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Chapter Text

Every fortnight, Aglaea, Chrysos Heir of Romance, hosted a courtly dance for the people of Okhema and their honored guests from afar. The guest list changed every time, leaving a sense of hope and suspense to receive an invitation and dress in finery that Aglaea herself had made, even if discarded creations. Everyone was excited to taste the ambrosia, to gossip over the latest news, and above all, to brush shoulders with the heirs.

For no matter how the guestlist changed, the Chrysos Heirs currently within Okhema were expected to attend.

And that meant that ever since bringing his people to the holy city for refuge, Lord Mydeimos had to go.

If this had been Kremnos…if he had taken his crown and Kremnos had not fallen…he would have presided over the festivities from his throne, and the dances would have instead been feats of combat. For the people of Nikador, combat fulfilled any desire to test, hone, flirt, or humiliate. It was fit for friends and it was fit for enemies. The only thing that mattered was how you battled.

Dancing, he supposed, was somewhat similar. But he felt it was less honest—always intended to be elegant, polite, and perfect no matter how you felt about your partner. Even so, his people were coming to enjoy it, and he was glad for them, even if he did not participate. Some warriors probably found the transition from combat to dance natural, but it only took one night of observation for Mydei to know he would stand forever on the sidelines rather than try to force his wild strength into such confined and graceful movements.

Each gathering, he would fill his goblet of pomegranate juice, brace his back against a pillar, and watch the festivities, flings, and drama play out.

As always, Aglaea and Phainon would begin the dance.

There was no other man in Okhema who could dance like Phainon. He was one of those warriors who found little difference in the fluid movements of his sword to the sway and pull of his partner. He danced with perfection as he did everything else in life.

And as always, ire would knot Mydei’s gut. From most appearances, Phainon led the dance in the traditional role of a man. But Mydei could see the subtle whisk of golden threads, the delicate push of slim fingers. Aglaea would let the people watch the Deliverer in awe and let them whisper about how magnificently he led, but Mydei knew she held all control in the dance. As far as he was concerned, there was little need for her to exert her influence in this way. Phainon could dance. He wasn’t going to tread on her toes. She didn’t have to be in control every second of every day, and she didn’t always have to play him as her puppet.

But that was the truth behind these dances. More politics, more schemes in pretty disguises. O' Ohkema, holy city of light.

Mydei tore his gaze away before he could grow any more disgruntled as the rest of the guests began to join the dance. Soon, he found the one other guest besides himself who always stood on the sidelines.

Castorice, Maiden of War. Servant of Death.

As a fellow Chrysos Heir, she was duty-bound to attend. But as a reaper of souls, she could only watch from afar, her hands folded ever demure.

With a sigh, Mydei threw back his head and downed the remnant left in his goblet, then wiped his mouth, and ambled over to her side. As one whom Death had rejected, getting close to her didn’t bother him like others. Their opposing curses could still clash if they pushed it too far, but overall, they cancelled out each other’s effects. Normally, he didn’t deem it wise to get close to her anyway. She was…small, gentle, delicate, and sweet. Everything he wasn’t. But still, she never acted bothered by his presence, and he thought she often looked…lonely, so he figured if they had to both stand out, they could stand out together.

“How are you this evening, Lord Mydeimos?” Castorice asked as he joined her.

“Well enough.” He wasn’t one for small talk. Castorice didn’t normally try to fill empty silence with drivel beyond an initial polite greeting.

But tonight, she said, “I never see you dance, my Lord.”

He shifted, unsure if it was a question or just a statement. “It’s not my thing,” he said at last.

Her gaze never once left the weaving figures of form and fabric, the lilac hue of her eyes as soft and shimmering as a mourning veil. “Yes,” she said, voice so low that he could barely hear it. “Not really my thing either.”

He winced, unable to find any response to her quiet grief. A cruel irony that the girl who loved life so deeply should always be parted by death.

If you danced, you could dance with her.

The thought sprung to his mind, as startling and unexpected as a coin thrown from Zagreus.

A pity I don’t dance then, he shot back.

You could learn.

He didn’t bother giving that thought a reply, but as the night worn on, as the dancers reveled, and as he remained by Castorice’s side in silent vigilance, he became gradually aware of his losing battle.

He would learn how to dance. He would learn it before the next fortnight. And when he did, Castorice would no longer stand by as a wallflower on the court floor.  

Chapter Text

Mydei swore under his breath as he tripped over his own feet for the third time. It had been thirty minutes since he’d started learning the steps to a dance, and he felt no sense of improvement. Sweat was beginning to drip down his spine, which might have amused him if he wasn’t so frustrated.

Despite what the citizens of Okhema whispered behind his back, he was not a clumsy oaf. He was not incapable of learning, he not unable to be gentle, and he did not ruin everything he touched. He was fast and he was strong, but he knew how to control himself.

So why he struggled so badly to follow the dance steps instructed on his teleslate, he hardly knew. Perhaps he was being impeded by the doubt in his own head. Perhaps it was because he was keenly aware of how ridiculous he looked dancing alone in his chambers even if no one was watching. But that was the thing, wasn’t it? Somebody was always watching. And as if to remind him, a message soon scrolled across his Teleslate.

Would you like any advice, Lord Mydei?

He scowled at the gold-woven script of Aglaea. He stabbed the words back in reply. Not from you, Lady Aglaea.

And why not?

Because you’ll wind your golden threads about my limbs, and I think you have enough puppets in this theater already.

He could almost hear her chuckle of amusement in her reply. Just remember that I see everything in this city.

I’ll remember that the next time I’m at the latrine.

He tossed the slate away before he broke it and let out a long breath.

It was fine. He was fine. It wasn’t something to be bothered about. He would figure this out. Having somebody to help would be useful…but he wasn’t asking Phianon. The insufferable man would only laugh at Mydei’s efforts and then laugh at his own effort of playing the part of the female. If there was something Mydei could not abide right now, it was that inane, cheerful laugh.

Worst of all, Phainon would ask who Mydei wanted to dance with.

It was not hard to read Phainon’s heart when he wore it on his sleeve, and could be stated even further when he was near Castorice. The longing in his expression as he watched her was unmistakable. And Mydei was fairly certain he’d seen that same longing reflected in her eyes. So, he’d always determined he’d never come between them.

But the fact was—Phainon couldn’t dance with her. Even if Castorice could control her power for a limited time, it took significant effort on her part and she was usually too fearful of harming anyone to try it.

One, two, three little knocks rapped on his door all at once.

He heaved a heavy sigh, striding over and throwing open his door, and Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon all but fell in from where they stacked on top of each other like three peas in a pod. Their wings caught them mid-air, and they scattered into his room with the same determination as buzzflies.

“Aglaea sent you,” he grumbled.

“No!”

“Maybe.”

“Yes.”

At least Trinnon was honest.

He huffed a sigh, folding his arms. There was no point in trying to face them when they each took a different direction.

“Agy might have mentioned you needed dance lessons,” Tribbie amended carefully. “And we might have volunteered.”

“I don’t need…” He pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering why he was going through the extra effort to struggle when he already knew how this was going to end. “So I might be studying for the next dance. I was practicing just fine on my own. I’ve watched the dancers. I’ve seen how its done.”

“There’s seeing, and there’s seeing,” Trinnon said, lifting up her arms. In a flash, Trianne had joined her, and the two of them were waltzing across his floor, forgoing their flight to follow the pattern of perfect footwork.

“Come on, De,” Tribbie coaxed, flying up to his level and holding out her little hands. “It’s going to be great. I’ll call out the steps and you’ll move through them in no time. One, two, three, one, two three, let’s find the pattern.”

Aglaea was one thing. The Holy Maidens of Janusopolis were another. The ease with which they guided humanity was truly a special gift, and Mydei could feel the knots in his shoulders unwind even a few steps into their practice.

With any luck, he wouldn’t be the laughingstock of the party the next time the dance rolled around.

Chapter Text

The sound of revelry was as loud as clanging brass in Mydei’s ears this night. Normally, he did not mind the torrent of voices and laughter. Normally, he did not begrudge the flow of ambrosia even if he refused to take part in it himself. Normally, he would ignore the gazes that would follow his movements, dragging over his skin in a trail that could practically leave marks.

Tonight, he felt odd. Exposed. It had nothing to do with half his torso left open to the air as it always was. But he wasn’t wearing his gauntlets, and until now, he hadn’t realized how much security they gave him. How much they felt like a battlement of defense when he would fold them in front of his chest, intimidating almost anyone from approaching him. The very first few parties he’d attended in Okhema,  more than a few people had tried to speak to him, had tried to encourage him to ask them to dance. The amount of simpering and heavy-lidded looks had never lessened, but by now people had learned he just didn’t dance, and so they mostly left him alone.

After tonight, everyone would be talking. Everyone would know he could dance, at least to some degree. And the pandering crowds would close in again, leaving him a caged lion lashing its tail and waiting for a chance to escape.

But that was later. This was now. And now, he was approaching Castorice.

The sounds of the dancers and the party faded from his notice, leaving only the heavy thud of his footsteps as he drew near. She turned her head in acknowledgment with that sadly serene smile he sometimes saw in his sleep.

“Here for the honeycakes again, Lord Mydeimos?” she teased. “I do believe there is even some cream near the bowl of pomegranate juice.”

She was in a good mood tonight if she wished to tease him. He only hoped what he did next would not ruin the evening for both of them.

He lifted his hand. His bare, unarmored hand. He swallowed, scrapping the grit from his throat. “Your first dance. If I may. Lady Castorice.”

Castorice stared at him. Then her head swiveled away, staring out into the crowd of dancers instead.

He stiffly kept his hand up and waiting, unsure of what to do next, but unwilling to surrender.

One of Castorice’s hands flew to her mouth, muffling a chirping sob he almost couldn’t believe he heard. And just as unbelievable, crystalline tears were pooling in her lovely lilac eyes.

“My lady…?”

She turned back to him in a swirl of her butterfly skirt, pulling her hand from her mouth down to her chest. Her breath was full, fast, and measured, as if she needed to be sure she could get enough of it. “Lord Mydeimos. I…would love to dance with you. But. Even with the contrast of our curses, they can still conflict, and I fear it would be too hard on you.”

He raised a brow at that, not at all daunted.

She faltered. “And…and I’ve never danced at a party before. So, I fear I will not be much good.”

“I suppose that goes for both of us then.” His hand remained where it waited, unwavering.

There was a look on her face that he had never seen. A mix of terror and hope and disbelief. She stretched out her trembling fingers and touched his, flinching as if expecting him to immediately wither. He felt the cold to his bones; he felt his own fire leap up in response. But it didn’t hurt, and he did not fear her or her power.

She studied their entwined hands in growing wonder. “I don’t think I’ve seen your hands bare outside the baths, Lord Mydei.”

“Stare at them a lot, do you?”

Startled, her gaze jumped to his.

Before he could say anything more foolish than that, he set his other hand on her waist and drew her to his chest. The tiny gasp that broke from her lips momentarily melted all his ability to think, and they remained thus frozen in place for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he cleared his throat again and found control of his own limbs. With stiff, awkward movements, he began guiding her in the first simple steps of the dance, murmuring the cadence under his breath as Tribbie had taught him. Castorice kept her focus on their feet, her hands still slightly shaking in his grasp. He found it difficult to watch her, so he chose to look over her instead. The other dancers had not noticed them yet, by some mercy, caught up in their own fun and flirtations. Over the drink table, he spotted Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon who all gave him enthusiastic waves of approval.

As their footwork gradually fell into a pattern, he decided they were ready for the next step. “You let go now,” he said.

Castorice snatched her hands away so fast, they almost left a friction burn on his skin. “I’m sorry!”

“No,” he huffed, annoyed at himself to have given her the wrong impression. “No, I mean we let go as we circle opposite one another. Once we have made a full rotation, we rejoin.”

“Oh.”

“The arms lift above the head.”

“Oh.”

“Look at me.”

Again, that startled stare, as vulnerable and sweet as a fawn. He felt his heart jolt, the same sensation whenever he was beginning a new life. “We keep eye contact. So we don’t lose each other.”

“O-oh.”

They circled, rejoined, parted, and met again. Her eyes no longer followed the floor, locked now entirely with his golden gaze. And for now, as far as he was concerned, they were the only two in entire courtroom, perhaps the only two in the entire world.

Chapter Text

“Now that’s a sight I never thought I’d see.” The irony of Aglaea’s words dripped like honey from her tongue. Novel enough to awaken Phainon from whatever world he’d stare vacantly into during their dance.

He glanced around, the sparkle of life returning to his blue eyes, never once faltering in his movements or flawless attunement to her cues. When at last he found the subject of her interest, he laughed aloud. “Great Kephale! I knew his curse was good for something! What a gent!”

She smiled thinly, not bothering to reply as they swayed and swept through the next several steps. When they’d circled back in sight of Mydei and Castorice again, Phainon was staring over at them with a little less joy in his posture.

“Awfully intense, isn’t he?” he remarked, the humor in his tone somewhat forced.

Aglaea sighed. Just as she’d thought. This would never do. A light tug on her strings turned his face back to hers. “Wishing for another dance partner, Lord Phainon?”

“Oh. Well…I know Castorice would be too worried about hurting me. She’s always saying things like “don’t stand too close.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “How did he manage to convince her? Lucky beast.”

“Hm,” was her only reply. She swept him out in a wide arc and when he returned to her side again, they had crossed a significant length of the dance floor, weaving through couples until they had drawn to the outskirts where Mydei and Castorice lingered.

Ignoring Phainon’s look of surprise and bewilderment, she let him go and tapped the shoulder of the Kremnos heir. “Lord Mydeimos. Dance with me, won’t you? And you, Phainon, accompany Castorice.”

“Oh!” Castorice tucked her hands behind her back, turning pale. “Oh, I couldn’t.”

“Nonsense, this dance circles around each other, there is no need to touch at all. I’m sure you can manage it for a few moments. I must speak with Mydeimos.” With a firm hand curling around his arm, she pulled Mydei after her, and he followed with a gait as stiff as iron bars. Once they were in the midst of the dancers, she glanced back from where they came, watching as Phainon and Castorice moved about each other like fumbling little lambs. A flush was strong in Phainon’s face, though in contrast, Castorice’s skin was white as salt in her concentration.

She sighed, returning her attention to the man she held in her arms. His glower was daunting enough to intimidate an advancing army, and his muscles were tense underneath her fingers. Unlike Phainon, he would not bend to her beck and call, and his steps were stilted, so she kept him close.

“I thought you said this was a dance where one needn’t touch each other at all.” The words were growled through his teeth.

She smiled, undeterred. “And I thought you said you didn’t want my golden threads about your limbs.”

He had no response to that, just as she thought.

“You know,” she said, leaning as close to his ear as she could reach. “Phainon trusts you. Possibly more than any of the other heirs.” She felt his grunt of acknowledgment against her chest before she continued on. “I am very glad that you have each other’s back. It always inspires such confidence to the people when we see you set out together for battle. It is…impetrative to this world’s survival that we always work together well and never allow any contention to grow between us.”

The fire in the eyes of the Kremnos prince was growing dark, not unlike a smoldering ember. His words were equally low and burning. “I understand what you mean, Lady Aglaea.”

She smiled, patting the back of his neck as she would a pet chimera. “I know.”

Chapter Text

Mydei’s jaw hurt from how tightly his teeth ground together. He hadn’t been able to think of a reason to reject Agalea’s request before she’d pulled him too far into the crowd. The last thing he wanted was a dance with her. It might have been a simple thing to pull away, to walk out, but he refused. He would finish this one dance. Anything less would be seen as a retreat and bring ridicule upon his people. Everyone had certainly noticed him now. He was vaguely aware of all the curious eyes following his every movement. After this dance, it would be a miracle if he could escape the floor before being hemmed in by a myriad of requests.

The music at last slowed, the swaying of bodies at last stilled. He stepped back, grateful to be free of that unwelcome embrace.

“A pleasure, Lord Mydeimos,” Aglaea said.

“Likewise,” he replied, never lying better. With a pivot of his heel, he strode for the refreshment table, hoping that a clear goal could part the crowd. And indeed, his impressive figure caused them to scatter, so at least his reputation was still good for something.

He plunged his glass into the vat of red refreshment, not even bothering with his usual topping of cream. With the goblet to his lips, he headed for the doors leading out to the gardens, hoping the coolness of the night would dispel the rage and disappointment simmering through his whole body.

The air did feel good. The sounds of the party fading away felt even better. He walked and walked until he came to the path’s end at the edge of a small lake. The waters shimmered under moonlight, pristine and perfect.

He drew back his arm and threw the empty goblet with all the force he could fathom. After a few moments, the sound of a soft splash drifted back to him. It was not half so satisfying as hearing something shatter.

“Lord Mydei?”

Mydei swore aloud, whirling back around.

Castorice flinched, raising her hands in placation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sneak up, I know you don’t like that.”

He breathed, the thunder of his pulse slowly calming. “No. No, its not your fault. I just…didn’t realize you’d followed me.”

She nodded, her pallid skin even whiter under this light. “I’ll leave you alone. I just wanted to say—thank you for the dance. It was…it was everything.” With a tiny curtsy, she turned to go.

Without thinking, Mydei lunged forward and caught her hand. It burned like ice again, and he couldn’t help the little thrill that shuddered through him. “S-stay.”

She glanced back at him with wide-eyed wonder, glancing again at their hands as if they were the most profound miracle in the world.

He eased down onto the stone bench by the lakeside, and she followed him in a rustle of petticoat. “Did…did you have a good dance with Phainon?” That was what he asked? But oh to Styx with it, it was better he heard with his own ears what she felt.

She nodded. “It was unexpected. And…yes, I think we managed all right. I don’t think I hurt him, so that’s a relief.” She gestured back towards the ballroom, the windows alight with a golden glow. “Anyway, the dances switched to constantly exchanging partners, so there was no further reason for me to stay.” She tugged her hand away from him and played with the ribbons and bows draped across her skirt. “Did I…hurt you, Lord Mydei?”

He scoffed. “Me? As if?” After a second glance at her troubled face, he added in a far more serious manner, “No. No, Lady Castorice. You didn’t hurt me. It was a good dance.”

A tiny smile lifted her lips. “I…I liked it too.” A pause. “If I may. I didn’t know you could dance. I never saw you dance before.”

“Mmm. Well, it’s just sort of similar. You know. To fighting.”

She giggled. “Is it?”

“What’s so funny?”

Her smile was a full-on grin now. “Maybe the way Phainon fights, but not the way you fight, my lord.”

He huffed, folding his arms. “Well, he’s clearly the one better at it.”

“No! I just meant—I thought maybe you had learned from someone, and I wondered who it was.”

“It wasn’t Phainon.”

She giggled again, and this time, she wasn’t stopping.

He smiled, despite himself, the pressure in his chest slowly draining away. Humanity grew drunk on the wine of ambrosia, but he was fairly certain he could be intoxicated by a sound like this.

Her laughter fading into quiet contentment, Castorice turned her gaze out the moonlight over the lake. “It really is a lovely night.”

Chapter Text

Mydei preferred to take his time in the Hero’s Bath alone. Unless there was a gathering of the other Heirs and they all were discussing some plan, he didn’t want other people around to notice details about him that he worked hard to conceal. Details like his tick of hesitation every time he had to sink into water.

He carefully lowered himself into the steaming pool now, the shimmers of gold rippling across its surface. Whatever blessing was bestowed upon these waters kept them ever pure, melting away whatever amount of grease or blood he carried on him. And after a long day of fighting back forces of mad titankin and having his bones broken and mended, the hot waters were a balm as much as they were an unpleasant memory.

“Ah, you have returned, Lord Mydeimos.”

Mydei closed his eyes, whispering a curse underneath his breath. Blonde Usurper. The name that his soldiers called her sprang unbidden to his mind. There were much worse things they called her, but he preferred to maintain some level of respect. Like it or not, she was the reason his people had refuge in this city. He had chosen to bring them here, and he had chosen to relinquish his standing to serve under her.

But he specifically made sure she was not around when he sought a private bath. Even if her eyes were everywhere, even if these baths were her favorite abode, she so far had respected his need for solitude.

Until today.

He cracked one eye open, unhappily watching as she strolled to the pool he occupied and stepped down into the waters to join him. He supposed it would have been strange if she’d chosen one of the empty baths, but he would have preferred it all the same.

“Another glorious victory, as always?” she said, relaxing against the tile.

“As always.” He closed his eyes again, leaning his head back on the edge of the bath. Maybe if he looked tired enough, she’d leave him alone.

“I'm very glad to see Castorice so happy these days, Mydei.”

Of course, this was going to be about Castorice. Of course, she had come to talk about why these past few weeks he’d chosen to keep pursuing moments alone with her, had kept chasing after her smile and gentle laugh.

He allowed a non-committal noise of acknowledgement.

“It does my heart good to see her have friends.” She paused, giving him a good chance to respond, and when he didn’t, she added, “Though, I admit, I have concerns.”

He sighed. Yes, here it came, all the guilt-tripping, all the reasons he had to keep his distance. He had taken heed to her previous warning; he made sure Phainon was not around to begrudge him when he took time to speak with or stand near Castorice. “If she is bothered, she can tell me to jump off a cliff.”

Her lips twitched. “A morbid joke.”

“I mean it. She knows her mind. She can tell me to go if she likes. If she wants to pine after Phainon all her immortal life, then she can be my guest. We are just friends, that is all.”

“Hmm.”

He huffed. “Are we done?”

Apparently, they were not, as she went on speaking.

“I admire your stalwart faith in her. Just...please be careful. She is a very tender girl. As you just said, she feels so deeply for Phainon simply because he is kind. She knows she may never have him, but she gives out her heart so easily. And with you…although you may claim you are just friends for now, she may start imagining there could be more. She cannot help but imagine.” She sighed, a sound of pity and something else he refused to name. “You are…a very tempting man.”

Her finger traced up the muscles of his arm, leaving droplets of water impossible to ignore.

Bile rose in Mydei’s throat. What was she doing? What was her game? She didn’t want him. Of that, he was certain. Bearer of the Coreflame of Romance or not, he wasn’t sure she had enough humanity left in her to want anyone. Her goals were never quite so small-minded, which was both a mercy and a curse with the power she held over him by sheltering his people. Did she think she could faze him in some way, did she think he—the undying, uncrowned king of Strife—had not mastered the ruling of his own body? He knew she resented his lack of bending to her manipulations. He understood well enough why she always forced him to the sidelines and chose to elevate Phainon, the Chosen Hero, instead. But why was it better for her machinations that Castorice and Phainon pine for a future they could never have? And if Mydei was one she could not influence, did she now find it amusing to mock him?

The storm of confusion, pain, and fury came as swiftly as it went, blowing from his breath in a long exhale. He hadn’t moved, even if his skin crawled to escape her touch. Slowly, ever so slowly, he slid his gaze to the corner of his eyes, staring her down. “Careful, Lady Aglaea,” he said, voice steady and low. “It is imperative to this world’s survival that we always work together well and never allow any contention to grow between us.”

She smiled, withdrawing her hand and leaning back against the marble seat. “Just so. I’m glad we agree.”

He'd had enough. Though she might take his retreat as her own victory, he would not sit here and suffer through any more of this. He rose from the baths with a swell of water and strode for the nearest robe, wrapping it around his waist and throwing the remaining length of fabric over his shoulder. He’d just stepped onto the walkway to leave when she spoke again.

“You know, however much you can dance around the outskirts, you could never have her in the way of a man and a woman.”

Mydei’s steps jarred to a halt. “What?”

She studied the light playing across her hand, voice calm and nonchalant. “The curse is too intense a conflict. There would be no room for pleasure. Certainly none for life. Prince Mydei, you must understand. It is not only Phainon and Castorice who I feel concern for.”

Mydei stared at her, dumbfounded. Her pretty words managed to affront him more than the vulgar speech of soldiers he was so used to hearing in the public baths.

“In case you have forgotten the prophecy at my birth, O’ Lady Aglaea,” he replied, eyes flashing with bright fire. “I am the LAST Prince of Kremnos. As for your concern—you can take it and shove it up the River Styx.”

And with that, he strode from the baths, fighting every inch to keep his anger under control. He might have just gotten clean, but he never felt more foul. It wasn’t something that could be cleansed by water. He’d just have to go back to the ruins of the city and find titankin to challenge and destroy until his muscles were worn to ribbons. Maybe after a few deaths and rebirths, he’d feel human again.

Chapter Text

Titankin crumbled into rubble beneath his fist. Their demise created the most satisfying sound, the clatter of stone disintegrating into fine powder. There were some days he couldn’t get enough of the sensation that rippled through his bones.

Mydei had lost count of how many he’d destroyed or how many hours he’d spent out here in the desolate ruins. He was tired, his chest now heaving with each breath, and his body was covered in sweat and ichor. But he wasn’t done yet because so far he hadn’t even died once. He needed at least once. If not, the wounds on his body and the ache of his tendons would follow him back home. It was much better to just start with a clean slate. But it was deeply dishonorable to simply allow any foe to end him. No, they had to earn it. It had to be his mistake, not his choice.

The next titankin broke, and he glared into their rapidly vanishing features, wishing not for the last time that they had eyes he could look into. Because that was another rule of an honorable warrior. If you took a life, you would be a coward not to look them straight in the eye. They deserved that at least. They deserved to be seen.

“We keep eye contact. So we don’t lose each other.”

He flinched, his words at the dance echoing back to him. She had held his gaze as fearlessly as any soldier. Maiden of War indeed.

Ah, there it was. His mistake. His mistake of allowing his mind to wander, to succumb to distraction.

Two, no, three titankin were all lunging at him at once, each from a different direction. He bent his knees, throwing himself into a spin, his clenched fist leading the way with the force of a club. It cracked through the artificial skulls of each foe, declaring him the victor against the impossible match. But his speed sent him careening over, his hands spreading out to catch himself in the rubble. And even as he fell, he sensed rather than saw the fourth titankin behind his back, the shadow of its weapon cold upon his skin.

He clenched his jaw, bracing for the blow.

Stone crackled and shale showered over his body. He flipped around, squinting into the light, already knowing who he was going to see.

Phainon grinned down at him like a second dawn of Kephale, sword swinging up to rest over his shoulders. “That’s a foul expression, Mydei,” he teased. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone so ungrateful about a last-minute rescue.”

Mydei puffed out a breath, taking in the battlefield around him. The titankin were no more. He was too tired at this point to go looking for more. So natural recovery it was. He’d have to dress his wounds at home and take a long nap. Yes, he was so grateful, O’ Deliverer. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Phainon beamed, not seeming to catch even a hint of the irony. “What brought you out here like a mad beast, hmm? You didn’t invite me. None of your men even knew where you’d gone.”

“Had some things on my mind,” Mydei muttered, trying to brush the grey dust off his skin and only succeeding in smearing it into the blood and sweat. His chest ached at the thought of another bath. Even if the Hero’s bath was more luxurious, he’d be cleaning in his quarters from now on.

“What kind of things?”

“Things.” He started walking across the stone carnage towards the light of Kephale over the city.

“You like Castorice, don’t you?”

Mydei stumbled mid-step, all but tumbling over the remains of the titankin beneath his feet. He whirled around to stare at the snow-haired warrior. Phainon’s blue eyes were as honest as a cloudless sky, his face clear and without anger.

“I—” Mydei found himself at a complete loss for words. This wasn’t supposed to be happening. He’d been so careful to make sure Phainon wouldn’t notice, at least since that one dance.

“It’s always a competition with us, isn’t it?” Phainon said with a rueful grin as his hand rubbed through his hair, make the white strands all the messier. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. I know I’m pretty obvious, but you’re obvious too in your own way. What’s less obvious is how she feels. She’s sort of sweet to everyone, you know? There are some days I am certain she returns my heart, but then others…gods, the way she looked at you that night.” He cleared his throat. “That might sound like I’m blaming her, I’m not, I’m not. She is granted to admire whoever she likes and keep her own heart too if she wants. It’s up to me to tell her how I really feel.” He glanced back towards him. “I suppose she might think me incredibly foolish for wanting what I could never have. I'm sure you think I'm foolish.”

Mydei opened his mouth and found that he still had no idea what to say. His mind was spinning. Aglaea hadn’t said anything, right? Tribbie hadn’t let his secrets slip? When he finally found words, he said, “I don’t. I don’t think you’re foolish.”

“It’s up to you to tell her how you feel too.”

Mydei’s jaw clamped shut again.

“Given the nature of your curse, I know you have the better shot,” Phainon admitted. His smile flashed all the same. “But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up! We never know what’s going to happen, especially once Coreflames are claimed! Maybe it’s another reason I should claim Strife, eh?”

Mydei grunted, not really wanting to imagine that the Coreflame of Strife - which he would all too gladly accede to Phainon - could give him a similar divinity to resist Death. But it was only fair. It was only right to hope Phainon could achieve an equal chance to pursue the lady he desired. Because then it would be truly be up to Castorice to choose, and that was the way it ought to be.

“Whatever happens, Mydei, I just want…” Phainon paused, clearing his throat and staring off into the distance. “I just don’t want it to come between us, all right? If we’re upset at each other, let’s talk it out. Or fight it out, whatever. I’ll have to make my peace with it if she chooses you, and I hope you could do the same in return. But I can’t lose you.”

Phainon was possibly the bravest or stupidest man on earth saying things like that. He always said it so sincerely too.

If he was honest, Mydei had never had a brother-in-arms before Phainon. He’d had many loyal men, men he proudly led. And his mentor, Krateros, had always been there for him, teaching, challenging, and encouraging. But Phainon was an equal. Phainon was someone who could not only keep up with him, but push him to the limits in the spirit of competition. When he went to battle with Phainon, he often came out with far less injuries or death, because the man always had his back. If he was honest…he didn’t want to lose him either.

“I don’t plan on telling her any time soon,” Mydei said, trying not to sound shaken by the depth of Phainon’s words. “We can’t afford to risk any of us being affected, and that includes Castorice. She doesn’t need us stirring up any kind of thoughts she may have not even considered. We have a war to win.” He resumed his march towards Ohkema, hoping that would be the end of it.

“Fine, fine, you’re right. Always dying to yourself, I GET IT. But I wasn’t wrong to bring it up! It’s better we both know where we stand, even if it will be a while before we go anywhere.” Phainon broke into a jog to catch up and fell into easy stride alongside him. “Always so serious, tsk.”

The dawn of Kephale was bright and warm before them. And even if he was tired, even if he was covered in grime, Mydei couldn’t help the slight smile that curved his lips. He’d come out here to die and he hadn’t.

But he felt renewed all the same.