What is a Daughtercon?
It's the kind of person who can't go a full minute without hearing their daughter's voice. The kind who panics if she's not within eyesight. The kind who thinks the world turns gray the second she's out of reach.
And right now, Cyd had one such goddess clinging to his leg like an emotional anchor.
"Lady Demeter," he groaned, patting her golden head gently like she was a stubborn sheepdog. "Can we please have a conversation without you strangling my femur?"
The goddess of the harvest was currently slumped against his thigh, her grip surprisingly strong for someone who looked like she'd been crying for three days straight. "I know you need blessings," she whimpered, "and I'll give you anything—anything! Just help me!"
Cyd sighed as her fingers tightened. "You are a goddess, you know. Maybe keep some of that immortal dignity?"
Nope. Not happening.
Ever since he'd made the mistake of muttering that old saying—'a married daughter is like water spilled from a jar'—Demeter had demonstrated exactly why mortals didn't casually joke around deities. The fields around them had withered in seconds, the sky darkened like it was mourning, and now she was latched to him like a barnacle made of divine guilt.
"I'm not dragging your daughter out of the Underworld," Cyd said, rubbing his temple. "Not only am I not qualified, I'm also fairly sure she wants to be there. Voluntarily."
"She doesn't!" Demeter snapped. "It's cold and dark and smells like damp iron down there! No flowers. No sunlight. No warmth. She would never stay willingly."
Cyd raised a finger. "How about I just… ask her? That's all I can do. I'll go down there, check in, and come back. Deal?"
Demeter blinked. Her stormy expression faltered, giving way to confusion—followed quickly by embarrassment as she realized she was still hugging his leg.
"Oh. Right." She cleared her throat, though her arms remained locked in place. "Then… I won't force you."
She said that, but her death grip didn't budge. Cyd glanced down at her arms—slim, pale, goddess-tier limbs that could crush stone—and gave a half-hearted tug.
"Still kinda being forced," he muttered.
To cover her awkwardness, Demeter stood and dramatically pressed a finger to his wrist. A warm, earthen glow blossomed under her touch, and a sigil of golden wheat unfurled on his skin.
"I grant you the Blessing of Harvest," she declared, voice echoing with divine timbre. "May life grow where you walk."
Cyd raised an eyebrow. Her proud posture, her quick deflection—it was so obvious she wanted him to forget how undignified she'd just been. But hey, he wasn't about to push it. Another god might've turned him into fertilizer by now.
"Got a message for your daughter?" he asked, rubbing the glowing mark.
He figured it would be something simple. After all, Demeter and Persephone were together nine months of the year. What more was there to say?
"Of course I do!" Demeter beamed, then launched into a rapid-fire list: "Tell her to eat more. Don't touch Cerberus—he's filthy. And not to get lonely! And even if there aren't flowers, she should still smile! And if Hades is being mean—"
"Hold it!" Cyd waved a hand in front of her face. "I'm sure she hears this stuff all the time."
"I tell her every day!" Demeter said proudly, thumping her chest.
"Yeah. That's… kind of the issue." He winced. "Try something different. Something you don't say every day. Something from… here." He tapped his chest.
Demeter stared at him for a long moment, then looked down at her hands.
Something shifted in her expression.
She stepped forward, leaned in, and whispered something against his ear—soft, small, and trembling. Her voice cracked on the last word.
Cyd smiled.
"Don't worry. I'll pass it along," he said gently. "Even if I have to walk into death's own house to do it."
"Thank you."
As they left the field, Medusa—who had been suspiciously quiet since the whole emotional goddess meltdown—finally spoke up.
"So," she said, brushing dry grass off her cloak, "what's your plan for getting to the Underworld? Let me guess: wing it?"
"There's always a way," Cyd replied. "In this world, nothing's truly impossible."
She yawned. "You're not even dead. Getting in is the easy part. Getting back out…"
"I'll improvise," Cyd said with a wink.
"But first," he turned toward the village, "we fix what we broke."
Earlier, when Demeter had lost her cool, the surrounding farmland had turned to ash. Crops gone. Soil spoiled. Winter was coming fast, and the villagers had no backup plan—except him.
He took a deep breath and looked down at the mark on his arm.
The Harvest Blessing flickered gently across his wrist and shoulder, warm and grounding. It didn't feel like strength or speed. It felt like… sight. Like he could suddenly see the life hidden beneath the surface. Seeds, roots, buried hope.
He raised his left hand and snapped.
A golden pulse raced through the field.
And then—
BOOM.
The entire farm exploded upward.
Dirt flew sky-high. Dust blacked out the sun. Cyd froze in place as a shockwave rippled through the air.
Okay. That was not the peaceful bloom he was expecting.
"Um. What just happened?" Medusa's voice came muffled through the dust, tugging at his sleeve.
"I think I… might have overdone it."
As the dust settled, the truth revealed itself:
Cabbages the size of bathtubs.
Cornstalks taller than houses.
Carrots that looked like siege weapons.
"…Those are vegetables," Cyd whispered, eyes wide. "Giant. Exploding. Vegetables."
The villagers, to their credit, didn't scream. They celebrated. One man tackled a mutant cabbage and kissed it. Another wept into a basket of lettuce.
Cyd scratched the back of his head. "Guess they're edible."
Smiling, he turned toward the treeline and began his walk into the forest.
Back in the village, the chief stumbled out of his home, breathless. "What happened to the fields?! Where's the hero?"
A young girl, still clutching a glowing onion, smiled softly.
"He's already gone," she said. "Like a passing breeze. A hero as pure as snow."
The villagers bowed their heads.
"May his journey be blessed," the chief murmured.
A breeze rolled through the silver leaves of the orchard. Somewhere in the distance, Cyd sneezed violently.
Far ahead, walking along the coastline with Medusa riding a summoned wave beside him, Cyd stretched out his arms.
"Alright," he said, "Underworld time."
Medusa flicked seawater at him. "You're seriously going through with it?"
"Hey," Cyd grinned. "A goddess asked me for a favor. I'm not about to ghost her."
"You're gonna die."