They found shelter by the edge of a stream — a high rocky outcrop, surrounded by dense forest, just enough to shield them from the wind and moonlight. Aerax lit a fire with the flint he'd taken from the labyrinth, while Minoros divided the wild boar meat, skewering each piece on stone spits to roast.
The fire crackled. The scent of charred meat drifted into the night, mingling with the sounds of insects and forest wind. The two sat side by side, the flickering light dancing on their sun-browned skin.
"Ever wonder why this island has monsters like that boar?" Minoros spoke suddenly, his voice contemplative.
Aerax glanced at him, one hand stirring the fire, the other holding a freshly sharpened horn-blade. "I'd guess it's a curse. Most ruins like this are."
Minoros chuckled softly, a half-sad smile tugging at his lips. "You're not wrong. But this curse began with something bigger than a crime. It began with a mad love."
He bit into the meat, chewing slowly. Then he began:
"Long ago, this island was the sacred land of Krasious — the god of desire, wine, and ecstasy. Not a god of war, not of wisdom or justice. But of surrender, of pure and unjudged yearning. Krasious didn't dwell in the heavens. He lived among mortals. He manifested in wine, in drums and music, in breathless gasps in the night."
Aerax nodded, saying nothing. Minoros took a sip from the stream, then continued:
"At that time, the island overflowed with life. Vineyards teemed with people, men and women danced nude among stone pillars, singing, loving, moaning. There was no sin. No fear. Only the fire of life pulsing in every vein. Followers of Krasious came from all over, bringing wine, instruments, stories — and their bodies."
Aerax smiled faintly. "Sounds like paradise."
"And it was… until Krasious loved the wrong one."
Minoros stared into the fire, his eyes distant. "He became obsessed with Drymo — the beloved daughter of Usilias, King of the gods. Drymo, goddess of abundance, harvest, and blooming. She was innocent, radiant, and smelled of freshly reaped fields."
Aerax frowned. "And they…?"
"They lay together. Beneath the moon, in the temple of Krasious. When their divine bodies entwined, the whole island trembled. But the joy didn't last. Usilias found out. And he flew into a rage." Minoros paused, his voice turning rough.
"Usilias didn't kill Krasious. He said, 'You love clarity? Then be clear forever.' And he cursed Krasious: from that moment on, he would never sleep, never get drunk, never forget. He would live eternally — sober, sorrowful, forever haunted by what was lost."
Aerax gripped the horn-blade tighter. The story struck him in an odd, aching way. A god of longing, punished for his very longing.
"What did Usilias do to the island?"
"He cast down monsters from the heavens. To destroy all that Krasious had built. Each beast a sentence. Each attack a reminder: stop dreaming. The people slowly turned to beasts, fled to the forests, devoured one another, forgot the drums and wine."
Minoros stretched, muscles gleaming in the firelight. "But Krasious, before leaving, left the only thing he could — his blood. A single chalice. Left for one who was worthy. And the islanders, before losing all hope, built a tomb. To guard it. To wait for the one who could overcome every trial, who dared to drink, dared to become something even Usilias would fear."
Silence followed. Only the fire and the wind spoke. Aerax said nothing, but his eyes burned.
"I'll show those gods how a new god is born," he said.
Minoros smiled. "Then let me follow you to the end. Let me avenge Krasious, too."
The two sat quietly, watching the stars. Bellies full. Warm meat in their hands. The myth had awakened a storm deep within both of them.
Aerax whispered, almost to himself:
"Usilias punishes dreamers. Then I'll dream my own dream — and turn it into his nightmare."
Minoros nodded, then added: "You know Drymo was married off afterward, right? To her own uncle — Diavolos, the dark god who rules demons, beasts, and the underworld itself."
Aerax scowled. "Usilias really is a vicious old bastard."
Minoros laughed, then lay back on the stone, hands behind his head. "That's how he rules — always by his own will."
The forest wind swept through the fire, answering with a soft growl. High above, the red moon rose through the treetops, casting its light on the two figures seated in the myth-wrapped night.
It was the first night, after centuries, that Krasious's blood burned again in a mortal fire. And somewhere deep in the dark, perhaps that sorrowful god opened his eyes — not to weep, but to smile.