Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If there was one thing Phainon knew for sure, it was this: his phone hated him.

He stared down at the third dead device of the semester, the screen still sizzling faintly in his hand like it had been struck by lightning. Again.

“I didn’t even do anything this time,” he muttered, shaking the poor phone like that would bring it back to life. “I wasn’t mad. I wasn’t—ugh.”

The world really gave him the finger and yelled, LMAO, DUMBASS from above, eh?

The sky outside the campus café was bright and clear, not a single storm cloud in sight. Not that it mattered. Storms seemed to follow him like debt collectors. Or weird birds. Or that one dude with bull horns he saw in the quad last week who hissed at him in Ancient Greek and then vanished into the bushes.

Phainon blinked. “…That was probably a red flag.”

He shoved the phone into his bag next to a half-finished calc notebook and the world’s worst granola bar, standing up from the patio table.

The wind kicked up out of nowhere, ruffling his hair and almost snatching his hoodie from his shoulders.

Great.

That was when the clouds did start rolling in—fast and dark and wrong. Like something was moving under them. Toward him.

Phainon turned slowly.

That’s when he saw it.

A figure at the end of the student parking lot. It wasn’t even a Denny’s. Nor 3 AM. Seven feet tall, easy. Bull horns curled like charred branches from its head, and its eyes glowed like coals.

Phainon blinked. “Oh. It’s you again.”

Damn, this guy had a super realistic costume. Where'd he even get it?

The monster hissed. This time in English. “Son of Kephale.”

Phainon froze.

“Sorry,” he said, taking a cautious step back. “Son of who now?”

The monster charged.

Phainon panicked. His hand went instinctively to the inside of his jacket, where he always kept his cheap little ballpoint pen—a weird habit he’d never been able to explain. The pen slipped into his fingers like it wanted to be there.

“Okay,” he muttered, heart pounding. “You wanna fight a pen? Cool. I’m gonna die with a D in econ but that’s fine—”

Then the pen clicked.

And exploded into a sword.

A real sword—long and gleaming and etched with lightning bolts down the blade. It weighed nothing in his hand.

Phainon stared at it. Stared at the monster. Then back at the sword.

“Oh,” he said, as the wind began to howl around him, the clouds cracking with the promise of thunder.

“I hate Tuesdays.”

The monster lunged. It did not care about Tuesday's.

Phainon did not have a plan. Unless "screaming internally" counted as strategy.

But his body moved—faster than he thought it could. The sword whipped up between them with a crackle of lightning, and sparks exploded where blade met claw.

He stumbled back, heart trying to escape his ribcage. The thing let out a snarl that sounded like a tree being ripped in half and swung again.

Phainon ducked, rolled, and came up swinging with a wild, untrained overhead arc that somehow—somehow—connected.

The monster shrieked.

Phainon staggered back again, breathing hard, eyes wide. His hands were tingling, like electricity was humming in his bones. The air around him was buzzing. His hoodie stuck to him with static. Wind circled his ankles like a coiled animal, waiting.

“What is happening,” he gasped. “Who even makes pens like this?!”

The monster didn’t answer. It charged again, faster this time, claws raised and teeth too big for its face bared in a grin.

Phainon lifted the sword—and this time, when he shouted, “BACK OFF!”—

—the sky obeyed.

A streak of lightning cracked from the storm above and slammed into the ground between them, blinding white and ear-splitting loud. Wind erupted outward like a shockwave, lifting the monster off its feet and hurling it into a tree across the quad.

Everything went silent.

Even the monster seemed dazed, half-embedded in splintered bark.

Phainon stood in the eye of a newborn whirlwind, his breath ragged, the sword still sparking faintly in his hand.

And that’s when it really hit him.

“…I think I’m a magician,” he whispered.

The monster groaned.

He squared up, sword raised again with zero technique but plenty of “I will absolutely swing this again if I have to” energy.

“You wanna tell me what’s going on,” Phainon said, “or do I have to call in another lightning strike, because frankly I’m not sure how I did it and I’d really prefer not to die before lunch. I love lunch. I already paid for my meal plan!”

The monster hissed. “You will die, child of Kephale. The prophecy cannot be fulfilled.”

“Okay, well, that’s ominous and incredibly unhelpful,” Phainon muttered.

Then the wind behind him shifted.

And someone else stepped into the clearing.

Phainon turned, sword still up, heart racing. His lungs hadn’t caught up yet.

Someone was walking through the storm like it wasn’t even there. Tall. Lean. Half-shirtless, red... ceremonial robes(?) revealing most of his chest and stomach and armed to the teeth. A long bow slung over one shoulder. Stormlight glinted off his armor like it was meant to catch it.

Wow. Nice pecs, dude.

The stranger stopped at the edge of the quad, took one look at the monster trying to stand back up, and groaned.

“Seriously?” he muttered, reaching for the bow. “Another unclaimed child? Gods, this is getting exhausting.”

Phainon bristled. “Uh. Excuse me—”

Before he could finish that sentence, the guy moved.

It was clean and fast. A single arrow notched, drawn, loosed.

Thunk.

The monster roared—staggered—then another flash of silver: a dagger now, pulled from his hip in a blink and slammed down into the beast’s chest with zero hesitation.

It shrieked—one last awful sound—and then it disintegrated into dust like it had never been real at all.

Phainon stood there. Mouth open. Still holding a sparking sword. Covered in wind-swept leaves and monster grime. Probably blinking like an idiot.

The guy—who had zero right to be that good-looking while stabbing things—dusted off his hands with a sigh.

Then turned to face Phainon fully.

Blonde hair. Golden eyes that pierced through him. A scowl like it had been carved into marble. And—

Oh no, Phainon thought.

He’s so hot.

The guy–his pecs that could go on a marble statue in a museum, by the way—raised an eyebrow. “You gonna put the sword down or pass out holding it?”

Phainon blinked. “...Hi.”

Way to be sophisticated. Focus, Phainon. He mentally facepalmed.

The boy squinted. “You’re lucky I was nearby. That one nearly got you.”

“Yeah,” Phainon said, trying to sound normal. “I think I just got… uh. Jumped by a deer demon.”

“Minotaurus,” the stranger muttered, like obviously. “Drawn to divine blood.”

There was a pause.

Phainon’s brain finally rebooted. “Okay wait. Who even are you?”

The boy gave him a look. The kind that said I have no time for this but somehow still managed to be stupidly pretty.

“Mydei,” he said. “Son of Nikador. You?”

...Okay. First a deer demon attacked him. Next his pen turned into a sword. Then he summoned a whole storm. And now there was this super cute and sexy and hot scowling guy that claimed he was the son of an ancient Greek titan.

Phainon opened his mouth. Closed it. “I… think my pen is magic.”

Mydei just sighed.

“You’re coming with me.”

Phainon stared at the rapidly dissipating pile of monster ash, then back at the boy—Mydei, Son of Nikador, apparently—like he wasn’t entirely sure if he was dreaming or suffering from heatstroke. Probably both.

“…Where are we going, exactly?” he asked, still gripping the sword. “Because if this is the part where you stab me too, I feel like that’s really counterproductive.”

“To a place where you won’t get attacked by rampaging bulls all day,” Mydei said flatly, already fishing around in his belt pouch.

Phainon blinked. “Cool, cool. That sounds great. But I’ve got, like… three midterms this week? And a project due? So—"

“You can worry about that later,” Mydei interrupted. “Aglaea will deal with it.”

“Who now?”

“Someone with a lot of connections,” Mydei said, tone sharp. “Now stop complaining and come with me.”

Phainon was about to protest again—but then Mydei pulled out a small silver coin and held it between two fingers. It was shaped like a cat. A winking cat.

Tuesdays were really normal, weren't they?

“Cipher, Cipher,” Mydei said, scowling, flipping it into the air, “...you are the best in the world.”

The coin caught the light—glinted—and then reality cracked around them.

Phainon gasped as the world twisted, turned inside out, and reassembled in the blink of an eye. One moment they were standing in a half-destroyed campus quad, and the next—

They were surrounded by strawberries.

Fields of them. Rolling, sun-drenched, and so overwhelmingly mouth-watering that it made Phainon instinctively suspicious.

“Uh…” he said, squinting at the neat rows of plants. “Is this… your camp?”

Mydei groaned like the mere question hurt him on a spiritual level.

“I hate children of Zagreus,” he muttered. “Always planting things. So smug about their little coin transportation, for what?"

Phainon opened his mouth to ask so many questions, but Mydei had already grabbed his wrist.

“Come on.”

And just like that—hand wrapped around Phainon’s with surprising warmth—Mydei led him toward the edge of the fields, where a line of trees stood impossibly tall and dark.

Mydei's hand was really warm.

But the moment they stepped into the treeline—

The forest vanished.

One blink and suddenly they were somewhere else entirely.

Tents, cabins, and ancient columns sprawled out before them in a wide crescent, brimming with movement. Kids sparring in armor, satyrs herding glowing sheep, a banner with shifting symbols rippling above a long dining pavilion. The scent of campfire smoke and lemon balm filled the air.

Hooray. Glowing sheep.

He felt like that idiot Iason from history class who suddenly got yeeted on a ship to look for a golden fleece. Do protagonists dream of hot golden guys?

Phainon blinked. “Oh. Uh. Okay. This is…”

“The camp for demigods to live safely,” Mydei muttered, releasing his hand like it was burning. “Welcome to Okhema.”

Phainon’s voice came out a little dazed. “Do all camps smell this much like strawberries?”

Mydei ignored him. 

Phainon also noticed Mydei had red-dyed tips at the ends of his hair. 

...Did he smell like strawberries too?

They passed under a massive archway carved from dark stone, where silver letters spelled out:

OKHEMA

The name shimmered faintly as they crossed beneath it. Immediately, the sounds of camp crashed into Phainon like a wave.

Clashing swords, laughter, actual goats yelling, and someone shouting, “STOP SETTING THE TARGETS ON FIRE, DUDE!”

Everywhere Phainon looked, something new was happening. A pair of twins—one with glowing vines in her hair, the other juggling flaming knives—raced past them. A huge serpent coiled around a marble column, its tail being painted bright pink by a bunch of cackling younger campers. Satyrs played music in a corner, and someone was levitating three golden apples in the air like stress balls.

Phainon stared. “This place is insane.”

Mydei didn’t even slow down. “Welcome to camp.”

A nearby camper spotted them and immediately waved. “Hey, Mydeimos! Who’s the new guy?”

Mydei barely turned his head. “Child of Kephale.”

That was all it took.

People started shouting.

“Oh gods, another child of the big three?”

“Did he break the sky yet?”

“Is he the storm from this morning?!”

“Does he have the lightning eyes?!”

"Aye, why were you two holding hands?"

Phainon laughed nervously and waved at no one in particular. “Hi?”

A tall, tattooed boy near the forge snorted. “Great. First we have a child of Nikador who doesn’t smile, now we’ve got a child of Kephale who can short-circuit our power grid.”

Mydei rubbed his temples.

“Can we not turn this into an event,” he muttered, speeding up.

But people kept following. Like a parade.

“Wait wait wait,” someone shouted from the arena, “he’s kinda cute, though?”

“Right?? Look at his hair!”

"Y'all ain't gonna be so happy with him when he blows the power," someone else grumbled.

“Oh no,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon couldn't keep up anymore.

“So you guys have, like… shirts with the camp name? Also where’s the dining hall? Also how many monsters show up per week on average? Asking for trauma reasons.”

Mydei stopped, turned to him slowly, and said, “Do not encourage them.”

Phainon just grinned. “What, afraid I’ll be more popular than you?”

Mydei gave him the deepest, most burdened sigh in history. It made him seem five years older, though Phainon could bet the last five dollars he had in his wallet that Mydei was, if not younger than him, at least the same age as him. "Shut up. Before I make you."

They hadn’t even made it halfway down the camp path when a tall woman with shimmering white robes and a Laurel wreath stepped directly into their way.

Phainon blinked. She moved like she was floating. Her hair shimmered like gold, and she had a longsword that looked more decorative than useful. Her eyes were green, with a strange sheen on them that made them unreadable.

“Mydei,” she greeted coolly.

Mydei inclined his head. “Aglaea. I brought another child.”

“I see.”

“He’s a child of Kephale.”

Her expression immediately shifted.

The warmth drained from her face, replaced by something... cautious. Measured. Like she'd just heard the distant rumble of a storm and was calculating exactly where it might strike.

“Let him get used to the life here first,” she said quietly. “Then we shall bring him in.”

“Bring me where?” Phainon asked, glancing between them. “Also, no offense, but like... can she see? Is this an aesthetic thing or is she magic?”

Aglaea smiled faintly. “I see in many ways.”

“That doesn’t answer the question,” he whispered to Mydei.

“Don’t push it,” Mydei muttered, already turning away. “Come on. I’ll show you your cabin.”

Phainon followed, slightly dazed, waving back at Aglaea who definitely didn’t wave back.

The cabin rows were lined with marble columns and strange inscriptions, each one built in a different style—some overgrown with vines, others covered in obsidian and metal. They stopped at the very end of the row.

Mydei pointed. “That one’s yours.”

Phainon looked up at it. The building was shaped like a miniature temple, carved with symbols of wind and stars and storm clouds. It hummed faintly with static.

“You’re the only one in here,” Mydei added, nodding toward the neighboring cabin. “I’m over there.”

Phainon squinted. “Why am I the only one?”

Mydei shifted. “Uh… it’s hard to explain out here. Without attracting a crowd.”

“Why would we attract—”

Too late.

Whispers started drifting from a nearby group of campers pretending to play cards.

“I don’t think children of other Titans should be going inside someone else’s cabin…”

“Are they dating??”

“Did Mydeimos bring home a boyfriend??”

Mydei stiffened like someone had slapped him. His ears were a similar shade of red like those strawberries earlier.

He whirled around. “I can hear you!”

The group only snickered louder.

Phainon grinned, leaning in. “So do you bring home a lot of guys with swords or am I special?”

Ahem. He may as well try and score himself a hot date if he was going to be stuck here from now on.

Mydei growled under his breath. “You are the worst. Inside. Now.”

Mydei shoved open the cabin door, dragging Phainon in before someone could yell something else like, "Name the baby after me!"

The moment the door shut behind them, the noise from outside dimmed into a hush.

Phainon looked around, eyes wide.

The interior of the cabin felt… charged. Like the air before a thunderstorm. The walls were etched with storm patterns and constellations. 

He turned to Mydei, who had folded his arms and was staring at the ground, like he was building up to something.

“Okay,” Phainon said cautiously, “so... are we gonna talk about the prophecy thing, or the creepy eye lady, or the fact that my pen is now apparently a sword?”

Mydei sighed, very deeply. “Sit down.”

Phainon plopped onto a cushioned bench, still holding the sword in his lap like it might explode again.

“The Big Three,” Mydei began, pacing slowly, “are the eldest and most powerful among the Titans—Nikador, Kephale, and Thanatos. War, Sky, and Death.”

Phainon raised a hand. “Wait, Titans? I thought you were a demigod, not a child of—”

“Don’t interrupt.”

“Okay! Sorry. Continue.”

Mydei gave him a glare, then kept going.

“Since ages ago—literal ages—it’s been an unspoken rule among the Titans that none of the Big Three would have children with mortals again. It’s too dangerous. The balance is too fragile. Their blood makes us too powerful.”

Phainon blinked. “...And yet. Here we are.”

“Exactly.” Mydei stopped pacing. “Children of Nikador, Kephale, and Thanatos… aren’t supposed to exist. And when they do, it never ends quietly." A pause.

"Also, another reason was because Kephale and Nikador's children always fought. Like, always. Wars broke out over the children of the two, causing destruction.”

There was a long silence, and then Phainon asked, quieter, “So… what about us? Are we gonna break the world fighting each other for ten days and nights or something?”

Mydei looked at him, solemn. “You’d never touched a sword before today, and you held your own against a monster longer than most trained warriors. That’s not nothing. You’re already starting to tap into your divine power. Whether you like it or not, you’re dangerous.”

Phainon swallowed.

“…Cool. What about you?”

Mydei paused. “That’s a story for another time.”

“And the reason Aglaea looked like she was about to eat monster meat when I told her who your parent was,” Mydei added, “is because of a prophecy.”

“You guys have someone who’s an oracle?”

“Stop interrupting me.”

“Okay, okay, okay.”

Mydei gave him a withering look and sat down across from him, the firelight casting sharp shadows on his cheekbones.

“The oracle issued a prophecy a few years ago. One we’ve kept quiet about. It was vague, like most prophecies, but the core of it was clear: a child of Kephale would be the tipping point in a coming war. They would decide the fate of all divine offspring.”

Phainon blinked rapidly. “Okay, that’s… dramatic.” 

So there was an incoming war. Wow. Tuesdays.

“And now you’re here,” Mydei said, voice soft but guarded. “So. You can imagine the camp is going to be a little on edge.”

Phainon nodded slowly. “Will I be able to, like… read the prophecy myself?”

“Eventually,” Mydei said. “But first, we need to do something else. Something more important.”

Phainon tilted his head. “Like what?”

“We need to try and communicate with your divine parent.”

Phainon blinked. “Like… call them? Text them? Should I stand outside in a thunderstorm and wave?”

“No,” Mydei deadpanned. “But it would be hilarious if you got struck by lightning in the process.”

"You wound me."

A few hours later, Phainon stood at the center of a stone circle deep in the forest, surrounded by ancient pillars and flickering torches that somehow didn’t burn the trees.

Mydei stood beside him, arms crossed, expression tight with effort and annoyance—equal parts emotionally constipated and used to handling the dramatic nonsense of divine rituals.

“So,” Phainon muttered, “we’re summoning my dad?”

“Technically, inviting him to communicate,” Mydei said. “But yes. Usually divine parents only speak to their children when they feel like it. Or when things get dire.”

“Cool. No pressure or anything.”

Mydei didn’t answer. Instead, he pulled a silver disc from the pouch at his belt—a coin etched with Kephale’s sigil: a spiraling gust of wind surrounding a bolt of lightning. He handed it to Phainon.

“Stand in the middle. Hold the coin. Focus on the sky.”

Phainon took a breath. “Anything else I should—”

Mydei grabbed his hand.

Phainon blinked. “...What’re you doing?”

“Helping you not get fried if this goes wrong,” Mydei muttered. “Focus. Otherwise we're both going to get fried.”

Cool. So, don't let hot guy get fried.  But hey, the handholding was helpful for his morale.

Above them, clouds began to swirl into a spiral. The torches flared. The silver coin in Phainon’s palm heated up until it glowed faintly blue.

Lightning cracked in the distance, rumbling through the trees.

Phainon’s grip tightened. “Uh—Mydei—”

“Don’t let go,” Mydei said through gritted teeth.

Wind whipped through the clearing, spiraling up from the ground like a vortex around Phainon’s legs. His hair lifted with it, and electricity danced across his skin.

And then—

BOOM.

A bolt of lightning struck the center of the circle, blindingly bright. Phainon staggered but Mydei held fast.

A voice filled the clearing.

It wasn’t loud, but it pressed against Phainon’s bones—echoing with the weight of thunderclouds and open skies.

“My... child.”

Phainon’s breath caught in his throat.

“You... must fulfill... the prophecy...”

Silence.

The wind stopped.

The lightning disappeared.

Phainon stood frozen, his hand still clutched in Mydei’s, who looked equally stunned—but did his best to mask it with indifference.

“…That’s it?” Phainon croaked. “No hey, how’ve you been, sorry for the whole absentee god thing?”

Mydei rolled his eyes and dropped Phainon’s hand like a hot potato. “The titans aren't known for being warm. Or present.”

“Yeah, but like… that was ominous. What does that even mean? Fulfill what prophecy? What does it entail? Will I die? Should I be training? Can I not be the chosen one?”

“You’re already talking too much for someone who just channeled lightning through their body,” Mydei said, already walking away.

Phainon jogged after him, still holding the coin. “Wait—I did what now?”

Mydei paused, glancing back at him.

“Now?” He sighed. “Now we go talk to the oracle.”

"...That's not what I asked, but alright."

They walked in near silence, the kind that wasn’t exactly uncomfortable but felt charged somehow. The camp’s winding forest path dappled them in patches of light, the air still sharp with the remnants of storm energy.

Phainon kept glancing sideways, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“So,” he said finally, “you said my dad and your dad… don’t get along?”

Mydei didn’t look at him. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“Right,” Phainon said. “So, like, ancient grudge level drama?”

“Near-end-of-the-world level stuff.”

“Oh. Cool.” A beat. “That’s not going to be, like, a problem for us, is it?”

Mydei glanced at him then. “I mean, I didn’t try to stab you the moment you showed up, so… I’d say we’re doing alright for now.”

For now. Yay. Could still be improved upon, unlike his econ grade.

Phainon huffed a soft laugh, more from nerves than amusement. “Right. Thanks for not stabbing me.”

“You’re welcome.”

Another beat passed.

“…So, do you always bring unclaimed demigods to camp personally, or am I just special?”

Mydei’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile. Almost. “I’m usually assigned. But sometimes Aglaea says I have a ‘knack’ for handling chaos.”

Phainon snorted. “That’s flattering.”

“She meant it as an insult.”

“Oh.”

They walked a few more paces. The trees began to thin, and a warm breeze stirred the branches above.

Phainon hesitated. “You didn’t seem thrilled when I showed up.”

Mydei gave him a look. “You’re a child of Kephale. You summoned a storm and nearly got both of us killed before you even knew what you were doing. Of course I wasn’t thrilled.”

“Fair.”

“But…” Mydei’s voice softened slightly. “You held your own. That’s… impressive.”

Phainon blinked. “Oh. Uh. Thanks.”

He wasn’t sure what to do with that. His ears felt hot.

Mydei looked away quickly, like he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“Too late,” Phainon muttered, and Mydei let out a quiet exhale that might’ve been a laugh if he hadn’t been so busy trying to look like he didn’t care.

They crested the hill, and the grove came into view: ancient tree roots twisted around a low stone structure, humming faintly with energy.

“The oracle lives here?” Phainon asked, his voice low.

Mydei nodded. “Sort of. It's hard to explain. Don’t ask too many questions when we’re inside. Just… listen.”

Phainon paused, then looked at him. “Thanks. For, uh… not letting me die. And not treating me like a walking time bomb.”

Mydei shrugged, but didn’t meet his gaze. “Well. You kind of are. But I guess I’ve met worse.” Then he turned away, muttering, “Come on. The Oracle’s waiting.”

Phainon followed.

The grove was quiet, with an old kind of silence—like even the wind knew not to speak too loudly here. The moss covered stone shrine sat nestled beneath the roots of the massive tree, glowing faintly with pale runes and sigils carved long ago.

Mydei stepped forward. "We need an offering."

Phainon blinked. "Like what?"

"Food, usually. Or something meaningful. Do you have anything?"

Phainon patted his pockets, then awkwardly dug into his jacket. "...Uh... Do half-eaten granola bars count?"

Mydei gave him a look. "What kind?"

"Almond and dark chocolate?"

There was a pause. Then a sigh. "Let's hope the oracle isn't allergic to almonds."

He took the bar from Phainon, unwrapped it fully, and placed it gently on the center of the stone. "Alright," he said, stepping back. "Place your hand here." He gestured to a groove in the stone.

Phainon hesitated, then laid his palm against the cool surface.

"Now say, 'O Oracle, heed my call.'"

Phainon raised an eyebrow. "That's it?"

"Usually we call the oracle when some monster is about to destroy the world, kind of like calling 911. We had to simplify it. Now say it."

"O Oracle, heed my call."

For a second, nothing happened. Then—

The world tilted.

Wind rushed through the grove, though the trees didn't move. No, it was as if... Phainon was in a whole new dimension. The runes beneath his hand lit up, pale gold and flickering. Then, like a breath against his ear, Phainon heard it—soft, ancient, and chillingly close:

"World bearing wrath... Strife's first blade... Where peace once frayed... Storm shall wake... Silence shall come to end it all.."

And it stopped. Phainon staggered back, eyes wide. The voice disappeared as suddenly as it came.

"What the—" he breathed.

Mydei was watching him carefully, jaw clenched. "Did you hear it?"

Phainon nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

He didn't say it aloud, but the words kept echoing in his head.

World bearing wrath. Strife's first blade.

He looked at Mydei.

"...That's you, isn't it?"

Mydei didn't answer right away. 

"Guess we'll find out."

The sun had dipped below the treeline by the time they left the Oracle's Grove, the forest bathed in soft purple shadows and golden flickers from nearby torch posts. The camp had quieted down just slightly—enough to make Phainon realize how exhausted he felt after a long day of action and hearing spooky-whisper prophecies.

They reached the main clearing, where long tables were already filling with campers. Platters of roasted meat, fresh bread, bowls of fruit and chalices of ambrosia were being passed down with practiced ease by the nymphs, the scent of magic and summer heavy in the air.

Mydei lingered near the edge, watching the bustle, then glanced at Phainon. "You hungry?"

"Starving," Phainon admitted. "That prophecy stuff took it out of me."

"...Wanna sit at my table?"

Phainon blinked. "Oh. Sure, yeah. I mean. I don't—don't you have people you usually sit with? I'm not trying to intrude or anything."

Mydei looked away briefly, voice low. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't have many friends."

There was a small silence. Phainon awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "...Oh, really?"

Mydei shrugged, already walking. "People tend to steer clear of prophecy-adjacent children of war titans."

Phainon huffed a soft laugh, falling into step beside him. "Maybe it's because you glare a lot."

"I don't glare. I squint with intensity."

"Right. Yep. Very different."

Mydei shot him a dry look, but there was a faint flicker of amusement behind it. "Anyway. If you want to sit somewhere quiet... Well."

Phainon smiled a little. "Yeah. It'd be nice to sit with you."

And maybe it was the stars starting to come out, or maybe it was Phainon's hallucinations of Mydei's ears turning the slightest bit pink as he turned away—but it felt like something subtle had shifted. Like they were more comfortable with each other.

The Nikador cabin table was near the far end of the dining area, a little more spaced out than the others—whether out of respect or caution, Phainon couldn't tell. Mydei slid onto the bench while Phainon sat across from him, still glancing around like someone expecting to wake up from a weird dream.

A glowing platter of grilled meats and roasted vegetables appeared in front of them with a shimmer of golden light. Phainon stared at it.

“…Okay. That’s new.”

“Offerings,” Mydei said around a bite of meat. “You say a prayer, the gods get a portion, and you get fed. Win-win.”

At least the titans were paying child support. Sorta. Phainon awkwardly mimicked what Mydei did, muttering a quick thank-you to Kephale before digging in. “So, uh… this place. Camp. How long have you been here?”

Mydei chewed, swallowed, then leaned back. “Since I was ten. I was found in the Sea of Souls. Aglaea brought me in herself.”

“Wait, that sounds like– y’know, down under.” Phainon murmured, pointing downwards with his index finger while still holding his fork, gravy dripping from it.

“Mm.” Touché.

“Do you like it here?”

There was a pause. “I tolerate it.”

Phainon raised an eyebrow.

“It’s not bad,” Mydei admitted. “Safe, structured, full of people who understand what it means to have blood that glows and instincts that don’t always feel… human. But it’s also pressure. Everyone expects a lot from the child of Nikador. Especially when they're one of the Big Three.”

Phainon looked down at his plate. “Guess I should get used to that, huh?”

“You will,” Mydei said. “And you’ll have help. Aglaea doesn’t throw people to the wolves. Not right away, anyway.”

Phainon blinked. “That’s… great. Very comforting.”

Mydei smirked. “You’ll start training tomorrow. Weapons, combat forms, magical control. They’ll tailor it once they see what you’re good at.”

Phainon frowned. “Training? For what, exactly?”

Mydei’s expression sobered. “Demigods get assigned to missions. Some easy, some… not. Recon, retrieval, monster containment, escorting magical artifacts. The usual.”

“Oh,” Phainon said, quietly. “So… like, actual danger.”

“We’re born into it,” Mydei said simply. “We don’t get to be normal.”

Phainon poked at his food. “…Guess I’ll need better shoes.”

Mydei’s mouth twitched like he was suppressing a laugh. “Yeah."

Another beat. Phainon glanced up at him. "Thanks. For... helping me earlier. And for, you know. Not leaving me confused."

Mydei looked at him for a long time. Longer than usual. "...Don't mention it."

There was a small silence between them, filled only by the chatter of other campers and the soft clatter of cutlery. Phainon caught himself glancing at Mydei again. His expression was unreadable, as usual—but now that Phainon was sitting across from him, he noticed how long his eyelashes were. That his hair had a little braid with flowers in it. That his scowl was kind of unfairly attractive.

Focus.

“So,” Phainon tried again—“do you… always sit alone?”

Mydei tilted his head slightly. “Usually.”

“Don’t people like… try to talk to you?”

“They used to. They stopped after a while.”

“…Right. Of course they did.” Phainon paused. "Um, not to say you're mean or anything. Like—um. Sorry."

Wow, real smooth, Phainon. Real smooth.

But it earned him the smallest hint of a smile from Mydei. It was fleeting, but it was there. Before Phainon could say something else—

“Mydeimos,” came a calm, firm voice.

They both turned. Aglaea stood just beside the table, white robes flowing like water, her clouded eyes somehow still piercing right through him.

“Apologies for the sudden intrusion, but I must speak with you.”

Mydei stood immediately. “Understood. Phainon—stay here. I’ll be back.”

Phainon blinked. “Uh—sure.”

He watched them disappear toward the shadowed edges of the dining area, hushed voices disappearing into the dark. The moment they were gone, Phainon let out a breath and sagged into the bench.

…Right. Cool. Totally normal. Definitely not developing a crush on the first guy I met in the middle of a monster attack. That would be insane. It's literally day one.

He glanced down at his plate. He’s just… he’s really competent. And tall. And he has this whole ‘I’ll kill you but also maybe braid your hair’ vibe—ugh.

Mydei—in essence—was super fucking hot.

Before he could spiral further, Mydei returned, calm as ever.

“I’m going to be training you,” he said bluntly, sliding back onto the bench like nothing whatsoever had happened.

Phainon straightened. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah.” Mydei sighed like it was mildly inconvenient but also inevitable. “Aglaea thinks it’s best. And we’ve been assigned a mission together.”

Phainon blinked. “A what now?”

“Debrief is tomorrow morning,” Mydei continued, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “At the Grove. You’ll meet me there.”

Phainon just stared. “…I was in chem lab yesterday.”

Mydei gave him a look. “Welcome to the real world, Phainon.”

Phainon covered his face with both hands. “This is insane.”

“You’ll get used to it.” A pause. “Eventually. If you don't die first.”

Wow. Real nice.

"Thanks for the comfort," Phainon muttered.

Chapter Text

The morning air was crisp with dew, mist curling around the trees like lazy spirits. Phainon yawned into his hoodie sleeve as he trudged across the grass, eyes half-open and still reeling from the fact that magic, monsters, and secret god-blooded societies were now just… his life. Making things explode that shouldn't explode in chem lab seemed both small and distant in comparison.

He spotted Mydei waiting beneath the Grove, tall and composed as ever, arms crossed and cloak trailing like a shadow behind him. Handsome as ever. Ahem. Of course he looked like he woke up bathed in moonlight or something.

“You’re late,” Mydei said flatly.

“I’m not a morning person,” Phainon muttered, rubbing sleep from his eyes. “Also, no one gave me a map. Or coffee.”

“Training will fix both of those problems,” Mydei replied. He sounded entirely too amused for someone who never smiled.

Before Phainon could respond, Aglaea appeared at the base of the Grove from the inside, her robes shimmering faintly with runes.

“Good,” she said. “You’ve both arrived.”

Phainon straightened automatically. Mydei just inclined his head.

Aglaea reached into her sleeve and drew out a thin scroll sealed with golden thread. “This is your mission.”

Phainon blinked. “You’re just handing it to us? No dramatic riddles or visions?”

Aglaea smiled faintly. “The dramatic part will find you, I’m sure.” She unrolled the scroll and read aloud, her voice gaining a deeper resonance:

"A sacred relic has gone missing—one of the doors of Janus. Sightings of magical rifts have been spotted, which is a possible use of the door. You are to investigate the disturbance near the City of Circuses, determine if the shard has been tampered with, and report back.”

...City of Circuses, really? Also, how did a damn door go missing? Did they walk it like a dog and then it ran away?

Phainon blinked. “…I barely know how to hold a sword and you’re sending me into rifts? And to find a stolen door?”

Aglaea looked at him gently. “There is no one else. You were chosen for a reason.”

Phainon opened his mouth, closed it again, then glanced helplessly at Mydei.

Mydei finally spoke, voice firm. “We’ll handle it.”

Aglaea handed him the scroll, then turned back to the tree. “You leave tomorrow at first light. Pack well, and rest tonight. You’ll need your strength.”

And with that, she vanished again into the mist.

Phainon stared at the spot she disappeared. “…Do you get used to her doing that?”

“No,” Mydei said. “Not even a little.”

They stood in silence for a moment beneath the twisting branches of the Grove, the weight of the prophecy and forgotten relics settling on their shoulders like a second layer of mist.

“So,” Phainon started. “Wanna teach me today how not to die out there?”

Mydei raised an eyebrow. “That’s the plan.”

They made it halfway across the training grounds before Mydei suddenly stopped and turned. “Wait. You said your pen turned into a sword during the attack, right?”

Phainon blinked. “Uh. Yeah. It, like… clicked or twisted or something, and then it wasn’t a pen anymore.”

Mydei folded his arms. “Show me.”

Phainon dug into his pocket, pulling out the very average-looking blue ballpoint pen and holding it up between two fingers. “This thing? Pretty sure it’s possessed.”

Mydei gave him a deadpan look. “It’s enchanted. Which is worse.”

Phainon made a face. “So what, I just—” He twisted the cap.

Shhhhink.

Instantly, the pen lengthened and morphed, metal sliding into shape until a silver sword settled in his hand, ready to be wielded. It gleamed faintly in the sunlight, like it remembered glory.

Phainon blinked. “…That’s still weird.”

Mydei stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he looked over the weapon. “That blade’s no ordinary forging. I don’t know how you ended up with something like this, but it’s clearly linked to you. Use that.”

“Not gonna lie,” Phainon said, holding it awkwardly, “I was kinda hoping you’d say that. The training swords look like I'm going to hurt myself with them.”

Mydei didn’t smile, but his voice held a thread of amusement. “Try not to. Let’s begin.”

He stepped behind Phainon again, gesturing for him to lift the sword. “Balance. Posture. Let the sword feel like an extension of your arm.”

Phainon raised it—and immediately tipped too far forward. “Ah—okay—nope—”

Mydei caught his elbow to steady him. He stood behind him, fixing his posture meticulously until he was satisfied. “Control. Breathe.”

Phainon swallows. “Easy for you to say, you came out of the womb doing slashing.” Phainon already wouldn't remember much of this, distracted.

“You’ll get there.”

Phainon shot him a sideways glance. “You sure? I feel like I’m... I'm one wrong step from skewering my own foot!”

“That’s why I’m here,” Mydei said, then—without thinking—reached around to reposition Phainon’s hands again, fingers brushing his knuckles. "Focus."

Phainon stilled. “…You know, some people might think this is a little intimate for a first sword lesson.” He joked.

Mydei paused, conidered then spoke evenly. “Then learn faster.”

Phainon’s ears burned, but he raised the blade again. “Okay, okay, teacher of the year."

Mydei stepped back, eyes sharp, posture perfect. “Come at me.”

Phainon blinked. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me.”

“…Right. Okay. This is fine.”

And Phainon charged. Clumsily. Heroically. Not really.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t strategic. It was just enthusiasm and bad footwork shoved into forward momentum—and Mydei stepped aside with an annoyed sigh, like the wind, catching Phainon by the collar and using his own weight to flip him straight onto the ground with a practiced thud.

“Ow,” Phainon muttered, blinking up at Mydei looking pretty from this angle. “I saw that going differently in my head.”

“You can’t just run at your opponent like a wild boar,” Mydei said, standing over him. “You have to think. Pick your moment.”

“I was thinking,” Phainon grumbled. “I just thought maybe I’d get lucky.”

Mydei offered him a hand. After a beat, Phainon took it and let himself be pulled to his feet.

They reset. Again.

This time, Phainon moved slower. More deliberate. His grip wasn’t perfect, and his stance still had too much bounce in it, but he swung—and Mydei actually had to parry. Just a little.

“Better,” Mydei said begrudgingly.

"Was that a compliment?”

“No.”

“I think it was.”

“It wasn’t.”

They circled each other. Mydei was light on his feet, smooth in every movement. Phainon, by contrast, looked like someone who’d just been told fencing was a team sport and was trying to figure out who had the ball. But his attacks were getting sharper. Less flailing, more instinct.

After a short exchange—clash, step, parry, stumble—Mydei drove forward and pinned Phainon again, sword at his throat.

Phainon, breathless with the cold metal on his hot skin, stared up at him grinning. “So… what I’m hearing is, I’m improving.”

“You lasted five seconds longer than last time.”

“Victory,” Phainon said, grinning.

Mydei rolled his eyes and sheathed his sword. But his lips twitched, just barely. “You’re not the worst I’ve seen.”

Phainon lit up. “That’s got to be high praise coming from you.”

“I could take it back.”

“You won’t,” Phainon said smugly, brushing grass off his back. “You’re enjoying this.”

Mydei looked away. “You’re imagining things. Why would I enjoy teaching a loser?"

But his voice was a touch lighter, and Phainon pounced onthat. "Uh huh," Phainon got up. "I think I'm doing pretty good for a newbie, you know?"

"Prove it, then."

Phainon lunged again—this time with actual technique—and Mydei had to twist his wrist to parry. The clash of metal rang out across the field, followed by the sound of their feet shifting in unison. It was fast. Sharper. Cleaner. Every time he got pushed back by Mydei, he studied why, and stood up a little bit better than before. Competitive. Not wanting to be a dead weight.

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “Again.”

Phainon grinned, readjusted his grip, and went for a feint this time. Mydei blocked it, but only just. Their swords locked, faces inches apart.

“Not bad,” Mydei said, pressing forward, “You're doing better than expected.”

Phainon blinked. “Really?”

Mydei’s eyes flicked away. “No.”

Phainon’s grin just widened, despite panting from the exercise.

“Take a break before I knock you flat again.”

With that, Mydei stepped back and dug through his bag. Then he tossed a small glass bottle toward Phainon, who caught it with both hands.

“What’s this?”

“Nectar,” Mydei said, pulling out one for himself. “The divine kind. Sip it slowly.”

Phainon turned the bottle in his hands. “So like… the energy drink of the gods?”

“More or less,” Mydei said, unscrewing the cap on his. “Heals injuries. Boosts strength. Don’t drink too much, though.”

“Why?”

“You’ll evaporate.”

Phainon stared at him. “Evaporate?”

“As in burst into smoke and cease to exist.”

“…Noted,” Phainon said, eyeing the bottle suspiciously like it had the 'drink me' label from Alice in Wonderland in it. Then he squinted his eyes shut and took the tiniest sip possible.

Mydei sat down on the edge of a nearby training platform, wiping sweat from his brow. “You’re picking this up fast.”

Phainon shrugged and sat beside him, still tasting the golden sweetness on his tongue. He still feels normal. Yay. “I mean… I did grow up playing football. Maybe my inner gladiator’s just been waiting for his moment.”

Mydei snorted softly. “You’re lucky your instincts haven’t gotten you killed yet.”

“Don’t worry,” Phainon said with a crooked grin. “That’s what I have you for, right?”

Mydei glanced at him, paused… and looked away again.

“Shut up and finish your nectar.”

Phainon snorted softly. “Anyway. You said something earlier… about the oracle? Think it’s finally time I meet the super magical mysterious seer?”

Mydei straightened and gave him a look. “We’re all magical people, Phainon.”

“Okay, but you know what I mean. Are they, like, terrifying? All-knowing? Speaking with a raspy slithering voice? Veiled in mist and constantly speaking in riddles?”

"They’re not what you’d expect." Mydei’s expression softened just slightly, then he became serious like a shadow passing over the sun. “And… you’ll need some context first.”

Phainon sat up, brushing sweat off his brow. “Okay. Hit me.”

Mydei looked off toward the edge of the woods. “The oracle used to be one person. A child of Janus—the titan of doors and choices. They were chosen many years ago when the old oracle faded. But the power did something to them.”

“What do you mean?” Phainon is no worrying, too. "Corrupted them?"

“They split,” Mydei said quietly. “One became many. And for every prophecy they speak, they… regress. Get younger. SmallerAnd many became few... and now, we have two left. A third... is hanging on a thin thread of fate, fueled by the resonance of people for our mission of deliverance.”

Phainon blinked. “They age backward? The third is in a coma?”

“Essentially. And if the prophecy isn’t fulfilled, or it drags out too long… their life force starts to drain. There’s a cost for seeing the future. For being the middleman between the divine and humans.”

Phainon was silent for a beat, the weight of that settling in. “So they’re just… kids now?”

Mydei nodded. “The camp takes care of them. We all do. But no one knows how long they’ll last like this. They can’t go back to being one person. And we don’t know what’ll happen when they… stop.”

“…Gods,” Phainon said, quiet. “That’s… that’s heavy.”

“Yeah,” Mydei said. “That’s why people try not to waste the oracle’s words. Every prophecy costs them.”

Phainon leaned back, the sky stretching overhead in indigo and pink. “Alright, next time I will listen." He did feel guilty, vowing to behave in front of them and be his most attentive self. "When do we go?”

“Tomorrow morning before we leave for our quest,” Mydei said. “You’ve already heard the start of your prophecy. Now it’s time to meet the ones who gave it.”

There was a pause, comfortable, quiet. And then Phainon glanced sideways. “Hey, thanks. For training me. For… not letting me die by being pierced by an angry bull.”

Mydei gave a faint shrug, lips twitching. “You’re not the worst company.”

“Wow,” Phainon said. “I’ll take that as a glowing compliment.”

Mydei looked over at him, the corner of his mouth tugging into a rare smile. “You should.”

Wow. His smile is so... so soothing and nice.

Safe.

Mydei stood up and dusted his palms off on his pants, the last streaks of sunset glowing across his cheekbones. “Alright, that’s enough sentiment for one day. We’ve got a lot to do.”

“Alright. What’s next on the schedule of ‘You’re Actually a Demigod Surprise' agenda?”

“We'll pay a visit to Anaxa,” Mydei said, stretching his arms overhead with a casual roll of his shoulders.

Phainon blinked, dragging himself upright. “Who now?”

“My old instructor,” Mydei said. “Famed teacher in ancient Greek history, battle lore, brilliant and terrifying. If you want to survive a mission, you’re going to need to learn from the best.”

“Oh good,” Phainon said, rubbing the back of his neck. “So I’ll be scolded even scarier than you.”

“That’s the spirit,” Mydei deadpanned, turning toward the path that curved past the edge of the training grounds. “Come on. But before that, we should check our transportation tomorrow. Follow me to the stables.”

Phainon jogged to catch up, walking alongside him. “We going on horseback or something? You guys keep war horses?” He was thinking of the immortal speaking war horses in the Iliad already, and how cool they'd look.

Mydei glanced at him, one brow arched. “No. Well. Sort of.”

“…Sort of?”

“You’ll see.”

Phainon sighed. “Every time you say that, something weird happens.”

“Welcome to being a demigod.”

They rounded the corner toward the stables, the silhouettes of the stalls ahead casting long shadows on the ground. A low rumble echoed faintly in the distance—definitely not a horse.

Phainon froze. “That better not be a dragon.” Or... would he look cooler to Mydei riding a dragon into battle?

“Nope,” Mydei said with a perfectly straight face. “But you’re getting warmer.”

The stables smelled like hay and… something vaguely magical. Phainon wasn’t sure what that particular scent was—maybe lightning-baked apples or whatever—but it made his nose twitch as they approached a stall at the far end. Hmm... apple pie-flavoured marshmellows...?

Mydei stopped, arms crossed, in front of what looked like a massive pile of white fluff.

No.

Wait.

It moved.

“That’s our transportation?” Phainon asked, pointing. “That’s not a horse! That’s a sofa. A very round sofa.”

The creature turned its head slowly, revealing a wide, bored face, a shimmering spiraled horn—and a thick, muscled body that looked like it had eaten three other horses for breakfast.

Phainon blinked. “Who the fuck is feeding this thing—?”

Before he could finish his sentence, the unicorn snorted, sharp and offended, and a sudden gust of wind shoved Phainon backward with enough force to knock him straight onto his ass.

“Ow.”

Mydei crouched by the unicorn, stroking its nose gently. “Shh, it’s okay, Ika,” he murmured.

The unicorn—Pegasus? Whatever—huffed again, but nuzzled against Mydei’s hand like a dog begging for treats.

“Hey!" Phainon whined, grumbling from the ground. "Where’s my help?"

“Don’t insult Ika like that,” Mydei said without looking at him.

“He attacked me!”

“He warned you.”

Before Phainon could argue further, a soft voice cut in.

“Good afternoon, Mydeimos.”

A young girl had appeared near the entrance of the stable, her... pink hair tied back in intricate pigtails that were dipped in teal towards the ends. Her eyes sparkled faintly.

Mydei straightened up. “Hello, Hyacine.”

She glanced at Phainon, then at the unicorn. “I’m assuming you’re here for your quest?”

“Yeah,” Mydei said, gesturing vaguely in Phainon’s direction, “with this guy.”

Phainon waved weakly from the ground. “Hi.”

“He’s new, isn’t he?”

Mydei nodded.

Hyacine stepped toward Ika and placed a gentle hand on his flank. “Well, say hello to your companion. This is Ika. And he’s a pegasus. Isn't he so helpful and adorable?”

Phainon blinked. “That fat thing is a pegasus?”

Behind Hyacine's back, Ika turned his head—slowly, ominously—and stared directly into Phainon’s soul.

Mydei did, too.

Hyacine just laughed, soft and musical. “Please don't hurt his feelings, he just wants to be your friend." Friend his ass. "He usually has to bulk up like this before he flies. He burns through it all during the trip.”

“Oh.” Phainon glanced nervously at Ika. “Damn. Okay. My bad, Ika.”

Ika snorted again. This time, a small spark crackled out of his nostrils.

“…He’s magic too, isn’t he?” Phainon whispered.

“Everything is magic,” Mydei sighed. “Now get up."

He reached into a leather satchel by the stable wall and pulled out something wrapped in thick paper. “Here,” he said, unwrapping it to reveal a bundle of sugar-dusted dates. “Try feeding him.”

Phainon hesitated. “Uh… will he like me, then?”

Mydei turned to Ika, voice going soft. “Ika is a nice pegasus, isn’t that right?”

Ika gave an enthusiastic little nicker and nuzzled Mydei’s side like a spoiled cat. But when he turned his big head toward Phainon, there was a very deliberate side-eye.

Phainon narrowed his eyes. “He’s judging me.”

“He is not,” Mydei said, already sounding tired.

“He is! Look at him! He’s got that ‘I could trample you and I might’ expression!”

“Ika,” Mydei said sternly, “be nice.”

The pegasus let out a long, dramatic sigh. Phainon gave him the same expression right back, longer and more dramatic.

“Don’t you be mean either,” Mydei added, jabbing a finger in Phainon’s direction.

“But he was being mean first!” Phainon protested, voice somewhere between whining and incredulous.

Mydei closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You two need to get along so we can fly safely. Okay?”

Ika gave a snort that might have been a reluctant concession without yielding victory.

Phainon rolled his eyes but muttered, “Fine.”

“Good,” Mydei said, exasperated. “Now feed him.”

Still wary, Phainon held out one of the dates like it might explode. Which, judging by his experience with phones, was a valid concern. Ika sniffed it, looked at Phainon like this doesn’t mean we’re friends, and then snatched it out of his hand with surprising gentleness.

“…That wasn’t so bad,” Phainon muttered.

Ika licked his fingers anyway, then turned away with an air of dignity.

Mydei just patted his arm. “See? Progress.” Then he gave Ika a final pat. “Okay, Ika, we’ll need you ready soon. Be good.”

The pegasus snorted in what could only be described as reluctant agreement, settling back into his usual shape of a very, very large cat loaf with wings.

So much for Phainon's war horse aspriations.

“Alright. Time to see Anaxa.”

Phainon groaned. “Great. Another person who’s definitely going to judge me. Love that for me.”

Mydei started walking, motioning for Phainon to follow. “Don’t worry. He’s nice.”

Phainon gave him a look. “That’s ominous phrasing.”

“…Until you call him Anaxa,” Mydei added.

“Huh?”

“Call him Professor Anaxagoras until he decides he likes you. Trust me. Don’t skip it.”

Phainon blinked. “That is… unnecessarily specific.”

Mydei just shrugged. “So is he.”

“Roger that. Professor Anaxagoras it is.”

The two fell into step, crunching along the dirt path that wound toward the towering, ivy-covered house at the center of camp—the Big House, as everyone called it, though no one could say why. It loomed like an old university hall crossed with a forgotten temple, the scent of herbs and old parchment trailing faintly on the wind as they approached.

“Does he live in there?” Phainon asked.

“More or less,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon glanced at him.

“...Kidding. Mostly.”

As they ascended the front steps, the heavy wooden doors creaked open before they could knock.

“Well,” Phainon said under his breath, “that’s not terrifying at all.”

Mydei smirked and stepped inside. “Welcome to Professor Anaxagoras' lair.”

The doors creaked wider of their own accord, and the scent inside was stronger now—herbs, old parchment, something faintly metallic. It was much darker and cooler inside than outside. Phainon stepped cautiously over the threshold, eyes darting around the high-ceilinged room filled with scrolls, hanging plants, and various magical artifacts. Bookshelves lined the walls in messy, teetering stacks. An orb pulsed faintly on a pedestal in the corner.

Phainon could the upper body of a man behind a table putting a book back on a shelf on the faraway end of the dark hallway.

And then—

Cöop, clop, clop.

Heavy hoofsteps echoed from the far end of the room. Where's the horse around here? How could it even fit in here?

A figure emerged from between the curtains of hanging ivy, tall, imposing, and... utterly unique.

His lower body was that of a large, elegant dapple-gray horse, hooves clicking on the wood floor. His upper half was humanoid—wrapped in deep green and charcoal robes that shimmered faintly with protective wards. He wore his pale green hair tied to one side, falling over his shoulder, and an intricate black eyepatch with silver runes that covered the left eye.

The right eye—sharp, startling blue—locked onto them instantly.

“Mydeimos,” he said, voice deep and calm, but carrying the weight of a thunderclap. “You returned.”

Mydei inclined his head. “Professor Anaxagoras.”

Phainon stiffened immediately at the formal tone, clutching his ballpoint pen sword like it might protect him from bad grades.

“And you bring a guest,” Anaxagoras observed, stepping closer. His gaze landed on Phainon like a scalpel. “Child of Kephale, no less. Hm.”

What was that supposed to mean? Phainon, after an awkward pause, managed a bow. “Um. Hello. Sir. Professor. Anaxagoras.”

That one visible eye glimmered.

“Polite,” the centaur rumbled. “If a touch nervous.”

“Can you blame him?” Mydei muttered.

“I suppose not.” Anaxagoras stepped in a slow arc around Phainon, examining him. “Power unsettled. Untrained. Yet... vast.”

Phainon tried not to squirm. “We’re here because of the mission. And because you’re, uh, the expert. Apparently.”

“That I am.” The centaur finally stopped circling. “And I assume the boy already knows about the prophecy?”

“Some of it,” Mydei said. “We thought it best he speak with you before we dive any deeper.”

Anaxagoras nodded slowly. “Wise. Then let us begin.”

Phainon looked nervously between the two of them. “Begin what?”

“My evaluation,” Anaxagoras said simply, and gestured toward the center of the room, where a circle of runes began to glow.

“...Great,” Phainon mumbled, “love being evaluated.”

Even magical monsters couldn't help him escape from exams.

The runes on the floor glowed a pale silver-blue, crackling faintly like static electricity. Phainon hesitated at the edge of the circle, glancing at Mydei, who just jerked his chin in a go on kind of way.

“You won’t be harmed,” Anaxagoras said, stepping back. “Unless, of course, you lie.”

Phainon laughed nervously. “Cool. No pressure.”

He stepped into the circle.

The moment his foot crossed the glowing boundary, the air shifted—warmer, heavier, like a storm building behind him, wind fueling him and his electricity cackling without hurting anyone. The runes flared brighter, and tendrils of light curled upward like smoke, brushing against his limbs, his temples, his chest.

Please don't make me explode.

“Just answer the questions as clearly as you can,” Mydei said from the side, arms crossed. “He’ll know if you’re lying, so don’t even try.”

“Didn’t plan to!” Phainon called, voice squeaking slightly. Real smooth.

Anaxagoras raised one hand, and the circle pulsed.

“State your full name,” the centaur said.

“Phainon. Just… Phainon,” he said, squinting slightly as the light flared.

The runes shimmered in approval.

“Describe the first time your powers manifested.”

Phainon winced. “Uh. There was… lightning. And a minor electrical fire. My phone melted. Twice. And I may have accidentally short-circuited a vending machine.”

The circle pulsed again. Still good.

Anaxagoras nodded slightly. “And the monster that attacked you—what form did it take?”

“An angry bull. Massive. Glowing eyes. It tried to eat me.”

“And what did you use to defend yourself?”

Phainon slowly pulled the ballpoint pen from his pocket and clicked it. In a shimmer of blue light, the sword extended into existence—sleek, silver.

Anaxagoras’ single eye narrowed. “Fascinating. That is no ordinary relic.”

“He said the same thing,” Phainon muttered, jerking a thumb toward Mydei.

“I meant it,” Mydei said dryly.

“Did you ever receive dreams, visions, or signs from Kephale before your claiming?”

Phainon hesitated. “I think… maybe? I’d have weird dreams sometimes. Storms. Wind. This light that’d flicker around me when I was angry. It felt like… I don’t know, like someone was watching. But not in a creepy way. In a protective way. Like... I don't know. But every time the dreams happened, we'd wake up to broken power lines or a complete power outage in my neighborhood. Nobody knew why. My mom tried staying up once to see how it'd go. Silence. You wouldn't see anything happen at night, then in the morning, boom.”

The runes pulsed brighter at that, so much so that Mydei lifted a hand to shield his eyes.

“Hm.” Anaxagoras stepped closer. “Your connection is strong. Unusually so, for someone newly claimed. Your aura is… volatile.”

Phainon blinked. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Anaxagoras smiled faintly. “Both.”

The circle began to dim, the evaluation ending as the light sank slowly back into the floorboards.

“That concludes my initial assessment,” Anaxagoras said. “You are, without a doubt, the child named in the prophecy.”

Phainon blew out a breath. “Awesome. Love that for me.”

Anaxagoras’ tone darkened slightly. “You do not yet understand what that means. But you will in due time. Soon.”

Phainon looked to Mydei, a little pale now. “Cool. Cool cool cool. So, uh… do I pass?”

Mydei had the hint of a smile on his face. "Barely."

"Alright. Good. Now get out." Anaxa made a shooing motion.

Go figure.

As they exited the Big House, the late afternoon sun was slanting gold across the campgrounds. The distant sound of swords clashing in the training fields echoed like background noise. It was a stark contrast to the dim alchemy lab, his eyes needing a moment to adjust—just another day in demigod paradise.

"Thank you for your time, Professor Anaxagoras," Mydei said with a small bow of his head.

Anaxagoras nodded in return, the metallic clip of his hoof fading as he turned back toward the darkness of his inner chambers.

Mydei exhaled, rolling his shoulders slightly. "Well. We're done for the day. You're free to do whatever you want now." He turned to walk off, already halfway back toward the path to the cabins.

But Phainon didn’t move.

He stood there, watching the light catch in Mydei’s hair, the way it softened the sharp lines of his profile. The wind was gentle and warm now. The camp buzzed quietly around them—young demigods walking to dinner, sparring in the distance, a faint breeze stirring the smell of strawberries and smoke.

He didn’t want the moment to end just yet.

“…Hey,” he said, voice catching slightly. “Um. Do you—wanna hang out?”

Mydei paused mid-step. He glanced back. “…Hang out?”

“Yeah,” Phainon said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Like, y’know, get to know each other better before the quest? Like me and Ika did.”

He gave a small, hopeful smile, then immediately regretted the phrasing.

Mydei blinked at him. “…You’re comparing me to the pegasus.”

“No! I just—okay, yes, but not like that—he and I bonded, and I figured we should do the same since we’re going into mortal peril together and all.”

Mydei was still staring at him.

Phainon let out a small, nervous laugh. “Also, I think your laugh’s cute—wait, not what I meant to say—what I meant to say is, uh, hanging out. It’s good to, uh, strengthen our morale!”

The corners of Mydei’s mouth tugged upward. Slowly. Almost smugly.

“…Alright,” he said. “Sure. Why not.”

Phainon blinked. “Wait, really?”

“You’re persistent,” Mydei said. “And... it’s not the worst idea. What do you want to do?”

Phainon opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “Uh. I didn’t think I’d get this far. Uh. Camp tour? Sitting under a tree and gossiping about everyone here? I don’t know, what do you do for fun?”

Mydei smirked, then started walking again—but this time, slower. “C’mon. I’ll show you my favorite view of the camp. And if we see someone doing something stupid along the way, you can gossip all you want.”

Phainon followed, heart skipping a little as he matched pace.

He couldn’t quite wipe the grin off his face.

They walked in relative quiet. Phainon trailed half a step behind, eyes occasionally darting to Mydei.

Eventually, the forest broke, and the path opened up to a shimmering lake. The sun had dipped low, casting streaks of rose-gold and warm orange across the water’s surface. It reflected everything in a soft, dreamy hue. The flowers still reached here, colouring the grass in lavender blue and purple. The camp noise faded into birdsong and the distant hush of the breeze.

Mydei stepped toward the edge, arms folding over his chest. “Not many people come out here unless they need time alone,” he said. “But I like to just come here without a reason. It’s quiet. You can see the stars early. And the moon reflects like it’s trying to impress you.”

Phainon stood there with him looked around, half-dazed. “It’s stunning.”

“Yeah.” Mydei’s voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “When I first got to camp, I didn’t talk to anyone for weeks. Just came here every night. I think I was afraid I’d accidentally break something or someone if I opened my mouth.”

Phainon blinked. “You? Afraid?”

Mydei didn’t answer right away. He just let out a small, dry laugh. “I’m not fearless. Just good at pretending I am.”

The words hung between them.

"Sorry." He brushed his hair behind his ear. "We barely know each other. I shouldn't be dumping this on you."

"It's okay. We're here to get to know each other, right?" Phainon took a breath and sat down on the grassy edge, shoes barely away from brushing the water. “It’s weird. A few days ago I was stressing about finals." He smiles. "And now I’m sitting beside a lake that probably has nymphs in it, with a demigod warrior who saved my life, and a prophecy hanging over my head.”

Mydei sat down beside him, legs pulled up, arms hanging loosely over his knees. “Yeah. That’s a lot.”

Phainon nudged a small pebble into the lake. Ripples danced across the surface.

“…Are you always this calm?” he asked.

“No,” Mydei said. “But I’ve learned that if I panic, everyone else does too. So. I keep it together.”

Phainon glanced at him, then looked away quickly. “I get that.”

There was silence for a beat.

“…Thank you,” Phainon added. “For, y’know. Not just saving me from a Minotaurus or whatever that thing was. But—being here. Letting me sit with you.”

Mydei turned to look at him. His eyes were sharp, but they softened in the fading light. “I’m not always good with people.” He stared at the water again, the slope of his nose gentle against the green landscape. "It's hard to talk to people. I don't get it."

You're the only person I've properly talked to, was the unspoken message that lingered there.

Phainon’s heart did something inconvenient in his chest.

“I get it.” He looked down at his hands, fidgeting. "I sometimes have a hard time to connect, too. Even if I'll always gloss it over or make dumb jokes... that's easier for people to be around, a person without problems. But— right now, I don't feel like I have to put up a front, and it feels just right."

They sat in the warmth of the sunset, the sky melting into twilight colors. Something unspoken lingered in the air—unresolved and undefined, but definitely there.

Neither of them moved to break the moment.

Eventually, Mydei’s voice broke the silence, low and amused. “You still think my laugh is cute?”

Phainon almost choked. “That was—it was a slip—!”

But Mydei just chuckled.

Phainon groaned and dropped his face into his hands. “…Oh gods.”

“I’ll take it as a yes,” Mydei said.

"...Sorry," Phainon muttered. "I didn't mean to say that."

"Don't worry. It's nice," Mydei fiddled with his braid. "To have someone speak their mind like that. Everyone is so careful around you when you're a child of the Big Three. So... I liked that."

Oh.

Phainon's tongue suddenly felt too big in his mouth, his palms sweaty. "...T-thanks," he stammered.

Real sophisticated, Phainon.

The morning mist still clung to the grass, and the sky was streaked with pale pinks and soft golds as the sun pushed its way over the horizon. Camp was just beginning to stir—half-awake demigods yawning as they made their way to the mess hall, a few harpies screeching overhead.

Phainon had his pack slung over one shoulder, hair still damp from a quick shower, trying not to look too nervous. Mydei stood by the gates of the camp, arms crossed and ever so slightly impatient.

“You ready?” Mydei asked as Phainon jogged up beside him.

Phainon huffed. “Define ‘ready.’ If it includes being freaked out and moderately underprepared, then yes.”

Mydei didn’t smile, but the corners of his mouth twitched. “Good enough.”

He turned, starting down the path that wound through the edge of camp.

“Where are we going first?” Phainon asked, falling into step beside him.

“To see Tribios,” Mydei said.

Phainon blinked. “Who’s Tribios?”

"The oracle." Mydei didn't elaborate.

They walked for a while, the trees casting long shadows across the trail, birdsong echoing overhead. The air had that crisp morning bite to it—just enough to keep Phainon alert.

Eventually, they came to a part of camp that felt more ancient than the rest. The trees were older, twisted and sprawling. Vines crawled up stone ruins half-sunk into the earth. There was a sense of quiet here, like the forest itself was holding its breath.

The Big House looked more imposing in the early morning light, its dark wood and ivy-covered porch casting long shadows across the grass. Phainon had asked Mydei why it was called the Big House, who thought of that name. Mydei only said it was called Mansion of Passage before, but then Tribios changed their mind. What kind of person are they?

Phainon followed Mydei up the steps, his boots thudding softly against the old wood. “So… Tribios is the oracle?”

“Yes,” Mydei said shortly, pulling open the creaky door. “They live here.”

Inside, the Big House was quiet. 

They reached a plain wooden door at the far end of the hallway. Mydei paused, resting his fingers lightly on the handle. “Don’t interrupt them when they speak. And don’t ask for a second prophecy. One is all you get.”

Phainon swallowed. “Noted.”

Mydei pushed open the door.

The room beyond was dimly lit, sunlight filtering through sheer curtains. It smelled faintly of old parchment and wildflowers. There were plush toys on the floor, stars and suns and stuffies, coloured wooden blocks and kites. There were multiple dolls with red hair and blue eyes, put into place with the greatest care like would be loved ones.

In the center sat two children, identical in every way—red hair, royal blue eyes, just like the puppets. 

They were maybe six or seven, but something about their expressions made them seem ageless.

One was lying back on a plush chaise, eyes half-lidded in sleep. The other sat cross-legged on the floor, stacking stones in perfect silence. They looked up in unison as Mydei and Phainon entered.

“Mydeimos,” said the one on the floor, voice soft but strange—layered, as if two voices echoed in one.

“You’ve brought him,” said the other, sitting up slowly.

Phainon blinked. “Uh—hi?”

They both tilted their heads at the exact same angle. “You have the storm in your chest.”

“…Thanks?”

The seated twin smiled faintly. “We are Tribios,” they said together. “We have waited for you.”

Oh. They are Tribios.

Phainon shifted closer to Mydei on instinct.

“Do not be afraid,” the one on the couch murmured, her voice smaller than before. “The prophecy lives within you now. You must follow it.”

The other of the two stood and stepped toward them, reaching out. “Show us your hands.”

Phainon hesitated, glancing at Mydei.

“It’s fine,” Mydei said, quietly.

He held out his hands, palms up. Tribios’s—one of the Tribios'—small fingers grazed his skin—and suddenly Phainon felt a rush of wind in his ears—whispers, laughter, crying. A thousand voices echoing through time.

The twin blinked, then nodded slowly.

“The first storm has arrived.”

They both sat again in unison, curling up against one another like exhausted cats.

“You may go now,” the one on the chaise whispered. “And be careful.”

Mydei touched Phainon’s shoulder, guiding him gently back toward the hallway. The door creaked shut behind them.

“…Okay,” Phainon whispered. “That was terrifying.”

Mydei just nodded, quiet for a moment. Then he said, “Now you understand.”

"Oh, I... haven't told them yet I wish their third one well."

He reached toward the door knob, but then lowered his hand and letft them be between their toys as long as they could.

The morning mist clung to the trees as Mydei and Phainon made their way down to the stables, packs slung over their shoulders. The sun had only just crested the horizon, bathing the camp in golden light. The stables were already alive with quiet bustle.

Hyacine stood near the entrance, brushing Ika’s thick mane with practiced strokes. Aglaea stood beside her, arms crossed, the faintest hint of a smirk on her lips.

“I was beginning to think you two had run off already,” Aglaea said as they approached.

“We like to keep you in suspense,” Mydei replied dryly.

Phainon waved awkwardly to Hyacine, who nodded back. “Morning,” he offered.

“Morning,” she said, smiling faintly. “Ika’s ready.”

Ika, the round-bellied pegasus, looked surprisingly majestic now—his coat shining silver in the light, a faint shimmer of wind magic swirling around his wings. He snorted when he saw Phainon.

“I know, I know,” Phainon muttered. “Don’t insult the ride.”

Mydei stepped forward and gave Ika a firm pat. “You’re going to behave today, right?”

Ika nuzzled him in response, then gave Phainon a very deliberate side-eye.

Phainon crossed his arms. “Okay, so where exactly are we going? You keep saying ‘City of Circuses’ like that explains anything, and it absolutely does not.”

“That’s a good question,” Mydei said, tightening the strap on his pack. “We’ll find out when we get there.”

Phainon blinked. “...Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

Hyacine stepped forward and handed Mydei a scroll. “There will be signs. The location moves like a wandering circus, but it always leaves traces. You’ll know when you’re close.”

Aglaea nodded. “And remember—observe first. You’re not meant to disrupt anything unless it becomes a threat. There are forces at play here we don’t fully understand yet.”

Phainon accepted the scroll as Mydei handed it to him. “So… vague quest instructions, mystery location, and a potentially judgmental flying horse. Sounds fun.”

“You’ll do fine,” Aglaea said, a little too cheerfully.

Hyacine helped them mount—Mydei easily swinging himself up, Phainon taking a second longer to get his balance behind him.

“You’re clumsier than you look,” Mydei muttered.

Phainon made a face. “Come on. I'm trying.”

Ika gave a proud snort, flapped his wings wide—and then with a burst of wind and bright magic, they were in the air, the wind in their back, leaving Camp behind in a blur of clouds and shimmering sparkles.