Scentedcoffeefire



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    It's over.

    It's done.

    Amphoreus is freed from its laboratory prison, now as real as any other planet. Irontomb is no more. The black tide has all but faded into obscurity.

    But Phainon has been missing for days and the Chrysos Heirs look more like mixed bags of feelings than almighty Titans. Mydei sets to change this.

    Or; giving the Chrysos Heirs found family therapy cuz Hoyo is mean

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    12/12
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    08 Nov 2025

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    “What does dying feel like?”
    Mydei stills. He could tell him of different sensations of death. He could tell him what it feels like when life ebbs out of your veins, and you can only watch it happen. He could tell him how the swift stab of a blade snuffs life out like a wayward candle. He could tell him that the River of Souls is a cold climb, with sweet voices whispering from beyond the shore, beckoning him to join them, relish in their touches yet again, after all the time that has passed.
    Mydei gathers Phainon in his arms, burying his head in the Deliverer’s neck. Phainon is limp enough that it might be concerning, so Mydei just holds him tighter.
    “You will find no comfort there.”
    “No,” Phainon agrees, “such things are long beyond me.”
    |
    "May the Son of Gorgo be crowned in flowers."

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    07 Nov 2025

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    Mydeimos’s smile is sharp as he shrugs. “What’s your name again?”

    “Phainon of—” Phainon cuts himself off, looking away. It doesn’t matter where he’s from. Not anymore. “Phainon.”

    “Phainon of Nowhere,” Mydeimos says, and those words disembowel Phainon, cutting into his belly and slicing clean across it. “Come to bed with me. We have a show to put on.”

    In the midst of an ongoing war between Okhema and Castrum Kremnos, Mydei's mother gifts him Phainon, an Okheman bed slave he neither wants nor needs. But there is more at stake for both Mydei and Phainon: between Gorgo's ploys, Eurypon's plans, and the advancing black tide, they are pulled between a growing desire for each other and the very fate of their world.

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    06 Nov 2025

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    Deliverer. Deliverer. Deliverer.

    Only one. Only one person had ever called him that with true sincerity.

    He stared at the long, endless road ahead of him and couldn’t bring himself to look behind him. He had heard that voice too often in those four million and one cycles only to find they were nothing but delusions—of course. Of course. What else could they have been? What else could it be now? How could it be anything but his fractured mind trying to conjure some comfort he didn’t deserve in his final moments—

    “You sure took your time getting here. Now you can’t even find bring yourself to face me?”

    After four million and one cycles, the very first Phainon finally passes the mantle of Khaslana onto the next Phainon. The Coreflames had both ravaged and sustained his body, and without them he crumbles to ash. When Amphoreus itself is a lie, the gentle West Wind and Sea of Flowers must be as well. So, that should be the end of his pitiful existence.

    Instead, he wakes up in a library—Irontomb’s data archive of previous cycles. And there he reunites with the very first Mydei.

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    06 Nov 2025

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    “Why do they throw flowers?”

    “They’re well-wishes,” Phainon answers. “Crocuses are for new beginnings, cyclamen are for love, colchicum for fidelity. They’re blessing the marriage.”

    Mydei’s hand shifts a little lower, warm fingers circling Phainon’s wrist. “Your traditions are terribly sentimental.”

    “Romantic,” Phainon corrects. “Just call them romantic.”
    |
    To save his people, Mydei strikes a deal. Aid in exchange for two things: the coreflame of Strife and his hand in marriage.

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    04 Nov 2025