Chapter Text
In the perpetual darkness of evernight, the eyes of any being, be they god or mortal, are always instinctively drawn to any source of light.
So on one fateful day, when the sun once again deigns to deliver its radiance to Castrum Kremnos, it immediately attracts the attention of the lone god-king, the sole ruler of this ruined land.
Long before his mark even sets foot upon the soil of his kingdom, Mydei has already swept away the rabble, ensuring that nothing will obscure his path. It’s far too easy for him; as a human, he had been the apex of human might, and as a god, he is nothing less than a harbinger of destruction. A single glance is enough to reduce scores of lesser enemies to ashes, while a mere sigh would devastate armies. So by the time a certain swordsman enters the borders of the former city-state, it has fallen silent, allowing him to make his way to where Mydei is without interruption.
It isn’t long before the ancient, gargantuan doors creak open, revealing Phainon standing at the entrance to the “throne room.” He faces the king who sits at its heart, and smiles—as if nothing has changed between them, as if they are simply reuniting after an assignment, and not in defiance of the fate that had forced them to walk separate paths.
It’s Mydei who decides to break the silence first, greeting him with an amused smirk. “I’m beginning to wonder what the point of our heartfelt parting was if you were just going to be struck with longing and immediately seek me out anyway.”
“Castrum Kremnos hasn’t been completely sealed off from the rest of Amphoreus, you know. Besides, you only said that you’d likely never set foot in Okhema again, but no one said anything about never coming to visit you,” Phainon replies. “Also, it’s been a whole month. Has His Godliness lost his sense of time already?”
“It’s not exactly easy to tell how much time passes out here, you know.”
“Is it really any harder than trying to tell time in Okhema without a teleslate?”
“My point is, a month is not a particularly long time, and yet you’re here. I wasn’t aware that I consumed your thoughts that much, Deliverer.”
“No need to act tough. I know that even you get lonely. And besides, if you weren’t equally eager to see me, why did you clear the path for me before I even entered Castrum Kremnos?”
“Are you confusing me for yourself? I just didn’t want to hear any complaints about my ability to host guests. Even though you’re willingly walking into my domain to begin with, knowing exactly who and what I am.”
“Wow, you’ve sure developed a haughty streak!”
“It comes with the position. You’d best get used to it.”
It’s comforting how easily they slip into their usual banter despite not seeing each other for quite some time. Even so, Phainon finds Mydei’s bold statement to be quite true. The Kremnoan had denounced his royal title, abolishing a 1000-year dynasty painted in blood with it, but seated upon his throne, he carries the aura of a true king. And like a king, he doesn’t stand to greet Phainon—he simply beckons him closer, and the swordsman answers those summons, along with the powerful pull in his own heart, eagerly crossing the distance between them until he stands before the new God of Strife’s throne. He’s close enough to touch, and Mydei reaches up, tracing his fingers along Phainon’s face, his palm lingering on his cheek.
He’s warm. He’s bright. He’s real. Mydei hadn’t realized how grounding the sensation of human contact could be until he had willingly given it up. He savours it while he still can.
“Aglaea will be quite cross with you,” Mydei says, teasing a lock of white hair between his armoured fingers. He’s gentler than Phainon remembers; perhaps it’s because he knows that he now has the power to crush him into dust with a single errant gesture. “Stealing away into the evernight is quite unbecoming of the Deliverer.”
Phainon laughs softly, leaning into Mydei’s palm and holding his hand to his face, reveling in the touch. He’s missed this closeness, this intimacy, and he’s sure that Mydei has too. He may be a demigod, but to deny him of these simple pleasures would be far too cruel—that’s his primary reason for coming out here, other than the fact that he, of course, has craved the companionship that only Mydei can offer him as well. “She already knows. I asked her for approval before coming here. She was against it at first, of course, saying I’d distract you from your duties… But eventually, I was able to convince her to let me come because I told her I could check on you and see if there were any changes. After all, if anything happens to the Guardian of Amphoreus, it’s better to know sooner rather than later, right?”
“Sound reasoning. What a surprise."
“Mmhm. So… In the interest of making my report to her, I suppose I should ask. Any injuries?”
“No. Injuries pose no consequence to me. Have you already forgotten?”
“It’s for the sake of the report!”
“Then let Aglaea know that the minions of the black tide that I’ve faced thus far have been weak.”
“Haha… By your standards, they must be. But I’m sure most of the warriors back at Okhema wouldn’t agree. That’s encouraging, though. You really are shaping up to be a fine guardian.” He falters ever so slightly, only noticeable from the way his expression falls for a split second. “How about…signs of corruption?”
He hesitates as he asks, clearly disturbed by the notion. But unlike Phainon, Mydei remains undaunted by the prospect. “I would be a laughable demigod and unworthy of this throne and coreflame if I allowed myself to be corrupted merely a month into my reign.”
“Right… You’re not that weak.” Despite his words, relief softens Phainon’s features. “...I’m glad, Mydei.”
Mydei raises his eyebrows. “Were you actually worried? Don’t take me so lightly, Deliverer.”
“It’s not that I was worried, it’s just… Alright, maybe I was. Just a little.” Phainon looks away with a sheepish smile tinted with melancholy. “After all, you’re all alone out here. There’s no one watching your back anymore. I know you can handle it. You’re probably the only one in this world who’s capable of doing something like this. But still, I…”
He doesn’t get to finish. Mydei grabs him by the collar and abruptly pulls him down, forcing Phainon to brace a knee on the seat of his throne to stop himself from toppling over, and their lips meet in a rough but passionate kiss. The Kremnoan lacks delicacy as always, but Phainon wouldn’t have it any other way, and he doesn’t resist the pull, eventually letting his arms settle on Mydei’s shoulders. When they pull away, Phainon finds his cheeks a little warmer, his breaths a little shorter, as he gazes into Mydei’s ravenous golden eyes.
“You came all this way, and you’re going to waste your time being sentimental?” Mydei asks with a confident sneer. “One piece of advice, Deliverer: perfect opportunities rarely come twice, so you must act quickly and seize any chance you get. You wanted to see me, and I’m here. You’d better make the most of it.”
In spite of his daring words, he knows all too well that he had truly condemned the swordsman to the harshest fate of all. He knows the unimaginable burden that Phainon must bear as the one person whom Mydei had entrusted his life to, and he knows that the only ending for them is tragedy. And Phainon will be forced to carry the weight of that tragedy for the rest of his life.
But while they can still find these rare moments of reprieve in one another’s company, Mydei intends to make the most of it, and all he can do is make sure Phainon does the same.
Thankfully, Phainon doesn’t hesitate to take his advice to heart. Framing Mydei’s face with both of his hands, he returns the kiss with his own, partially because he doesn’t want to be outdone, but mostly because he’s incapable of curbing the immense yearning in his heart any longer.
In the silent battlefield, king and hero share a long, intimate moment, undisturbed and uninterrupted by the ever-encroaching ebon waves.
They remain wrapped in each other’s arms for a long time, simply holding one another as if their lives depend on it. Neither of them says a word; the understanding they share has long breached the barriers of spoken language. They’re both fully aware that any meeting could be their last, for the black tide is as unpredictable as it is ferocious, and its power of corruption knows no bounds. How they both wish to stay like this until the end of time, but Mydei knows that Phainon can’t linger for too long, and he knows that Phainon knows too. Soon, their enigmatic enemy will renew its assault on Amphoreus, and the fighting will begin anew, and the ensuing chaos will delay the hero’s return to the holy city—or worse, endanger him and put him at risk for corruption.
“...You should get going,” he murmurs into Phainon’s ear, but he doesn’t let go. It’s Phainon who nods and resolves to finally pull away, just as Mydei hopes, an undeniable melancholy painting his demeanor.
“...Yeah. It’s a long way to Okhema from here,” Phainon muses. “If I don’t start the trip back now, Aglaea and Tribbie are going to worry.”
Even to him, he sounds like he’s trying to reason more with himself than anything else. Graciously, Mydei doesn’t comment, simply watching as the swordsman straightens out and steps away from the throne. However, he doesn’t turn right away, gazing at Mydei as if to etch his visage into his mind and heart forever.
“I’ll come back to visit, okay?” he says.
“Focus on your mission. You still have your own role to fulfill.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t make time for you. C’mon, I’m not really that much of a distraction, am I?”
“Do you really want me to answer that honestly?”
Phainon chuckles, though it's without much mirth. “You’re so cruel sometimes… Like I said before, it wouldn’t kill you to give a compliment every now and then, would it?” In spite of all that he says, he doesn’t seem all too displeased, though his cheer dilutes takes another step back from Mydei. He’s still smiling, trying to maintain a brave face, but Mydei can tell that it’s a facade, one that will crumble like a pillar made of sand the moment it’s seen through. For the sake of the swordsman’s dignity, the king once again says nothing, merely watching as Phainon turns towards the entrance, his reluctant farewell finally falling from his lips.
“...See you later, Mydeimos.”
“...See you.”
He makes his way towards the grand doors, and he doesn’t turn back. He doesn’t trust himself to turn back, because if he does, he will overstay his welcome. Mydei had always mocked him for his weak and fragile heart, but Phainon is not lacking in self-awareness, and he knows that there has always been truth in what the Kremnoan says. So, to avoid burdening Mydei with that weakness and fragility, he continues walking forward.
Soon, his footsteps all but fade from the arena, leaving naught but a deafening silence behind him.
Mydei sighs, only allowing his own yearning to show now that he’s alone. It feels colder and darker than before, the emptiness far more all-consuming with Phainon gone, and he can nary wait for the fighting to start again to drown out the void that has been left in the wake of the swordsman’s departure. He leans back against his throne, staring into the endless expanse of evernight above him.
“...You’re quite cruel yourself, Phainon.”
But he would be lying if he said he wouldn’t welcome him into his arms and bask in that transient warmth again and again, until the day comes when they both finally realize their destinies...or die trying.
In the end times, for one of the chosen ones to hope for a happy ending for themselves is sheer folly, a wish sure to leave the wisher in despair. But still, as Phainon returns to Okhema alone and Mydei continues his solitary reign under the veil of evernight, the two carry that foolish wish in their hearts—that their final reunion will not be on the battlefield, but under the light of dawn.