Chapter Text
You were born, as many are, to a mother and a father. Your father was a kind man with a generous heart, an artist. Your mother was a muse. There were no laws against gods and humans making families, but it wasn’t openly embraced, either.
Upon your birth, your mother was able to give you only one of her gifts. You looked and acted human, but your body was much more in tune with your soul than is normal for a human. She gave you the power to truly listen. Listen beyond space and time, listen beyond facades and virtues; to listen to what another soul's true feelings are.
Your father was there for the first few months of your life, but killed himself soon after. You can still remember the sound of your mother wailing as she found his body.
After much running and hiding, your mother finally found a stable place to raise you. You had lots of visits with her friends who were always taken by your wide eyes and seriousness. One such friend was Mr. Hermes. You and your mother picnicked with him regularly. You would lie in the grass, listening to the birds sing and occasionally smear food into your mouth.
The picnic that day didn’t feel any different to start. Your mother had the blanket and basket all set up as a light breeze moved through the grass. You started to move for the contents of the basket, but then your mother sat you down with a sad smile on her face.
“Okay, dear. You just sit right here, I’m going to go pick some flowers.”
“Flowers? Can-can I come?”
Her smile tightened.
“No, dear. You’re going to stay right here. Mr. Hermes will be here soon.”
Tears started to well in your eyes.
“N-no! I wanna come!”
Your mother took a deep breath and lowered herself to be at eye level.
“Orpheus. I need you to listen to me.”
It was a call to your gift; a command that wild not go unanswered. And you wanted to cry, but suddenly you couldn’t. All you could do is listen to your mother, to her soul.
“I need you to stay right here. I want you to sing or count or something that will keep you occupied until Mr. Hermes gets here, okay?”
“Okay, mama.”
And as she turned to go, your eyes welled up with tears again. You cried and sang and rocked yourself for hours, as the sun moved across the sky. Your soul cried out to your mother, but she refused to reply or come back. You thought you were completely alone in the world until a low crackling voice came from behind.
“Orpheus? Where has your mother gone?”
You got up as fast as your going uncoordinated body would allow and sprinted into Mr. Hermes’ legs.
“Mama’s gone.”
The man made of purple flame looked around, checking the horizon.
“That damned muse.”
You pulled back from his legs, sensing the anger rising in him.
“Oh no, child. I’m not angry with you… come here.”
He bent down, picking you up with him. You gripped onto his clothes and nuzzled into him.
“You’re awfully cold. Has it been windy today, Orpheus?”
You nod, exhausted, being lulled by his gentle warmth. Grillby sighed and gently patted your back.
“Alright. I think it’s time we get you home. No sense in staying around here to wait for her.”
You sniffled and shook your head.
“Mama’s gone.”
“I know, I know. It’ll be okay, we’ll find her.”
Now it was you who was starting to get angry.
“Mama’s gone ! Can’t find her. Don’t find her! Gone! ”
“Alright, alright. It’s going to be okay.”
He shushed and calmed you as he made his way back down the hill.
The two of you never went picnicking again.
—
Your childhood was filled with the arts, philosophy, and culture. Grillby did his best to raise you to be an astute scholar and a well rounded individual. Your favorite subject was poetry. He often read them aloud to you, seemingly weaving the tales before you. The epics that survived from your ancestors taught great lessons of life that shaped your understanding of the world.
As much as you mastered prose and several forms of written poetry, your ability to retell a tale through song has been your greatest strength. Your sense of how emotions can be expressed through music was nothing Grillby could ever teach you, somehow you just knew.
Grillby’s favorite activity is listening to you sing. To listen to you tell another tale he’s heard a thousand times before. Because you knew how to make it beautiful and compelling. In all his years he has never met a story teller like you.
One night you found Grillby in a state. He was slumped over his own bar, staring at the empty glass in his hand.
“Mr. Hermes…?”
He turned to face you, recognition slowly making its way into his eyes.
“Oh, Orpheus. I’m sorry dear, you shouldn’t have to see me like this-”
He moved to get up but nearly fell.
“Wait!” You cried out, “Why don’t we just stay here? We… we could talk, if you wanted to?”
A dry chuckle escaped from his mouth.
“I’m sorry but… what is there to talk about?”
“How about why you’re… drinking like this.”
“You probably wouldn’t understand. You’re rarely angry.”
“Try me.”
“Dear… I don’t think now is the time-”
“It’s my mom, right? Leaving me with you?”
Grillby avoided eye contact for a moment before taking a breath to regain composure.
“... I am not angry with you, child. I am really quite grateful for having you in my life.”
“But what mom did to me wasn’t fair.”
“No. It wasn’t. And she missed out on an incredible person.”
Grillby takes a moment to look over your face, his brow burrowing slightly.
“Why aren’t you mad at her?”
“She didn’t want to hurt me. She thought having you as a parent would be a better option. You’re more reliable and responsible than she is.”
“But for her to never return…?”
“I think… I think she thought she was only capable of chaos. She blamed herself for what happened to my father and worried I might… end up like him.”
He thinks for a moment and sighs.
“And your gift, I assume, is why you understand all of this.”
“I believe she helped me find it that day.”
“Gods, Orpheus. You’re the most optimistic person I know.”
“People mostly want things to be good and safe. They want food, shelter, and love. And sometimes they feel they have to fight for it. I believe we don’t have to. I believe we can work together in harmony and live together peacefully.”
“You have always known how to see the light, Orpheus. Let that light shine as often as you can.”
“Yes, Mr. Hermes. Let’s get you somewhere more comfortable, hm?”
“No, child. You go up to bed, I’ll get myself to the couch eventually.”
You hesitate for a moment before heading upstairs to bed yourself. You barely slept that night.