Hythlodaeus didn’t like the cold.
One could argue that heat felt more uncomfortable than cold; at least with cold, one could bundle up beneath myriad layers, whereas there were only so many one could remove whilst sweltering beneath the blistering summer sun. But what if one was surrounded by a cold so clammy, so unbearably cloying that no amount of clothing would stave it away?
Not that one could dress warmly when he was reduced to a wandering soul within a primal.
He didn’t regret it, not one bit. He was quite sincere when he parted ways with Emet-Selch, wishing for him and Azem’s happiness at the cost of his life. He feared not death, having looked forward to his return to the star, preferably with both of them by his side.
With his sacrifice, however, that return was delayed infinitely… possibly forever.
This vast emptiness, the vague presence of innumerable souls just like his own, all existing within this void which made up the being he helped create… here, he could freely admit that he was scared. Not knowing how long he’d have to endure this, not knowing how the flow of time passed, not even knowing what was going on in the outside world… had they succeeded in saving the star? Had Azem finally returned from their quest to find a way to save the star without so much sacrifice?
… was Hades happy?
Wayward souls couldn’t cry, even though Hythlodaeus desperately wanted some kind of release for the overwhelming emotions within him. While his sacrifice clearly hadn’t been in vain – witness his presence within this primal – that lingering question remained at the forefront of his mind, even as he drifted into the lucid dream that the others around him shared.
No, it wasn’t a dream… without the two by his side, it felt more like a nightmare.
Sleep well, Hades, Azem… I pray for the day we shall return to the star together.