Archive of Our Own ^beta

On the morning of the fourth day, the lakeside town's bell chimes an elegy through the rolling fog.

And with it comes the realization that Izuku has a toll he must pay.

The town of Luin has suffered much in the last century. Most recently, the vicious assaults of the Argonauts, demi-gods fuelled by hatred and bitterness towards humans and gods alike, that nearly tore the town asunder. Driven by the burden of Izuku's memories, he tore through the human ranch to rescue as many as he could.

Too bad that Izuku is a sorry fool.

Too bad for Izuku, that the memories he so desperately wanted back were things that he never wanted to remember in the first place.

(Now he's gone too far. Gone and said words that shouldn't have been said.)

While tearing down other demi-gods, people that should be his kin, Izuku is taunted by one that knows him. That knows the Izuku of before. The one that cursed his place of birth and ceased the flow of life in that lake a century ago.

And Izuku remembers. It's not everything, it's not every detail, but it's enough.

It's enough to break him while he fights for the lives of an entire town he can't decide to treasure or detest. It's enough for Himiko Toga, the Grand Cardinal of the ranch that threatens to consume all of Luin, to take fatal aim.

Izuku only survives because Aizawa saves him in the nick of time.

Though she falls, Toga has one last dagger to throw—that Aizawa, a man Izuku has come to admire, is a god. The very thing Izuku has learned to hate.

Because Izuku remembers.

It may be humans that spurned them with rotten fruit and thrown sticks, but it was the gods sitting on their golden chairs with hands clasped over immaculately sculpted marble round tables that decided his mother had to pay for the crime of birthing Izuku with her life.

It's the gods, who have all the power of the mortal realm, that caged Izuku behind bars of gold like a weeping songbird for nearly one hundred years.

It's the gods that make demi-gods possible, yet who turn mortals against them.

The only thing that mattered after Himiko breathed her last was that Izuku would not be comforted by the likes of any god. It's Izuku that bites the hand that saves him.

(If only he could take it back.)

Aizawa simply left once Izuku was wrapped up in Momo's arms and Hitoshi's presence. His friends had questions, of course, but that first night back, Izuku couldn't voice anything other than his need to be alone.

It's always been the forest that he needs, that welcomes and calms him. The peace of the leaves. The whispers of the trees.

Things his mother once loved.

(If only the land wasn't dying below his feet.)

It takes three days.

Three days of sorting out the few returning memories. Of shed tears in the darkness of the wood. Of burrowing away in a bed of flowers, born through the magic at his fingertips.

With time and space and eyes that tire of weeping, he comes to a realization—a light of hope in the midst of the mist.

Izuku isn't the same person he was a century ago, or even four years ago. He isn't the same boy that knelt beneath the feet of vile gods nor the boy that wept on the floor of a cage for weeks on end. He isn't even the same as the man who traded blows with a mysterious person in the woods for fun.

This journey has changed him. But in this change has also come a burden.

If gods and humans must pay for what they've done to his mother—

Then Izuku, too, must pay the price for the lives he ends for the sake of the world.

It's an endless cycle, one that he struggles to see an ending to. Hate and death will only proliferate. Even when Momo succeeds in saving the land and sealing away the Argonauts, where does that leave the world?

The land is already too weak to keep Izuku's flower bed from withering away and Momo doesn't have enough time to fix everything.

"Izuku," Hitoshi calls, stepping out from the trees. It must be his turn to check on him. "Are you..."

"I'm okay," he replies with a shrug. He's almost surprised at the truth of it, though he's disappointed that not a single flower lived through the night. Surely, at least one must have and Izuku runs his hands through the withering grass for any signs of life.

"Oh! That's—" Hitoshi cuts off before clearing his throat. "Well, there's a festival in town tonight. Are you up for checking it out? Just for the day?"

Izuku rises to his feet with a sigh, refusal dancing on his lips. "I—don't know," he murmurs instead. The blood-thirsting rage begging to tear any demi-god or god limb from limb is no longer present—there's a distance between him and the depth of that ire now. But that doesn't mean Izuku's ready to be among the townsfolk—especially in the town his mother used to live.

Because Izuku remembers now. And that's the crux of the issue. "What's the festival for?" he asks as he wanders about the tree he was sleeping against. There's this insistence in the back of his thoughts, calling to him.

Hitoshi shuffles his feet, scratching the back of his head. "It's... for the Keeper. They're celebrating the god of death's birthday," he admits.

Izuku halts with a frown. For the Keeper. A festival for the god of death? What in the realm would a god want from mortals?

(What could he offer in exchange for a chance at forgiveness?)

Then, a pop of colour catches his eye.

"We don't have to attend if you don't want to to," Hitoshi offers in a rush. "We can stay in the inn and—"

"I'll go."

"—Momo would just—wait, what?" Hitoshi sputters. "Really?"

Izuku gently plucks a single surviving stem of a white flower. It's meaning is varied, and heavy, depending how one thinks about it, but it's the only one. A single, blooming life in the midst of withering, weeping death.

The town bell rings again through the air as Izuku gently holds the flower to his chest.

"I'll come to town. I want to see the festival," Izuku says.

Maybe he'll learn something about his mysterious shadow—of the god that's followed him around the continent.

Because if Izuku isn't the same as every Argonaut simply because he's a demi-god, then, perhaps, Aizawa isn't the same as every arrogant god.

And maybe, Izuku can find a way to apologize.

Izuku ends up spending most of the day in the inn until the festival starts in the evening. He'd been sleeping in the forest for days and desperately in need of a shower anyway.

No one questions him about his isolation. Even Demeter, who only glances at him from the corner of his eyes while remaining stoically and grandly sat on a chair far too low for his height.  Izuku hasn't been particularly nice to him either, but he isn't ready to bridge any gaps with his conceitedness.

Demeter and Aizawa have miles of differences between them. If there was a world where Izuku could have a choice in the god accompanying Momo for her protection, he would choose Aizawa without hesitation.

Beneath all the dark cloaks and hard glares, he's... kinder, once the layers are pulled away.

Izuku eats up Momo's lunch and dinner, mostly since she can't eat at all anymore. Everything was exciting when she gained wings like an angel after the first seal. But the second seal took away her hunger and her need for sleep. She'd earned the 'favour of the gods', according to Demeter, apparently. Izuku doesn't understand how favours take away the things that make her human.

Like she's truly becoming an angel.

(But angels are people that no longer live... right?)

Yet she breathes, and speaks and smiles. Her hugs are still as warm as her spirit.

(For how long, Izuku isn't certain.)

The festival begins at sunset, opening with a parade of drummers through the town that lights up with lanterns and torches. The town chief explains that this is the most interest they've had in years. Partly because of Momo's presence, but also recent events.

Not everyone returned from Himiko Toga's ranch. Many and more have been lost over the years, enslaved and farmed, their efforts and bodies used to fuel the magicks and machines of demi-gods, as they felt was their right. With the town now as reunited as they'll ever be, thanks to Momo, the festivities mean more to those that remain.

Izuku takes an interest, wandering about on his own. One station has blocks of a soft wood, ideal for hand carving, where townsfolk carve wishes into wooden dolls, small enough to hold in his palm. A little girl with pink pig tails and rosy cheeks helps him carve out a message to his loved ones, to wish them well in the Keeper's judgment and their life beyond. Then it's tossed into an open flame, to send the message to the realm of the world below, the sea where souls rest, for the Keeper to receive.

It's odd, Izuku thinks, to celebrate one's birthday by wishing that the god ease their burdens and lift their hearts.

All their rituals follow a similar thread—wishes are shared with the underworld through the earth, wind, fire and sea. Paper lanterns are set adrift on the nearby river. The air and land quake with the vibration of drums and accompanied dance. 

To wish their loved ones peace in their death. To be freed of pain and misery. To be granted judgment for a new life. 

It's not... the worst way to grieve, Izuku supposes. He makes his own lantern, writing his wishes for his mother onto paper before wrapping it around a frame of thin sticks. He prays silently over the tallow candle, allowing a single tear to drip down his face. 

Watching the lantern—and his wish for her peace, to tell her he's okay now—sets something in his heart at ease. Like he's lighter now. 

(It doesn't end a century of hurt. But he can probably set it aside without lashing out.)

But he thinks of the blood on his hands—the burden of the lives Izuku's taken either in hatred or in this journey to keep Momo safe and save this world. They've had to cut down others to get this far at all.

So Izuku leaves wishes for them too in more lanterns. For everyone he's hurt, out of ill or out of force.

It doesn't seem enough somehow. Like Izuku should be doing more—doing better. Because this cycle doesn't stop with Momo. It won't stop when the world is saved.

Nothing will truly be saved if demi-gods and the people of the mortal realm, including Izuku, continue to be ruled by hate for one another.

And it all leads back to Aizawa, doesn't it? To the Keeper. To the god of death.

Izuku wonders how he feels about all of this—festivals and rites that don't really have anything to do with him. The people's wishes don't have anything to offer to the god of death, but burdens.

How does it feel, he thinks, to only be asked of and not asked after?

How did Aizawa feel when Izuku could only say how much he hated him for something he couldn't control?

Running a finger over the white flower resting behind his ear for safekeeping, Izuku wonders. He can't get the man out of his thoughts, not with how desperately he wishes to do... something. To apologize, to make up for it, somehow.

Maybe, he can start there.

Maybe, for the Keeper, it'll be enough.

After giving Hitoshi a heads up, Izuku wanders away from the festivities.

Further down the river, a decent ways walk from town, stand ancient pillars, crumpled and eroding. Lost in thought, Izuku runs his hands along the rocks, feeling for their history and their story. What could have stood here, he wonders, hundreds upon hundreds of years ago?

The roadway of pillars lead to an overhang on the side of a cliff, shrouded in darkness. Izuku grabs a nearby torch off its stand to step closer and explore, waving it along the grey and brown rock—just to see what secrets it may hold.

And behold—bits and pieces of a faded mural. Hard to make out with what little light he has, unfortunately, though seeing as he's alone...

Izuku pulls on his magic, running his hand along the dirt and rock, pleading to the earth—grass, flowers and vines burst along the path of his fingertips as the land answers back eagerly. The torch follows, lighting a brief line of light, but long enough for Izuku to take in the beauty of the art work. He walks along its path, tracing his hands in the lines depicting some form of worship—to whom is unclear. But the actions depicted seem familiar.

Drums sending music to the air, dancers stomping into the earth. Lanterns atop moving waters and tokens onto flame.

Gifts—For the Keeper.

"...Are you supposed to be out here alone?"

Izuku whips around, magic at his fingertips to see Aizawa sitting in the dirt, blearily frowning up at him.

He raises an eyebrow as Izuku freezes on the spot. "For once," he adds, "I'm not following you."

"Oh, uhm—" Izuku sputters, caught off guard. He isn't exactly ready to face him now and yet, this presents a perfect opportunity to do so. Except—

Except Izuku has no idea what to say or where to start.

Aizawa rises to his feet without a grunt or wasted breath—not at all like the age he portrays. But he turns to leave, without another word.

"Wait. I—you don't have to do go," Izuku says in a rush with his arm reaching out. Aizawa stops, looking back over his shoulder.

And neither of them move. Neither of them speak. Aizawa merely stares him down blankly without conceit, anger or distaste.

Izuku isn't sure what to do with that—he was pretty rude and callous after all the times Aizawa's helped them, and even after the man saved his life against Toga. Thinking about it, Izuku's a little embarrassed after his hateful outburst.

"You seem different," Aizawa eventually says. He relaxes his stance enough to lean against the rock wall, just a few feet away.

Somehow, Izuku's annoyed immediately. "Well I'm not remembering every traumatic moment in my life right now—" he spits.

"Are you certain I should stay?"

Izuku stills, meeting Aizawa's concerned stare—he seems almost disappointed though the frown doesn't seem to have shifted.

"Sorry," Izuku says after a deep breath. "It's not directed at you, I think, it's just..." The words don't come easily as he worries at his bottom lip, trying to steady his racing heart. He never thought taking back something he said would be so difficult.

In the end, he shrugs. "Still working through that, I guess."

Aizawa blinks, his posture softening the smallest amount. "It isn't shameful to need time. Not when you've seen the things you have."

Izuku nods along, not really... believing it, at least, not yet. But with something telling him that the man won't up and leave, Izuku turns away to gaze over the mural again.

"This is about you, isn't it?"

Aizawa glances up at it, light fading as the plants reach their ends and burn away. He presses a finger to the wall as darkness overcomes them once again.

A purple light bursts through the lines, even the faded ones, making the image even clearer.

"It depicts the role of the Keeper and my authority over the cycle of life and death," Aizawa explains. "There were other murals for other gods. Most remaining in this world have been lost to time."

Izuku feels like he knows that. Maybe even seen them before. "They're in the heavenly realm, aren't they? These are just transposed here. For people to remember and worship you by."

A solemn nod. "That's their primary purpose, yes."

And Izuku really looks at him. How Aizawa gazes over the mural in some sort of reverence, with respect. The fact that he's here at all—

Demeter's raised a chin and done nothing but look down on human rituals. Yet Aizawa, though hidden away in the darkness, is in the mortal realm on the day of mortal festivals celebrating him. Like he's paying his own respects.

"There's a lot about my past that I don't remember," Izuku says, mouth dry. "But I remember my mentor and my mother and the gods that killed her.

"You weren't one of them."

Aizawa glances at him sidelong. "No. But I didn't help after they caged you."

"And you didn't know," Izuku presses. "You didn't know what they planned to do."

"...No," he says after a time. "Your mentor and I hold seats on the council. When she left, I stopped attending. It had already been quite awhile since either of us had a part in any decisions."

Oh, Izuku thinks. He doesn't remember much of his mentor, mostly that she left him in Momo's town before setting off. But Izuku knows he trusted her with his whole life. If Aizawa shares her sentiments then—

Then maybe the words aren't so difficult to say after all.

Izuku smiles, folding his arms behind his back. "Then, I forgive you. For not helping. And I'm sorry—for, you know, all the stupid shit I said. You're not... so bad."

Aizawa doesn't shift or outwardly react—he just seems to stop breathing. Weird, but Izuku supposes gods don't really need to breathe. However, his intent staring doesn't seem to stop and Izuku folds quickly in embarrassment. Especially as he still has one more pressing question.

"So, uhm! What would a god of death want for his birthday? Because these rituals are nice and everything, but they're not really... for you, are they?" Izuku runs his fingers over the flower behind his ear. "People's wishes are just more burdens on you, aren't they?"

They stand in silence, the purple light crawling over their faces and highlighting the distance between them still.

"Do you know the story? Of Hades. The real one."

Izuku considers it before shaking his head. He probably knew it before his bout of amnesia, but all he can think of are the basics.

Aizawa huffs. "I'd be surprised if you did. You see, my powers are not meant for one person to bear alone. But the underworld is widely feared. And I can't stand most gods." He runs a hand along the mural. "They're broken, in a way. Obsessed with this version of the past they refuse to let go. Now look what's happening," he hisses with fists clenched. "Instead of helping her village flourish, a young woman is cast out to risk her life. And for what purpose?"

The power in the mural is snuffed out. Izuku freezes, gazed locked on two red lights like twin stars. The air thickens, charged with ancient magic—the Keeper's magic—pressing and coiling around him until Izuku is face to face with the mask of a wolf. The world below dissolves away as he's left floating in the unending space between worlds.

No one else, but him and the Keeper.

"You're correct. I don't want the wishes of the dead. I don't want tokens or trinkets and I have no need for material things. What I want is an equal," Aizawa declares, red eyes unblinking and burning. "An equal without fear. An equal that can bear the weight of dead souls. To witness their sins and deliver their judgment."

In the midst of great power, power greater than he's ever felt before, Izuku should be afraid. The darkness surrounding him could crush him in an instant and Aizawa looms over him in his true form, as the god of the death, the Keeper of Souls. With eyes of glittering ruby, a scythe that could cleave the earth in two—

And so seemingly lonely.

Izuku will never be equal in strength to the power of a god—it isn't possible for demi-gods, not without a title. But he, too, bears a responsibility for the dead he's sent to the other side.

With a soft and gentle touch, Izuku reaches beneath the mask and lifts it off. He's met with Aizawa's surprised expression.

The darkness cuts—Izuku's torch brightens and the mask, the stars, and that edge between life and death burns away.

"You aren't afraid," Aizawa whispers. "Why?"

"What's there to be afraid of?" Izuku asks. "Beneath the mask you're still you."

Aizawa's mouth hangs open, wordless, as a flower, a single stem of forget-me-nots, is pressed behind his ear.

"I can't find you a partner, but I can give you this? A flower that soaks in the sun, drinks water and nutrients from the land and fills the air with its breath. The promise of life. And my well wishes. For you." Izuku blushes and swallows thickly. "I—I wish for you to be at ease with your burden. No matter how heavy it gets. Happy... birthday?" 

Hands running over the flower in awe, Aizawa straightens, eyes still wide and searching Izuku's face. Like he never considered receiving well wishes for himself. Or perhaps, no one ever had considered it for him. 

"What does this flower mean?" he murmurs.

Izuku chokes on his tongue. He'd hoped Aizawa wouldn't ask, but it was the only flower that survived. "Traditionally, it means remembrance and respect." Izuku looks to the side. "...They're usually exchanged between lovers so they don't forget one another. Like a promise of fidelity."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, well don't be getting any ideas—Uh?!" Soft lips press against Izuku's knuckles. He locks eyes with Aizawa, kneeling before him with his hand to his lips.

Aizawa simply smiles. "I suppose you've earned my favour then." He stands and steps away, turning to leave. "Thank you, Izuku."

Izuku stands there for a long while, long after the god leaves, face hot and heart racing.

Because what does that mean? What favour has he earned?

And what will it cost?