Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sight of the spear piercing Mydei’s heart throws Phainon back to that dreadful, dreadful time—the waking nightmare he still lives in now.

The sickening squelch of metal piercing flesh, the splashing of blood as it streams from a gushing wound and stains the ground, the thump of knees buckling and a body crumpling—these sounds had surrounded him on that day, and every time he closes his eyes, he can still hear them so clearly. He had promised himself that he would never let it happen to anyone ever again. Yet it has become a reality right before him, right when he had had all the power to stop it from happening, and the very notion of failing to protect anyone a second time robs him of all reason—

—until the thunderous roar of a lion jars him back into reality.

Mydei rises from the dead, as he has done so many times in the past, tearing the spear from his chest in a single movement, heedless of how much of his blood paints the stone beneath his feet. In the next moment, he is on his attacker, violently returning the favour—the death it had given him, in the form of a bloodied spear running it through.

The Titankin lets out a gargled whisper as it crumbles into dust. Breathing heavily, Mydei straightens, rolling his shoulders, far too unbothered for someone who had just died and come back. Perhaps to make up for his nonchalance, Phainon quickly runs over to Mydei, worry wracking his youthful features.

“Mydei! Are you alright?!” he asks—or more like shouts, as he seems to have lost control over the volume of his voice in his worry, and his hands hover over Mydei, not sure where to touch in spite of the fact that he’s already healed. “Let me see—”

“Back off. Did you forget that I can’t die?” Mydei snarls, knocking Phainon’s hands away with an arm. “Just in case you haven’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a battle. Let your mind wander too much, and you might just end up losing that pretty head of yours—not that there was much in there to begin with.”

As prickly as the response is, it’s at least enough for Phainon to confirm Mydei’s safety, and he forces himself to calm down. Mydei is right; he can’t truly die, and Phainon himself can’t afford to lose focus on the battlefield. But still, every death Mydei suffers is bound to be more painful than the last, and he would never wish that on his rival and “friend.” “About that…” He glances back, where waves upon waves of new enemies are approaching them. “This is starting to look like it might be too much for even us to handle. We should retreat and approach this from a more strategic angle…”

“What, are you getting scared now? If you want to run back to Okhema with your tail between your legs, then be my guest, but do it on your own time.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to save you some more of your lives, since you tend to be a little careless with them!” Phainon retorts, regaining some of his usual playfulness. “All I’m saying is that we should at least try to gain higher ground, since it’ll give us a better idea of what we’re up against. Now let’s hurry! If we don’t get moving soon, the Titankin are going to cut us off!”

All he gets is a noncommittal grunt from Mydei, but Phainon understands well enough that it’s Mydei’s way of acquiescing. Perhaps he had been planning to comply with Phainon’s idea from the start and simply decided to make a show of his disapproval to convince the swordsman that he’s completely fine; it certainly wouldn’t be out of character for him. Either way, it works, and the two work together to clear out whatever enemies they can from their path before dashing for a better vantage point together.

The fact that Phainon and Mydei are struggling to begin with is abnormal, when both of them individually carry the strength of an entire army. But even the strongest armies will eventually crumble before superior numbers in a battle of attrition, and it isn’t long before the two warriors find themselves in another unfavourable position. Enemies now surround them from all sides, cutting off all possible escape routes, and coordinating their attacks so that neither Chrysos Heir has a moment to catch their breath.

“Is it just me,” Phainon says between breaths as he stands back-to-back with Mydei. “Or are the Titankin getting smarter?”

“Instead of asking me those stupid questions, why don’t you redirect your excess energy into breaking through their ranks?” Mydei retorts, lowering himself into a stance. The next wave of enemies is approaching, and though they’re both exhausted, neither of them falter, because there’s an undying part of them both that finds thrill in the face of adversity. Perhaps it’s the mark of any warrior—but it’s undeniable that that’s one of the things that brought them closer to begin with.

Yes, with Mydei at his back, Phainon knows he doesn’t have anything to worry about. Forcing a smile, he looks over his shoulder at the Kremnoan. “Are you up for a competition?”

Mydei spares him a glance. “What’s the prize this time?”

“Loser has to treat the winner to a meal.”

“Make it three. A victory against this many enemies is worth at least that much.”

“Wow, you’re getting fired up! Oh, I know. That dessert place you like released a new flavour of golden honeycakes, didn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Playing dumb, now? I saw you posting about it on your teleslate once, you know.”

In a flash of gold and crimson, Mydei vanishes from Phainon’s field of view, moving so quickly that the swordsman can only track him by the flurry of blood-red crystals tearing Titankin asunder. The prince clears out an entire swath of enemies in the blink of an eye, grasping his freshest kill by the head, a savage grin on his face. 

“Careful, Deliverer,” he says, tossing the dead Titankin aside. “If you waste too much of your time spouting nonsense, you’re going to end up losing to me.”

Yes, this is more like it. Phainon can feel his own blood boiling with the spirit of competition, and it burns away the apprehension from before. His grip tightens on the hilt of his claymore as he turns to the Titankin still standing, reinvigorated at the sight of Mydei’s vitality. “Well, I’d better step it up, then. Those honeycakes are pretty expensive.”

In an instant, the two have turned the tides to their favour.

But it isn’t without cost. Phainon had reached his limit long ago, and Mydei doesn’t seem to be faring any better, if his hunched posture and his heavy breathing is any indication. The only silver lining to the situation is that the battlefield has finally fallen silent, giving them both a much-needed reprieve from the fighting. Phainon takes a few more moments to catch his breath before turning to Mydei.

“I got 82. How about you?”

Mydei clicks his tongue and looks away bitterly. “...74.”

Phainon beams. “Well, then, I guess you owe me three meals. How about we take care of the first one as soon as we get back to Okhema? I can already think of a few places I want to go.”

“...Hey. You’d better not be thinking of eating at the most expensive place in town.” 

“Come on, I’m not that mean of a person! I’m surprised you’re worried about that at all, though. Have you run into money troubles? You can be honest with me.”

“...What exactly do you take me for?” 

“No need to look at me like that! I’m just asking out of consideration for—”

The words die on his lips when he notices a glint from the shadows, and he’s already moving as the Titankin’s greatsword emerges from the darkness, its tip trained on Mydei’s back.

“Mydei, watch out—!!”

Phainon shoves Mydei to the side with all of his strength. A split second later, the weapon impales him in the chest, running him through to his back.

And as he falls, he sees Mydei’s widening eyes, the way his shocked countenance metamorphoses to one of pure, unadulterated rage before he turns to something outside of Phainon’s field of vision and disappears from sight. He can’t hear anything, he can’t feel anything, and the darkness is encroaching upon his vision like his own personal black tide, and soon, Phainon knows no more.

“...ainon! Phainon!!”

When he comes to again, it’s to a brusque, urgent voice, and someone roughly shaking his shoulders. Even in his muddled state, even before the blurry visage comes into view, he recognizes the touch almost instantly, though it’s a little tighter than usual, and his fingers (or gauntlets) are digging into his shoulders painfully. He would complain if he was in a better state of mind, but as he is right now, every sensation feels so distant, save for the pain and deathly heaviness wracking his entire body.

“My…dei…?”

“Good… Good. Don’t you dare close your eyes again, got it?” Mydei says angrily. He’s trying to sound tough, Phainon knows, but the worry is leaking through. “If you even think about dying on me, I’ll rip you out of Thanatos' grasp just so I can kill you myself. And I’ll make sure it feels ten times worse than the worst death I’ve ever experienced.”

“Haha… How terrifying…” Phainon cracks a weak smile and chuckles softly. “I suppose…no one knows death better than someone who’s died hundreds of times…” 

“Shut up and save your strength, you idiot,” Mydei growls. Attracted by the sounds of combat and the scent of blood, more Titankin are already beginning to pour in from the surroundings, their bows and blades trained on the duo. It’s a sneak attack, and neither of them had noticed the signs in their exhaustion… Even so, Mydei pulls the injured Phainon close to him and holds him protectively, glaring ferociously at the mass of enemies, crimson crystals already solidifying and emerging from the ground around him.

“Blasted Titankin… Get out of my way!”

His voice is the last thing Phainon hears before his consciousness is claimed by the darkness once again.

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When Phainon awakens, it’s not to the thunderous cacophony of warfare, but the soothing sound of water cascading from one pool to another, a familiar warmth, and a pair of large, indigo eyes.

The next thing he’s aware of is the immense pain wracking his body—although it’s much less intense than it had been earlier when the Titankin’s claymore had nearly cleaved him in two. Still, he can’t help but let out a loud groan, and that sets about a flurry of movement in the room he’s in.

“Oh, you’re awake!” He hears the high-pitched voice, but the words sound a little muffled and far away; he’s not quite awake enough for them to register immediately yet. “Thank goodness! You were unconscious for such a long time!” It’s only when the voice’s owner withdraws that he takes note of her vibrant vermillion hair and pointed ears, telltale characteristics of his teacher—and one of the demigods of Okhema. Tribbie’s little wings flutter as she turns away from the bed to address someone else in the room. “De, look! You can stop worrying now!”

That wakes Phainon up right away. He slowly turns his head, groaning a little at how the very action seems to make the world spin, but in spite of the swimming colours in his vision, he can make out the blurry, golden figure of Mydei sitting with his arms crossed in a chair. 

“...Mydei? Is that… Are you…?” 

“That was pathetic, Deliverer,” Mydei speaks up before Phainon can finish, his voice and eyes steely. “Had I not known any better, I would have taken you for an amateur. If your performance back there is going to be the norm from now on, you might as well throw your greatsword away and spend the rest of your days tending to dromases.”

As sharp as the words are, Phainon takes them into stride with a grimace, mostly because of the pain, but also because he recognizes that that’s Mydei Speak for “You troubled me greatly.” “I’m…guessing you’re the one who got us both out of that bind?”

“Who else? You certainly weren’t helping, deadweight as you were,” Mydei scoffs. 

“Oh, don’t be like that, De!” Tribbie puts her hands on her hips, then turns back to Phainon with a knowing smile. “Snowy, don’t worry about what he’s saying. De was actually the most worried about you. We were all so surprised when he stumbled into the baths with you unconscious in his arms, but it was even more shocking to see him as panicked as he was!”

Mydei freezes as Tribbie continues speaking. “In fact, he’s been here and watching over you this entire time. No matter how much we tried to convince him to rest, he insisted on staying with you!”

Phainon blinks, surprised, then turns to Mydei. “...Really? You’ve been here this whole time?” 

The Kremnoan chooses that exact moment to stand up, putting a little too much force into the movement and nearly knocking his chair over in the process. He turns his back on the two with a huff. “Well, you’re clearly fine, so I’m going to stop wasting my time now.”

But as he takes a step forward, Phainon calls out to him, pushing himself up from the bed as much as his injury will allow him to. “Mydei, wait!”

Mydei stops, but doesn’t turn around. “...What now?”

“...Thanks."

The blond glances back ever so slightly, his eyes hidden behind his fringe. Then, he turns away again and briskly continues on his way without another word, leaving Phainon alone with Tribbie. He looks to her next, finally able to ask the question that had been lingering on his tongue since he woke up. (He could have just asked while Mydei was there, of course, but he wanted to save the fallen prince some of his pride, at least.) “Was Mydei wounded when we got back?”

“He was covered in scrapes and bruises, yes, but as you can see, he’s completely fine now.” Tribbie crosses her arms, frowning disapprovingly. “But Snowy, you’re not really in any place to be inquiring about his well-being, are you? You’re in a much worse state right now, and you can’t defy death like De can. That’s probably why he was so worried about you.”

“Was he really that worried…?”

“He was! You two really are two peas in a pod, you know?” The stern expression falls from the tiny demigod’s face as she giggles innocently. “Even though he was bleeding all over the place, he demanded that we take care of you first… Well, you were in dire condition, so that was probably the right call to make, anyway.”

“Lady Tribbie…?”

“The point we’re trying to make is that you both worry about each other far more than you ever worry about yourselves, to your own detriment!” Tribbie says matter-of-factly. “That’s a bad habit that you both need to break! Do we make ourselves clear?”

Phainon smiles helplessly. “Yes, yes, I understand… I guess I wouldn’t want to lose to Mydei in this regard, either…”

Satisfied, Tribbie’s wings flutter once more as she withdraws from the bedside again. “Alright, as long as you get it! We’ll leave you to rest, then. Make sure you recover quickly, or De will worry himself to death!”

“Haha… I wouldn’t want that. I’ll work on it.”

The next little while passes in a haze of sleep. In fact, Phainon doesn’t know how long it is before he’s able to stay awake for more than a few minutes—that battle and the injury he sustained has taken more of a toll on him than he thought it would. But the next time he’s able to open his eyes and keep them open, a familiar, crimson-golden figure comes into view once again, and Phainon doesn’t need to see him clearly to know who his visitor is.

“Mydei…?”

Mydei raises his head, jostled from his contemplation by Phainon’s voice. “...Oh. You’re awake. It’s about time. I was beginning to wonder whether I should throw you into the cold baths to wake you up.”

Phainon shudders at the thought. “So merciless… Did you miss me that much?”

“Not in the slightest, but while you were sleeping like the dead, your food was starting to get cold. I just didn’t want to hear you complaining about it.”

“Food…?” Phainon follows Mydei’s gaze to the tray at his bedside table, which displays a delectable spread of breads, soup, fruit, and…a wine glass. “Wait… Really, Mydei? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think alcohol is the best remedy for an injury…”

“It’s pomegranate juice, you idiot.”

Phainon slowly raises himself into a sitting position, careful not to agitate his healing injury, and leans over to peer into the cup. Instead of the blood-red liquid he expects, he finds what looks like a pink, creamy-looking beverage—a far cry from what anyone would expect from pomegranate juice. “...You added milk to it again?”

“Do you have a problem with that?”

“You know, I’ve never been sure about this combination. Do pomegranates and milk really go that well together?

“If you don’t want it, then I’ll gladly have it.”

Before Phainon can say anything else, Mydei swipes the cup from the tray and takes a long swig from it, ensuring he maintains eye contact with Phainon the entire time.

“Hey!” Frowning, Phainon makes a grab for it, but Mydei moves his arm out of the way, easily keeping the cup out of reach. Phainon tries again, but a sudden pain lances through his side, and he doubles over, clutching his abdomen.

“Ow ow ow…”

Immediately, Mydei stops, concern permeating his usually stoic features as he stands up and quickly moves closer to inspect Phainon. “Are you—”

—And then, Phainon takes the opportunity to pluck the cup from Mydei’s unsuspecting fingers, grinning as he raises it in a one-sided toast, his usual playful smile on his face.

“Made you look.”

Mydei takes a moment to realize that he’s been had, then scowls and sits back down on the chair. Hard. “...That wasn’t funny,” he says, glaring at Phainon.

“Stealing from an injured man isn’t funny either, you know,” Phainon says lightheartedly, then quickly takes a sip from the cup before Mydei can hear the way his voice strains. He finds, to his delight, that the milk offsets the sharp tanginess of the pomegranate, resulting in a sweetly mellow beverage, and pulls the cup from his lips once the taste registers. “Oh, it actually doesn’t taste that bad…”

“And you’re the one always telling me to try new things before I knock on them,” Mydei grumbles.

“Listen, no matter how you look at it, no one would ever think about pairing milk and pomegranate juice together. Intuitively, anyone’s first thought would be that it’s a pretty odd combination.”

“So you’re a hypocrite now, on top of being an idiot? I’ll note that down.”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” Phainon smiles helplessly. “You’re pretty angry with me, aren’t you. And not just for the prank I pulled with the pomegranate juice.”

“You’re imagining things.”

“No, I’m not. I know that look in your eyes. So? What do I owe the fair prince this time? Oh, I know. You ended up killing more Titankin after everything was said and done, didn’t you. I’ll treat you to those honeycakes after I’m all better, then.”

“I don’t want the damn honeycakes!” Mydei proclaims, perhaps a little too loudly. “I just want to know what was going through that empty head of yours when you threw yourself in the way of that attack!” Seeing the way Phainon flinches, Mydei forces himself to quiet down, though he remains ruthless in his verbal assault. “I would’ve been able to survive it thanks to my curse, but it's not the same for you. You don’t have multiple lives like I do. Once you lose yours, it’s over for good.” He narrows his eyes. “If this were Castrum Kremnos at the height of its glory, it would be a different story. But it’s not. What will Aglaea do without her precious Deliverer, hm? Have you ever thought of that?”

Phainon looks down. He almost wants to laugh; he knows that Mydei is only bringing Aglaea up to mask his own concern—he can see it as clear as day in his golden eyes. He also knows Mydei has a point. But still, even though he’s hovering somewhere between feeling guilty for causing the prince so much anguish and feeling touched that he cared that much, Phainon doesn’t regret what he did, because if he’s ever given a chance to spare Mydei the pain of death, then he would take it without question. Of course, voicing as much would only make Mydei angrier, and he doesn’t want that, so he decides to yield instead. “I really wasn’t thinking about anything at that moment.”

“I can tell.”

He could leave it at that, and simply bask in the silence with Mydei until he’s had enough; they’re both beyond words at this point, after all. But something compels him to continue—to be more honest. Perhaps it’s the injury, or perhaps it’s the company… Either way, the words escape his lips before he can stop himself. “...Actually, that was a lie.” Phainon’s eyes grow distant, his usual cheerful smile diluting into something more melancholic. “An old thought crossed my mind—about how I don’t want to lose anyone important to me ever again. So even though I knew that you wouldn’t die, I couldn’t just stand there and watch you get hurt.”

Mydei stares at Phainon in silence for a long time. In fact, he goes so long without speaking that Phainon wonders what about what he said could have possibly rendered him speechless. Then, he hears the scraping of the chair, and Mydei leaves, his back turned to Phainon so that the wounded swordsman can’t see his face.

“Your heart is as weak and fragile as always,” Mydei says, striding towards the door. “You should do something about that, lest you crumble before you realize your role in the prophecy.”

Phainon blinks, gazing at Mydei’s back, now suddenly wondering whether he’s embarrassed him. “Mydei, are you…?”

“...and since you’re so eager to try out those honeycakes you keep talking about, I suppose I can make some time to go at a later date. The latest flavour has pink berries in it—I’m just letting you know now so you don’t have to ask about it and look like a fool who’s constantly behind the times.”

Phainon almost bursts out laughing. Almost. He stops himself just in time so that he doesn’t tear his stitches open. “Hey now, you’re the one who brought it up this time… But I get it. Since you're so excited, I’ll make sure I recover quickly so we can try those honeycakes together. Okay?” 

“Hmph.”

That’s the only response he gets before Mydei leaves and closes the door behind him—not quite slamming it shut, but he definitely puts a little too much force into the movement. Phainon sighs a little, quietly sinking back into his pillows and taking another sip of pomegranate juice. For once, he is simply relieved that he has lived to see another day, if only so he can spend that day with Mydei.

Chapter Text

Even now, Phainon looks tormented in his sleep, and Mydei knows that his healing injury has nothing to do with it.

He also knows, of course, how much the past still haunts the Deliverer. It’s no mystery among the Chrysos Heirs and the select few privy to their secrets, even though Phainon is careful not to let it show, masking the pain with his cheerful smiles and friendly demeanour—both of which are born from a place of genuine kindness and gentleness, but nevertheless used to veil the imperfect parts of himself from the world. Is it for the sake of the prophecy? The sake of his fellow Chrysos Heirs? Or is it for his own sake? Even Mydei, who has shared many an intimate moment with Phainon by now, still doesn’t know the answer. He doubts that Phainon himself does, either.

Still, something drives him to carry a heavy burden that no one person should carry, and that is something that Mydei, as the crown prince of the fallen Castrum Kremnos, can relate to. Unfortunately, it also means that Phainon is prone to acting without thinking and sacrificing himself for others without a second thought—even if that someone happens to be a person who has always been rejected by death’s hands to begin with.

“I don’t want to lose anyone important to me ever again.”

The words echo in Mydei’s mind for the umpteenth time since their return to Okhema, and they’ve stayed with him for much longer than he wishes them to. There’s tenderness for the thought, of course, buried deep under all the boisterous flair, but there’s also a not-insignificant part of him—the part that remembers exactly what he felt when he stood at the borders of Castrum Kremnos and observed it standing at the height of its glory one last time before turning his back—that wants to ask Phainon what makes him so special, why he should be the only one allowed to act so recklessly while carried by the pain of loss, why he continues to chase ghosts when there are people in the present who need him so much more and would be devastated if he left them behind.

But even Mydei knows to hold his tongue.

After all, he also blames himself for allowing this to happen in the first place. For the prince of Castrum Kremnos, the pinnacle of its warriors, to fail to notice an ambush is laughable, a point of shame, even. But unlike Phainon, Mydei is not one to dwell on mistakes for too long…as hard as it is not to when he sees the other man reduced from an equally peerless warrior to such a pitiful state. 

So he holds his tongue, but he isn’t able to restrain his desire to be close. And as he sits by Phainon’s bedside and watches him, he reaches over, allowing the back of his knuckle to brush against Phainon’s cheek. It’s not a tender touch—not when his cold, sharp gauntlets still adorn his fingers—but the intent is there, lent to by the almost uncharacteristically soft look in his golden eyes.

Unfortunately for him, it’s all it takes to rouse Phainon from his fitful slumber. He stirs, then his brow furrows at the sensation of cold steel against his skin. “Nnh… Mydei…?” he says without fully opening his eyes. Mydei quickly withdraws his hand before Phainon can truly wake up, but it’s too late. He turns his head towards Mydei, trying to blink the sleepiness away. “Was that you just now…?”

Mydei crosses his arms, maintaining the very picture of poise—even though he had basically been caught red-handed. “...What, you’re hallucinating now, on top of being bedridden? Maybe you should get your head checked out too.”

“No, that was definitely your hand… There’s nothing in this room that would feel as cold as your armour.”

“There was an insect on your face, and it fancied itself a meal made from your blood,” Mydei lies. “Seeing as you’re completely helpless right now, I simply thought to take matters into my own hands. You ought to be more grateful.”

Phainon stares at Mydei for a few moments, and whether he sees through the lie or not, Mydei can’t tell. Still, mercifully, he decides to drop the subject, simply smiling tiredly as he carefully rolls onto his side to fully face the prince. “Wow, my saviour… How gallant of you. I’m starting to wonder who the real ‘Deliverer’ is here.”

“Likewise. If you’re not careful, I may just end up usurping your place in the prophecy.”

“I guess I’d better sleep with one eye open, huh? But you know, I actually think you’d make a really dashing hero, Mydei,” Phainon says with his usual disarming sincerity, and Mydei is silently grateful for his ability to maintain his stoicism in the face of it. “I’ve read a lot of stories with a handsome, charming prince who rides into an ailing kingdom to save the day… That could be you one day.”

That gets a short burst of laughter out of Mydei. “Hah! Now that’s a delusion if I’ve ever heard one. If I really strike you as that type of prince, then maybe you don’t know me as well as you claim to.” 

Phainon chuckles as well. “Maybe. But I still think it’d suit you.” He relaxes, gazing up at Mydei fondly, no trace of his earlier torment visible on his face—if Mydei hadn’t known any better, he wouldn’t have been able to guess that Phainon had been afflicted by nightmares at all. “So? What brings you here?”

“These are the baths. Can’t I come here to bathe?”

“Yeah, but isn’t this a private chamber? You came to this specific room…just to bathe? I didn’t realize you wanted to see me that much.”

“Stop flattering yourself. I needed some peace and quiet, and it’s obviously going to be quieter here than everywhere else. Or at least, it was until you woke up and opened your mouth.”

“So sorry about that. That’s just the price you have to pay for using a recovery ward as your personal bath. Consider it fair compensation for the actual patient.”

“You’re one avaricious patient, then.”

Despite their outwardly vitriolic banter, the atmosphere is comfortable, and both men are content to bask in it in silence for a little while longer. However, Mydei’s eyes keep drifting to Phainon’s bandages, which, judging from the slightly visible stains, haven’t been changed yet. In fact, it strikes him just how much of his upper body is wrapped in gauze—it covers his entire torso, his chest, and even part of his shoulder. The wound he suffered must have been extensive, more extensive than he realized, and that thought is what drives him to break the silence first for once, for he's unable to contain his concern any longer.

“How’s your injury?”

Phainon looks down at his bandages. “It doesn’t hurt as much as it did before… But I still feel like I can’t really move that much,” he admits. “I guess I should change these bandages soon, though… They look dirty.”

“You should wait until someone comes by to help you. You’d do a horrible job with the state you’re in.”

“But the recent attacks by the Titankin have left everyone so busy. I don’t want to trouble them just because I was careless… The fact that I can't even go back out there to help fight right now is bad enough.”

“You…” Mydei sighs heavily. He doesn’t even know where to begin deconstructing Phainon’s statement. “First of all, a sloppily dressed wound is going to cause more work for others, not less—especially considering how large your injury is. Second of all…” The Kremnoan’s gaze lowers ever so slightly. “I was equally careless. So stop blaming yourself for things outside of your control already.”

A look of surprise and guilt crosses Phainon’s face, chasing away some of the lightheartedness from before. “Mydei…” 

But before he can say anything else, Mydei speaks up again. “But I know how hard-headed you are. If you’re that concerned about it, then I’ll take care of it for you. Tell me where the bandages are,” he says, getting up from his seat and walking over to the racks lining the walls, approaching the one furthest from the water and positioned in a particularly well-ventilated area. Humidity shouldn’t be a problem here, which makes it one of the better spots to store general medical supplies. “I’m assuming they’re somewhere around here?”

Seemingly grateful for the change in subject, Phainon’s face scrunches as he tries to remember the location of the bandages. “Um… I think so? I haven’t really been conscious enough to pay attention, but… Try the third shelf.”

Mydei does as instructed, and sure enough, he’s able to locate a closed chest full of fresh gauze and airtight containers of balms and ointments. He brings the entire thing back to Phainon’s bedside, placing it down before taking out one roll of gauze. “Are you able to sit up?”

Phainon nods and slowly pushes himself up, though from the way he winces and how hampered his movements are, Mydei can tell that he does it with great difficulty. He quickly steadies the wounded man with his free hand to ensure that he doesn’t fall back over, and only when he’s sure that he can remain upright without support does he withdraw his hand again. From there, Mydei begins the delicate work of peeling away the old gauze, making sure to coax it away from any stickier spots without agitating Phainon’s wound. Then, he takes the fresh roll of bandages and carefully begins wrapping it around the injury, and it’s only at this proximity that he notices how severe the lacerations on Phainon’s back and torso are. He doesn’t quail at the sight, though, instead etching it into his memory; it’s rare that someone other than himself has to bear the scars for his own shortcomings, and he intends to use this incident as both a lesson and a reminder to himself.

It’s tough, and judging from the way Phainon twitches and tenses on occasion, Mydei isn’t doing the best at ensuring the entire experience is pain-free, but the wounded swordsman keeps quiet and doesn’t complain. In the end, Mydei does a fairly decent job (if he does say so himself) of binding Phainon’s wounds with fresh bandages, though it’s clear from his handiwork that he’s not that used to such tasks. Phainon seems to take note of that as well as he looks down to examine Mydei’s work.

“You’re not the best at this either, are you?”

“Do I look like a healer to you?” Mydei retorts. “Basic first aid is essential knowledge for anyone who spends most of their time on the battlefield, but beyond that, you’re better off asking a trained professional. Still, I definitely did a better job than you would have.”

“That’s true,” Phainon concedes as he gingerly lowers himself back down onto the bed. “Thanks, Mydei.”

“Like I said, I’m only doing this so you won’t make trouble for other people. Otherwise, Aglaea and Tribbie will never let me hear the end of it,” Mydei says with a roll of his eyes. Phainon stares at him for a little longer, then smiles knowingly.

“You look pretty tired, Mydei. Do you want to rest here?”

“...What?” Completely caught off guard, Mydei returns Phainon’s insistent eyes with a look of befuddlement. “Where is this coming from?”

“Like I said, you look tired, and the bed’s big enough for the two of us. Why don’t you take a breather too?”

He certainly isn’t wrong; the past few days have worn Mydei out both physically and mentally. But the fact that Phainon can consistently see through him is unnerving, and he also doesn’t really feel like giving him the satisfaction of a confirmation. “Now you’re just spouting nonsense. What makes you think it’s a good idea for me to share a bed with an injured man?”

“Because that injured man will sleep better if you do.”

Right, maybe he’s fighting a losing battle to begin with. Mydei is starting to feel the telltale signs of a migraine coming along, and he shuts his eyes, pressing his fingers to his brow to try and stave it off. “Whatever foolish idea you’ve gotten into your head this time, you’d best discard it immediately. There’s no way you’ll recover properly if you—”

He’s interrupted when he feels Phainon hooking his fingers around the hem of his half-robe and pulling with strength he would not expect out of someone as badly injured as he is. Flailing gracelessly for a split second, Mydei falls over the bed, only just barely stopping himself from landing right on top of Phainon by bracing his hands on either side of his head.

The two stare in silence into each other’s eyes, Mydei hovering over Phainon, their faces a few inches from one another, before the entire fiasco finally registers in Mydei’s mind. He scowls, glaring down at the other man. “Are you actually completely bereft of common sense?” he asks. “If I had landed on you, that would’ve hurt.”

“But you didn’t, and I knew you wouldn’t, since your reflexes are so fast,” Phainon replies happily. “And look, I was right. You caught yourself just in time. But since you’re here, you might as well rest, right?”

As soft-hearted as Phainon is, Mydei also knows he can be surprisingly stubborn. Convincing himself that he’s only agreeing to his whims to save himself the headache (and definitely not because he also can’t resist the siren’s song of the soft bed or, Titans forbid, the company), Mydei sighs heavily and allows himself to roll off Phainon onto the empty space beside him, resting his head on his arm. “Avaricious and needy… You really are a difficult patient,” he grumbles, and Phainon laughs as he turns over to face him. 

“I missed you too, Mydei.”

Meanwhile, in the gardens, Tribbie perks up, coming to a sudden realization. “Oh…! It’s about that time of day again… We should probably check on Snowy to see how he’s doing.”

“There’s no need.”

The calm, melodious voice stops Tribbie as she’s about to flutter off, and the smaller demigod turns around to regard the woman behind her with curiosity. “Agy? What do you mean?”

Aglaea remains seated at her table, an embroidered cloth before her, but her eyes remain fixated on something else. Golden threads surround her, currently visible only to her, and she delicately plucks one of them as if it were a harp string.

“Mydei is already with him,” she says. “It would be quite impolite of us to intrude on them right now, wouldn’t you say?”

“Ohhh.” Tribbie giggles, reassured by the explanation, then floating back to Aglaea’s side. “They get along so well, don’t they, Agy? It makes us kind of jealous!” She sits down with a bright smile. “But we’re both relieved and surprised that they ended up becoming so close in spite of their differences in personality!”

Aglaea rests her elbow on the table, allowing one of the threads to coil loosely around her finger. “Tell me, teacher… Do you know of the concept of agápē?”

Tribbie raises her head curiously. “Agápē? We think we might have heard of it at some point… Why do you ask, Agy?”

“I was just voicing some absentminded musings aloud,” the Goldweaver replies softly. “It is said that Mnestia once defined agápē as the highest form of love—a sacrificial love that transcends all things and persists in the face of all circumstances…” The corners of her mouth curl upwards ever so slightly, her fingers ghosting over the golden threads. “I believe…it suits Mydei and Phainon quite well.”

Chapter Text

Only a week passes before Phainon is deemed fit to return to the battlefield—or rather, before Phainon deems himself fit to return to the battlefield—but Mydei isn’t convinced that he’s in top form. To anyone who doesn’t know the man, he appears as normal in his bright, cheerful, energetic self, but Mydei can see the way his injury is still affecting him from the subtle imbalance in his steps, the way he avoids standing too straight, and his reaction times, which are slower by a few milliseconds…

So when Phainon volunteers himself to respond to the current reports of sightings of Titankin roaming a little close to Okhema for comfort, Mydei insists on accompanying him, much to the swordsman's surprise…or not. 

In truth, Phainon knows that Mydei can see the signs. Mydei hasn’t taken his eyes off of him since they left Okhema, as a matter of fact, his stare practically boring a new hole into the swordsman’s back. While he’s secretly happy to be on the receiving end of the Kremnoan’s rare displays of concern, he also doesn’t want to risk being a detriment during a fight…especially when the image of Mydei getting stabbed and dying right before him is still so fresh in his mind. 

He’d certainly hate to be the cause of another death. With that thought in mind, he decides to walk a little closer to Mydei and do what he does best (barring swordplay, anyway): strike up a conversation.

“It’s strange for you to be so intent on coming out here with me. Don’t you prefer to fight alone?” Phainon asks with a carefree smile. “I can handle myself, you know.”

“I wasn’t worried about you in the first place,” Mydei grunts, answering a little too quickly.

“That's funny. I never even said that you were."

The prince scowls and crosses his arms. “It’s what you were implying from your question. If you’re so sure of yourself, why are you wasting your energy talking about it?”

“I just don’t want you to feel like you have make an extra effort to keep an eye on me,” Phainon replies more seriously this time. “I’d lose my edge and rot if I continued resting, but I also wouldn’t be out here fighting if I didn’t feel like I could handle it. Even I know that foolish shows of bravery won’t help anyone.”

“Good to see that you still have a lick of sense about you, then,” is the grumpy response, before Mydei jerks his head in the direction they’re walking in. “Now let’s see if you can put your newfound wits into practice.”

Phainon follows Mydei’s gaze to a spot in the distance, where he can clearly see some Titankin congregating. The group isn’t that large by Mydei’s and Phainon’s standards, but it’s not something they can leave alone—and with one of them still recovering from his injuries, the battle is bound to be challenging enough. Phainon’s eyes narrow as he grasps the hilt of his greatsword. 

“How should we approach this?”

“It’s not a big group. The usual should suffice.”

“But there could be more lying in wait—hey, hold on! Mydei!”

He’s not able to get another word in before Mydei launches himself into the fray, violently descending upon the Titankin and scattering the group with a thunderous impact. Phainon hurries after him, making quick work of the stragglers that manage to escape the brunt of Kremnoan’s wrath, but Mydei really isn’t leaving much for him to work with. Although the prince is always quick on the offense, he’s noticeably more aggressive than usual, tearing into the enemies as soon as he catches sight of them—all while keeping Phainon within his sight at all times. The swordsman is still holding his own just fine, though, and he looks almost displeased with Mydei’s hair-trigger aggression.

“Hey! Don’t tell me you’re trying to hog all the glory! Aren’t you going to leave some for me?”

“Oh? Why the sudden complaints? This is how I always do things. If you want a kill, then you’d best pick up the slack, Deliverer,” Mydei responds over the bodies of the fallen Titankin as he tosses the corpse of another one of his victims aside. The thrill of battle has put his characteristic smirk back on his face, and he almost seems to be goading Phainon now. “Or have you gotten complacent knowing that I’m looking after you?”

Phainon wants to get another quip in, but before he knows it, Mydei is already hurtling towards another group of enemies, and the swordsman is torn between being irked and being mesmerized by the Kremnoan’s striking form. Mydei has always made it clear that he’s a warrior first and a prince second, but there’s always a certain majesty to the way he conducts himself, even in the thick of battle. He’s terrifying, bestial, eye-catching, and awe-inspiring all at once, and Phainon feels his own heart’s pace quickening at the sight of Mydei tearing through his adversaries.

But Mydei knows he’s been staring, and once there’s a suitable reprieve between the waves of enemies, he turns to face Phainon once again. “What’s the matter? Don’t tell me that all your bravado from before was all just a farce? If you aren’t going to do anything, then just save all of us the trouble and go back to Okhema already.”

Well. Mydei really knows how to get Phainon’s blood boiling. He smiles confidently, brandishing his greatsword. “Not so fast. I’m just getting started!”

As always, the two are able to vanquish their adversaries in the blink of an eye. As his bloodlust subsides, Mydei realizes belatedly that he had stopped monitoring Phainon at some point. From what he had seen, the other man had been handling himself quite well; every time he looked up to check, Phainon was in the midst of felling two or three Titankin with a single swing of his greatsword. The sight must have put him at ease, for he had devoted himself to battle after that, finally putting Phainon’s safety from his mind.

It’s for the same reasons that he fully expects to see Phainon approaching him as he usually does, if he’s not already at his side, but when he turns, all he finds is empty air. Alarmed, his head swivels around the silent battlefield, but he quickly spots the swordsman a few feet away. He looks uninjured, which brings about a sense of relief that Mydei would never admit to feeling, but he’s leaning against his sword, catching his breath—a sign that he’s still not at his prime.

That’s enough to convince Mydei.

“We’re heading back to Okhema,” he announces as he walks over.

“Huh?” Phainon raises his head. While he doesn’t look like he’s exhausted his reserves of strength just yet, he’s still breathing a little heavily, his posture is lopsided, and he’s a little pale—more glaring signs that he hasn’t completely recovered yet, especially when a battle of this caliber would have been effortless for him normally. “Don’t we have some other places to go to? We can’t just leave the Titankin roaming around…”

“We clearly just dealt with the largest group. We can leave the stragglers for the others to handle.”

“But…”

“You said it yourself. Foolish shows of bravery won’t help anyone,” Mydei says, crossing his arms and leveling a steely gaze on Phainon. “If you really want to be of use to the people of Okhema, then you should be aware of your own limits. Just so you know, I’m not interested in hauling a corpse back from the Abyss.”

Phainon’s shoulders slump, and he gives in with a sigh. He knows Mydei is right; he still hasn’t regained his stamina, and his wound is starting to pain him. Perhaps throwing himself right back into the thick of things so soon wasn’t the best idea, after all. “Alright, when you put it that way, I can’t win against you. Just give me a few more moments to catch my breath…”

“No need for that.”

“What?”

In one fluid movement, Mydei scoops Phainon into his arms, prompting a loud yelp from the swordsman. By the time he has registered what’s happening, Mydei has already turned and started heading back in the direction of Okhema, carrying him as if he weighs nothing. 

“Wait… Really?” Phainon says once he’s found his voice again. “I can still walk, you know?”

“And how long would it have taken you to recover enough to do so? I wasn’t about to waste my time waiting for you,” Mydei replies without taking his eyes off the road.

“But what if an enemy attacks? Will you be able to fight while carrying me like this?”

“How do you think I brought you back to Okhema after you got injured?”

“I…don’t know. I wasn’t exactly awake to see it.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve been assuming that I dragged you back by the ankles.”

“No, you’re not that kind of person, even if you insist you are…” Phainon smiles, settling into Mydei’s arms. The implication that Mydei had fought to keep him safe during the entire journey back from that mission-gone-wrong, as well as how difficult and arduous it must have been, and how many more injuries the prince must have sustained in the process—all of it finally sinks in at that moment.  “...You’re amazing, Mydei. I really owe you one, huh?”

“You owe me more than just ‘one,’” Mydei grumbles, choosing not to acknowledge the starstruck praise, and only looks down when he feels his charge practically snuggling against his chest. “...Hey. You’re getting too comfortable.”

Phainon raises his head, looking up at Mydei innocently. “This is a privilege I don’t get to enjoy often, though. You’re also not making it particularly difficult for me to get comfortable, you know?”

“Believe me, there are plenty of other ways I could have carried you that are far less troublesome than this, but I had to choose a method that would agitate your wound the least, or else the demigods would be on my case.”

“So you would’ve just given me the shoulder sack treatment if I wasn’t injured? That’s cold…”

“You’d be walking on your own right now if you weren’t injured, you fool.”

“And just when I was thinking about how gallant you looked…" The swordsman sighs. "You were truly the picture perfect fairy tale prince until you said that.”

“What, are you actually disappointed? I told you that was just a delusion to begin with. You’d best stop losing yourself in your fantasies, or you may end up losing your grip on reality as well."

Phainon chuckles, wrapping his arms loosely around Mydei’s shoulders. He’s definitely very comfortable now. “So you keep saying, but no matter what, I still think that kind of thing suits you. I mean, just look at how heroic you are right now. Being able to bear witness to such a rare sight… I must be the luckiest man in Okhema.”

Mydei sighs heavily and closes his eyes so he doesn’t have to see Phainon’s warm smile. It’s hard even for him to not feel a little embarrassed when the swordsman is so open and earnest in his affections, but he’s fairly confident that he doesn’t let it show on his face. And so, he continues walking back to Okhema, silently content with the feeling of having Phainon in his arms—because in truth, he doesn’t particularly mind this arrangement either, in spite of his outward complaints about it. Not when this is the easiest way to guarantee Phainon's safety and ensure that he doesn't strain himself further. 

Of course, Phainon isn’t someone who needs protection—not in battle, at least. Mydei knows this more than anyone else, having fought beside him, fought against him more times than he can count. But in the rare instances when Phainon is in a bind, it falls upon Mydei to come to his rescue. 

After all, even heroes need to be saved sometimes.