"I have an important mission for you," the goddess shifted in her imperial throne, surrounded by the pearly columns and clouds of Olympus. "It shouldn't take you long."

Obediently, Yuuri bowed, more than used to the whims of Love. "Yes, My Lady."

Flashing her brilliant smile, Aphrodite tossed her hair. "Great! There's this mortal boy... I want you to shoot him with one of those arrow things and force him to love… hmm, I'm not sure. Ooh! The most hideous monster you can find! Yes! Do that!"

Yuuri hated missions like this, truly. Driving innocent mortals to ruin was not what his arrows of desire were meant for. This didn't however stop the other gods, who didn't care about manipulating mortals for their own crazy agendas, whilst casually enjoying the luxuries of the Heavens, ignoring the suffering results of their meddling.

Pushing his luck, he raised his head. "My Lady, may I ask why?"

"Hmm," she pursed her lips. "The man was gifted with beauty. Too much beauty. The foolish mortals have taken to worshiping him above me!" Staring him down, she rolled her eyes. "Spare me that look Eros, I can't punish every mortal. Collateral damage."

With a slight crash, the Messenger God landed in the Olympian throne room, winged scandals scuffing against the marble floor. "The last time you said that, there was a ten year war."

She tossed her hair once more. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Sensing his instruction was over, and a meeting with the major gods was about to take place, Yuuri willed his bow and arrow to materialise in his hand. Calling his dark wings to sprout from his back, he took off, gliding downwards and away from the brilliant home of the gods. As his feathers stretched in the sunlight, he was joined by laughing Auras, who loved to follow gods to the Earth in hopes of teasing them. His wings cut straight through the clouds as he swooped to the bottom of the mountain, flying properly over fields and fields of trees. He took the flight leisurely, staring down at the world of the mortals in amazement, so night had already arrived by the time he reached the palace.

As he approached the window, Yuuri prepared his bow, wanting to make the process as quick as possible. Unfortunately, the mortal was turned over in his bed, and Yuuri couldn't shoot clearly at his heart. When he stepped inside the room, one of the floorboards creaked, causing the mortal to roll over, still deep in his sleep.

Yuuri was instantly taken aback by his beauty. The mortal's looks easily matched that of the gods'. Heavily, Yuuri understood why others had turned their worship away from Aphrodite, and to the man lying a few feet from him. His skin was creamy and unblemished, the look of soft morning clouds, and his face smooth and structured like a work of art. Overshadowing all of this, however, was the man's shimmering silver locks. It was long, soft looking, and Yuuri couldn't help himself, reaching over the brush it out of his face.

So distracted by the man's ethereal beauty, Yuuri lost his balance and tripped before his wings could catch him. As his knees hit the floor, Yuuri's vision immediately went cloudy around the edges. His chest constricted, before beginning to beat unbearably. When he set eyes upon the man once more, Yuuri knew that no matter what, he had to have him. Aphrodite be dammed, he couldn't set the man up for marriage to a gruesome beast. This mortal deserved not only the world, but the entirety of Olympus and all its pleasures.

But Yuuri couldn't stay here, couldn't bother the poor mortal. He knew, deep inside, that he was destined for an existence without love. It would be unfair to expect a mortal, especially one as blessed as he, to even tolerate Yuuri as a potential partner. No, instead, Yuuri allowed him the gift of freedom. Resolving himself to simply lie to the Goddess of Beauty, Yuuri kissed the man's temple, filling his mind with good dreams, before exiting the room with haste.

He didn't even notice the arrow he'd accidentally fallen upon, sticking out of the centre of his chest, until he was halfway back to Olympus.

"Vitya," his adviser said sternly to him. "Please send them away."

From his throne, the prince peered at the long line of citizens. "Maybe I don't want to."

Yakov narrowed his eyes. "Just because I don't have the legal authority to force you doesn't mean you shouldn't listen to me."

"Why?" He asked without missing a beat. "Because you're my elder?"

Anybody with eyes could see that Yakov was raging at this comment. "Why don't you just pick one of these endless suitors and be done with it?!"

Sighing to himself, Viktor stood, stretching himself out as he did so. "None of them will come in. They don't actually want to talk to me. They just want to stare."

Not bothering to wait for a response, Viktor straightened out his shirt sleeves and made for the gates. Nodding his consent to the guards, they worked on pulling the gates open, exposing Viktor fully to the awaiting crowd. The reception every time he left the palace was the same as it had been since the day he came of age. For miles, all he could hear were the gasps and screams of his citizens, all fighting each other in their places for a better look at his face. It was so bad, in fact, that Viktor hadn't been able to go anywhere for years without at least two guards at his sides to hold back the crowds.

It wasn't as if he hadn't tried, or met with any of them. In fact, for the first few months of it he'd greatly enjoyed the attention, much to the annoyance for Yakov and his two younger siblings. Being hailed as the most beautiful entity in all of the world's existence was more than a compliment, and Viktor had soaked it up as easily as the sun's bright rays. He'd been warned, of course, on the dangers of hubris, but Viktor had merely brushed it off. Truly, he had never put himself on the level of the gods, no matter what he heard some people shout at him.

Mostly ignoring the crowds, he swung his arms casually, strolling through the countryside of the country that was destined to be his, as the oldest son to the royal family, some day once his parents passed. That was, however, dependant on him finding a good marriage for security. Deep down, he knew Yakov was indeed right. Now that his sister Mila had been engaged to a foreign King, the pressure was on Viktor to find someone to share his rule more than ever.

The one problem was that no matter how many people admired him, none of them actually wanted to love him. Painters and sculptors came to copy his form for their works. Women came to gawk at his 'godlike' beauty. Men came to dream away debauchery they were too afraid to commit. Yet not one person tried to hold a conversation. Whenever Viktor had tried, they'd quickly become bored, or else obviously been too busy gazing at him to pay attention. He was convinced, truly and utterly, that he was destined to a life without love and affection.

As he came ever closer to the temple of Aphrodite, the crowds thinned out. He made the trip daily, finding the idea of worship for the one who controlled the force of love his only solace and hope. At a time, people had questioned him, wondering why he'd even bother with that old goddess. Some had even gone as far as to cite him as the new chosen deity of Beauty, but of course Viktor had deflected their claims. Over time, the citizens of his country had gotten used to his daily trick, content to think of it as one of his odd quirks.

The steps, as they had been for many years, were dirty, covered in grime and weeds and wild vines covered the once brilliantly white marble pillars. He'd been too young, of course, to see the temple back when it was truly attended to, but he knew from the outside at least that it had once been a thing of beauty. The inside was dark and damp, lit by only a few candles. As he approached the altar, only the faintest aroma of honey sweet incense filled his nostrils.

Kneeling at the altar, Viktor brushed away the loose ashes covering it. Though he did this every day, it seemed that maintaining the temple was a losing battle. Once he was satisfied it was clear enough, he worked on pouring the sacred libations, sacrifices to the love goddess, before bowing his head in prayer. It was nothing wholly specific, exactly, not anymore anyway. Instead, Viktor prayed for general guidance and success in his love life, begging for someone suitable to marry soon.

Midway through his prayers, Viktor got the disconcerting feeling he was being watched. Hoping Aphrodite wouldn't mind too much about the interruption, Viktor got to his feet, pulling his sword out from its side. Unlike most people in his position, Viktor had yet to experience nearly being assassinated, so a sick kind of excitement rushed through his veins.

"There's no need for weapons in this place," a voice echoed.

Viktor kept his grip firm. "Please," he asked, "come out into the light."

Obediently, a figure made her way out of the shadows. She was old looking, and dressed in rags, holding one of the sacred candles in her arms. "You come here every day."

Sensing little threat, Viktor sheathed his blade. "The Goddess hasn't answered me yet."

The woman smiled softly. "No, I don't suppose she would."

"It's not fair!" Viktor complained. "What have I done to offend love?! If not a marriage, I don't understand why she can't give me at least some kind of answer."

She looked him up and down. "Do you know what I am?"

"No," Viktor admitted. "I'm sorry. I try to keep up to date with all the roles of my citizens."

Reaching towards him, the woman waited for Viktor to nod his consent, before taking his smooth hand in her wrinkled one. "Back in the day this temple was glorious. Most of the time it was well lit and attended, full of worship for Love."

"I remember it," he agreed.

"Most of the other girls have abandoned it now," she sighed, "but I decided to remain loyal. We once swore our lives and dedication in service for the Love Goddess. Which is why I don't care to see you extend your suffering. I haven't been in her presence myself, but I don't think she'll ever reveal herself to you in that way. If an answer is all you desire, perhaps you should journey to Delphi."

Delphi. The word rang clear in Viktor's mind. He'd never considered visiting it himself, too caught up in his daily royal duties. There were plenty of stories, though, about the mystical centre of the Earth. Many men had visited and come back dressed in garlands, speaking of strange voices in the mist and confusing riddles.

"Thank you," Viktor breathed, immediately making his mind up, and raced out of the temple. Though he couldn't exactly run the entire length back to the palace, he walked with a spring in his step, already trying to figure out the finer details of his journey. As soon as he came close, he was again hailed by the crowd, shouting his name like a mantra.

"Please," he addressed them, "save your prayers."

"Viktor!" A small girl shouted from the crowd. "Viktor! OH MY GOD HE LOOKED THIS WAY!"

Smiling as he did so, Viktor flipped his long hair, which was currently tied up neatly, and winked at here, eliciting more screams and causing the girl to faint. Whilst people were distracted trying to revive her, Viktor managed an almost effortless passage to the palace. Sighing to himself as he went, he made it through the gates and rid himself of his sword.

"You're late," the all too familiar voice of his younger brother bit through the air sharply.

Viktor undid the fastening of his hair. "I am?"

Yuri folded his arms. "Don't play dumb with me, bastard. You know you promised me."

The colour drained from Viktor's face.

The smaller boy shook with anger. "You actually did forget."

He decided to play it off with a smile. "I'll show you some swordplay when I get home from my trip, Kitten, promise."

"Stop calling me that! And, what trip?"

"But Yuri~," Viktor deflected and slung his arm around his brother, "it suits you. You like it better than fairy, no?"

Yuri grumbled all the way to the banquet hall, where their servants were already making the dinner preparations. Immediately, they were ushered to their seats as plates of meat, cheeses, and fruits were presented to them. As the rest of the company settled in, the conversation was mellow and light, much like the diluted wine he was served, pausing briefly once the bard was sent in to sing his stories of love and war.

Once the festivities began to wear down, Viktor stood before they could disband. "I have decided," he said, "that I'm going to take a trip to Delphi."

The room was utterly silent, save for the sound of Yakov spitting out his drink.

His mother looked at him through downcast eyes. "Why, Vitya?"

"I was advised," he responded confidently, "that only in Delphi will I find who I'm destined to marry."

Following a few excited murmurs from crowd, his own father, the king, also rose to his feet. "Well," he set down his chalice, "if that's what you think is best. You're old enough now to follow your own judgements. Yuri," he addressed his youngest child, "you are a man now. You will take over Viktor's duties whilst he's away."

Yuri flushed from head to toe. "I'll do it!" He exclaimed just a bit too loudly. "I mean, I will try my best to fill my brother's role."

Supportively, Viktor nudged him, before bowing to his father and finally taking his leave. Once he'd reached his own quarters, he breathed a sigh of relief to finally be alone. Incredibly thankful his family had taken his decision so well, he began to pack some of the supplies he'd need for the trying journey. His mother, he knew, would also make sure he had a supply of wine and food to take with him.

Once satisfied he had enough prepared for the journey, Viktor leant against the window and gazed up at the constellations he would soon be using to navigate his way to answer. His heart truly caught in his throat, then, at the prospect that he'd finally be leaving the safety of his home. There was also a kind of peace running through him. Finally, if just for a few days, he wouldn't be surrounded by his 'fans'. He'd get to be alone.

As if he'd noticed the sentiment, Viktor's dog yapped, jumping up on hind legs to try and get his attention.

Viktor came over to him and scratched his ears. "Of course you get to come, Makkachin."

Content with that, the two of them made their way to Viktor's bed. Otherwise, he would have found it hard to stay still as he lay down, but Makkachin's steady breathing helped him relax as he held him in his arms, praying that sleep and the morning would find him soon.

"Yuuri," his friend looked at him in concern. "Oh Yuuri! You look awful!"

"Phichit," Yuuri choked out, wincing at his impalement. "I messed up."

Not wasting any time, he yanked the arrow out of Yuuri's sternum, allowing it to dissolve in his hands. Using his influence over medicine, he healed the wound as best he could, allowing the magical properties of ichor, the golden blood of the immortals, to do the rest.

He wiped Yuuri's sweaty forehead. "What did you do?!"

Yuuri looked away from Olympus out to the night sky. "I think I've fallen in love."