Archive of Our Own

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows that stretched lazily across the clearing. The air was warm but crisp, a gentle breeze stirring the branches of nearby trees. Phainon stood leaning against an old stone pillar, arms crossed over his chest. He watched Tribbie with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism, his sharp eyes tracking her every move as she danced around the rift, her energy a whirl of vibrant light.

“We promised you, Snowy, we have everything ready this time. Just a few more adjustments,” Tribbie chirped, her voice high and playful, a sharp contrast to the stillness of the world around them. She hummed a little tune under her breath, her hands moving gracefully as she wove strands of…something through the air. Each thread crackled with light, weaving blues and golds that shimmered and pulsed with a life of their own.

Phainon couldn’t help but smile despite himself, though the expression was tinged with a hint of skepticism. “You know, every time you say that, I’m convinced I’ll end up somewhere entirely different than where you think I’ll go.”

Tribbie glanced up at him, her golden eyes narrowing in mischievous amusement. “We aren’t like that, Snowy. This time will be special. We need someone strong, someone who understands what’s needed.”

Phainon raised a brow and tightened his arms across his chest, clearly unconvinced. “What’s so special about me?”

Tribbie tilted her head, her playful grin softening just a fraction. “You know Mydei too well,” she said with a teasing glint in her eye. “We thought it might be… fun to show you something. Something new.” Her voice trailed off, the lightness in it shifting into something more cryptic. “Not just for you, Snowy. For him, too.”

Phainon blinked, the unexpected turn in her words making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. His relationship with Mydei had always been delicate—carefully balanced, intense, and deeply significant. What could Tribbie be hinting at?

Before he could ask, Tribbie waved him off, as if his question was too simple to deserve an answer. “We think you’re perfect for the task,” she said, her voice regaining its usual buoyant energy. “You’re always in the middle of things anyway, Snowy. We know you’ll be fine.”

Phainon sighed, leaning back slightly against the stone pillar, giving her a wry smile. “I swear, you could put me in the middle of a battlefield and you’d still think I’m the right choice for whatever you’re doing.”

Tribbie’s eyes glinted at his reluctance, but there was something soft in her gaze, something that suggested she understood him better than anyone else. She caught his eye, her voice lowering, becoming more earnest. “You worry too much, Snowy.”

Her smile was small, but warm. “We promised to make it easy—just for you. But maybe it’s because we know you’re strong enough for whatever happens. We want you to be there when it counts. For us.”

For a moment, Phainon felt something unspoken stir within him—a pang of something soft. She did care, didn’t she? Even if she was playful and cryptic, there was a sincerity there, an affection that cut through her usual antics.

“Well,” he said, his voice softening slightly as he glanced at her, “if it’s just for you, then I guess I can’t refuse.”

Tribbie’s face lit up instantly, and the lightness in the air seemed to shift as if she’d just breathed new life into it. “We knew you’d say that! We can always count on you, Snowy!” She twirled with her usual infectious energy, her hands weaving even faster as the rift before them began to flicker and expand, glowing with new intensity.

Phainon chuckled under his breath, his usual teasing edge returning. “You really do have a way of making everything seem so easy.”

Her energy was really contagious, and for a moment, Phainon found himself feeling lighter, as though her words had erased the edge of doubt he’d been carrying with him. But even then there was a quiet sense of hesitation, a soft tug of unease at the back of his mind for obvious reasons.

“Mydei’s going to kill me for this, you know,” he muttered, though the words came out more fondly than frustrated. There was something about it—something in how Tribbie moved, in the way she made everything feel like it was just a little bit more possible.

Tribbie’s golden eyes glinted as she caught the subtle shift in his tone. “We don’t think he’ll mind, Snowy. Besides, you two need a little adventure.”

Her voice softened, almost a whisper. “You deserve it. You deserve more than just the routine.”

Phainon froze, his heart missing a beat. The words, unspoken yet so clear, hung in the air between them. Her gaze met his for a fleeting moment—more sincere than he’d ever seen her before—and he felt a warmth spread through him.

Before he could respond, Tribbie spun around again, the playful energy bubbling back to the surface. “Trust us, Snowy. Just trust us.”

The rift crackled with a sudden surge of power, bright light enveloping the space around them. Phainon barely had time to brace himself before a powerful force swept him off his feet. The world twisted and bent, the edges of reality warping as he was pulled through the rift, his vision spinning in an explosion of colors and light.

The last thing he heard before everything went black was Tribbie’s faint, distant giggle, carrying with it that same cryptic, comforting promise:

“We’ll see you soon, Snowy…”

The world twisted violently around Phainon, his body flung through a tunnel of fractured light and shifting shadows. A pressure unlike anything he’d ever felt crushed him, squeezing his essence into something unmade and remade in the span of a breath.

Then—

Impact.

Phainon hit the ground hard. The breath was knocked from his lungs as he tumbled across dirt and grass, his body skidding to a stop with a dull thud. The cool dampness of soil clung to his skin, the sharp scent of earth filling his nose. For a long moment, he lay there, dazed, his ears ringing.

Tribbie’s rift had worked.

Too well.

With a groan, he rolled onto his back, blinking up at the vast sky. It was whole. No floating ruins, no celestial scars cutting through the heavens—just a deep, unmarred blue stretching endlessly above him. Something was wrong.

He pushed himself up onto one knee, bracing his hands against the ground to steady himself. The landscape around him was unfamiliar—untouched wilderness, ancient trees swaying in the breeze, a well-trodden dirt path winding through the underbrush. No sign of where he’d come from. No trace of Tribbie.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Tribbie,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “What in all the realms did you—”

A scream cut through the air.

His head snapped up, muscles tensing. In the distance, the unmistakable clang of steel against steel rang out, followed by frantic cries.

Instinct took over. Phainon pushed himself to his feet and took off, boots kicking up dirt as he sprinted toward the commotion. He didn’t know where he was, didn’t have his weapons, but it didn’t matter.

As he crested a small hill, the scene below came into focus.

A caravan was under attack. Travelers—merchants, from the look of their robes and pack animals—were fending off a group of raiders. The assailants moved with the reckless aggression of scavengers, their weapons crude but deadly. It was clear the merchants wouldn’t last long.

His body moved before his mind caught up. He reached for his sword—only to grasp at empty air.

Shit.

His weapons were gone. Whether Tribbie had forgotten to transport them with him or the rift had stripped them away, he didn’t know. But it didn’t matter. His fists clenched. He could take them unarmed if he had to.

Phainon started forward. Then—

Another group emerged from the trees.

They moved with precision, a stark contrast to the chaos of the raiders. Trained warriors. Their armor bore insignias he didn’t immediately recognize, their weapons cutting through the attackers with lethal efficiency. The battle was swift. Within moments, the raiders lay dead or had fled into the wilderness.

Phainon slowed, sharp eyes scanning the warriors. They weren’t just skilled—they were disciplined. This wasn’t a band of mercenaries or sellswords.

Then, as the dust settled, one of them turned—and their gaze locked onto him.

A dozen pairs of eyes followed.

Tension crackled in the air. Hands tightened on weapons. Suspicion darkened their expressions.

Phainon forced himself to stay relaxed, though his muscles coiled beneath the surface. He was unarmed. Outnumbered. And from the way they looked at him, he wasn’t about to get a warm welcome.

The man at the front—broad-shouldered, a scar running along his jaw—spoke first. “Who are you?”

Phainon hesitated a fraction too long. He needed to be careful. His usual approach wouldn’t get him far if they already saw him as a threat.

“Just a traveler,” he said smoothly, lifting his hands slightly to show he wasn’t armed.

The man’s eyes narrowed. “A traveler.” His tone was flat. Unimpressed.

Another warrior, younger but no less sharp-eyed, muttered, “His accent’s strange.”

That caught their attention. The tension sharpened.

Phainon sighed internally. Fantastic. He hadn’t even spoken three sentences, and he was already under scrutiny.

The woman beside the leader, dark-haired and observant, studied him with open distrust. “We didn’t see you when we passed this way earlier. Where did you come from?”

Now that was a question he couldn’t exactly answer.

He glanced around, as if orienting himself, before tilting his head. “I was resting further up the ridge. Must’ve missed you.”

Another pause. Another unreadable exchange between the warriors.

“You’re alone,” the scarred man said.

“For now.”

Silence stretched. Then, as if coming to a decision, the leader exhaled through his nose. “We’re headed to Kremnos.”

Phainon stilled.

Kremnos.

His mind reeled. The name rang in his head, familiar yet foreign. He had been to its ruins with Mydei—had walked through its shattered remains, had listened to Mydei speak of it in his quiet way.

But Kremnos was long gone in Mydei’s time.

If these warriors were speaking of it as if it still stood—

Phainon schooled his expression, keeping his voice even. “Kremnos?” he echoed. “That still stands?”

The reaction was immediate.

Suspicion deepened into something sharper, colder. The younger warrior scoffed. “What kind of question is that?”

The leader’s gaze darkened. “Kremnos has stood for generations,” he said carefully. “It will stand for generations more.”

Phainon’s stomach twisted.

Tribbie hadn’t just sent him somewhere else.

She had sent him somewhen else.

A thousand thoughts clamored for space in his head, but he forced them down. He needed to focus. He was in unknown territory, surrounded by warriors who didn’t trust him.

And more than anything, he needed to get into Kremnos.

So he smiled, tilting his head just slightly. “Sounds like an impressive place,” he mused. “I wouldn’t mind seeing it.”

The leader studied him for a long moment. “You want to come with us?”

Phainon spread his hands, keeping his posture easy. “If you’ll have me.”

The woman frowned. “And if we say no?”

He glanced at the bloodied battlefield, at the corpses of raiders cooling in the dirt. Then back at them.

“I could stay here,” he said dryly, “but I doubt your friends over there would give me much of a welcome.”

The leader didn’t smile. Didn’t relax. But after a beat, he gave a short nod. “If you slow us down, we leave you behind.”

Phainon grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As they began to move, he fell into step beside them, his mind already turning.

Kremnos.

He had no idea what he was about to walk into.

But he had a sinking feeling he wasn’t going to like it.

The path stretched long and unyielding before them, winding through dense woodlands and open stretches of uneven terrain. The warriors moved in steady formation, their pace disciplined but unhurried. No one spoke to Phainon.

Not openly, anyway.

He could feel their eyes flicking toward him when they thought he wouldn’t notice, lingering just long enough to make their suspicions known. It was to be expected. A lone stranger appearing out of nowhere in the aftermath of an ambush? It would be more concerning if they didn’t suspect him.

Still, it left Phainon in an uncomfortable position. He had no weapons, no clear plan, and only the vaguest idea of where—when—he was. Kremnos existed here, still standing in its full strength, which meant he was far removed from his own time. Too far.

And Mydei was here.

The thought sent a strange shiver down his spine. Mydei, younger. Crown Prince of a nation on the verge of collapse, but still oblivious to its fate. What was he like at this point? How different from the man Phainon knew? Would he even recognize him? Would he care?

Phainon exhaled slowly through his nose, pushing those thoughts aside. First, he needed to figure out what the hell he was going to do.

He was surrounded by trained warriors who clearly belonged to a structured force. Their discipline was obvious in their movement, the way they kept formation, the way they checked their surroundings. They weren’t just some backwater militia. If he had to guess, they were Kremnian. Elite soldiers, maybe even royal guards—though that’s just a bit of wishful thinking.

That meant they answered to Mydei.

That also meant lying to them was going to get complicated. He had no documents, no cover story, and the moment they started pressing, he’d need to be careful with his words. For now, he could skate by with vague answers, but that wouldn’t last long.

More importantly, they weren’t fully convinced he wasn’t a threat.

Phainon had caught the way a few of them positioned themselves closer together, subtly keeping him from getting too deep into their ranks. He could practically hear the unspoken agreement between them—watch him. If he so much as flinched the wrong way, they’d be on him in seconds.

Not an ideal situation.

But he had time. He could work with this.

He needed to prove he wasn’t an enemy—but without revealing too much. He’d already played the “I’m just a traveler” card, but they weren’t buying it. Not fully. He had to show them he wasn’t just some lost fool, that he had some kind of use.

A test would come soon. He could feel it. These kinds of men didn’t just take strangers into their ranks without challenge. They’d find a reason to gauge him—to see if he was skilled, if he could fight, if he was worth bringing to Kremnos.

When it came, he needed to be careful. Show just enough ability to prove himself, but not enough to draw too much attention.

That was the real goal, wasn’t it?

He needed to get to Kremnos and find Mydei before he made any moves. Phainon didn’t know how long he’d be stuck here, or what Tribbie had actually meant when she said this was “for” Mydei too.

Would Mydei even believe him if he told him the truth?

Phainon clicked his tongue in frustration. He hated not knowing.

For now, he had to take things one step at a time.

The group walked in silence for what felt like hours, the sun creeping lower in the sky. The weight of the day settled into Phainon’s limbs, but he kept his stride even. He had no idea how far Kremnos was, and asking might only make him seem more suspicious.

Eventually, they reached a shallow river, where the warriors stopped to refill their waterskins and check their gear. Phainon crouched by the water’s edge, letting the coolness seep into his palms as he splashed it over his face.

He felt movement beside him. One of the younger warriors—broad-shouldered, with dark eyes that hadn’t quite lost their youthful sharpness—had stopped nearby. He wasn’t looking directly at Phainon, but his body language screamed scrutiny.

Phainon sighed inwardly. Here we go.

“You’re too clean,” the warrior said bluntly.

Phainon raised a brow. “What?”

The younger man finally turned to face him fully, arms crossed over his chest. “Your clothes. They don’t match anything from around here. And you don’t carry yourself like a merchant or a farmer.” His eyes narrowed. “You move like a fighter.”

Phainon smirked. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

The warrior didn’t return the smile. “Where are your weapons?”

It was a pointed question.

Phainon exhaled through his nose, considering his options. He could make something up, but these men weren’t fools. They’d see through it.

Instead, he admitted it, shrugging. “Lost them.”

“Convenient,” the warrior muttered.

Phainon just smiled. “Not really. I liked those weapons.”

The warrior studied him for another long moment before scoffing and walking off. The tension in the air remained, but at least they weren’t drawing blades on him. Yet.

A few feet away, the scarred leader was speaking quietly with the woman from earlier, the one who had questioned him the most. Their eyes flicked toward him briefly before returning to their conversation.

Phainon pretended not to notice.

Instead, he sat back on his heels, staring at his reflection in the water.

This wasn’t going to be easy.

But then again, nothing with Mydei ever was.

The group moved in silence for a while, the only sounds being the crunch of their boots on the path and the occasional rustle of the forest around them. Phainon, however, couldn’t let the strange situation slide by. He needed to know more, and he couldn’t help but ask questions. His curiosity about the time, the place, and the people was gnawing at him.

“So, how long has Kremnos been… so strong?” Phainon asked casually, glancing over at the warriors. “Seems like an impressive force, especially if you’re on your way there.”

The leader of the group, a tall man with a scar running down his face, glanced over with a flicker of wariness. “Kremnos is a stronghold. Always has been.”

“I’d heard of it,” Phainon mused, trying to keep his tone light. “But I didn’t realize it was still this… active. A lot of soldiers walking around.”

“There’s always soldiers walking around,” the woman next to him muttered, her eyes narrowing at him. “Doesn’t mean anything. Kremnos doesn’t run on just soldiers. We’re a people of tradition.”

Phainon nodded slowly, the wheels turning in his head. He needed to get them talking more, but without making it too obvious that he was fishing for answers.

“I’ve heard rumors about the Crown Prince,” he said casually, slipping the name in there like it was nothing. “He’s supposed to be a hell of a fighter, right?”

The mention of Mydei made several of them stiffen, but none of them spoke at first. Phainon could feel the shift in the air, the tension that seemed to rise when Mydei’s name was brought up.

“He’s as capable as they come,” the scarred man answered gruffly, but there was a respectful tone in his voice that Phainon hadn’t expected.

“That so?” Phainon tilted his head. “I imagine a prince of that caliber would have to be. A lot of people must respect him here.”

“People respect strength, and the Prince has it,” the woman said, her voice more neutral, but the praise in it was evident.

Phainon nodded, his mind racing. He needed to be careful here—mentioning Mydei might make them wary. But it was clear that Mydei was well-respected, at least more so than he was used to back in Okhema.

“I bet he’d be quite a sight in battle,” Phainon said, trying to keep the conversation flowing, but the warriors’ eyes were narrowing with each question.

A low murmur from one of them made Phainon pause. “Nikador, give me strength…” one muttered under his breath, shaking his head as if they were all growing tired of his questions.

Phainon raised a brow but didn’t comment. It seemed he was pushing their patience, but it was clear they were too disciplined to let it show too much.

“So, uh,” Phainon said, changing the subject slightly, “does he train with you all often? The Prince, I mean?”

The scarred man let out a frustrated sigh, clearly tired of the endless stream of questions. “You ask a lot of questions, traveler. But yes, the Prince is not one to shy away from a challenge. He trains with the best of us. A true warrior.”

Phainon smiled, more to himself than anyone else. So Mydei was indeed as skilled as he had imagined, a force to be reckoned with. But the way these warriors spoke about him… it wasn’t just respect—it was admiration.

That’s when it clicked.

He was still getting his bearings, trying to fit the pieces together. But the impression these people had of Mydei was stronger than anything he had ever witnessed back home.

“Sounds like someone worth meeting,” Phainon remarked, dropping the subject again before it could get any more uncomfortable.

They walked in silence for a while, but Phainon could feel their eyes on him every now and then, the weight of their suspicion growing. They were no fools, and Phainon’s questions had definitely raised a few red flags. But his mind was still spinning with the realization that this was the past—a past where Mydei was a prince, where the Kremnos stronghold still stood.

And where Phainon needed to go to figure out what the hell he was supposed to do next.

The journey to the gates of Kremnos had taken longer than Phainon had expected. Days of restless travel had worn him down, but there was still the question of how to gain entry. The warriors accompanying him were wary, not that he could blame them. It wasn’t every day that someone from outside their land showed up, and certainly not someone with his background.

Phainon kept himself busy, posing questions—mundane ones, at first—anything to gauge the time, the landscape, or even their customs. But with every question, it became clear that his inquiries were more scrutinized than he had anticipated. Their wary eyes never left him. They were learning his game.

“What exactly do you know about the prince’s… training?” he asked, almost nonchalantly, as they moved along the rocky path leading up to the city.

The warrior leading the group, a stocky man with a weathered face, didn’t even look at him as he replied, “Prince trains like every other warrior here—rigorously. The city doesn’t just hand out its loyalty.”

Phainon gave a small nod, trying to feign interest. “Ah. But he doesn’t—” He caught himself too late. “Doesn’t seem to—”

“Why are you so interested in our prince?” the warrior asked sharply, his gaze narrowing.

Phainon waved it off, masking his discomfort with a casual shrug. “No harm in learning about those you might have to fight alongside, right?”

The warrior grunted in response, his eyes still fixed on Phainon, as if weighing him. The atmosphere had shifted with every step closer to the gates of Kremnos, thick with the smell of dust and suspicion. The warriors with Phainon remained silent, their faces unreadable, but Phainon could feel their discomfort. The tension among the group was palpable, like a storm brewing in the distance.

As they neared the city gates by dusk, the silhouette of the stone walls loomed, casting long, foreboding shadows in the fading light. The air grew chill, and the hum of voices quieted, replaced by the soft sound of boots scraping against the ground.

The guards at the gates didn’t speak, but their eyes were sharp as hawks. Phainon could feel their scrutiny—every step, every breath, under a magnifying glass. His pulse quickened, but he tried to mask his nervousness, walking with the calm, nonchalant confidence he’d mastered over the years. His hands remained relaxed at his sides, but inside, his mind was working overtime, thinking about how to navigate this.

“Stop right there.” The voice was sharp, carrying authority with each syllable. It wasn’t a suggestion; it was a command.

Phainon’s smile faltered for a second, but he recovered quickly. “I’m not from around here,” he said smoothly, lifting his hands slightly in a gesture of peace. “I’ve heard much about your warriors. Kremnos’ strength—your city’s reputation precedes it. I thought I’d see it for myself.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed immediately, his grip tightening on his spear. “Rumors are for fools and dreamers. You’re no dreamer. So why are you really here?” The suspicion in his voice was as sharp as the spear he held. “And don’t lie to me.”

Phainon adjusted his cloak, keeping his voice steady. “I told you. I’m interested in learning more about your warriors. There’s no harm in curiosity.”

The warrior beside him, a younger one, shifted uncomfortably, his posture tense. He hadn’t spoken yet, but the suspicion in his eyes burned just as fiercely. “No one just wanders into Kremnos without purpose,” he muttered, his voice low, just loud enough for those nearby to hear. “People don’t travel this far for nothing.”

Phainon kept his composure, but inside, he was feeling the pressure building. His fingers flexed slightly, almost instinctively. “I’ve heard of a great warrior here—stronger than any other. I wanted to meet him,” he said, choosing his words carefully, watching their reactions.

There was a long, heavy silence as the guards exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable. The first guard grunted, clearly unconvinced. “We’ve heard this story before, stranger. People come looking for warriors, for glory, for fame. But they find nothing but death here.”

Phainon swallowed, his mind racing to think of something that would hold their attention, something that would shift their focus. He needed to break through this wall. “I’m not here for glory,” he said, his voice softer now, but still firm. “I’m searching for something more.”

The guard’s lip curled slightly, and he leaned forward just enough that Phainon could feel the heat of his breath. “More?” The word was spat with disbelief. “And what would that be? You think we just let anyone through these gates because they say they want more?”

Phainon’s jaw clenched, but he held his ground. The warriors around him were tightening their formation, their eyes narrowing. He could feel their walls closing in on him, the pressure mounting. It wasn’t just the gates that were locked—everything here was a test.

“I didn’t mean to offend,” he said, lifting his hands in a gesture of respect. “I only wish to speak to the one leading this city. To understand how the warriors of Kremnos rise to such strength.”

There was a moment where even the youngest guard hesitated, his eyes scanning Phainon in an almost predatory way. The first guard, however, was having none of it. He looked Phainon over one more time, as though seeing if there was some flaw in his story, some crack in his façade. Finally, he spoke again, voice laced with suspicion. “And what would a man like you want with our prince?”

Phainon froze, his heart hammering in his chest. The mention of the prince was inevitable, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. He’d been prepared for this moment, but the reality of it felt different. The temperature seemed to drop, the weight of their gazes pressing down on him like an invisible force. He took a breath, choosing his words with care.

“I’ve heard he’s not just a warrior,” Phainon said slowly, eyes steady but voice cautious. “He’s a leader. I’d like to understand what makes him so… effective.”

The guards’ expressions shifted at this, their eyes narrowing in synchronization. The air grew heavier. It was like Phainon had set off an alarm in their minds. The tension was unbearable, and for a moment, he could feel the weight of it crushing in on him from all sides.

The first guard stood still, his posture rigid, before exhaling sharply and looking Phainon up and down once more. “You speak of him with reverence, but that doesn’t mean you’re worthy to see him.” He took a step closer, leaning in so his breath was hot on Phainon’s face. “Why should we let you through? You’re just a stranger, and your interest in our prince raises too many questions.”

Phainon opened his mouth to answer, but before he could form the words, the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps interrupted him. A group of soldiers appeared from the city gates, their formation tight and disciplined. At the forefront was a figure who towered above the rest, his presence so commanding that even the guards faltered.

It wasn’t just the sound of footsteps or the flash of metal. It was the weight of his presence. The air itself seemed to shift as the prince entered Phainon’s field of vision, his every movement smooth and calculated. His posture exuded an unspoken authority, one that even the seasoned warriors at the gates couldn’t ignore.

The guards immediately straightened, their postures shifting from suspicion to reverence. They didn’t bow, but they moved aside, clearing a path as the prince approached. His eyes swept over Phainon—sharp, calculating, giving him the briefest glance before his gaze returned to the road ahead.

Mydei. It was him.

Phainon’s heart skipped a beat at the thought of finally seeing him in person. He’d seen Mydei have to use his titles back in, or in the future? When they were on missions that for some reason required him to, of course, but the real thing? The presence? It was different than anything he could have imagined. The prince’s authority was palpable, like a tangible force that filled the air. There was no grand proclamation, no show of power—just the quiet certainty of someone who was used to being obeyed.

Without even a flicker of acknowledgment to Phainon, Mydei spoke, his voice steady and brief, “Let him in.”

The words were simple. Direct. There was no hesitation, no questioning—just the undeniable ring of authority in his command.

The guards, though surprised, stepped aside without a word, their silent acceptance a testament to the prince’s control. Phainon, still in awe, took a step forward. His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t hesitate. The gates creaked open before him, and the city beyond stretched wide.

As the prince walked past, his eyes remained fixed on the horizon, and the guards quickly fell back into formation behind him. No one spoke. No one dared. The gates closed behind Phainon with a resounding thud, and for a moment, everything felt quiet, still.

The weight of the land settled on his shoulders. This was a city bound by strength. And the prince? He was its living embodiment.

As Phainon stepped through the gates, the weight of what just happened lingered in the air. He couldn’t help but replay the brief, almost imperceptible exchange between him and the prince—how effortlessly commanding Mydei had been, how his presence seemed to make everything else fade into the background. For a second, he found himself distracted by the memory of it.

But then, just as quickly, his mind snapped back into focus. Get it together, Phainon. He had a job to do, and he couldn’t afford to get lost in those thoughts. The authority Mydei held, the way it just felt right—shit, did he even have an authority kink?

Phainon shook his head, almost wincing at the thought. Don’t think about that now. You’ll talk to your Mydei about it when you get back. He straightened his posture and gave a mental nod to himself. Time to focus.

This was it. His group was parting ways here, and he couldn’t afford to waste time with distractions. He had his own mission to complete, and his mind needed to stay sharp.

He moved forward, brushing off the remnants of that encounter, already shifting his focus back to his goal.

As the gates of Kremnos clanged shut behind him, Phainon took a moment to let the enormity of the city settle in. The streets were bustling, but there was a hard edge to everything—shouted commands between warriors, the clash of weapons in training yards, and a constant undercurrent of tension that hummed beneath the surface.

This was no city of highborn politeness and delicate affairs like Okhema. No one here was interested in pleasantries or a warm welcome.

Phainon adjusted his cloak, feeling the weight of being an outsider even more now that he was on his own. The city didn’t seem to care about his pleasant demeanor, or how he had offered to help several people along the way. The sharp glances he received from passersby, the casual dismissals from shopkeepers, all served to remind him that here, strength and purpose spoke louder than kindness.

The few people he’d tried to approach for directions either ignored him or gave him vague, almost condescending answers. Kremnos was not a place where soft words or kindness got anyone anywhere. This was a city forged by blood, sweat, and discipline, and Phainon’s gentle nature stood little chance against its harsh rhythm.

His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten in hours, but it wasn’t like he had much money to spare anyway. He hadn’t come to Kremnos for luxuries. But now, as he wandered deeper into the city, he realized he hadn’t really planned for the basics either—food, shelter… anything that might have made his journey here more comfortable.

He walked past a few merchants hawking their wares, but he didn’t have enough for even a small meal. Some of the street vendors glared at him, sizing him up like a potential thief or troublemaker. A few muttered about him under their breath, but he couldn’t catch the full words.

Eventually, he found himself in the outskirts of the city, the houses growing more sparse, the roads less crowded. This area looked like it could be a place for travelers, but it was too quiet, too unwelcoming.

At a corner, he saw a small tavern, the faint smell of food wafting from within. It was rough around the edges, the windows fogged, and the door cracked open just enough to let the warm air escape. Phainon walked in, hoping to find something to ease the hunger gnawing at him.

The moment he stepped inside, the noise died down. A few heads turned in his direction—eyes narrowed with suspicion, lips curled in distrust. No one here seemed to care that he had come from a faraway land or that he had been kind to those he passed. Here, no one wanted a friend.

Phainon approached the bar, where an older woman with weathered skin wiped down a mug.

“What’ll it be?” she asked, not looking up from her work.

“I don’t have any money,” Phainon said with a small shrug, trying to offer a friendly smile. “But I’m hoping to find a place to stay. Some food, maybe. I’ll pay you back. Or—”

She cut him off with a short laugh, shaking her head. “That’s the problem with outsiders. Always looking for handouts, always thinking their charm will get them somewhere.”

Phainon straightened, stung by her words, but he didn’t let it show. He was used to being able to charm people, win them over with his warmth. But Kremnos wasn’t Okhema.

“I’ll be fine. Just need a place to rest, that’s all,” he said, his tone even but still carrying the faintest hint of his usual warmth.

She eyed him for a moment, then shook her head again. “We don’t take in wanderers just ‘cause they have a pretty face. You either pay, or you get out. There’s the street if you’re desperate.”

Phainon didn’t argue. He knew when to retreat. But his stomach ached more now, a reminder of how little he had planned for. He didn’t even know where to start finding a bed for the night.

As he left the tavern, he thought briefly of going to one of the many training yards he’d passed earlier. Maybe there would be someone there who could offer him a bed in exchange for work. He had skills, after all—combat, strategy, leadership. But Kremnos wasn’t the place to expect hospitality from anyone.

The streets were starting to empty out as the day’s light faded. The cold air was setting in, and Phainon started to realize he might be stuck here for the night unless he figured something out.

That was when he remembered the guards—especially the one who had been so suspicious of him when he first arrived. Maybe he could talk to one of them, get some information. It wouldn’t hurt to try.

With no clear direction or choice left, he made his way back toward the gates, his mind wandering for a moment to the thought of Mydei. He quickly shoved that aside, telling himself he’d think about it later when he was back with his Mydei—right now, he had work to do.

Phainon had a mission. That was all that mattered for now.

He had barely taken a few more steps when a series of loud, gruff shouts reached his ears. At first, he didn’t pay much attention to it; the streets of Kremnos were noisy, the constant din of warriors training and shouting orders was nothing new. It was just background noise—until he realized it was getting louder, and it was in his direction.

He paused, brow furrowed. The tone was unfamiliar—sharp and insistent—and as the sound drew nearer, it became clear that the shouting wasn’t just random banter. It was directed at him.

Phainon turned slowly, trying to make sense of what was happening. He saw a group of rugged-looking warriors at the edge of the street, their voices rising above the din as they waved at him. At first, he couldn’t understand the language; they were speaking Kremnonian, a language that wasn’t unfamiliar, but not one he was fully fluent in. Still, the tone was unmistakable—they were talking to him.

He blinked, trying to make out the words. Then, a sharp whistle pierced the air, and one of the warriors—tall, with broad shoulders and a scruffy beard—stepped forward, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Hey! You! Foreigner!” the man called, his voice booming.

Phainon’s heart skipped a beat, caught between confusion and wariness. He was sure that no one here would care enough to get involved with him, and yet these men were drawing attention. Phainon took a cautious step toward them, wondering what this was about.

When he got closer, the man spoke again, the others falling into a loose circle around him.

“You look like someone who can handle yourself. Ever tried your hand in the arena?” The man’s smile widened, clearly expecting Phainon to back down, or at least hesitate.

Phainon, unsure of the situation but sensing an opportunity, replied, “I’m not looking for trouble, just a place to rest. I’ve got nothing to prove.”

But the man wasn’t hearing any of it.

“We didn’t say it’s trouble,” the tall warrior said, chuckling. “You’re not the first outsider to stroll in here looking for a bed. But maybe, just maybe, we can make this more interesting. A spar. A quick one. If you win, we’ll treat you to a hot meal and a place to rest for the night. Doesn’t sound too bad, does it?”

Phainon raised an eyebrow, still unsure. “You’d do that? Just because I win a spar?”

The warriors around him exchanged looks, clearly amused by his disbelief.

“Why not? Not every day we get someone with the guts to challenge us. And who knows? Maybe you’ll teach us a thing or two. We don’t mind throwing a little kindness around, just this once,” the tall man said, grinning.

Something about their tone made it clear that they weren’t just playing with him. They were genuine. Unexpectedly, Phainon felt a rush of relief mixed with a small, surprising sense of respect. Kremnos wasn’t a place that made it easy for anyone to fit in, but here, it seemed like the warriors were at least willing to entertain the idea of fairness. It felt like a break from the harsh, unforgiving vibe of the city.

“Well, if you insist,” Phainon said, his voice steady but now laced with a touch of intrigue. “But don’t expect me to go easy.”

The tall warrior grinned, and his comrades cheered lightly, the tension lifting. They led him to a nearby open training yard, clearing space for a quick spar. Phainon was ready to go, his muscles loosening, his mind focused on the task ahead. It wasn’t just about winning—this was a chance for him to earn something more than just food and a bed. It was a moment to prove his worth in a way that the people here would respect.

Phainon adjusted the grip on his borrowed training sword, the one the Kremnonian warriors had provided after he’d admitted, somewhat sheepishly, that he’d lost his own on the way here. His gaze shifted to the group of warriors around him, noting the skeptical looks they threw his way as they sized him up. They weren’t exactly thrilled by the fact that he came into their city without a weapon—something as basic as that seemed to hold weight here.

“You lost your weapon?” The tall warrior who had first spoken to him raised an eyebrow. “That’s… disappointing for someone claiming to be a warrior.”

Phainon bit back a sigh. “It’s not ideal, but I’ve fought without one before.”

The man chuckled, not entirely amused. “We’ll make do. You fight with this.” He handed Phainon a dull practice sword, far from the lethal weapon he was used to. “No weapons, no armor. Just strength.”

“Agreed,” Phainon said, accepting it without hesitation.

The group formed a circle around them as the spar began, with the warriors eager to see what the stranger was made of. Phainon could feel the weight of their eyes on him, but it only spurred him on. The first few moves were just a quick exchange of jabs and dodges, but as they moved deeper into the fight, Phainon let the battle extend longer than necessary, almost as if testing his opponents. They weren’t bad—each warrior had their own style, their own rhythm. One was quick, always trying to dart in for a strike, while another was slower but relied on brute strength. The third was a bit more patient, waiting for openings.

Phainon moved fluidly around them, barely breaking a sweat. He didn’t rush the fight, allowing them to showcase their abilities, respecting their skill more than he initially had. They weren’t half bad. He respected that, though he knew the outcome was already decided.

Finally, with a single, swift movement, he disarmed the younger warrior, sending the sword flying across the yard. He knocked the other two off balance with a quick maneuver and stood over them, catching his breath.

“You’ve done well,” he said, offering a hand to help them up.

The warriors laughed and slapped his back. “Not bad, outsider,” the tall man said, still winded. “You earned this.”

As Phainon caught his breath, a sudden chill swept over him, unnoticed by the warriors around him, too caught up in their laughter to sense the shift. His heart skipped a beat, and his eyes flicked toward the gate. Something had changed. A familiar presence hung in the air, one that sent a shiver down his spine.

He turned his head sharply to the entrance and saw it—there, moving silently was a figure he couldn’t mistake. It was a certain prince just returning from his expedition. His face was calm, almost unreadable, but Phainon even this far, spotted him instantly even with his seamless attempt at trying to blend in.

His pulse quickened, and for a moment, he considered running after him. But as he started to move, one of the warriors caught his eye.

“Where are you going?” the tall warrior asked, blocking his path with an amused grin. “Not going to run off again, are you?”

Phainon hesitated, glancing at the prince once more. “I—I need to speak with someone. It’s important.”

The warrior shook his head. “Not right now. You’ve earned your meal. Stick around and let us treat you. We won’t hear the end of it if you leave before that.”

Phainon felt the pull to chase after Mydei, but the warriors’ insistence was enough to keep him grounded. “I’ll be quick. No need for the meal, really. It’s my fault for not preparing properly.”

But the warriors wouldn’t hear it. They insisted, guiding him toward the tavern. Grateful but anxious, Phainon ate quickly, every bite feeling like it took longer than it should have. The thought of catching up with Mydei gnawed at him, but he knew he needed to respect their hospitality.

Once the meal was finished, Phainon stood up quickly, offering his thanks. “I’ll make it up to you another time,” he promised.

They handed him a few coins for an inn, and after another round of thanks, he took his leave, his mind already focused on finding Mydei again.

The streets of Kremnos were quieter now, the sky turning a deep shade of orange as the sun began to set. Phainon walked, keeping his eyes peeled for any sign of the prince. His hope was running thin, but something in his gut told him not to give up just yet.

He followed the path Mydei had taken earlier, weaving through narrow streets and stone walkways. The scent of dust and metal lingered in the cooling air, remnants of a day spent in labor. Most of the city was winding down—merchants packing up their stalls, warriors retreating for the evening, the occasional clatter of armor breaking the quiet.

Phainon was just about to turn back when he caught sight of someone beneath a large tree in an open courtyard. A lone figure sat against the trunk, legs stretched out, head tilted slightly downward.

His steps slowed.

Even without seeing his face, he knew.

Mydei sat there, eyes closed, letting a small child weave clumsy braids into his dark hair. Two others played nearby, their laughter soft in the quiet. Their game took them just far enough before circling back, like they were drawn to his presence. He wasn’t speaking, wasn’t even moving much, but he also wasn’t stopping them.

Something in Phainon warmed at the sight.

He had seen this before—not here, not exactly like this, but the feeling of it was the same. Mydei letting him braid his hair absentmindedly. Mydei sitting quietly beside him on nights Phainon was too restless to sleep. Mydei watching over their companions without a word, always there but never asking for acknowledgment.

Some things never changed.

Phainon exhaled, tension easing from his shoulders. A small smile tugged at his lips—soft, real, unbidden.

Yeah. This was him.

Phainon stood there, captivated by the sight of him—carefree, calm, a prince surrounded by children as if he were just another person, unbothered by his royal status. It was… strange, in a way. This Mydei seemed nothing like the one Phainon knew, but at the same time, everything was the same. The way he sat there, the slight twitch of his mouth, his deep connection to the children.

Phainon found himself drawn closer, his feet carrying him instinctively toward the prince. It was like a magnet—pulling, tugging, as if the space between them was wrong, like something inside him wanted to be closer, wanted to touch.

As he got closer, he couldn’t help but notice the way Mydei’s body was so relaxed, the way the sunlight caught on his exposed skin, drawing attention to the muscular, smooth lines of his chest. Phainon’s breath hitched, but he brushed it off. Focus. Focus.

But then, Mydei opened one of his eyes, lazily looking up at the child near him, completely unaware of Phainon’s presence at first. The child glanced up at Phainon curiously, then back at Mydei, not scared—just intrigued.

“Hey,” Phainon muttered before he could stop himself. His voice came out lower than he intended, but the words felt like they had weight behind them.

Mydei’s gaze flickered to Phainon for a moment, but it wasn’t the casual glance Phainon expected. His hand shot out, grabbing Phainon’s forearm in an unexpected, firm grip. Before Phainon could process it, Mydei yanked him forward, pulling him off balance. His chest collided with Mydei’s, the impact jolting Phainon’s entire body. The shock of it sent a shiver down his spine.

Phainon froze, face inches from Mydei’s, and before he could say a word, Mydei pulled him in with brutal efficiency. The kiss was sudden, forceful, and tasted of something both foreign and familiar. Mydei’s lips were insistent, and Phainon could feel the heat radiating off of him—his body, his skin, all of it.

It wasn’t soft or lingering—it was firm, purposeful, a greeting in its most direct form.

Phainon’s mind went blank. His body felt electrified, every nerve waking up as the warmth of Mydei’s skin bled through his own. He couldn’t think—couldn’t breathe—just felt the heat of Mydei’s bare chest pressed against his, the way his muscles moved as he shifted under Phainon’s weight. It was almost too much, the connection so intense, so raw. For a moment, Phainon lost himself in the sensation—his hands instinctively gripping Mydei’s shoulders as he tilted his head slightly to deepen the kiss, to feel more of that heat, to—

And then it stopped.

Mydei pulled away, breaking the kiss as if it had been nothing. His expression remained calm, unbothered, like he’d just given a simple greeting to a stranger. He didn’t even seem affected by the intensity of it.

Phainon blinked, his entire body still trembling from the sudden shift. He didn’t know what to do with himself. The kiss lingered on his lips, the sensation of Mydei’s warmth still burning into him, but he felt… empty in the wake of it. His head was spinning, and his chest was tight, heart racing, but for what reason?

The child next to Mydei raised an eyebrow, seemingly confused, but not surprised. It was as if this was something they had seen before, like this kind of thing was normal. The other two children who had been playing stopped, their gazes turning toward Phainon with a mixture of curiosity and judgment. They watched him with wide eyes, clearly trying to make sense of the scene they had just witnessed.

Phainon felt his face flush, and then it hit him. Oh shit. This was a greeting here in Kremnos. He hadn’t known that. His mind was still foggy, but the realization was like a bucket of ice water splashed over him. Not knowing the customs here—especially one as direct as that—was… a bad move.

The children kept looking at him, tilting their heads like they were trying to figure him out, but there was no kindness in their gaze. No warmth, only judgment.

And Mydei? Mydei didn’t say a word, didn’t react at all. Just glanced at Phainon once more before letting his eyes drift shut again, as if nothing had changed. As if he hadn’t just kissed Phainon with such intensity.

Phainon didn’t move, didn’t speak. He stood there, feeling his pulse still hammering in his chest, feeling every inch of his body hum with the aftermath. He’d just been kissed like that by a prince, a prince who— fuck —didn’t even know him.

The children didn’t stop staring. They still looked at him like he was the strange thing they’d ever seen.

And Mydei didn’t disagree.

Phainon stood there, frozen in place, his chest still thundering from the kiss that had just shaken him to his core. Mydei didn’t disagree. The children around them, however, were quick to notice his discomfort.

One of the younger children, a boy with bright, curious eyes, tilted his head to the side and looked at Phainon as if he were trying to piece something together. “What happened?” he asked innocently.

The other two children, slightly older, paused their play to look over. The girl with messy black hair giggled. “Is he okay?” she asked, though there was no hiding the amusement in her voice. It was like they’d seen this sort of thing before.

Phainon’s mind raced, the electric pulse of Mydei’s kiss still echoing on his lips. He opened his mouth, trying to find words to explain the chaos swirling inside him. But before he could say anything, the younger boy piped up again, his tone entirely too serious for someone so young.

“Why didn’t you say hi back?” he asked, as if Phainon had committed some grave social error.

Phainon blinked, still trying to recover, but the kid wasn’t done.

“Don’t you know how to greet someone in Kremnos?” the little girl asked, nudging him playfully with a grin.

The third child, an even younger one, nodded as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. “You should kiss back,” he said, his words simple, but they hung in the air like a bombshell.

Phainon’s heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he couldn’t breathe. Kiss back? Was that what he was supposed to do? His mind snapped into overdrive as he tried to figure out how to process this new layer to the situation. The thought of kissing Mydei back—a prince who didn’t know him, at least for now, a prince whose kiss had already set his body on fire—made his pulse spike. But was that the right thing to do? What was expected of him here?

He looked at Mydei, whose eyes were still closed, seemingly unaware of the confusion he had just left in his wake. The prince was completely unbothered, sitting there like it was any other day, while Phainon stood there like he was losing his grip on everything.

Phainon turned back to the children, trying to regain his composure. His throat was dry, his mind in overdrive. Was it a sign of disrespect if he didn’t kiss back? Would Mydei be offended? Was this really just a greeting, or something more?

Before he could make sense of any of it, the little boy spoke again, his voice sincere. “Don’t worry. You’ll get it,” he said, clearly unfazed by Phainon’s struggle.

But Phainon wasn’t sure if he would. His brain was still working in hyperdrive, his body still humming from the touch of Mydei’s skin against his. The children were watching him closely, their curious gazes inspecting him like he was an experiment, trying to figure him out.

The tension in the air felt thick now, the questions swirling in Phainon’s head as he tried to make sense of everything. Could he just kiss Mydei back? Would that feel… right? His body wanted it. But his mind? His mind wasn’t sure.

The children continued to play, their attention slowly returning to the game they had been interrupted from. But Phainon stood there, still processing the whirlwind of what had just happened. His pulse was still racing, his mind on fire, trying to make sense of the kiss. The children around him were too curious, too unbothered, and he couldn’t escape the feeling that he was the one who was being judged, not them.

One of the younger kids, the same boy who had been eyeing him earlier, suddenly piped up, his voice innocent but sharp. “What do you wanna do now?”

Phainon froze for a moment. The question hit him like a punch to the gut. His first instinct, his immediate thought, was ride. It made him stiffen for a split second—his body responding without his brain’s permission. But no. He couldn’t say that to a child. Not here, not like this. His mind scrambled to find a better response, something that didn’t make him sound like a complete idiot.

He cleared his throat, forcing himself to ignore the heat still curling in his chest, and slowly, cautiously, he stepped closer to Mydei. The prince was still leaning against the tree, his eyes closed, looking perfectly at ease as the children ran around him. Phainon took another hesitant step, unsure of what to say or how to approach him after everything that had just happened.

The children, seeming to sense his uncertainty, started nudging each other, whispering among themselves. Phainon didn’t know whether to be grateful for their encouragement or frustrated by it. They were still watching him, judging him with their wide, knowing eyes.

With a deep breath, he finally closed the gap between them, standing just to the side of Mydei. His heart was still hammering in his chest, the lingering heat of Mydei’s skin against his almost palpable in the space between them. He wasn’t sure how to begin, how to bridge the gap between them. His words came out softer than he intended, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Thank you,” he said, and then his throat tightened. “For helping me get into the city, even though you didn’t know me.”

His words hung in the air, softer than he’d planned, and he instantly regretted how weak they sounded. He hadn’t meant to come off so… unsure, so vulnerable. But the truth was, he didn’t know what else to say. He was still trying to reconcile the prince he’d known in the future with this version of Mydei—the one who, for reasons he couldn’t explain, had pulled him into a kiss like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The child who had spoken earlier seemed satisfied with Phainon’s response and gave a little nod, as if agreeing with whatever he’d said.

Meanwhile, Mydei, still leaning lazily against the tree, didn’t move. He didn’t open his eyes. He didn’t react to Phainon’s words. The space between them felt heavy, and Phainon couldn’t decide if he wanted Mydei to respond or if he’d prefer silence.

But the children weren’t helping. They were still looking at him, and he felt their eyes on him, expecting something more. Phainon bit the inside of his cheek, a small knot tightening in his stomach. What did they expect? What did Mydei expect?

In the end, Phainon stood motionless, waiting for a response that never came. The children’s whispers had faded, leaving only the rustle of the wind through the trees. He could feel his breath, slow but heavy, still trying to settle, his thoughts tangled in the awkwardness of the moment. It was uncomfortable—too quiet, too still. He was painfully aware of how badly he had fumbled.

Just as he thought the silence would swallow him whole, Mydei spoke. His voice was calm, even, but there was something more—an edge Phainon couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t cold. It was… neutral, a subtle shift that made Phainon’s pulse quicken.

“You’re still here,” Mydei said, his eyes still closed, leaning against the tree as if he hadn’t just pulled Phainon into a kiss moments ago. There was no expression on his face, but his tone seemed almost expectant, as if he had been waiting for Phainon to say something else. “I thought you’d’ve figured it out by now.”

Phainon’s heart skipped. Figured it out? What did Mydei mean by that? Was he annoyed? Was he waiting for Phainon to leave?

Phainon hesitated, torn between offering an apology for lingering or trying to explain himself further. But Mydei continued, his voice softer now, with a touch of something that made it hard for Phainon to discern if it was an invitation or a dismissal.

“It’s fine,” Mydei added, though Phainon couldn’t tell if it was an invitation to stay or a polite, passive-aggressive dismissal. “If you’re not leaving, at least try not to stare.”

Phainon blinked, suddenly aware of how much his gaze had lingered on Mydei—how the prince’s bare skin gleamed in the soft light, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the fluid shift of his muscles as he adjusted against the tree. Heat crawled up Phainon’s neck, and his face flushed. Shit. This is so embarrassing.

But Mydei didn’t seem bothered. His eyes opened, just enough to glance at Phainon, acknowledging his discomfort without so much as a flinch.

“You seem… lost,” Mydei said, his voice slightly lower now, but still steady. As his gaze locked with Phainon’s, it felt like something sharp was slicing through the air—piercing, observant, knowing. “I’m sure you’ve got questions. But staring like that isn’t going to get you any answers.”

Phainon swallowed hard, irritation mixing with something else, something uncertain. Mydei’s tone wasn’t harsh—it wasn’t even unfriendly. But there was a clear distance between them, as though Mydei wasn’t interested in indulging whatever confusion Phainon was trying to figure out.

The children, sensing the shift in the air, slowly began to scatter, losing interest in the exchange. But Phainon could still feel the weight of Mydei’s gaze, like an invisible pressure pinning him in place. The moment felt pivotal, and he knew he was at a crossroads.

“I’m not staring,” Phainon said, though his voice came out softer than he intended. “I’m… trying to figure this out.”

“Figure what out?” Mydei raised an eyebrow, as though Phainon’s confusion was an inconvenience. “This is Kremnos. We don’t play games with formality here.”

The words hit Phainon like a slap to the face, sharp and unexpected. He wanted to retort—something clever, something confident—but he was still grappling with the aftermath of the kiss, that strange, intimate connection that lingered, muddying his thoughts. He opened his mouth, but the words didn’t come.

Mydei’s eyes closed again, his expression returning to its regular state. “Fine,” he said, voice softening ever so slightly. “If you’re done here, then go. Or stay. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Phainon stood there, unsure whether to leave or say more, but in the end, he did neither. He simply nodded, the words trapped in his throat. Despite the tension, the weight of the moment, he didn’t know how to bridge the gap between them. Not yet.

Then, the thought struck him— What had he meant to do? A wave of realization hit him, and with it, the instinct to offer the same greeting Mydei had given him. He couldn’t leave things like this.

He stepped back towards Mydei, leaning in slightly, and with careful deliberation, placed a gentle kiss on Mydei’s cheek. The gesture was soft, tender—slightly longer than Mydei’s brief, forceful greeting, but still a simple, respectful acknowledgment. It was different. Calmer. Phainon let it linger for just a moment, then pulled away, convinced that this was his way of giving something back, a silent gesture of understanding.

As he turned to leave, thinking Mydei had surely had enough of random strangers for one day, he caught a glimpse of the children’s reactions. Their jaws had literally dropped, eyes wide as they stared at him, stunned and silent. Phainon froze mid-step. His heart skipped.

When he turned back, even Mydei seemed to pause, blinking in shock at the unexpected move.

Fuck. Had he fucked this up too? Did he misread some unspoken rule? Was there some type of kissing etiquette in Kremnos he didn’t know about?

Phainon stood frozen, the weight of his uncertainty pressing down on him. The children’s astonished stares lingered, and Mydei’s subtle shift in expression only deepened the pit in Phainon’s stomach.

Phainon, completely overwhelmed by the awkwardness of the moment, made the decision to just… leave. His goal, whatever it had been in this strange place, felt irrelevant now. He couldn’t bear to make things worse by staying and overthinking it. Better to just get out of there, let the dust settle, and retreat to somewhere familiar, even if it was just the inn from the beginning.

Without a word, he turned and walked away, trying to shake off the weight of the children’s stunned stares and Mydei’s unreadable expression. His footsteps were slow, like the heavy thudding of his heart in his chest.

The coins from the spar were still tucked away in his pocket, though he’d barely given them a second thought. As he walked through the streets, absorbed in his thoughts and trying to regain some semblance of composure, a small figure darted past him.

A beggar child—grimy, with wild eyes and a quick hand—brushed against Phainon’s side. A fleeting motion, swift and practiced. Phainon felt the light tug of his money pouch, and without even glancing down, he knew what had happened.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t confront the kid. In fact, he didn’t care enough to make a scene. Let the child have it. He’d made a mess of everything else, so what was a few more coins to someone who probably needed them more than he did?

Still, the realization hit him a moment later, and he paused in his stride, looking down at his now empty pocket. He let out a long, defeated sigh.

What was he even doing? He had no plan, no direction. He didn’t even know where to go now. The streets of Kremnos all blurred together in his mind, the faces unfamiliar and the paths leading nowhere.

He started walking again, the weight of his uncertainty settling deeper. Even the thought of going back to the inn felt pointless. He didn’t know what to do, where to go, or who to turn to. For the first time in a long time, Phainon had no answers.

Phainon wandered aimlessly through the streets, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on him, until he found himself standing beneath an alleyway, staring up at a low rooftop. He hadn’t even realized his destination until his feet had led him there.

For a brief moment, an uncharacteristic impulse rose within him, and without hesitation, he scaled the wall with surprising agility. His movements were fluid and practiced—this was a skill he’d honed over years, one that came naturally to him now.

He hoisted himself over the ledge, perched on the edge of the roof, and then slowly stretched out on his back. The cool evening breeze washed over him, the sky deepening into twilight as he groaned in exhaustion, trying to release the tension that had coiled up inside him since that kiss, since everything had gone wrong.

He just needed a moment. A moment to breathe.

But as he lay there, staring at the fading sky, his ears caught the faintest sound—footsteps on the roof. Phainon’s body tensed before he even fully registered it, and he pushed himself up to sit, scanning the rooftop. And then, to his surprise, he saw Mydei.

Mydei stood a few feet away, eyes locked on him with that unflappable, intense gaze.

Phainon blinked, unable to stop himself from asking, “Why are you following me?”

But Mydei didn’t respond. Instead, he stepped forward, and in a heartbeat, the air seemed to shift.

Before Phainon could even process it, Mydei closed the distance between them and moved with a fluidity that made Phainon instinctively brace himself. There was no warning, no build-up—Mydei simply surged forward, attacking.

The force was unexpected, and Phainon barely managed to leap to the side, dodging the initial strike. His heart was racing, but his mind was sharp, every instinct on high alert. They were both unarmed, so it was an even match. But Mydei’s speed and precision made the first exchange a blur. Phainon blocked a series of swift moves, keeping his distance, but Mydei pressed him, relentless.

Phainon knew, however, that he had one advantage: he had studied Mydei’s movements. He knew every step, every feint, every shift in posture. And for the first time since arriving in Kremnos, he felt something resembling confidence stirring within him.

He stepped in, reading Mydei’s next move perfectly, and with a well-timed sweep of his leg, he knocked Mydei off balance, sending him crashing to the roof with a grunt. In one swift motion, Phainon was on top of him, straddling him, his knees pinning Mydei’s shoulders to the ground. The moment hung between them, and Phainon could feel his pulse pounding in his ears, his chest heaving as he hovered over Mydei, ready to force the yield.

But something in Mydei’s eyes—something in the way he lay there—caught Phainon off guard. The stillness. The sharp intensity that never seemed to leave Mydei’s gaze. And as their faces were inches apart, Phainon’s thoughts wandered, his mind flickering back to the kiss from earlier, to the tension between them. His body seemed to hum with the memory of it, and his focus slipped, just for a moment.

Mydei, sensing the distraction, took advantage of the opening. In an instant, he twisted his body, using his legs to leverage Phainon’s position. Phainon barely had time to react before he was on his back, Mydei now straddling him.

Phainon’s breath caught in his throat. He was stunned, momentarily disoriented, and Mydei didn’t waste the opportunity.

“Yield,” Mydei’s voice was low, commanding.

For a split second, Phainon considered it. The air between them had shifted. Mydei’s proximity was intoxicating—his strength, his grace, the raw, undeniable pull of the moment. But Phainon’s pride, his refusal to be dominated without giving everything he had, surged to the forefront.

He wasn’t ready to surrender.

Phainon knew Mydei’s fighting style better than anyone. Every movement, every feint, every opening—he had seen them all, had memorized them in their countless spars back in his time. And yet, none of it was helping him now.

Because he was distracted.

Every time their bodies clashed, every time Mydei moved with that familiar grace and precision, Phainon’s mind betrayed him. Instead of reacting, he was thinking—thinking about how Mydei had always looked when he fought, how good he looked, how their bodies had fit together too perfectly when he had him pinned just minutes ago.

The momentary lapse cost him.

Mydei’s palm slammed into his ribs, and Phainon barely twisted in time to avoid the full force of the blow. He staggered back, breath hitching, but Mydei didn’t let up. The strikes came fast—an elbow, a knee, another hit to his side that sent him stumbling. Phainon tried to regain control, but gods, he was tired. His limbs were sluggish, his vision blurred at the edges. How long had they been fighting? Hours? The sky was already shifting, the deep navy of night giving way to pale streaks of dawn.

His body screamed at him to stop, but Mydei did not tire. He pressed forward, relentless. Phainon barely dodged a sweeping kick, but in his sluggishness, he missed the follow-up. Mydei’s weight crashed into him, knocking him down hard onto the rooftop. Before Phainon could roll away, Mydei straddled him, pressing his arm against Phainon’s throat just enough to make it clear—he had won.

Phainon blinked up at him, his breath ragged. His body was done. He had nothing left to give.

“Damn,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “I really lost to you like this.”

Mydei didn’t respond. He just looked at him, the intensity in his eyes unreadable. Then, without a word, he grabbed Phainon by the wrist and pulled him to his feet.

Phainon barely stayed upright. “Whoa—hold on, what the hell—?”

Mydei didn’t answer. He just dragged him forward, moving with single-minded purpose. Phainon stumbled behind him, too drained to fight back, too exhausted to do anything but follow.

Down from the rooftops. Into the streets. Past stunned early risers who took one look at them and immediately turned away.

Where the hell was he taking him?

It wasn’t until they passed through heavy iron gates, flanked by guards who barely blinked at Mydei’s presence, that Phainon realized—this was the palace.

Wait. Wait.

Phainon barely had time to process before Mydei shoved him forward. He stumbled straight into a waiting guard, who caught him with an iron grip before looking toward Mydei for instruction.

Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be said. The guard just nodded and started dragging Phainon off like it was routine.

“Hey, hey, hold on,” Phainon tried to twist free, but he barely had the energy to stand, let alone fight. “Can someone at least tell me what’s—”

The door slammed shut behind him.

—

What followed was a blur.

He was shoved into another room. Hands stripped him of his dirtied, sweat-soaked clothes. A bucket of blessedly warm water was dumped over his head before he was guided into a steaming bath.

It took everything in him not to groan as the heat seeped into his muscles, washing away the ache of three sleepless nights and a battle that had wrung him dry. He sank deeper, letting his head rest against the edge of the tub.

He wasn’t even trying to think about Mydei, but his mind went there anyway.

That damn fight. The way Mydei moved—fast, fluid, powerful. The way his body pressed against Phainon’s when he pinned him. The weight of his breath, right there, so close—

Phainon exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. Gods, he was hopeless.

A servant handed him fresh clothes—soft, high-quality fabric that clung comfortably to his still-warm skin. He had barely pulled them on before he was led down another hall, feet dragging, vision hazy with exhaustion. He barely registered the room they brought him to, didn’t take in the details—only that there was a bed.

The softest bed he had seen in weeks.

His body acted before his mind. He collapsed onto the mattress, sinking into its depths, the warmth of the blankets swallowing him whole. His breath slowed, his limbs went slack.

The second his head hit the pillow, he was gone.

.

.

.

Phainon woke up feeling… good. Too good. Suspiciously good.

The bed beneath him was a luxury he hadn’t known in days, the kind that made his body sink in just the right way, and for once, he wasn’t aching all over. He blinked up at the ceiling, adjusting to the soft morning light filtering in through the window.

Then it hit him.

Where the fuck was he?

The memories trickled in—dueling Mydei, losing because he was too busy being a horny idiot, then getting dragged away without a word. And now he was here, in an unfamiliar room, bathed, clothed, and rested. That should have been a relief, but instead, it unsettled him.

Phainon sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. He needed to pull himself together. No more distractions. No more embarrassing himself. Just figure out what’s happening, act normal, and get out if he needed to.

When he stepped out of the room, a guard was already waiting for him, as if anticipating his arrival. Without a word, the man turned and started walking. Phainon followed, careful and composed, ignoring the lingering stiffness in his limbs.

It wasn’t long before they entered a hall, the doors opening to reveal Mydei.

Phainon nearly stopped in his tracks.

There he was—lounging back on his seat like he owned the world, which, to be fair, he kind of did. One arm rested lazily against the chair’s armrest, hand propped against his cheek, while the other held a document he was barely paying attention to. His legs were spread wide, posture effortlessly commanding, the sheer casualty of it making Phainon’s brain short-circuit for a solid second.

Phainon kept his expression schooled. He did. But inside?

I wanna suck him off so bad.

His lips parted slightly before he caught himself, but the damage was done. His thoughts spiraled. Mydei looked like he wouldn’t even react—like he could stay just like that, bored and unaffected, while Phainon knelt between his legs, taking him in, his fingers digging into the armrest as he lazily watched—

Phainon forcibly blinked, pushing every depraved thought out of his head with the force of a man fighting for his life.

Gods, he needed help.

Phainon stood there for a moment, trying to steady himself, but Mydei’s presence seemed to fill the room with a tension that tangled his thoughts. It was impossible to focus. He wanted to strangle the urge, to rid himself of the want, but it lingered, making his skin burn, his pulse quicken.

Mydei didn’t look up right away, but Phainon could feel those sharp eyes on him, studying him from the moment he stepped in. The silence stretched between them, thick with something unspoken. Mydei lowered the document, placing it to the side, and gave Phainon a look that was almost… appraising. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

“Good morning,” Mydei said, the words languid, relaxed, like he wasn’t dealing with a man who had spent the night thinking of how much he wanted to devour him. His eyes glinted, mischievous and unreadable.

Phainon felt his chest tighten, his head spinning. Mydei was teasing him, subtly but so perfectly. The way he leaned back in his chair, the slow movements that made Phainon’s mind race, it was all a deliberate play to get under his skin.

“I—” Phainon started, but his words faltered as he tried to figure out what to say without sounding like a complete idiot. His need was so strong, it made his throat dry, but he couldn’t let Mydei know that. He had to play it cool. No more mistakes.

Mydei shifted slightly, his gaze never leaving Phainon’s. For a split second, he leaned forward as if about to say something more, but Phainon couldn’t hear it over the pulse in his ears. The air was thick, and then, Mydei’s voice came again, low, purposeful.

“You’re quite the fighter, Phainon,” he said, his tone softer, as if acknowledging the strength behind Phainon’s moves from their duel. “But it seems you can’t focus when it matters most.”

Phainon tensed, a touch of frustration flickering through him. Mydei knew. He had to know what was going on in Phainon’s head. He had to.

“I—” Phainon began again, only to be cut off by the sound of footsteps. The door creaked open, and another man entered—tall, with an easy grace and sharp, calculating eyes. His gaze immediately shifted between Phainon and Mydei.

Mydei’s expression hardened just for a moment. The flicker of annoyance was subtle, but it was there, just in the way his brows furrowed slightly. Phainon caught it, his heart beating a little faster. He wasn’t sure why, but the sight made something stir in his chest.

The man moved closer to Mydei, his eyes scanning Phainon for a moment before settling back on the Crown Prince. He was tall, built, but there was something about his posture, the way he stood so close to Mydei, that made Phainon’s stomach churn. The way Mydei didn’t even react to the closeness made him wonder if this was some kind of… unspoken agreement.

And then, as if to add fuel to the fire, the man did something that made Phainon’s breath hitch.

He reached up—almost instinctively—moving toward Phainon’s cheek, and Phainon’s brain instantly started to whir. Was this it? Was the man going to kiss him too? Was that the tradition here? He should have been prepared for this—whatever the custom was. Maybe he had to kiss him as part of some royal protocol.

He held his breath, but the man’s fingers brushed past his cheek, not a kiss, but a casual touch, and Phainon blinked in confusion. The man gave him a half-smile, almost patronizing, and then turned to Mydei as if the encounter hadn’t even happened.

Phainon was left reeling, still not sure what had just transpired. Had he misread the situation? Was this… normal?

And what did that subtle, almost imperceptible look from Mydei mean? Did he do something wrong? Phainon’s mind raced with more questions than he could answer.

“Do you mind?” Mydei’s voice broke through his thoughts, his tone sharper now, a clear edge to it. He turned to the man, his posture shifting, an authority taking over that Phainon hadn’t quite expected. “You’ve got business elsewhere. We’ll talk later.”

The man seemed unfazed, nodding curtly, and left the room with barely a second glance at Phainon. Mydei watched him go, then turned his attention back to Phainon, eyes narrowing slightly.

Phainon couldn’t help it. The jealousy—the frustration—was a strange, unfamiliar sensation. His chest tightened, and for a second, he thought he might actually snap. But instead, he forced himself to stay calm, focusing on Mydei’s gaze, willing the turbulent thoughts to settle.

“Are you going to tell me what that was all about?” Phainon asked, trying to keep his voice steady, but the underlying edge of possessiveness couldn’t be ignored. His hands clenched at his sides, tension radiating off of him.

Mydei didn’t immediately respond. He just watched Phainon for a long moment, the silence stretching longer than it should have. Then, almost lazily, he spoke.

“It’s nothing,” Mydei said, as if dismissing the entire thing. “Just someone I know. You’re not concerned with him, are you?”

Phainon froze. He wasn’t sure if it was the words or the underlying tone, but Mydei’s nonchalance made something in Phainon snap. The jealousy was there, alive, and it burned hotter now.

“I’m not concerned,” Phainon muttered, but even to his own ears, the response didn’t sound convincing.

Mydei simply raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “Good,” he said. “Because it’s not your place.”

Phainon’s stomach flipped at the comment, unsure whether Mydei meant it as a warning, a challenge, or something else entirely.

Phainon couldn’t shake the tension, his heart hammering in his chest as he stood across from Mydei, the air between them thick with something unspoken. His body was still on edge, the brief encounter with Mydei’s acquaintance stirring something hot and possessive in him. Jealousy wasn’t a feeling Phainon liked to admit, but here, now, in this room, it pulsed beneath his skin.

Mydei didn’t move at first, letting the silence stretch between them. Phainon couldn’t look away, the Crown Prince’s steady gaze locking with his, the weight of it enough to make him want to act—do something—anything.

“What are you thinking about?” Mydei asked, his voice low, almost a purr, as if he were in on the tension, enjoying it.

Phainon swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how much he wanted to bridge the space between them. His breath hitched, his thoughts hazy. He wasn’t sure where this was going—he didn’t know what Mydei wanted—but the feeling of being so close to him, so intensely aware of every shift of his body, was almost maddening.

“I…” Phainon started, but his voice faltered. The words felt stupid now. What could he say? That he wanted to kiss him? That he could barely keep his hands off him?

Mydei took a step forward, closing the distance. Phainon felt it—the shift in the room, the heat intensifying. Mydei’s presence swallowed him whole, a command in every movement, every flicker of his eyes. It was like everything Phainon had been trying to resist finally snapped.

Without warning, Mydei reached out, one hand gently resting against Phainon’s chest, just above his heart. Phainon inhaled sharply, the touch sending a jolt through him. It was soft, almost lazy, but there was power in the gesture—power in the way Mydei seemed to know exactly what effect it had on him.

“You’re not good at hiding it, are you?” Mydei murmured, his lips barely an inch from Phainon’s ear. Phainon shivered, the sound of his voice enough to make his knees feel weak.

Mydei’s free hand slid up to cup Phainon’s jaw, tilting his head just enough to meet his gaze fully. The intensity in Mydei’s eyes made Phainon’s pulse race, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering what would happen if he leaned in, if he gave in to the raw desire between them.

Phainon’s breath hitched again, and his hand, almost of its own accord, reached for Mydei’s arm, his fingers brushing against the fabric of his tunic. The touch was light, tentative, but it seemed to pull Mydei closer, just enough for their bodies to be nearly flush.

For a heartbeat, they simply stood there, the world outside fading away. The noise, the tension, the distractions—nothing mattered except the two of them, standing so close that Phainon could feel Mydei’s breath against his skin.

And then, as quickly as the moment had arrived, Mydei stepped back, his hand slipping from Phainon’s jaw with deliberate slowness. The teasing smile on his lips was maddening, and Phainon found himself craving more.

“You’re really not good at this, are you?” Mydei said, his voice quiet but firm, the words dripping with implication.

Phainon, desperate to regain some control, cleared his throat, his cheeks burning. “I—” he stopped, unable to finish. The words had escaped him, leaving only a dull, buzzing silence. Mydei was a force of nature, and he wasn’t sure if he could handle it anymore.

Mydei’s eyes softened, though, just a little. He looked almost… amused. “You’ll learn,” he said, his voice soft, almost a promise. “But maybe not today.”

Phainon was left standing there, heat still radiating from where Mydei had touched him, his chest heaving with a mix of frustration and desire. It wasn’t over. Whatever had just happened between them wasn’t over.

And as much as Phainon hated to admit it, that thought left him wanting more. Much much more.

He wanted to be under Mydei, to feel the heat of his body pressed against his own, every touch igniting a fire deep inside him. The feeling of Mydei’s hands on his skin, firm and possessive, was almost too much to bear. He imagined moaning, gasping for air as Mydei took control, pushing him to the edge of pleasure. His nails would dig into Mydei’s back, scratching so desperately that the marks would be permanent, a reminder of how deeply he craved this. Every moment would blur into a mix of overwhelming sensation, the kind that left him shaking, wanting more, and not caring how it would all leave him breathless and wanting to collapse under the weight of it.

Mydei barely gave him a chance to breathe before dragging him out of the hall. Phainon barely processed where they were going, only aware of the firm grip on his wrist and the steady, purposeful strides Mydei took.

By the time they reached Mydei’s chambers, the door had barely shut before Mydei was on him again, pressing Phainon against it, kissing him deep and hungry. It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t careful either—Mydei kissed like he had all the time in the world, like he knew exactly how this was going to end, and Phainon could only let himself get pulled under.

Clothes fell away piece by piece, their bodies pressing flush against each other, the heat between them igniting something that had been simmering under the surface since the moment Phainon had first laid eyes on Mydei. It was easy—too easy—to forget everything else. The weight of Mydei against him, the firm grip on his hips, the way his mouth moved against his skin, it all had Phainon spiraling.

Then, just when things were about to go deeper, something inside Phainon shifted. It was sudden, a strange, almost foreign sensation that spread through him, forcing a sharp inhale past his lips.

Mydei paused, his grip tightening just slightly, and in the dim light, Phainon barely caught the way his lips curved into the faintest smirk.

“About time,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon barely registered the words, too caught up in the lingering heat of Mydei’s mouth, the press of his body, the overwhelming need to stay. His breath was still uneven, his hands still gripping onto Mydei like letting go wasn’t an option. Leaving now—right now of all times—felt unbearable.

But deep down, he knew. Something had changed. Something was pulling him away.

And he didn’t want to go.

Phainon didn’t want to leave. Not now. Not when Mydei had just kissed him like that—deep and claiming, his hands firm where they held Phainon in place, like he had no intention of letting go. His head was spinning, body thrumming with heat, and for a moment, he thought about staying. Just for a little longer.

But then the pull in his chest sharpened, a force beyond his control urging him back. His time was up.

Phainon broke the kiss with a frustrated growl, resting his forehead against Mydei’s for just a second, catching his breath. Mydei’s grip on him loosened but didn’t fully let go.

Phainon forced himself to step back.

“Mydei—” He hesitated, looking at him one last time, memorizing the way he looked in this moment, just in case. “Guess I’ll see you around.” It was abrupt and most likely confusing to this Mydei.

Mydei only stared at him, unreadable as ever. Then, as if suppressing a laugh, he said, “Sure, see you.”

The return was rougher than expected. One second, he was with Mydei, lips still tingling, body still overheated—and the next, he was gasping, stumbling forward into a different place entirely.

For a brief moment, he just stood there, blinking, trying to get his bearings. His chest was still tight, his pulse still hammering, his body still aching from the fight, the lack of sleep, everything .

Then he saw him.

His Mydei.

The moment their eyes met, something in Phainon unraveled. His body moved on its own—he practically collapsed against Mydei, arms wrapping around his waist, burying his face in his shoulder.

Finally.

Mydei didn’t push him away. Didn’t tease him for being clingy. Instead, he let Phainon press against him, steadying him effortlessly.

“You look like you’ve been through a war,” Mydei murmured, and there was something too knowing in his tone. Before Phainon could think too hard about it, Mydei shifted, subtly leading him forward. “Come.”

Phainon groaned but followed, too exhausted to argue. “Where?”

Mydei didn’t stop walking. “To finish what we started.”

Phainon almost tripped. What? That phrasing—what did he mean? He was too tired to overthink it, but something about Mydei’s tone nagged at him.

And then—then it hit him.

He never told Mydei his name back then.

So how the fuck did Mydei know?

Phainon stopped dead in his tracks. His brain short-circuited. Every single embarrassing thing he did, every moment he lost himself, every ridiculous slip-up he thought past Mydei would never remember—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

His entire face went red. His stomach dropped. His hands clenched into fists, shaking slightly at his sides.

That smug bastard.

Grinding his teeth, Phainon furiously shoved down his embarrassment, marching after Mydei with a glare. He didn’t say a word, didn’t demand an explanation, didn’t even bother trying to deny what just happened.

Because, at the end of the day—

He still followed him to his room.