[BL]Hunted by the God of Destruction

"But theirs did," Elias murmured.

Matteo nodded, slow and deliberate, like he wasn't sure how much weight to place on that truth just yet.

"I didn't flag it," he said. "Didn't have to. Someone else did, higher up. I just caught a whisper of it because I was already looking for something else. Thought it might stay buried, honestly. Then last week, two sealed case files got accessed by someone with clearance I don't even want to guess at."

Elias didn't flinch. But his hand stilled on the rim of the glass.

"I didn't think they were still on record," he said, voice even.

"They're not," Matteo replied. "That's the point."

The coffee arrived, soft clinks of porcelain breaking the quiet between them for a moment. Elias didn't reach for his. Neither did Matteo.

Elias leaned back slightly, the weight of his coat shifting against the chair.

"So what are they looking for?" Elias asked, his voice low but steady.

Matteo leaned forward again, no longer playing casual.

"We don't really know. The country's in a weird place right now. The Numen God, he doesn't respond to prayers like before. There are temple circuits reporting silence, rituals going unanswered. It's subtle, but people are noticing. And when faith starts cracking..."

He trailed off for a moment, giving Elias a chance to catch up.

"There are foreign groups stirring things up," he continued. "Dissidents. Organized, well-funded. They're preaching that the gods don't exist. Or that they've left. That it was all just bloodlines and engineered power from the start."

Elias raised a brow, not mockingly, just tired.

"Huh," he said, after a beat. "Seems like I was away from this for quite a while."

Matteo gave a small nod, lips pressed together. "You were. And it got messier."

He didn't soften his voice for what came next.

"We believe your parents might be targets. The Dissidents have been focusing on high-ranking temple figures. And your parents..."

"They still hold seats in the Inner Ring," Elias finished for him, the words flat, automatic.

Matteo met his eyes. "Yeah."

Elias didn't blink. Didn't fidget. Just sat there, breathing through the slow weight that always came when someone else reminded him of things he'd already learned to live without.

"They won't call me," Elias said quietly. "Not unless they need something. And even then, they'll pretend they're checking in."

"I know," Matteo replied, and he did. His voice didn't falter; it didn't try to smooth the jagged edge of that truth. "But I wanted you to hear it from me."

He paused, fingers wrapped loosely around his untouched cup.

"And about Ruo's disappearance… it might be related."

Elias looked up.

Matteo's expression had shifted again, no longer teasing, no longer dancing around the edges of truth. He looked serious now, tiredly serious, like someone who'd already read three reports too many and still didn't know what he was looking at.

"If the Dissidents are targeting temple figures," Matteo said slowly, "and if they're going after those close to the old structures—faith, hierarchy, bloodlines—then you might be on someone's radar. If they find out who you are. Who your family is."

Elias didn't flinch. But he felt something cold settle along the back of his neck.

"I'm not my parents," he said after a moment.

"No. You're not," Matteo agreed. "But they won't care about that. Ruo's most likely safe at the main mansion. Maybe not happy, but safe, at least until things settle."

Elias nodded slightly, the motion more habit than agreement. Safe wasn't the same as free. Not when it came to the mansion.

He turned the cup slowly in his hands, the ceramic warm against his palms.

"I wonder why the God keeps silent," he said at last, voice low. "It's not like him."

Matteo didn't interrupt.

"He may be a god of destruction," Elias continued, the words measured, almost academic. "But he answers. He responds. He always has. Sometimes violently, sometimes too quickly, but… not like this."

He paused, eyes distant now.

"He used to bless before being asked. Shielded followers. Guided those who carried his mark. Even more than the ancient gods ever did."

The silence that followed wasn't religious. It was personal.

Elias wasn't a believer. Not anymore. But belief had shaped his bones. His childhood. His exile.

And the absence of that voice, the one that had once shattered cities and whispered back through the bloodlines, felt more dangerous than its wrath ever had.

Matteo leaned forward, elbows on the table again, voice softer now.

"What if he's not silent?" Matteo asked. "What if we're just not hearing him right anymore?"

Elias gave a soft exhale that might've been a laugh if it weren't so worn down at the edges.

"Well," he said, tilting his head just enough to meet Matteo's gaze, "that could be a thesis subject. If you're interested in earning an honorary doctorate in Theological Epistemology."

Matteo smirked. "I'll stick to the badge."

"Smart choice," Elias murmured. "At least your job only demands evidence."

Matteo didn't answer that.

Elias glanced toward the window, watching the city drift past through the blurred glass.

"You know," he added, more to himself than to Matteo, "I used to think the God of Destruction was the only one who cared enough to stay. That it wasn't just violence. That he chose us."

A pause.

"Maybe I was wrong."

Matteo's voice came back low. "Or maybe that's why they want him gone."

Elias blinked, the words hanging in the air like steam from untouched coffee. Then, almost too softly—

"Spooky for a first date," he murmured. "Especially ten years after a failure."

Matteo groaned, tipping his head back dramatically like the ceiling might offer him sympathy. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"

"I hold grudges professionally," Elias said, straight-faced. "It's the backbone of academic integrity."

Matteo looked at him then, that familiar grin tugging at the corner of his mouth, but something gentler behind it.

"Well," he said, "if this is a date, I'd like to officially request a do-over. With fewer divine conspiracies, ideally."

Elias tilted his head. "I don't know. You handle existential doom surprisingly well."

"I'm a cop," Matteo replied. "Flirting with disaster is part of the training."

This time, Elias smiled for real. 

He picked up his coffee at last, fingers wrapping around the cup like it had weight again.

"Let's see how the second hour goes," he said. "Then we'll talk do-overs."

And this time, Matteo didn't say anything.

He just smiled like maybe that was already enough.