Chapter 150: Raphael Mirasol
"May I have the honor of dancing with you, my Lord?"
The words were still hanging in the air like confetti. Hermes blinked twice, thinking he must have misheard.
"...Excuse me?"
Paragon’s golden smile didn’t falter. "May I dance with you? That’s what I said, my Lord."
Hermes stared at him from behind his zanni mask. "...What are you, from the 1600s? I’m not a lord."
Paragon chuckled, deep and rich, like he found the confusion itself entertaining. "Relax. That’s just how I am with people I respect."
Hermes’ lips curled into something halfway between a grimace and a smirk. "Respect?"
He let out a short laugh that was too sharp to sound genuine. "That’s rich. You’re the one in the Top 10. The one with magazine covers, the glowing smile. If anything, I should be calling you Sir
.
Sir Paragon. Or maybe... Lord Paragon? Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?"
Paragon’s laugh came again, but this one softer, less booming, almost warm. "Don’t be ridiculous. Those things do not mean you have to put me on a pedestal. I have a regular name, just like you."
His hand extended again, steady and patient. "Raphael. Raphael Mirasol. That’s who I am."
Hermes hesitated, eyes narrowing. But then he sighed and finally placed his hand in Paragon’s.
"Hermes Potentia. You already knew that, though."
Paragon leaned in closer, voice dipping into something conspiratorial. "How could I forget?"
Before Hermes could overthink it further, the music shifted. Slow, deliberate notes, violins and piano weaving into something soft. They took their place among the other dancing pairs, though Hermes swore he could feel every eye on them.
He led, awkward at first, his palm pressed against the middle of Paragon’s back. His other hand held Raphael’s, their fingers interlaced. He’d danced before, but never like this, never with someone who radiated heat like a living star.
Even with the rooftop breeze tugging at Hermes’ suit jacket, Raphael’s warmth spread through him.
Raphael followed easily, hand resting on Hermes’ shoulder, golden eyes glinting behind his mask. If he noticed the stiffness in Hermes’ movements, he didn’t comment.
"...So," Hermes finally said, trying to break the silence, "that story you told earlier. About being a farm boy. Was that true?"
Raphael tilted his head, amused. "Why? Do I not look the part?"
"You look more like the suburbs type." Hermes raised a brow. "Maybe a gated community, not some struggling Virginia farm."
Raphael laughed, shoulders shaking lightly under Hermes’ hand. "I suppose I oversold the ’simple boy’ angle, didn’t I? It
was
a farm, though. Father raised cattle. Mother made clothes for half the town. But..."
He leaned closer. "There’s nothing simple about growing up with powers where no one else has them. Every scraped knee that healed in seconds, every game of baseball I won because of my superspeed, every kitty cat I saved from a tree... it always felt heavier. Like I wasn’t just me, but something else. Something too big for them."
Hermes’ hand tightened on his shoulder before he even realized it. "...Yeah. I get that."
"Oh?" Raphael tilted his head.
"I grew up thinking I was the only power user in Village AD18." Hermes’ gaze wandered to the ground, but his voice stayed even.
He didn’t know Aphrodite had Mindbloom back then. He thought he was the only power user in their village.
"Thought I was some freak. Wanted to be a hero more than anything, just so it would mean something."
Raphael’s smile softened, though there was still a spark in his eye. "Seems we aren’t so different after all, my Lord. But whether you wear a cape or not... You will always be special."
Hermes wanted to scoff, to push the idea away. But instead he muttered, "Maybe."
They drifted across the rooftop floor, and for the first time that evening, Hermes felt his chest ease, tension loosening. Maybe Raphael wasn’t so bad. Maybe—
A shadow.
Hermes’ entire body froze as his gaze locked past Raphael’s shoulder.
There. In the crowd. A hooded figure, face hidden, standing perfectly still amid the swirl of music and glitter. Watching.
No. Not here. Not again.
"Are you alright?" Raphael’s voice snapped him back, his golden eyes narrowing with concern.
Hermes’ skin felt clammy. "It’s nothing."
"Your face says otherwise."
Hermes bit the inside of his cheek. His mind flickered back to...
Eirwyn.
It has been so long since he remembered him, and now his streak was broken.
That first smile. That warmth. That trust, shattered like glass. He remembered how easily it all turned, how betrayal hid behind gentleness.
And now this man, this Raphael Mirasol....
He got rejected by the Golden Apple, and ran straight to the Fiery Cross. Smiling like he owned the sun. Acting like they weren’t on opposite sides.
His hand slipped free. He stepped back, suddenly cold, mask hiding his scowl.
"Dance is over."
Raphael blinked. "Hermes—"
"Don’t." His voice cut sharp. "Maybe stay with those in the same league as you, Sir Paragon. I know how this ends."
He turned, ready to walk off, to put as much distance as possible between himself and that warmth that suddenly felt like fire licking too close to his throat.
But then...
He noticed a sudden change in the breeze.
Hermes stopped dead in his tracks. Slowly, carefully, his eyes lifted.
The moon blinked.
It wasn’t a moon at all. That glowing circle in the night sky split, opened, and stared. A colossal golden iris burning into the rooftop like a lighthouse beam.
A single eye.
The rooftop crowd gasped, confusion breaking into screams. One woman fainted, her mask sliding off as she pointed upward with a trembling hand.
Out of the sky unfurled something massive and black, a beast so dark it blended with the night itself. Its skin was like shifting oil, glimmering with faint stars of its own. And at the center, its single eye, wide and unblinking, burning down on the city.
A Night Cyclops.
Hermes’ mouth went dry. "Oh... shit."
The beast opened its maw, threads of darkness dripping down like molten tar. When the spit struck a railing nearby, the steel hissed and hardened into black stone instantly, crumbling under its own petrified weight.
Panic erupted on the rooftop. Heroes stumbled over one another, some already pulling at their masks, others shouting orders. Glass shattered as people ran.
And Hermes stood frozen, Raphael at his side, the air between them colder than the stone that spit had made.
The music was still playing. The dance wasn’t over.
A/N Thank you for reading this far! What are your theories for future Chapters? Let me know!
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