Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“With all due respect, Lady Aglaea.” Phainon stands tall at Mydei’s side, defiant yet still respectful enough that the only sign of his discontent is the slight furrow of his brows. “I believe we ought to use this opportunity to strike. The two of us are the best suited for it and at the ready; why waste time and give them a chance to wreak more havoc?”

To her credit, Aglaea doesn’t even appear exasperated by his stubbornness. Even a Golden Boy such as Phainon is a double-edged sword on an occasion. He might be the best of them all, fate-bound to the prophecy same as theirs and yet meant to go beyond it. He is a natural hero, insistent on diving head-first into the battle, at the risk of his own demise.

Mydei has learned the hard way that while the battleground is where he excels, it never does well to rush into the fight when the stakes are too high. And if he deems them so, then it should be saying something.

“Your mission is to gather information on the unusual activity of memoria residues detected in Castrum Kremnos,” Aglaea repeats herself with what can only be a divine amount of patience. “You mustn’t provoke Nikador. We may have briefly located Kremnos, but we are not prepared to bear the consequences of escalating into the war with them.”

“She is right, Deliverer,” Mydei speaks for the first time since she has summoned them.

Phainon turns to face him, his jaw now slackened in shock. Mydei crosses his arms defensively. Yes, it’s not often he declines an invitation to a fight, but it’s simply foolish to go about this Phainon’s way. They are not ready. It is not important that said battle would be the one he has been waiting for since he deserted Kremnos.

Mydei may be immortal, but Phainon is decidedly not. He will not allow for his death, because there isn’t an outcome of this where Phainon doesn’t trail after Mydei right onto the tip of the Lance of Fury.

“Nikador may have grown corrupted over the years,” he continues, staring right into Phainon’s eyes. He has to understand or, otherwise, he will do something incredibly stupid when nobody is watching. “Their might, however, has not decayed. If we wish to defeat them, there is no other path to take than to proceed with a full-fledged army.”

Phainon frowns, considering the words carefully for a long moment before he visibly deflates. “It appears I’ve been outvoted. Perhaps I’m getting a little ahead of myself if both of you are against me.”

Aglaea sends them a thin smile. “I’m glad you understand why we’re reluctant to openly fight just yet. And thank you, Mydeimos.”

Mydei inclines his head, allowing a small smirk to appear on his face. “Someone has to keep him in check.”

They ignore an affronted huff from Phainon. Aglaea hums in agreement, amused.

“However, I must ask,” Mydei speaks up again. Usually, he is not one to question Algaea’s decisions but this time it might be a little strange even for her. “Why have you not chosen Cipher for the mission? She seems best suited for reconnaissance.”

Not to mention he and Phainon aren’t exactly the most subtle of warriors. They are powerful and loud, always making a commotion whenever or wherever they fight. Keeping their heads down is not something they excel at, too eager to break necks and spill the blood of their enemies.

“Castrum Kremnos was your home. You know its walls and secrets best. I believe you should be the one to handle anything you may uncover.” Her unfocused gaze slides over to the other man. “Cifera doesn’t meet the other requirements for the mission, not the way Phainon does.”

The words are cryptic, but not unusual for Aglaea. Phainon frowns, confused, and no doubt about to ask her what she might mean by that, but she beats him to it.

“I haven’t said you have to avoid any and all combat. Slay as many of the Titankin as you wish to,” she says, bringing her hands together. “Mydeimos, Phainon. Do you accept the mission?”

Phainon and Mydei don’t hesitate as they speak in unison, “Yes.”

☼

He is taken by surprise when they exit Trianne’s gate at the side of the citadel, gazing up at the imposing architecture rising high into the skies before him. Mydei was prepared to see the ruins, perhaps the bridge on the Path of Conquest. He didn’t think they would step out at the side entrance, where he used frequently to sneak out to after evading his handlers. The deterioration brought on by the hundreds of years the fortress had been left unattended does not take away from its impressive presence.

Nor does it help with the twinge of nostalgia spreading from within his chest. He tramples the feeling down and locks it away. He pointedly avoids glancing at the corner where he used to hide away. He doesn’t want to know whether the stone tablets and scrolls he gathered there survived the trial of time.

“This is where you grew up?” Phainon whistles, already moving past him and towards the gate that opens into the ruins. “And here I thought my image of you couldn’t get more… Regal.”

“You haven’t seen anything just yet,” Mydei says, easily catching up to him. The gate whirls open, centuries-old mechanism creaking as they are let through. “If you’re already feeling intimidated, you may wait for me outside. I won’t tell Aglaea of it.”

He would prefer it that way, actually.

“Not at all. Just thinking of how much I still don’t know about you.” Phainon says, bumping their shoulders as they enter into one of the corridors. Mydei searches his brain for the long-forgotten floor plans. Phainon smiles at him briefly, eyes crinkling. Teasing. “I will gladly take an opportunity to learn more.”

Mydei doesn’t grace him with a reaction to the nonsensical comment. With a sigh, he leads the way, deciding that the war room ought to be their first destination. Phainon trails after him like a lost puppy, looking at every mural and any traces of the people long since dead.

Blessedly, he doesn’t make any unnecessary remarks throughout their short walk.

If they are fortunate enough, there might be a Fragment of Recollection waiting to be discovered residing in there. He can’t think of a place that would have more secrets and confidential information buried inside of it, save for perhaps the throne room. Unfortunately, they will have to forego that location, it being too close to the Soul-Forging Zone and Nikador. They must do with what options they’ve got.

Mydei breathes out a sigh of relief when he sees the purple glow through the open doorway. They are on a good track. Not waiting for Phainon, he walks forward and brushes his hand against the shard to activate it, ready for the ordeal to be over with.

It appears that his relief was premature, as the shard transforms, particles spinning in a light circle, and they are shown a scene he wouldn’t need the memoria residue to recall. It’s nowhere near the important Kremnoan dealings he wouldn’t have been privy to after deserting that he expected to see.

A High Priest and King Eurypon manifest next to him. A much younger version of Mydei stares through him at the wall, sitting on the empty air with a healer hesitantly checking his wound by the large table.

Before Mydei can react and perhaps dismiss the apparitions—it’s nothing that could be of value to them, after all—Phainon sidesteps him, putting his palm onto the shard on the way and bringing life into the images. Without sparing a glance at Mydei, he hurries over to the child and crouches down to be at eye level.

“You were so adorable as a kid,” Phainon gushes, already reaching up as if he wants to squeeze young Mydei’s cheek. He doesn’t seem deterred when his hand goes right through, beaming at the boy.

Mydei knows that the healer is speaking to him in soft words and yet with stilted smiles, their eyes frantic. Not as a result of the royal blood trickling onto their hands, but because of the two figures arguing quietly a few paces back. He doesn’t remember whatever they were attempting to tell him. Back then, he was more preoccupied with trying to read the lips of the other two men in the room.

“He will bring doom onto us,” the High Priest hisses quietly at Mydei’s father, gesturing angrily behind him. “The golden blood flowing through his veins is a curse.”

“And what exactly do you expect of me?” His father glares at the Priest, angling his head in such a way that Mydei would have trouble understanding the words. It was successful, seeing as the kid is scowling fiercely at them. “Murder my own progeny? Don’t speak such heresy.”

The High Priest recoils, eyes wide and offended. Mydei grits his teeth at the sight of the deceptive expression, long-buried remnants of hatred for the Kremnoan Council of Elders and their Priests resurfacing. “My Lord, we must think of the—”

He tunes them out.

Phainon appears content to merely observe the kid, eyes trailing over the beginning of stitches weaved into Mydei’s thigh. He was only seven years old, having made a stupid mistake during the drills and meeting the blade’s edge by accident. His instructor wasn’t pleased. He recalls the moment the irritation bled away to shock at the realization he wasn’t bleeding with crimson red like the rest of them.

Mydei tears his eyes away, instead surveying the rest of the room.

The stool young Mydei is supposed to be sitting on is knocked over on the other side of the room. The table is cracked in places, chairs are broken and strewn about. Residues of ash litter the floor, and long since-dried-blood stains paint the walls.

A struggle near the end of Eurypon’s reign? Perhaps one of the Council Elders was simply asking too much even for the poisoned ear of their King.

Just as he had thought, it’s safe to say that all records are gone. Be it shredded, eroded, or even burned. He passively wonders whether it was one of the last acts of his father’s increasing paranoia over Mydei’s prophesized return. Perhaps he thought his son would have taken the city under a tyrannical rule, wanting to erase any and all things that could have helped him.

If only he could see Mydei now.

Crown Prince to the bygone nation, followed only by the Kremnos Detachment into the new era of Amphoreus. Dependent on the blonde usurper of Okhema.

He stares at Phainon, who is still admiring the small figure of young Mydei, looking like there’s nothing more he wants at this moment than to attempt hugging the boy.

Not to mention, the royal bloodline truly will end with him.

“Are you quite done?” He sighs when the afterimages finally freeze and looks up at the high ceiling. There is a large hole in it that looks like a result of a fight. “You’re welcome to stay behind if you so wish, but I am leaving.”

Phainon makes a noise of disagreement and heaves himself up to his feet, looking at the two ghosts standing beside Mydei with interest. Mydei disables the Titansforsaken Fragment of Recollection before he gets any ideas.

Oddly enough, instead of returning to its base form, the glow intensifies until it reaches a blinding level, making them both cover their eyes at the bright light until the shard’s particles disappear in a blink.

“Huh.” Phainon rubs at his right eye, glancing at the now empty spot. “That’s curious. Don’t they usually stick around for a long time?”

"Perhaps that’s a part of the anomaly relating to them,” Mydei muses aloud. “We must find more.” And with that, he turns to walk out of the room, his companion following close by.

Mydei doesn’t have any particular location to check in his mind. If they couldn't uncover anything worthwhile in the one place where the most essential of decisions had been made, there is little possibility they will stumble upon anything useful anywhere else.

Perhaps some gossip will give them an insight into how to defeat Nikador more easily. Why else would Aglaea send them here?

“The healer was very concerned,” Phainon chatters at him with curiosity. “Was this the first time you got hurt?”

Figures he wouldn’t have left it alone. He has never resisted an opportunity to dig into Mydei’s thoughts and his past. Mydei is feeling gracious enough to indulge him this one time.

“I got scratches and bruises before that, scraped my skin bare,” Mydei hums, trailing his fingers along the cracked wall of the corridor. He recalls jogging through this same hallway, having fun by closely avoiding the workers and Priests strolling by. “But it was always in the heat of the training, covered by dust and dirt long enough that no one noticed, and by the time I washed, the cuts were already gone. That was the first instance that I got hurt seriously.” It took exactly five days for it to disappear entirely, the healing factor taking longer to activate on a bigger scale than ever before.

Phainon nods in understanding, stopping briefly to peek into one of the rooms, turning back around when nothing catches his attention. “Who were the other two? Have they revealed anything important?”

“My father and one of his most trusted advisors,” Mydei replies as he pauses in front of a door. The mechanism doesn’t react, whirling briefly before halting entirely. “Nothing I didn’t know already.”

Without waiting for an answer, he kicks the door in. A very familiar interior greets him.

The library is faring only slightly better than the war room. Various books and stone slates are scattered across the ground. There is no sign of struggle, it appears as if someone was searching for something in a hurry, uncaring of keeping up the order. Mydei supposes the librarian must have been gone by then, or otherwise that person wouldn’t have walked out of the room alive.

But all that matters is another Fragment of Recollection spinning idly to their right.

“This is rather small,” Phainon comments, looking around the room as he walks towards the memoria. “I expected something more… grand out of Castrum Kremnos. You have a reputation for your poetry, for one.”

“Citadel’s library was primarily meant for archives and the Royal Family’s favorite tomes,” Mydei explains, crouching down to pick up a random scroll. Analysis of Nikador’s Romantic Histories. He stifles a snort. Must be one of his mother’s.

“Our historians would have given away their lives to have access to this,” Phainon says, humor evident in his voice. “Will you be taking anything home?”

It’s on the tip of Mydei’s tongue, that everything is at his home already, right in this rotten fortress. Except that would be a lie.

First, his home was his mom’s warmth and eyes crinkled with humor, in the very center of Castrum Kremnos. Then, it became the sweet release of death for the longest time, however brief it always is. Okhema never felt like his home until Phainon came along and forced his way into Mydei’s personal orbit. Now, it seems to follow in the footsteps of the foolish hero and his easy love.

Nowadays, Mydei thinks he might have little need for much else.

“You are more than welcome to come back and have a look through these,” he remarks and discards the scroll carelessly. “Go ahead,” he nods at the Fragment of Recollection, standing back up.

Phainon touches the purple shard, and two people appear near the bookshelves. One of them is leaning against the empty space, where some furniture may have been once upon a time. Phainon’s fingers brush against it again, and the images come to life.

“Have you heard of Prince Mydeimos?” The woman asks, concern ringing clear in her voice. She is dressed in gladiator’s gear, her helmet clutched in one hand and resting against her hip. “I fear the King might have gone too far. I respect him endlessly, but that’s his child.”

Mydei doesn’t look in Phainon’s direction, instead focusing on the pair in front of him. He has an inkling about what they’re talking about, but he doesn’t recognize either of them. Good. There shouldn’t be too many details revealed, then.

“King Eurypon did what he had to,” her companion says without a shred of care. He shrugs, propping his leg up in the air. “That child was a monster. King Eurypon ran a lance through his chest and yet he survived. Mydeimos might’ve already had the makings of a great warrior, but he also had too much compassion. He wouldn’t be a suitable leader to us.”

Phainon scoffs at his side, prompting Mydei to finally take a look at him. There is the horror of realization lurking in his eyes, but currently, he seems more offended on Mydei’s behalf than anything else, bless his soul. Mydei hopes this small tidbit will be shelved away in Phainon’s brain until too much time passes to bring it up again.

Phainon only heard about Mydei’s father’s first attempt on his life. Nothing more. There is a high chance it might stay that way. Mydei refuses to consider otherwise.

“How can you speak ill of him?” The woman says, evidently sharing Phainon’s sentiment. “Young Master was not only kind but also proficient in all of his studies and training courses; I personally witnessed him take on some of the best of our soldiers in combat. He would have led us to glory, had he been given time to grow up and prosper.”

“And yet he was prophesized to bring demise to us all. Does it matter now?” The man rolls his eyes with disregard. “There is no coming back from what’s been done to him, immortal or not.”

“May Phagousa have mercy on him,” she says quietly after a long moment.

It used to be rare for Kremnoans to call upon other Titans this many years ago. Mydei wonders where she could have gained such a favorable view of him. Many citizens adored him as a child on the simple principle of being the Crown Prince, but they were just as quick to turn on him with one word from Eurypon.

“Don’t you know they detest Nikador?” The man asks with a laugh like he finds the situation humorous. “They are certain to be harsh on the child bound to the Titan of Strife.”

As soon as both illusions are still, Phainon deactivates the Fragment. Now, they are more prepared for the blinding light, closing their eyes before there can be any damage done. The particles disappear in the same manner as previously.

“Did your father really attempt to kill you?” Phainon asks immediately because he wouldn’t be himself otherwise.

His father did much worse than that, but Mydei doesn’t point it out.

Instead, he merely shrugs. “Have you not heard, Deliverer? The news of my supposed demise spread far and wide, traversing even further when I returned from Thanatos’ grasp. Even with the time’s passage, I’m sure it’s common knowledge by now.”

Phainon smiles sheepishly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Sorrow is what Mydei finds when he stares straight into them. For what, he doesn’t know. There is nothing worth Phainon’s heartbreak when the events unfolding before them transpired so long ago. Every single person they might see here has already bathed in the River of Souls and presumably reached the afterlife.

“To be entirely honest, I didn’t care much during my travels,” Phainon explains, for once the first one to decide they should be moving on as he steps around Mydei and out into the hall. “My mind was otherwise preoccupied to entertain the gossip. I heard more about your admirable deeds when I was nearing Okhema, but I suppose the details of your youth in Kremnos weren’t spoken of as much.”

“And perhaps that’s for the best,” Mydei says, hoping it would be the end of the discussion.

Unfortunately, Phainon is a great many things, and persistent happens to be one of them.

“Regardless of what exactly happened,” Phainon continues, skirting around the subject that he correctly senses Mydei doesn’t wish to broach. Considerate even while incredibly nosy, exactly what should be expected of him. “I refuse to believe you did anything to deserve such fate. I cannot imagine the pain of your own father turning on you like that."

And it’s charming, in a way. The fact that Phainon has so much faith in Mydei, even in his younger self that he never met. For all Phainon knows, Mydei could have been a horrible child. An entitled prince who throws tantrums every other minute.

Except he thinks the exact opposite, it’s like the notion never even passed through his mind.

“Have you forgotten I committed patricide, Boy Savior?” Mydei says flatly. He isn’t an innocent victim in the story Phainon might be drawing up in his brain. The rulers of Castrum Kremnos have cruelty and death running through their veins, and Mydei is not an exception. “I would say the scale has been evened out, if not for the fact he is dead, and I am still living to fight another day.”

Day, month, year, century. He lost the track.

Phainon hums, and there’s an incredibly serious look to him when he turns his head to face Mydei. “Has it evened out, Mydei?”

It gives Mydei a pause, making him nearly miss a step when his brain is struck by the realization.

Because he knows Phainon. Mydei has seen the hidden depths of humanity’s savior. He is reminded of it on a daily basis when Phainon drops the façade and relaxes by his side at the end of the day. The crass remarks, pettiness, and childish competitiveness that resurface only around him. His insecurity and need for validation, the way he gets quiet and lost in thought so often.

He is more than the perfect image he shows to the world, and Mydei loves him all the more for it.

But it escaped his attention that Phainon also knows him. Quite possibly more than any other person. Mydei isn’t oblivious enough not to notice the love he harbors for the man is requited, but he hasn’t given much thought to how much Phainon understands about him already and is still in a constant search to find out more.

He has seen Mydei giving up on healing and instead choosing to kill himself on the battlefield. He was there when Mydei woke up, distraught despite the knowledge that Mydei’s death would never be permanent. He fought Mydei against suicidal missions and forced his way into coming with him. Inquired about his favorite poetry and stories, talked strategics, and accompanied him on simple errands. He always watches and listens carefully, more than anyone ever gives him credit for.

Mydei doesn’t retaliate. Phainon doesn’t push.

The subject is officially dropped, never to be brought up again.

It takes stumbling onto Titankin for them to lose the tension and move on to bickering about everything and nothing at all. It’s a familiar routine they step into. Mydei criticizes his dramatics and fighting. Phainon needles him endlessly, makes over-the-top attempts to goad him into fights, and pokes fun at him. Mydei makes snarky remarks at every corner, scowls and scoffs, and sparks pointless arguments that hold no weight until Phainon looks like he wants to strangle him.

It's entertaining, not that Mydei will ever admit that aloud.

Phainon possesses a talent to annoy him in the most unique of ways, and yet it’s his company Mydei treasures the most.

They don’t even notice when they circle back to their starting point, fifteen Fragments of Recollection dispelled in their wake. Eleven of which featured or mentioned Mydei, much to Phainon’s amusement. He seems to have taken delight in the idea that Mydei was so popular in his childhood, pointing out how that’s so precious at every opportunity.

Mydei opted to ignore the comments after the third one.

They have also located one sole residue that may have been of use, had it been more detailed. The people portrayed by it spoke of a secret mission to Okhema that Mydei doesn’t have any memory of. Which, by all means, he should have. Even from a young age, he attended all court meetings and after his disappearance, the blanks were filled in by his mentor and other members of the Kremnos Detachment following him loyally.

But it’s not like they have anything else to go off of. There isn’t any elaboration on what the mission might have entailed, nor would any evidence have survived. Mydei doubts there was any evidence to speak of in the first place.

One look at each other is enough to understand that they’re not done just yet. Mydei has no idea how many hours must have passed but it’s not enough. They haven’t glimpsed at anything significant, their weapons barely stained with traces of Titankin.

It seems natural to move to the temple, having moved through the expansive corridors, personal quarters, and training rooms. Phainon got a personal tour of the mighty heart of Castrum Kremnos that historians all over the world can only dream of.

“There is a route to the Hall of Strife from here,” Mydei offers up. One last part of the citadel they didn’t cover also just so happens to be on the way.

Phainon smiles, head tilted. “What are we waiting for, then?”

Mydei huffs as his lips quirk up without his permission. He brushes past Phainon and leads the way once more.

They find only two monsters on the way, killing them before a fight can even properly break out. It’s too easy. Mydei just might drag Phainon into a sparring session when they get back to get rid of the restless energy this place is filling him with.

There is also a Fragment of Recollection waiting for them innocently in the large hall, just at the crossroad of the gate leading to the Hall of Strife and the one hiding holding cells behind it. Among other things.

Already used to the process, Mydei walks up to it without a thought, activating it and expecting to see a scene consisting of guards neglecting their duty in favor of gossiping like they tended to do so often, maybe a prisoner or two, being lead into—

Mydei’s throat suddenly feels dry when he notices his own reflection.

He lived it, he knows what is happening. Centuries later, the memory of this day is still as sharp as if it happened recently.

And still, it’s a different experience to witness the terror so evident on his twelve-year-old face. His body is littered with injuries, gold smeared everywhere. Blond hair matted against his skull with sweat and blood, snot and tears streaked through his face. The frozen image of him tries to pull away from his captors, the chains of metal shackles pulled taut as he struggles against them.

Mydei feels the phantom tightness around his neck where one of the manacles had been fastened, barely allowing him to breathe.

The illusion of his father stands to the right. His mother, restrained by three more guards tries to tear through them to get closer to him, a few meters to the left.

Phainon and Mydei are currently directly between them, looming over the miserable image of Mydei in his youth. He forgot how small he used to be, not even reaching their shoulders in his past state.

“What the fuck,” Phainon mutters quietly behind him. He seems to shake out of it quickly, perhaps for Mydei’s sake, as his warm palm lands on Mydei’s bare shoulder. “This is too much, we can just—”

Mydei shrugs the hand off himself and activates the shard, stepping back to have a clear view of the illusion. Phainon trots after him, eyes jumping between the crying boy and Mydei himself.

“Dad,” the child begs hoarsely, pulling at the shackles with the desperation of a man sentenced to death. Hot tears of betrayal are streaming down his face. He doesn’t even flinch when he puts the weight on his left leg, but Mydei remembers how much it hurt, with the amount of damage that had been made to it. “Please, Dad, I won’t do anything; I swear to you. I— I will be perfect, the prophecy isn’t—”

“I don’t have any choice, son,” the King cuts through Mydei’s pleading ruthlessly with a stern voice. At least his expression twitches just slightly as if it pains him to see his son in such a state. Not that it changes anything.

“Mom,” younger Mydei calls shakily, trying to resist the pull of the gladiators. He stumbles when one of them forces him along. “Mom, help me. Don’t— don’t let them take me away again, Mom, please.”

His beautiful and strong mother sobs openly, clawing at the guards with her bare hands. If she had a weapon by her side, if she wasn’t outnumbered, perhaps things would have been different.

“It’s going to be alright, my heart,” she shouts through her own tears. “You are the child of Gorgo, and so you must be fine. I will do the best I can, don’t you worry.”

It takes just a few more seconds to end, consisting of Mydei bargaining for his life and being dragged forward, right in front of his powerless mother who he has no doubt would have killed herself to set him free in that very moment. Eurypon stands tall and unforgiving all throughout and continues to do so as everything falls silent.

It’s a blessedly short scene, all things considered. Not that it doesn’t do enough of the damage as it is. If only Phainon didn’t witness it along with him.

“What was that?” Phainon asks incredulously right on the cue. He puts himself right in front of Mydei’s face when he refuses to answer.

Mydei still doesn’t respond.

“Your leg was broken in two places,” he recounts, no doubt the eyes of an experienced warrior cataloging the injuries for him effortlessly. “Heavy damage to your ribs with the way you were breathing, on top of hyperventilating for— for obvious reasons. Thin enough to suggest starvation. Not to mention all the other marks of—”

Phainon cuts himself off, whirling back around to stare at Mydei’s battered body.

Lacerations, bruises, barely healed attempts at murder. His healing factor slowed down significantly when they were condoning quick research of how much he could take before they discarded him.

Emotionlessly, Mydei walks forward and deactivates the shard, letting the past disappear forever.

“What did they do to you?” Phainon’s eyes are blazing with righteous rage when he turns his gaze to finally acknowledge him. It makes Mydei feel ill. “Mydei.”

“What does one do to a thing which poses a significant risk to their nation?” Mydei asks quietly, evening his breath out. To think he found solace in the fact those shameful memories would die with him. Titans must truly hate him. “Learn as much as you can. Get rid of it.”

It’s true and they both know it. Aglaea herself isn’t beyond banishing anything that would threaten the precarious peace of Okhema.

Phainon visibly bites on his cheek. Mydei knows he is trying to restrain that hidden rage of his.

“Tell me you escaped,” Phainon says. Pleads, almost. There is a hint of blood on his teeth when he speaks.

Mydei smiles bitterly. He turns his back to Phainon and goes to the gate leading to the Hall of Strife. It’s time they move on. “Don’t be foolish, it doesn’t suit you.”

The silence stretches between the two of them as they walk, not speaking a word even when fighting their way through the decayed path littered with the Titankin. Phainon stopped sending Mydei conflicted looks, but he still keeps scowling at nothing in particular and his eyes aren’t focused on the present. Mydei knows he is beating himself up for feeling so useless despite the fact he is an innocent bystander in what is a bloodied battleground of Mydei’s past.

Mydei lets out a sigh of defeat. Fine. What’s one more piece of himself to give away?

He stops a few steps short of the entrance to the temple, and Phainon follows suit within a second, even as distracted as he is. He looks at Mydei with a question.

“No one ever taught me how to swim, Phainon,” Mydei says apropos nothing, almost through his teeth. “Seemed useless at the time, always delegated to ‘in the future’. Or perhaps I was meant to figure it out on my own.”

Castrum Kremnos barely ever fought on the water. The baths were hardly a place where one could drown, not to mention somebody as closely observed as the Crown Prince.

Phainon blinks at him with confusion, and yet eager to absorb any new piece of information.

“My father deemed it fitting to cast me off the cliff for my would-be transgressions, influenced by the Council of Elders and the High Priests,” Mydei continues and watches as Phainon’s eyes sharpen with every word. “I spent nine years drifting in the Sea of Souls. I know Phagousa’s wrath more intimately than the most seasoned of sailors.”

It’s been centuries since he last died from drowning. And yet there are still days when he abruptly wakes from slumber, attempting to cough up the nonexistent liquid filling up his lungs with fire. Mydei’s body doesn’t scar but he bears countless marks of his father’s influence, haunting him endlessly from beyond the River of Souls.

“I’m sorry,” Phainon utters eventually when Mydei’s confession makes itself at home in his mind properly, the grip on the handle of his greatsword so tight that his knuckles turn white. Anyone else would think he is apologizing for pushing. Mydei knows better.

“For what?” Mydei asks harshly, temper rising. He won’t have Phainon running himself ragged for something this inconsequential. He steps closer and grabs him by the jaw, fingers digging into Phainon’s cheeks in a certainly painful manner. “You can’t save everyone. You weren’t even born yet. Not everything revolves around you, Deliverer, and it’s not your duty to shoulder this burden for me. I won’t let you.”

Phainon reaches up and detaches Mydei’s fingers from his face, glaring at him weakly as he does it. He squeezes Mydei’s hand once before letting go.

“Is it so awful of me to detest seeing you suffer?” He asks mildly, still frustrated but appearing less self-destructive about it.

Mydei exhales, the fight draining out of him as quickly as it came.

Perhaps those are the consequences of love. Being unable to handle the agony of the person most important to you. It makes sense why it pains him to see Phainon beat himself up over something like this. How ironic that it stems from the same source.

“It goes both ways, idiot. Care for the present me, not the image of the past,” Mydei says in a much softer manner and impulsively leans forward to knock his forehead against Phainon’s. He moves back just as quickly, knowing the effect is as intended when Phainon makes a noise suggesting he would very much so prefer to have Mydei back in that position. He doesn’t turn back to face him. “Let’s go.”

And with that, they enter the Hall of Strife, searching for what they came for and steering clear from the Soul-Forging Zone.

Miraculously, the Fragments of Recollection hiding away in the temple bring back some levity.

Phainon watches with amusement as an apparition of Herklas practices his dashing opener in one of the corners. He chuckles when Erinys interrupts the man, much to the latter’s embarrassment. They share a silent sense of satisfaction when they see a moment where a member of the Kremnoan Council of Elders trips on the stairs, hastily helped up by one of the trainees but still cursing out everyone around him. Mydei smiles at Empousa, drunk off the honey drew and hiccupping by the wall. He remembers her sneaking him the pomegranate juice when she wasn’t supposed to, winking at him conspiratorially each time.

Eventually, they stand before the last memoria residue they can find.

It’s right at the very center of the Hall of Strife. It could be anything. This place has seen countless events. It could be the moment Mydei wins his first tournament at eleven. A trial for one of the prisoners sentenced to death. Eurypon’s rise to the crown of Castrum Kremnos. His parents’ first meeting and subsequent engagement. A feast of sorts. Ritual conducted by the High Priests.

“Let’s get it over with, shall we?” Phainon chatters when Mydei doesn’t move quickly enough. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to end this expedition. Some rest would be appreciated after so many sensational experiences.”

“So eager to escape my homeland?” Mydei asks drily. Not that he can blame Phainon. “I suppose I will come back to slay the Titan on my own, then.”

“That is not happening,” Phainon protests immediately, pushing on Mydei’s shoulder. “We will be going into that fight together or not at all, even if I am going to be the one landing the killing blow. But I’ve been thinking—”

“A novelty on its own,” Mydei snarks. It goes entirely unacknowledged by Phainon, who simply continues.

“—that perhaps we could come back here once it’s all over, and there isn’t a mission to be completed. Just, walk around, maybe bring some items back home.”

Mydei simply blinks at him, not fully aware of what he’s being asked right now. “Why would we do that?”

Phainon stares at him like he thinks he is an fool. Which would be rich coming from him. “Sightseeing,” Phainon replies tonelessly like one would tell a very obvious excuse.

Mydei raises an eyebrow. “Haven’t you seen enough sights by now?”

“You called me insatiable once,” Phainon says with a small grin. “I’m just living up to it. I will never have enough.”

So selfless and still selfish at the same time. Mydei shouldn’t find it as appealing as he does.

Shaking his head, Mydei activates the fragment.

The environment has obviously changed since the scene took place. Mydei can easily imagine the dais that used to figure in this very temple, two grand thrones on it and younger Mydei in between them.

Now, only the figure of King Eurypon sits on the empty air in front of Phainon and Mydei. He is tense, feigning nonchalance as he leans his chin on one of his hands.

Queen Gorgo stands proudly on the ground a few paces back, facing Mydei’s father. A spear is clutched in her right hand, her usual gown changed in favor of her battle attire. Golden eyes he inherited from her blazing with fury even through the bland replica of the afterimages.

A small crowd surrounds them, faces unsure but curious. Krateros stands amidst them, eyes locked onto Gorgo.

Mydei doesn’t have a good feeling about this. Before he can change his mind, he taps the spinning particles, and the scene comes to life.

“King Eurypon,” his mother addresses with barely restrained distaste, “my beloved husband and the father of my only child, Crown Prince Mydeimos. I have stayed true and loyal to you, devoted despite the growing unrest and the poison trickling into your ear.”

Whispers grow louder.

Mydei never heard of this happening.

Why hasn’t he heard of this happening?

His eyes snap to Krateros, standing in the crowd with an uncertain expression.

“You have betrayed your own flesh and blood,” the Queen continues, unflinching. “Broken your oath to me. Allowed your decision to be swayed by the fools in what you call your Council. You, Eurypon, will be the doom of Castrum Kremnos and no one else.”

Mydei must have been still locked away in the cell with chains around his limbs and neck during this, right before his father took him to that damned cliffside.

She raises her spear and levels its tip in Eurypon’s direction. Someone lets out the grasp in the midst of excited muttering. This nation has always reveled in spectacles of violence without much regard for the meaning behind it.

“I, Queen Gorgo, challenge you to the gladiator combat for my son’s life and the seat on the throne, both of which you are undeserving of.”

Silence falls over the room, the audience waiting for their King’s reaction with bated breath. There is only one answer he can give, but it doesn’t make it any less thrilling for them. Mydei feels sick to his stomach.

“Mydei,” Phainon takes advantage of the brief pause. He sounds strangled when he calls for him, no doubt realizing what they’re witnessing. “We don’t have to watch this. Let’s just—"

“Keep your mouth shut, Deliverer,” Mydei manages to grit out.

If these are his mom’s final moments, he has to see it, no matter the consequences. No one ever told him what exactly happened to her and he never asked, fearing what he might hear. He never imagined it would be this—her fighting for his freedom as her final act.

Phainon makes a half-aborted attempt at reaching up to touch him before he thinks better of it.

“Very well, if that’s where your heart lies,” Eurypon says after a long moment. He stands from his invisible throne and gestures to the side. A guard places their lance in his hands as he walks down to stand in front of his wife. “I’m aware you must be distraught with the loss of your child. If you withdraw right now, all will be forgiven.”

“Spare me your insincere sympathy,” she spits onto the ground right before his feet, readying her spear.

Eurypon scowls and makes the first move, Mydei’s mother parring effortlessly. People cheer for the soon-to-be bloodshed as it is clear this battle won’t stop until one of them drops dead. He doubts they even care who comes out victorious.

Logically, Mydei knows the fight should not be interrupted. It’s a matter of honor and fairness. And yet, selfishly, he wishes someone was brave enough to support the Queen. The part of him that has missed his mother fiercely for years until he learned to lock it away yearns for it. But just as well, the royal duties and his role as the Crown Prince detests that no one saw it fit to consider Castrum Kremnos’ future more thoroughly. Mydei has no doubt that under his mother’s rule, the city would have prospered. She would have put an end to the madness his father festered.

Mydei walks to Krateros, the one man who should have by all means understood both of those sentiments.

“Do something,” he hisses at his old mentor, pointing angrily at his parents battling each other, as evenly matched as ever. “Help her.”

He wishes he could throw a punch of his own at this apparition. He wishes Krateros wasn’t long since dead. It’s no wonder he never uttered a single word about what exactly transpired after Mydei got locked away.

The bravest of warriors, turned coward when it mattered most.

A few minutes in, Mydei’s mother manages to outpace Eurypon and swipes the end of her spear across his face. The King jumps back with a grimace and wipes the blood threatening to trickle into one of his eyes. Mydei vaguely remembers realizing his father has a fresh injury, vision blurred with tears as he kneeled on the ground and dreaded the sound of waves below them.

He feels a fleeting pang of hope at the sight. It’s foolish. He knows best that the smallest of things can change the fight’s outcome. But could his mother have won? Was it something else that took her away too soon, and prevented her from coming to his rescue?

More time passes without any development. She doesn’t get past his father’s defense anymore, sweat running down her clothes while Eurypon is barely out of breath.

And then, his mother lags, just briefly. Mydei’s eyes narrow as he watches more intently, cataloging the signs of fatigue and slowing down, despite it being barely five minutes. She used to match his father’s pace to the dot, even managing to overpower him on occasion. It’s impossible she is already losing. Has something been done to her? Has she been poisoned?

Mydei whirls back around to Krateros, watching as the man’s face falls when he also realizes it.

“You loved her. Why are you just standing there?” His voice cracks at the end of it. His fists tremble with a barely restrained rage and anguish.

His mother gasps behind him, and then there’s a sound of weapons clashing again. It prompts him to turn back and watch them, which is just as well because he cannot bear to look at Krateros anymore.

It doesn’t stop his thoughts from racing.

Mydei would fight tooth and nail for his friends and would give his immortal life away for most of the Chrysos Heirs who are some of the closest people to him. He would raze the earth if someone dared to deceive Phainon into an unfair fight, risking his life, leading to his—

Mydei’s mother lets out an aborted yell when Eurypon’s lance pierces through her chest.

Gorgo pants heavily with unfocused eyes and grips the handle of the weapon that’s sticking out of her. She grins with blood in her teeth, angling her head at Eurypon. “I relish in the knowledge my son will bathe in your treacherous blood one day, you coward,” she snarls at Eurypon with fury. Even in a losing position, she is still a vision to behold, gaze almost a liquid fire as she stares death down. “My one regret is that I won’t get to witness it.”

Eurypon looks nauseous at her words, perhaps faced with the truth he refused to acknowledge ever since the roots of the decision to outcast Mydei took place. He shakes himself out of it, and quickly unclasps the dagger attached to his belt.

Swiftly, he cuts her throat in a straight line, like he is afraid of what her next words might have been.

Mydei’s mother clutches weakly at the wound sputtering with crimson liquid as she gags. She slips onto the ground, body convulsing as her lungs fill with her own blood.

Eurypon takes one step back, and everything freezes.

Mydei drops to his knees at her side before he can form a single thought. He knows he won’t achieve anything, but still reaches out with his hand for her body. He chokes on air when his hand passes through, his mother’s vacant eyes staring straight ahead.

He barely registers it when Phainon crouches next to him, not unlike the way he regarded Mydei’s younger self not so long ago. Except that this time, his fingers make contact with Mydei’s cheeks as he swipes his thumbs under Mydei’s eyes, smearing wetness along his cheeks. He doesn’t remember the last time he cried. Perhaps on the fucking cliff.

“Mydei.”

“No,” he says out of reflex, as Phainon’s fingers slip down to his jaw, and he attempts to angle Mydei’s face in his direction.

His eyes are glued to his mother’s face, cataloging every detail. He hasn’t seen her in so many years, that he nearly forgot what exactly she looked like. He sees the shape of her eyes and the color of them every day in the mirror. However, the uneven lines of the three scars on her jaw, the outline of her eyebrows or even her lips, long since escaped his memory. He silently vows to never forget again if it’s the last thing he does.

“Come on. Please.” Phainon sniffles softly, and Mydei finally manages to tear his gaze away, allowing Phainon to drag him closer.

He looks up, just to see tears welling up in Phainon’s eyes which bear the most shattered expression Mydei has ever seen. Deliriously, Mydei thinks he wouldn’t have been able to shed any tears were their situations reversed. And yet, Phainon seems to be just as heartbroken as Mydei himself is.

Mydei inhales sharply and brushes one of his hands angrily over Phainon’s face, not wanting to see that.

“Who told you that you are allowed to cry?”

Phainon lets out a startled chuckle, not expecting the sarcastic question. “Haven’t you heard it’s good for your health or something?” He asks back, and without a warning pulls Mydei towards himself until he sits on the ground himself with Mydei leaning against his front, face pushed into Phainon’s neck. “So, let it out, yeah? I won’t look.”

Mydei scoffs because that’s the most ridiculous notion he has heard in a while. But he does wrap his hands around Phainon’s body, clutching onto the white coat. They stay like that for a while, a few more tears eventually slipping out and into the fabric silently.

“Phainon,” he says quietly into the man’s chest after what could be an eternity. “Thank you.”

For being there with Mydei. For caring so much that it’s painful. For worrying and being angry on his behalf. For loving him.

“Always,” Phainon replies, lips brushing against Mydei’s hair.

When they finally get up, Phainon does everything in his power to distract Mydei from looking over before he can disable the Fragment of Recollection, no doubt thinking he is being extremely subtle in his attempts. Mydei indulges him, even when the urge to take one last glance suffocates him from the inside.

☼

Mydei doesn’t bother opening his eyes when the door to his living quarters opens without so much as a knock. There is only one person in all of Okhema that would dare to bear the consequences of intruding on him or that couldn’t care less about his privacy.

However, the usual incessant chatter doesn’t follow.

The walk back was a quiet affair. Trianne must have sensed something being off with them as well, taking one look to check whether they were fine physically before taking them back home. Phainon insisted that Mydei should go rest, and he will take care of reporting to Aglaea.

Normally, Mydei would have fought him on it. Normally, Mydei doesn’t revisit his childhood trauma with its gory details on full display.

A hand clutches onto his wrist and unceremoniously drags him up to his feet from the bed. Mydei allows for it, leveling Phainon with a flat look once the action is completed. Phainon grins at him, looking him up and down. He is dressed in his bathing robes already, and Mydei’s brain finally catches up to Phainon’s plan. He is too exhausted to give a shit, though.

“You took off the armor and accessories. Good.” Phainon nods once and proceeds to pull him out of the room with the hold he still has on him. “I ensured we will be left alone for the remainder of the day,” he continues, tugging him along in the Hero’s Bath direction. "No one else will come over to the baths today."

“What if I just want to sleep it off?” Mydei mutters under his breath, not even attempting to break free.

“Sure.” Phainon snorts, his fingers squeezing once. “Perhaps after you relax some so that your mind won’t torture you while you’re at it.”

He’s got a point. Not that Mydei isn’t used to restless nights, enough to get by on the scant hour of sleep. He has no doubt the image of his mother choking on her own blood will haunt him for many days if not years.

They arrive at their destination rather quickly, the path being a pretty short distance from all of the Chrysos Heirs’ quarters. Phainon leaves him at the edge where water laps at the stairs leading into it, as he heads over to the sitting area.

Mydei takes off his pants with a sigh, adjusting the red robe to cover himself properly. He could go in with them on, but from personal experience he knows the material will stick to his skin uncomfortably. He also could go in naked since Phainon so graciously told everyone to stay out of their business. But that might be a touch too much vulnerability for one day.

He trails in Phainon’s footsteps, sliding into the place next to him. He raises an eyebrow at him, unimpressed. Now what?

Mydei smiles at him again, this time a little uncertain. Then, he places one hand on Mydei’s shoulder and tries to maneuver him around, touch so soft that he knows Phainon will back off at the slightest of resistance.

He lets himself be manhandled.

Phainon makes him lie down on the couch, Mydei’s head resting on his lap, the waves just barely touching his body. One of Phainon’s hands settles next to Mydei’s head, the other on his chest, fiddling with the edge of Mydei’s sleeve.

Mydei raises one of his knees to get more comfortable, resisting the urge to turn onto his side and press his face into Phainon’s stomach, and let himself drift until sleep claims him.

Instead, he blinks up at those bright blue eyes that gaze down at him with visible concern. “I’m fine.”

Phainon makes a sound that does a good job of communicating his doubt. “Are you?”

“Mn.” He will be. There is no other option. It will take a while to lock away that doomed child he used to be, never to be released and looked upon again. “Will you stop worrying?”

“I’m afraid that’s an impossible feat,” Phainon says with a small smile. He takes hold of a strand of Mydei’s hair, twirling it around his finger.

“I was under the impression that nothing is impossible for you, Phainon,” Mydei says dryly.

“Well, maybe I do want to worry about you,” he replies quietly, fingers digging into Mydei’s scalp.

Mydei hums noncommittally. He doesn’t think it’s necessary, more of a waste of energy if anybody asks him since he cannot be seriously harmed by anything. But he can appreciate the sentiment, knowing it’s not something Phainon can control. He is more than aware when the main source of his stress sits right there.

“There must be a portrait of my mom somewhere in the citadel,” Mydei says, partially to change the subject. He has to say it aloud or he won’t ever go through with it on his own. “Can we go back and get it, after everything is over?” Like Phainon said he wanted to.

Phainon’s face lights up just a little bit, perhaps excited by the idea of stumbling around the ruins of Castrum Kremnos once more. “Of course. Truth be told, I would have gone back for it right this moment if you wanted to.”

“I know you would,” Mydei responds fondly, grasping Phainon’s hand that’s resting on his chest in his own.

They lapse into meaningless chatter after that, Phainon endlessly inquiring about little details he caught sight of during their expedition. When he runs out of things to ask—or perhaps notices Mydei’s responses grow shorter by the minute—he retells him the meeting with Aglaea. Then, he goes off on a tangent about other Chrysos Heirs, ranting about this or that.

Just as Mydei thinks he might doze off to the sound of Phainon’s voice, he slips his hand out of Mydei’s and traces his fingertips along his jaw. Mydei’s sleepiness vanishes just like that, as he snaps back into attention and tracks the movement.

Phainon looks a bit off to the side, growing serious. “You are the strongest man I know. I’m even more sure of it after getting a glimpse into your past today.”

He leans down, excruciatingly slowly, and presses a kiss into Mydei’s forehead. The slightest color marks his cheeks when he straightens out. Mydei would have laughed about something so innocent evoking a blush, if it wasn’t for the way he is utterly enthralled by it.

“I want to make sure you’re aware there are people willing to kill for you, die for you.” He bends down again, this time more confident in himself, and places two kisses right beneath both of Mydei’s eyes. “That you are more than your curse or your prophecy.” One more on his nose. “That you are loved.”

His lips just barely brush against Mydei’s like he is still afraid he is crossing a boundary. As if Mydei’s whole being wasn’t so entirely intertwined with Phainon’s for years now, heart bound in a tight string of fate and handed over into his care without even realizing it.

“Don’t ever forget you will never again be alone or left behind, Mydei.”

“How could I,” Mydei somehow finds his voice, though it comes out rough, “when you stick to my side like embers to a dying flame.”

Phainon grins like that’s his life’s greatest achievement and Mydei cannot take it anymore.

He snakes his hand up and rests it on Phainon’s nape, then pulls him down harshly into a much firmer kiss. Phainon’s nose digs into his cheek, it’s off-center, and their teeth clang together. It’s perfect.

Chapter Text

Phainon once told him that even in his sleep, Mydei rarely ever looks at peace.

It’s not an unexpected revelation, with the number of terrors plaguing his mind, waiting until his guard slips down the tiniest bit to leap at him. It is to the point where he can barely ever recall his dreams anymore, good or bad as they might be. He finds it difficult to imagine that many of them would belong to the former category.

Apparently, he tends to scowl when asleep, remaining completely still unless he experiences one of the more dreadful nightmares. Whenever that happens, he either thrashes in the bed or, embarrassingly enough, curls around himself as tightly as he can. Always coaxed awake by Phainon, blinking down at him with his worried eyes and fingers brushing through Mydei’s hair soothingly.

Phainon is the opposite.

While deep in slumber, his face is relaxed entirely, devoid of any emotions he displays to the whole world so easily at any waking moment. Be it the cheerful persona he puts on, or the weariness he shoulders at every step. He dreams a lot, as Mydei is intimately aware of due to his incessant babbling about it every morning. During the nights, he witnesses both the demise and joyful past of Aedes Elysiae all over again, relives his travels or life in Okhema, and sometimes takes part in ridiculous scenarios his brain makes up.

And, most of all, Mydei himself seems to appear in them the most frequently.

Domestic dreams about what the future might hold for them, heroic battles fought side by side against Titans and fictional creatures alike, and sexual desires that Phainon insists on acting out once awake.

Phainon is clingy when he sleeps, always ending up sprawled around or on top of Mydei regardless of the position they started out in. Even this time, Mydei had to slowly and carefully shift to free his cramping limbs from Phainon’s hold. The signs of his restlessness are still evident, the covers they sleep under almost entirely slipping off Phainon’s body, bundled up between his legs where Mydei’s thigh was beforehand. Mydei can’t complain about that, though, not with the excellent view of the pale skin and well-defined muscles it’s revealing to him.

He tears his eyes away before he rouses Phainon by doing something overly impulsive. Not that the man would have minded in the slightest.

Mydei’s eyes land back on Phainon’s face, lips parted as its side is pressed against the pillow. It isn’t even in the right place, Phainon’s head resting on the very corner of it. And, of course, a thin line of drool slips from the side of his mouth onto the fabric. Mydei would have found it disgusting if the image wasn’t so endearing and he wasn’t so well acquainted with Phainon’s spit already.

“I will start blushing if you stare at me any harder,” Phainon says quietly, voice hoarse with sleep.

Mydei’s eyes snap up to his, finding the bright blues half-lidded and flashing with humor, still somewhat drowsy with the sleepiness. He hums and reaches forward to trace a finger under Phainon’s eyelid. “You do flush incredibly quick.”

“Do I, now?” Phainon huffs, taking hold of Mydei’s hand and pulling it down to kiss his knuckles.

He is about to retort that yes, it never takes long to put that lovely redness on his cheeks, but Phainon takes advantage of the distraction and surges forward, pushing on Mydei’s shoulder to turn him onto his back and settling himself on top of him.

Mydei blinks at him for a second, then raises his eyebrows. Really, now?

“Come on,” Phainon needles him, fingers slipping into Mydei’s hair and brushing some strands away from his face. “We’ve got a long day ahead. How else am I supposed to behave in front of our guests?”

Mydei clicks his tongue, flicking Phainon on the forehead. “And whose fault is that?” He asks drily. “Do you have to be so trustful of them?”

“Do you have to be so harsh on them?” Phainon snipes back. It’s a futile question, Mydei’s stance on the matter is more than obvious. 

“I don’t place my trust in people as easily as you do, Boy Savior,” he responds nonetheless, smirking as Phainon rolls his eyes. “They are outsiders, posing a risk to our world. Our problems are of no consequence to them.”

“They seem awfully sincere,” Phainon points out, possibly just to be contrary. Perhaps he really warmed up to them and is attempting to drag Mydei over to his side. Which is not going to happen. “And they need our help—it’s quid pro quo, so to say. Good fighters. Might be worthy assets in the battle.”

Mydei resists the urge to groan. They do need all the help they can get in this mission.

It doesn’t mean he has to like it.

“I’m getting out of bed at this very moment if you continue to talk about them,” he states, already looking off to the side at where his clothes are neatly folded on the dresser. He could still run some errands before their appointment with Aglaea if he leaves now.

It’s not like it’s truly an option as the reaction is instantaneous. Phainon’s eyes widen dramatically at the possibility of Mydei leaving him alone in bed, needy as he is. He shakes his head vigorously. “Outsiders? What outsiders?”

Mydei lets out a chuckle. Deciding it’s time to give Phainon what he oh-so-desperately requires to get through the day, evidently, he snakes his hand around and places it on his nape, pulling him down into a kiss.

Phainon lets out a delighted noise as he licks over Mydei’s lips, swallowing the gasp he lets out. He doesn’t waste any time as Mydei parts them, his tongue sliding tentatively against his own. Mydei hums in approval.

It’s not like he hasn’t had any experience when he and Phainon finally broke the tension and spent the whole day testing each other’s limits. But in his previous meaningless trysts, he never allowed for anything more tender. He had easy arrangements consisting of chasing a quick high of release, right to the point and never bothering with intimacy of any sort.

With Phainon, he found that he actually enjoys making out. The closeness to his partner, the wet glide of tongues, the warmth of Phainon’s mouth. He could willingly drown in it.

Too soon, Phainon tears away from Mydei’s lips. He places open-mouthed kisses at his jaw, then slowly down the column of his neck. He stares up at him teasingly as he traces some of the red markings with his tongue. He makes a brief stop when he makes his way to Mydei’s pecs, biting around his nipple and quickly moving further down before Mydei can react beyond a sharp inhale. The sheets covering Mydei’s lower half are brushed away by Phainon as he goes even lower. Conveniently, they never bother putting the underwear back on after falling to bed together.

“Tastes as good as ever,” Phainon mumbles into Mydei’s skin. Mydei bites his own lip as Phainon’s eyes lock onto his face, nails digging lightly into his hip. He finally wraps his fingers around the base of Mydei’s rapidly hardening cock with his other hand, squeezing teasingly. “Pretty as ever.”

“Get on with it,” Mydei grumbles, as always not the most pleased at hearing praise of this kind.

Phainon laughs with affection, leaning down slightly to lick teasingly at the head of Mydei’s cock. “Your wish is my command,” he teases, his breath warm against the flushed skin.

Without another word, he abruptly swallows Mydei’s length down, making him gasp as he swirls his tongue along it, releasing his cock just to lick it all the way up. He then takes him back in just a little deeper, going at an excruciatingly slow pace as he covers the rest of Mydei’s cock with his hand and pumps it up and down in time with the movements of his head.

The grip disappears from his cock and both of his hands instead clutch onto Mydei’s hips, pressing him firmly against the mattress when he makes a half-aborted move to raise them just slightly, a subconscious effort to fuck deeper into Phainon’s throat.

Right after, Phainon pulls off with an obscene sound, snorting at the noise of discontent Mydei lets out. “Who is so quick to blush now?” He asks. Mydei should have figured he would be insufferable about that one comment.

He glares down at him weakly. Phainon raises an eyebrow, smirking with cheekiness as he lazily pumps Mydei’s cock up and down. His usually pale cheeks are colored with Mydei’s favorite shade of red, the flush traveling down and spreading across his shoulders and chest. Lips wet and puffy.

“Still you,” Mydei breathes out. 

Phainon presses a kiss against the cockhead. “Only because you cannot see yourself. I should fuck you against the mirror one of these days.”

And before Mydei can scoff at the absurd idea, he swallows him down to the base in one move, his pace increasing from the previously infuriating slowness. He runs his tongue across the underside of Mydei’s cock expertly, gazing up at Mydei with half-lidded eyes.

Mydei doesn’t even attempt to stifle the moan that tears out of his throat. He does, however, fist his hand in Phainon’s hair, tugging the way he knows Phainon enjoys. His partner’s eyes slip shut as he makes a noise that could have been a moan if he didn't have his mouth full, the vibration of it making Mydei shudder.

They don’t have that much time to indulge themselves fully. Phainon also seems to realize it, gaining a determined look in his eyes as he hollows his cheeks, bobbing his head faster. Mydei is getting close, and Phainon—by now able to read Mydei like a book—notices, deciding to double his efforts. The pace is now unrelenting, as one of his hands makes its way lower, spreading Mydei’s ass and pressing against his hole.

Mydei moans loudly, pulling on Phainon’s hair in a warning. He better pull off he doesn’t feel like ingesting cum first thing in the morning.

Predictably, it only encourages Phainon further. He hums around Mydei’s cock, putting pressure on his entrance with a finger until it pushes past the rim and to the second knuckle, still loose enough from last night to do it easily without any lubricant.

Mydei turns his head to the side in a futile attempt to muffle the noises he lets out against the pillow as he comes in Phainon’s throat, feeling him swallow.

Phainon keeps at it until Mydei is on the verge of overstimulation, having to yank Phainon’s hair to pull him off. His lover smiles at him with laughter in his eyes, brushing one hand against his thigh in apology as he slips his finger out of Mydei.

“Come here,” Mydei orders, already hauling him up by the shoulder.

Phainon goes willingly, finding Mydei’s lips and kissing him deeply, and letting him taste his own cum as he slides their tongues together. It shouldn’t be turning Mydei on as much as it does, but he tries to reign the arousal in. They truly don’t have time for anything more than this. Mydei gasps as Phainon’s hard length brushes against his softening cock. He squirms, snaking his hand between them to grab a hold of Phainon. 

He fucks up into Mydei’s palm immediately, smearing precum onto his fingers. Mydei moves his hand up and down, grip adjusted to the way Phainon prefers it, twisting as he reaches the head and swiping his thumb across the slit.

Phainon pants against his mouth, and Mydei leans down, gaze locked onto the mark of the sun on his neck. Without thinking, he clamps his teeth onto it, hard enough to hurt but not quite enough to draw blood. “Let go for me, Phainon,” he says, licking over the bitemark that’s already forming. It’s a pity it will be mostly covered by the choker.

Phainon’s thrusts stutter, moving three more times, and, as Mydei tugs harder on his hair, he finally lets go, coming all over Mydei’s fingers, some of it landing on his stomach.

As if a switch is flipped, Phainon stops supporting his own weight and drops onto Mydei entirely. Mydei grunts and adjusts them just a bit so that his lungs aren’t suffocating anymore as Phainon attempts to catch his breath. 

It takes him a few minutes of calmness to manage that tremendous task, during which Mydei thoroughly wipes his hand off on the sheets, deeming them a lost cause.

Mydei huffs when he feels Phainon gather the few drops of cum from Mydei’s bare skin, bringing it up to lick off before pressing soft kisses to Mydei’s neck again. He reaches up and tangles his fingers in the light hair. “You said you would behave.”

“I said I will behave in front of our guests,” Phainon points out. Mydei feels the smug grin growing against his skin.

“Still just as insatiable,” he simply sighs, shaking his head.

“Only for you.” Phainon kisses him on the cheek beneath his eye, right on the red mark. For some reason, he loves paying attention to them whenever he can.

Mydei gives him ten more minutes of leisure before he kicks him off the bed and onto the ground, getting up himself to dress up while he ignores Phainon’s whining. He is clingier than usual, perhaps worried about Mydei having to go back to Castrum Kremnos without much of a warning. That is a ridiculous notion by itself—it was only a matter of time before duty forced them into making a trip back and they both knew it.

Personally, Mydei isn’t too concerned. Killing a Titan cannot be that difficult when it’s the two of them fighting together.

They will be fine.

ఌ︎

Mydei is used to the nausea that comes with the accelerated healing factor. The head-splitting migraines of coming back to life one too many times. The chronic pain of wounds that left no mark on his body. He can grit his teeth and push through any of the side effects that come together with the curse.

There is only one that tends to get the better of him no matter how hard he tries to resist, cutting him off from the land of living without his permission once the exhaustion reaches the breaking point.

“Stop fighting it,” Phainon scolds him quietly, attempting to fix the bandage on Mydei’s right arm.

Mydei resists the urge to dig his elbow into Phainon’s stomach from where he is lying against the man’s chest. He never died so many times in a row, but it doesn’t mean he won’t do his best to push through the consequences. He has to.

“You’ve got a ritual to attend to,” he points out, voice coming out drowsier than he would have liked. He shouldn’t have allowed Phainon to close the curtains, blocking the sunlight shining eternally in Okhema, and lulling him further into sleep. “I’m not missing that.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Phainon says. He sounds small and uncertain, and Mydei is positive his head is swimming in self-doubt even more so than it does regularly.

And his words couldn’t be more incorrect. It’s one of the most important events in his life, and Mydei refuses to sleep through it.

“Phainon.” He grabs the hand fidgeting with the bandage and intertwines their fingers. “Stop questioning yourself.”

Phainon doesn’t reply for a long moment, staying silent as he traces his thumb along one of Mydei’s knuckles. While normally he is more than happy to let Phainon stew in his thoughts until he is ready to voice them out, today he is fighting a losing battle against the draw of his exhaustion. He struggles against it internally, clenching his jaw as a yawn attempts to break through.

“Aren’t you more worthy of this?” Phainon asks eventually, his other arm snaking around Mydei’s middle and pulling him impossibly closer. “You should be the one next in line, by the two demigods’ side. You understand Nikador much better than me, you fought alongside them for so long. What right do I have to take this from you?”

Mydei would never think he is worthier than Phainon. That man is the noblest of them all, a perfect Chrysos Heir without a flaw of his own.

But there is a sick feeling in the pit of Mydei’s stomach. That, regardless of everything, the Coreflame of Strife will find a way to tatter him to its fate. He has suffered so much already thanks to his blood and ancestry, why not bind him with Nikador permanently? What’s one more on the long list?

He wants nothing more than for Phainon to be the bearer of ‘Strife’. He will stand by him until the end. But if push comes to shove, Mydei will deal with the aftermath in the best way he can and shoulder the burden of it for him. 

Phainon is destined for great things, deserving of the whole world he is so desperate to save.

“You are not taking anything from me. I’m giving it to you willingly.” Mydei would gladly give him everything he owns, but he can’t say that. “In fact, you’re doing me a favor. I don’t want that damned thing. Take it, make Strife something worth following again.”

Mydei shifts in Phainon’s hold so that he can lean against his chest with his side, facing him fully. His heart aches when he sees the vulnerable expression on Phainon’s face, his lips bitten raw and eyes downcasted. This is one man who doesn’t deserve to ever be in such a state. He detangles their hands and reaches up to cradle Phainon’s cheek.

Phainon doesn’t say a word, instead inhaling shakily and closing his eyes, nuzzling into Mydei’s palm. 

“If anyone can make that Coreflame worth something again, it is you,” Mydei says with utter conviction. He will gladly worship him like the most devoted of priests if he succeeds.

Phainon manages to give him a small smile at the words, but Mydei isn’t fooled. Phainon doesn’t believe in them, putting on a front in order not to distress Mydei any further.

“You are right,” he still says, pressing his lips to the base of Mydei’s thumb. “I will be fine.”

Mydei opens his mouth to argue and try to get through that thick skull that there is no one more capable of making it work than him. But it seems like Phainon has set his mind already as he gently pushes Mydei lower until he can rest against Phainon chest to chest.

“You should sleep those deaths off, it took a lot out of you,” Phainon says, kissing the top of Mydei’s head which now rests right below his chin. “Please don’t bother coming to the ritual, take the time to rest.”

“We are in this together, you idiot,” he reminds him with a scoff, stifling another yawn as he settles into the embrace, the warmth of Phainon’s body reminding him of the sense of safety always brought out during the nights they spend together. “I want to be there with you. I believe you will succeed, but even if you don’t, I will pull you back. Always.”

Phainon gives a short nod, jostling him just slightly. And Mydei can say confidently that, at least, Phainon believes that. There is no denying that Mydei would tear him from the depths of the River of Souls if he had to. He is almost certain that even the citizens of Okhema are aware of the fact, if their knowing stares whenever he and Phainon make public appearances together are anything to go by.

“I love you,” Phainon says to that quietly, arms tightening around Mydei almost painfully, making it slightly difficult to breathe properly. “More than anything.”

“I love you, too,” Mydei whispers back, pushing himself more firmly into Phainon’s chest as well. If they could, they would have likely crawled into each other’s ribcages, making it easier to follow in one another's footsteps.

ఌ︎

He wishes he could say he is surprised when he wakes up alone, not even recalling when he succumbed to sleep in the first place.

Mydei doesn’t have a choice but to pick himself up without a word, untying the bandages as he puts his garments on. A quick glance at his teleslate tells him that the ritual should be taking place by now if it’s not over already. Perhaps he can catch the last of it if he hurries.

He had the slightest tendril of hope that maybe Phainon would change his mind and wake him up for it if he didn’t last long enough. Unfortunately, he knows the man better than anyone else. There wasn’t ever an option that Phainon would have wasted an opportunity to do something like this on his own, without worrying Mydei or being subjected to his knowing gaze as he hides the cracks of vulnerability from everyone else.

Phainon is a self-sacrificial fool, unsure of himself yet unwilling to allow anyone to share the burden. 

It’s fine.

Mydei doesn’t take it personally. 

He slips out of his quarters and sets off to the Vortex of Genesis in a light jog, hoping he isn’t too late.

Because while Phainon confessed his desire to never leave Mydei alone, he should know by now that Mydei won’t leave his side willingly either. He will walk down this path of destiny right at Phainon’s side, holding him up when he falls whether he likes it or not.