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Elidibus cannot rightly say what draws him to this apartment on this night. But what he does know is that he is salvation; duty; balance; he would not neglect the flock, he would not neglect the man behind this door.
And so he knocks.
No response.
He knocks again.
No response.
The third time it's finally answered - a man all wild eyes and wild hair yanks the door ajar with all the might left in his wiry frame.
“If you are looking for Emet-Selch,” he says nastily, “then you may look to the Capitol building–”
He abruptly stops. Does a double take at this smaller intruder.
“Themis,” he says, half in wonder half in delirium - as if he's not sure if he's real.
“Elidibus,” Elidibus corrects him, with the slightest of bows.
A sour look passes across the man's face. “But I thought we were– ah.” His face smoothes, a mask of indifference coming down cleanly between them. “Of course. Elidibus .”
He pauses. They stand there, together stoic, in the heavy silence - no sound but the slight puff of the man's breaths.
“Why,” he finally says, “are you here? Surely you have bigger, better things to do.”
This catches Elidibus off guard. Flashes of entwined hearts, entwined hands, the laughter of two old friends are enshrined in his memories. But those memories are behind frosted glass - he does not know if they truly belong to him still.
“I…was worried about you,” he admits. “It is…my duty to ensure the balance of all things, and that includes my fri–”
“Friends don't talk about each other like that.” The man sounds so unbearably sad . I never was just a subject to you, Themis–”
“--Elidibus”.
“Oh, fuck off !” The man throws his hands up in the air. “Call me the man formerly known as Azem, then, if you're going to insist on titles– ”
“No. You are Euclid and you are my–”
“NO!” Euclid's voice thunders down the empty corridor. He's unafraid to scare the neighbors now, and Elidibus with a start realizes it's because there aren't any neighbors anymore to scare . He feels a tug at his heart, a murmuring of others beyond the veil–
“Whatever we were, we aren't anymore.” Euclid says, despair tinging his words. He takes a step forward, invading his space and placing one trembling finger to Elidibus's lips.
“You aren't anymore.”
His hand drops. And in that moment, Elidibus realizes he has nothing for him. He is duty. He is balance. He is the Emissary.
But who can grant wishes to a god himself? What if the god doesn't even know what he wants?
When the door closes behind Euclid, Elidibus does not follow.