said. Clockwork smiled.
“I never met the men personally to confirm, but that would be my guess as well.” Clockwork said.
“Do we know who they’ve been since?” Danny asked, looking at clockwork. He needed to know the answer, it was visible on his face. He didn’t understand the need, only that it was there. Clockwork’s face was unreadable, and he said nothing at first. Finally he smirked, just barely.
“There are some guesses, but no one knows yet.” He answered but not giving him anything helpful. Danny sighed, looking back at the painting wistfully. But you will know soon, young Astra, Clockwork said to himself, watching the boy unwittingly contemplate his own history.