arcades



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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 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 Jan 2026

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    “Khaslana,” Mydei responds, his voice hesitant as his finger finally dips down to press over the injury Khaslana had previously been hiding.

    Over the startling crack in his skin.

    Oh.

    Khaslana’s eyes widen, his arm shooting out to grip Mydei’s wrist. Mydei offers no protest, simply staring, frozen in shock.

    “You’re…breaking,” Mydei mutters, so quietly.

    Khaslana screws his eyes shut.

    “You weren’t supposed to see.”

    Or: Khaslana trudges through millions of cycles, stealing Coreflames and losing himself all while he clings to the memories from his original Flame-Chase Journey, and of his original Mydeimos.

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    03 Jan 2026

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    "Thirty-three million cycles," Phainon says, tremulous. "And I struck you down in every one of them. I killed Castorice and Hyacine and—I've probably killed every living soul on Amphoreus at least once, at some point. I can't go home."

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    01 Jan 2026

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    He himself was the offering. He would erupt from the Kiln as the blade that would take vengeance without dirtying those divine hands, the bones for Xie Lian to trample on his climb, ten thousand flowers for his altars. All actions were in service of that eventual offering, a singular act of worship.

    The last thing Wuming remembers is carving a particular statue, then resting his eye. Many things, he comes to discover, have happened since then.

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    17 Dec 2025

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    Chu Wanning didn't think he would ever meet Mo Ran again. He dreamed of it, of course, more often than he'd like to admit, but never dared to hope. And yet, after so many years, fate throws Mo Ran back into his life and now Chu Wanning has to deal with the fact that his heart is even weaker for that dimpled smile than it had been before.

    Oh, and that apparently the most significant person in his life has no recollection of him whatsoever.

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    06 Dec 2025