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But I knew that wind, coming as it had… from the west.
“Show yourself, Zephyrus,” I commanded, keeping hidden from Dax behind a nearby tree.
The winged god of the West Wind materialized out of the air with a gentle drop upon sandaled feet. His spread wings tucked in at his sides as he settled.
Zephyrus was beautiful, as all gods are. Yes, all. I too knew the beauty of Hephaestus that some scorned, perhaps because I saw the beauty in mortals that many of my brethren did not. But Zephyrus was beautiful in the way poets praise—or at least half of him was.
The other half I had burned by holding him to Helios’s flaming surface from one long dawn until dusk.
He wore a black tunic, simple, unadorned. His hair was black as well, long, and wavy, to hide that scarred side of his face. He had one silver eye, while the hidden one was milky and blind.
“‘Twas my intention to save, my lord god, not harm,” Zephyrus said, as he took a knee before me and bowed. The gentlest of the wind gods, I remember once thinking. Perhaps others still did. Zephyrus was a tender spring breeze. Until you loved the same mortal as him, and he would rather see that mortal dead than allow him to be with someone else.
“You think it wise to be in the vicinity of any mortal I court,” I seethed, “once fairest of the Anemoi, son of the dawn?”
“Perhaps not, my lord, but I swear,” he spoke to the earth beneath him, not daring to meet my gaze, “my intent is only absolution.”
More, I assumed, that he recognized the perils present should I lose a beloved again.
Surely, I would scorch all the world and everyone on Olympus to ashes until I too was slain. Not prophecy, simply truth. After bearing my rage once all on his own, Zephyrus knew the fragility of my heart.
“Rise,” I said, “or I fear I might stomp you into the dirt until your other half is unrecognizable too. And I do not wish to.”
He glanced up at last, slowly stood, and while he held his head high, his wings quivered from being in my presence. Part of me was glad, vindicated, but I could not keep living inside the shell of my wallowing.
“I believe you that your intentions were good, that you seek only forgiveness. Understand, I cannot forgive you.”
Zephyrus’s wings quivered again, pulling tighter to his back, perhaps in readiness to flee should I lash out like before.
“I also recognize that you might never be able to forgive me for how I chose to retaliate. But I wish you no further harm. I wish for you to heal… in body and heart.”
He flinched as I reached for his cheek but did not attempt to flee or pull away. Even the gods cannot heal all. There are exceptions, as one like Hephaestus knows well. But because I caused this damage with the power of my domain, I too could clear it away.
A gasp left Zephyrus at what was no doubt a soothing warmth, as the spot where I touched him glowed like an auburn sunset. The light, the healing, traveled all down the side of him where the burns continued beneath his tunic. But one spot remained a visible scar—in the same place at Zephyrus’s temple to match where Hyacinth had borne his death blow.
I tapped there as the glow faded, upon the scar that remained, and Zephyrus reached up to feel it. Because he too had loved Hyacinth, and Hyacinth chose me, he dared take that sweet mortal from this earth with an errant wind that struck a fatal blow with a discus, something I now loathed, when once I had greatly enjoyed the sport.
Zephyrus had worn the scars of my vengeance ever since, but the recognition in his eyes of the scar he would yet have to bear was enough.
Let it be enough now.
“Thank you,” he said. He hesitated, as if unsure whether there was more to say between us. When he finally shifted to leave, there was more, I realized, as one question came to me.
“Have you ever… visited him? In Elysian?”
Zephyrus stood still, half turned away, like he still had scars to hide. “Once.”
“And did he forgive you?”
A somber smile twitched at Zephyrus’s lips. “He did. And in his forgiveness, I felt only grief.”
“As did I,” I said, recalling when I last saw Hyacinth, and he chose a mortal afterlife over rebirth with me. “I wish only for you to find a love that is returned to you, Zephyrus, not with the force and brutality of a discus, but with the tenderness of your own once gentle breeze.”
There at last did I see his wings flutter with a sense of peace. “Thank you,” he said again. “I wish the same for you.”
He winged away, vanishing just as his feet left the ground. My heart felt… lighter, and with that ease, I peered around the tree to seek out Dax.
Who was gone!
