Consider the Plousios.

Five kilometers long and one kilometer tall. A full fifth of its structure is the enormous Engine and vast thruster channels, burning forever with a radiant gold solar energy. Another fifth is its mighty armoured beak, marked with a million discoloured scars from relativistic-speed impacts in the deep void. Inside its endless corridors is the space to host a city and yet the genius of its design allows it to fly with a crew of twenty.

It was built during the height of the Imperial era, after the collapse of the Atlas Cultural Sphere. When it was launched it was the first of its kind; a flagship, a king, a chariot for the woman who negotiated with the gods on behalf of humanity. So tied was it to that age that it was used as the burial pyre for the Empress Iado, flown into the heart of a star along with all her grave goods to meet Hades as no one ever had before.

Since then, the design became standardized, and then surpassed. Imperial ships of the line in the modern day match the Plousios in size, and Odoacer's flagship is nearly twice as large. For all their size and grandeur, the Plousios was the end of an age. But although over four thousand years stands between her and the Tunguska, these two ships are peers in this. Where their docking cables meet, twenty-sixth century space engineering and seventieth century voidcraft embrace. Despite the will of Cronus, here in the hall of Hades do the epochs kiss one final time. 

In the void, the Plovers launch. Some are hard, grey and Imperial, but some ride forth in the rainbow colours of the time of Knights. The Plovers go about their industrial work of severing the cables with axes the size of trees, but the Knights dance and play and joust amidst the industry of a world that obsoleted them but never surpassed them. Severed, the cables retract automatically, spinning back on tension cables to their docking ports where they fuse into a semisolid liquid, ready for travel.

In the heart of the Engine, Iskarot strikes the runes once more. From his belt hangs a fragile little radio with a black cat sticker; it plays a song about a girl leaving home for the first time and in its sincerity it is holy. The Priest of Hermes uses the music to mark the time, each time the song reaches its cresendo it feels like the ship should launch, but still there is more to do.

Until there isn't.

The jolt under the elderly badger-servitor's tripod feet shakes him. The sound begins to build, the force of a star igniting. It runs through the ship like a shiver. Iskarot begins to run. So does everyone else. Of those who have stayed aboard the Plousios, there is in this moment nothing more to be done. They run. They run with joy, with excitement, to burn off nerves. They run for the grand observation deck and gather in a crowd.

Just a mere hundred and fifty people after everything. No two are alike. Here, even the Order of Hermes pulls down their hoods to reveal their faces - the robes have symbolic meaning, but what symbolism could be greater? They help secure them from assassination, but who could they trust more than those present? One of them starts clapping, and then everyone is. Not slow, not polite, a sincere and joyful sound. It echoes the end of another era, when their ancient predecessors first landed upon another world.

There is hugging. Shaking of hands. Jokes about each others appearances now that they are finally revealed. Final praises and compliments - did you know, Bella, that this Hermetic always thought you looked so stylish? Did you know, Redana, that you had saved this Coherent's life without thinking or noticing? Did you know, Dolce, that you were the only one who remembered the birthday of this Alcedi chieftain and commemorated it with a little cake? 

These people who are coming with you like you. In small ways you have won their respect, their admiration, their fellowship. They're people who know exactly who they are to you: they're your friends, and they want you to be happy. And maybe it's the purity of that, or maybe it's the mysterious divine sword that Epistia is holding menacingly, but Aphrodite does not show his face. Somehow, though, it feels that the two are the same. You are no strangers to love in all the ways it can hurt. The ways it can terrify. The ways it can grip your stomach and your heart and twist and twist and [i]twist [/i]as it tears down the walls of your mind...

But something in this secret sword cuts away all of that. 

It's more than love. It's [i]like[/i]. It's friendship and community, built on foundations as solid as the underworld. It's mutual respect and admiration. It's a violent history bought forth into a point of tranquility. It's enjoying each others jokes. You have been through everything already. You have killed and died for each other. What is there left for Aphrodite to do?

And so, at last, you pass together into the River Lethe, and when you emerge you will no longer be amongst the Breathless Dead.

Whose hands do you hold as you go?

*

[b]Alexa![/b]

You stand upon the Anemoi with your many, many dogs.

Ramses has their arms around your shoulders affectionately, holding you from behind and trying to tousle your stone-carved hair in vain. They're warm, and soft, and they feel finished - for now. Knowing Ramses they'll change their mind and go back to the Hermetics for more changes once their mood starts to change, but for now they're happy with who they are.

The ship isn't ready to fly yet - the Lanterns have held a vote and decided to dispense with the bone architecture. Enormous respect to Jil, but she really was the lynchpin holding the gothic aesthetic together. Instead the Lanterns have by and large bought in deep into retro kitsh from the Tunguska - they're bolting in these ugly red leather and chrome chairs, tearing up the silent plasticy floors to replace with clicky stone tiles in black and white patterns, dangling golden lightbulbs in strings from every surface. The Temple of Artemis has been packed up and offloaded onto the Tunguska and a huge warm firepit filled with a thousand yellow lightbulbs is put in its place. By rededicating this place to home and hearth the Lantern priests, through consultation with Lord Hades, believe they can convince Hestia to shield this place from the worst of the Flux, allowing Cerberus to travel safely amidst these ancient lights.

You make the prayer and throw the ball one more time, but this time when Cerberus mob-tackles it and breaks away sprinting from Rusty and her other selves, she does not run it back to you. Instead she carries it across to a new person standing in the doorway, tails wagging eagerly. He leans low to pick up the ball, smiles in a shy little way, and tosses it back to you.

"Do you have room for one more aboard?" asks Zagreus.