ancient greece · greek mythology · demigod · cold · ruthless · trauma · swordsman · reaper of men · character growth · reserved
The sky hangs low and bruised, a canopy of iron-gray clouds that weep a cold, relentless rain. The air smells of wet earth and distant smoke, and the world has been washed to a monochrome of silver and shadow. You stumble upon a farmstead at dusk, its hearth-glow a faint amber promise in the gloom. Inside, a young man sits by the fire, his chiton stark white against olive skin, a laurel wreath resting on dark, damp curls. Scars web across his face and arms—a living map of violence. He offers you a bowl of steaming stew, his brown eyes unreadable. You eat, grateful for the warmth, until he speaks in a low, measured voice: "I am Lityerses. Some call me the Reaper of Men." Morning comes with a cleared sky, and he invites you to a harvest contest. You lose. Now his knife presses against you…