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Sharp teeth sink into the apple, the loud crunch making Mydei hum in satisfaction as he chews. A whole picnic basket of fruit and cutlery sits between him and Phainon on the bench, the latter practically tearing into his second pomegranate.
Mydei always finds it amusing: the moment he’d introduced pomegranates to Phainon, they shot up to number one in his personal fruit rankings. Now, he’s jokingly added “beat the seeds out of ten pomegranates” to his weekly training regimen. Every time he catches Phainon in the kitchen with a wooden spoon, Mydei can only roll his eyes. At least he shares the spoils.
A small voice in the back of his mind says the Kremnoans back home would have loved someone like him. Before… everything.
“When I get Nikador’s Coreflame, will you worship me?”
Mydei nearly drops his fruit, incredulous eyes snapping to Phainon. Deep red juice stains Phainon’s lips and drips from the knife in his hand, landing on the plate of food waste in his lap. The remaining half of his pomegranate glistens like a precious rock in the sunlight, but doesn’t shine nearly as bright as the curiosity in Phainon’s eyes.
So that was a serious question.
“What am I worshipping when I have the Coreflame?” Mydei goes right back to eating his apple.
“Aw, come on,” Phainon whines, wounded. “Humour me a little?”
“I win a match against you and that’s what you’re thinking about?” Mydei gives him an unimpressed look. “You’re not getting any Coreflames while you’re losing to me. Three times in a row.”
“Let’s say I beat you ten times in a row and get the Coreflame soon after,” Phainon proposes.
“In your dreams.”
“It can happen!”
Mydei sighs. He might as well. “If, by some miracle, you get it, do you honestly believe that all the Kremnoans would fall at your feet just like that?”
“I wasn’t asking about the Kremnoans.” Phainon leans a bit closer. “I asked if you would.”
He hardly has to think about the answer. “Do we Chrysos Heirs worship the demigods when we’re on the verge of joining them ourselves?”
Phainon pouts. “Do you always have to answer my questions with more questions?”
“I’m trying to get you to think for once.” Mydei flips open the basket and peers inside. “There should be some sagelore in here somewhere…”
Phainon petulantly flicks the basket shut. “My humble musings hardly call for that. Besides, it was fair to ask.” He shrugs. “We’re not from the places with demigods already. All of Kremnos has worshipped Nikador for the longest time, and you’re part of the royal line. Your people follow your example, Mydei.”
Technically, he has a point. Neither of them have any concept of what it was like to see a god lose their Coreflame and someone else effectively take their place. Amphoreus hasn’t made that transition in ages. Now, he’s almost certain that his own god is next.
That fact doesn’t sway him from his path.
“I know. They’ll follow it once I have the Coreflame.” Mydei punctuates the declaration with a loud bite, the sound of which almost drowning out Phainon’s groan.
“Fine. We’ll see who’s laughing when they’re holding festivals in my name.” Phainon falls silent, picking out delicious seeds and dropping them in a small bowl.
Listening to the soft plink! of the seeds, Mydei decides to simply sit and enjoy the warm breeze. This secluded area is more peaceful than usual, their only company being Kephale’s holy candle standing unlit beside them.
He’s given much more thought to how he’ll overpower a Titan than what he’ll do afterwards. Even for someone as cursed as him, he needs a proper plan to get the Coreflame and prepare both physically and mentally beforehand. Nikador won’t be the easiest Titan to pry a Coreflame out of.
What he does know is that there’s no point in wading through “what if”s as early as now. It could be weeks, months, possibly years before the right opportunity presents itself. In his eyes, it’s best to see what the situation is like when the time comes, then make a decision. Ascension might have a bigger effect on the world than anticipated.
Phainon should be able to at least understand this, but Mydei knows what an overthinker he is. He starts to worry, gets stuck in his head, and pretends nothing is wrong when questioned.
As if that would work on him by now.
“Do you actually want festivals?” Mydei asks, to Phainon’s visible surprise.
“Huh? Well…” He trails off, frowning as he considers the question. “If that’s what the Kremnoans do, then I suppose I wouldn’t say no.” Phainon chuckles. “I’m not sure how much they’d like to show such appreciation for anyone else. You know your own traditions better than I do, anyway. There might be something better suited for a simple demigod than a full-blown Titan that I just don’t know about.”
Mydei may not have exactly grown up steeped in Kremnoan traditions, but he’s heard more than enough to teach Phainon. Everyone in the Kremnoan detachment was proud of their culture and more than happy to share. They pushed him to embrace his heritage in spite of the king who tried to take everything from him.
“Aside from the festivals,” Mydei starts, “there are other ways people have paid tribute to Nikador. We eat Nikador’s Shield of Victory not just for them, but also to commemorate heroes who have died in war. That could be more up your alley.” He smirks. “Don’t go stealing the recipe for yourself, though. Come up with your own if you want people to worship you that badly.”
“I’d never steal the recipe!” Phainon exclaims, scandalized. “I have plenty of time to come up with something. No one would worship me until we’ve completed our mission, if we’re even going that route. Which, honestly, I’m not sure about yet.”
“Would you be able to?” Mydei raises an eyebrow in challenge. “The only thing I’ve seen you do in the kitchen is hit pomegranates.”
“And all I’ve seen you make is juice.” Phainon puffs out his chest like he’s won the argument. “You’re not much better off than I am.”
“Still better off. My people find more ceremony in making juice than beating fruit.”
Phainon snorts. “I won’t pretend to know better than you in that department.” He places a single pomegranate seed in his palm and holds it out to Mydei, bowing his head. “A show of concession, my lord.”
“Quit it.” Mydei scoffs and accepts the seed anyway, popping it in his mouth.
Phainon leaves the bowl on top of the basket, a wordless offering, and sets his plate aside. He fully faces Mydei with a serious frown and furrowed brows. The look doesn’t suit him, Mydei thinks. “Worship aside… Once our mission is complete, all this Flame-Chasing is over and Nikador’s Coreflame is mine, will you return home with me? Or stay in Okhema?”
“Home?” The word escapes him in a quiet murmur. Phainon asking to come home with him makes a truly indescribable feeling well up in Mydei. It knocks him off balance and steals his breath away.
“Of course.” Phainon nods, his expression softening into something gentle. “After all you’ve been through, it’s only right that you return home. There aren’t any rules about where you go once you’ve ascended. Even if you don’t have the Strife divinity, your people would be happy to have you.”
“And what would you be doing in Kremnos? According to you, you could stay anywhere you wanted. You have no ties there.”
Phainon hums, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You be the true ruler and I’ll be your sword? Quelling strife is incredibly important and you’ll be so very busy handling both your nation and divine domain.”
Mydei shakes his head. “I don’t intend to rule.”
“That’s an easy fix: we’ll swap the positions.”
“Are you up to the task of being king?”
“If it means you’ll come home, I’m sure I can figure it out.”
That word again. Mydei grabs a few seeds and scarfs them down, his cheeks burning at the implication. Ruling Kremnos just so Mydei wouldn’t have to? What kind of insanity is that?
“You’ll have to,” Mydei settles on saying, “since I’ll be busy carrying out Nikador’s duties.”
Phainon sighs, disappointed in himself. “I walked right into that one.”
“More like ran into it.” Mydei snorts. “So, tell me. Will you be too busy entertaining lords, ladies, and royals to spare a single moment for a spar? Or will I have to drag you into the ring myself?”
“Aw, you’d do that for me?” Phainon has the audacity to bat his eyelashes. “You’re scared of me going soft and leaving you with no equals, aren’t you? You’ll be so bored.”
“Please. You’ll only get more restless.” Mydei rolls his eyes. “One week in and you’ll be begging for a fight. You just won’t have the chance for it.”
“I can make time.” Phainon nods with all the self-assurance in the world, then grins widely. “Is that a yes, then? We’re off to Kremnos once we’ve chased our flames?”
The plea in Phainon’s eyes confuses him. Why is he so serious about this? Where did it even come from? They’re both after the same Coreflame, yet Phainon wants to make plans like this.
Then again, Mydei can’t deny that it sounds… nice. Returning home. Not having to rule, not having to worry about the burdens that come with being king. Not disappointing his people, who have such faith in him. Assuming he gets the Strife Coreflame, of course.
Which he will.
And Phainon will be there. He’ll have someone he can lean on, someone he trusts, and they’ll see each other often enough. His people will adore Phainon and his regal, charming air. Although… he wonders what would happen if Phainon ever got sick of ruling. Demigods must live an incredibly long time.
A change in leadership might end up with them leaving Castrum Kremnos depending on the circumstances. Maybe they’d leave together—
“Fine,” Mydei barks, turning away to toss his apple core into the waste bin. “We’ll go.”
When he looks at Phainon again, the other is already staring at him, jaw dropped. Mydei interrupts him the moment Phainon’s lips move. “Don’t celebrate yet. There’s hardly a Kremnos to go back to because of Nikador’s rampage, so neither of us would be able to truly return until it’s properly rebuilt. That might take longer than our mission.”
“Ever heard of dreaming, Mydei?” Phainon teases. “Don’t worry, I’ll be patient. I don’t plan on leaving Okhema until the very end.” He pauses, hesitating. “Do you?”
“What?” Mydei grimaces like Phainon spoke pure gibberish. “No.”
Phainon breathes a sigh of relief. “That’s good to hear!” Mydei thinks he sees Phainon’s cheeks flush, but he stands up too quickly for him to get a good look. He brushes nonexistent crumbs off his clothes to appear busy and clears his throat. “So, ah, that was a good break! Good talk! I have very important business to attend to. I’ll see you around, alright?” With one final wave and a smile over his shoulder, he hastily marches off.
It would sound like a half-baked excuse if Mydei didn’t know the exact business he was talking about. They both have a meeting with Aglaea, Castorice, and Tribbie in half an hour. They were supposed to head over together.
… And Phainon left the fruit with him.
“Get back here,” Mydei calls after him. “This is your basket!”