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All it takes is one sharp golden arrow and his back being turned away, occupied with holding his own against a titankin, for Mydei to be felled.
In the few seconds before the world fades to black, Mydei takes notice of three things:
- Blood. Blood on his gauntlets, staining the cold metal red. Blood on his face, dripping from the top of his head. Blood puddling about the place, marking the ground with violence and death in its wake.
- The agony that instantly overshadows everything else. The aches of his over-exerted body making itself known and the sharp pain in his chest where an arrow has struck straight through him.
- A blood curdling shout from across the battlefield, whether or not it is his name, he is unsure of, as his hearing simultaneously fades out as his eyes fall shut and body begins to tilt towards the ground.
Just like that, Thanatos’ realm, which he knows far too intimately than anyone else of the living, opens its doors to him.
//
For the first time in a while, Mydei is warm.
It takes a great deal of effort to lift his eyelids, heavy with exhaustion as they are, but light fills his vision when he finally manages to pry them open.
The world is bright, much too bright for his liking. Mydei blinks up blearily at the familiar ceiling. His eyes land on a blur beside him when he turns his head, and things begin to come into focus. Slowly, the details of stark white hair, deep blue eyes, and armor-padded shoulders sharpen until he is able to recognize the anguished expression that greets him.
“Mydei!” The man at his bedside exclaims, rushing forward to grasp his hand. “You’re awake!”
“…Deliverer?” he manages to rasp out.
Phainon nods his head with fervor, holding onto Mydei like a lifeline. Phainon’s hands are cold and the sensation of another person’s touch on the bare skin of his hand is unfamiliar to Mydei, but he finds that neither fact bothers him much. In fact, he would say it was sort of nice.
“How are you? Does it hurt anywhere? Do you want or need anything? I can go and ask for Hyacine if you would like. She must be on her way here anyhow. Or perhaps you want some space? I can leave—”
“Deliverer,” Mydei says, voice hoarse with disuse, interrupting Phainon’s babbling. “Stop.”
At that, Phainon stills, his mouth closing with an audible click. “…Sorry,” he says, distressed, giving Mydei a small bashful smile that does not reach his eyes. He gently drops his hold on Mydei’s hand and hastily moves to abandon his seat. “I shall take my leave then.”
Mydei reaches out and gingerly catches Phainon around the wrist in a light grip, tugging him.
“Did I say to leave?” he asks quietly. “Don’t go.”
Phainon turns back to look at him with surprise.
“Well?”
Phainon sits back down without a word. Mydei watches as he lifts a ewer from the bedside table and slowly pours water into a chalice, listening as the glassware fills with liquid.
“Here,” Phainon says gently, directing the glass at him. “You must be thirsty.”
Mydei pushes against the bed to sit up properly, leaning back on the headboard. His chest aches dully at the movement but he pays it no mind. It will fade soon enough, anyway. He takes the offered chalice from Phainon and sips at the water. The cool liquid is like true ambrosia, pure relief to the scratchiness of his throat.
“Thank you,” Mydei says when he finishes. A soft clink echoes through the quiet room when he sets the glass back on the table.
“How are you feeling?” Phainon questions carefully, waiting.
He simply raises a brow. “Like I was impaled.”
Mydei’s response is met with a grimace. “And?”
“I suppose my chest hurts.”
“Ha, ha,” Phainon replies dryly. “Is that all you have to say?”
“Is there supposed to be something else?”
“Oh, I don’t know, perhaps a proper acknowledgment of how you were shot through the heart? Several days have since passed for you to reawaken, mind you.”
“I am here now, am I not? What more is there to say?”
Agitated, Phainon runs a hand through his hair, mussing up the white locks even further. “That’s not the point, Mydei.”
“Was I impaled through the tenth thoracic vertebrae of my back?” He asks dryly.
“No, but—”
“Did I not wake just moments ago?” Did I not return to you, goes unspoken, but it hangs in the air all the same when Phainon picks up on the subtle implication, his eyes glistening ever so slightly.
“…Well, yes, but—”
“Then all is well.”
Phainon’s face falls once more. “No, it is not!”
Mydei quiets at the outburst.
“All is not well.” Phainon whispers, lowering his voice like he is afraid to speak any louder, like he is afraid of the words leaving his mouth. “I watched as you dropped on the ground, as the titankin grew disinterested with your body as another slain foe. I carried your cold, dead body back to Okhema, to Hyacine, to this very room. You were unmoving in my arms. Not even once did you stir. It was unnerving. It doesn’t matter how many times Hyacine has been the one to treat you; you never see how she pales at the sight of you, still and bloody,” he chuckles wryly, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“It took a few short minutes to remove the arrow, yes, but several hours more for you to stabilize,” Phainon pauses, taking in a shaky breath. “Nothing could change the fact you had been hit in the heart, and that much is evident considering how long it took for your curse to begin to take its course.”
“I understand.”
“No,” Phainon says gently, still distraught. Deep blue eyes peer into Mydei’s own, something indiscernible in the depths of them. Simple concern did not seem to fully encompass whatever it was. “No, I don’t think you do.”
“…Maybe I don’t.”
“It was terrifying, Mydei. I knew you would return, but the thought of the chance that you might not?” Phainon trails off, leaving words unsaid. He lowers his head to avoid Mydei’s gaze. “Stop throwing yourself at danger like your life isn’t worth anything. Please.”
“You fool,” Mydei calls him, a beat after, in that fond tone reserved for a select few in his life. He had learned, one random and unsuspecting day, that Phainon had long become one of them. “I have told you of my one weak spot. Until it is struck, my soul will remain tethered to my body, and any injuries I suffer will be reversed. It matters not where or how. That is simply how it is.”
Again, a hand that is cold to the touch lays itself over one of Mydei’s, covering the expanse of his bare skin.
“It still kills me to see you like that,” Phainon whispers, staring at the ground and clutching him tightly. Mydei closes his eyes.
“Then don’t. You don’t have to.”
The man huffs lightly, a bittersweet note behind it. “…I wish it were that simple. Just— be more careful, alright?”
“I won’t make promises that I won’t be able to keep,” is all Mydei can say, but he gives Phainon’s hand a squeeze anyway, a small reassurance.
“…Then I guess I will just have to be around enough to watch your back for you, to act as your second pair of eyes.”
As exhaustion makes itself known once more, he hums quietly in response.
//
When he wakes a second time, Phainon is still there by his side, albeit slumped over on the edge of Mydei’s bed. Mydei quietly observes the way the other appears as he slumbers, far away from the burden of the weight of the world on his shoulders. He notices the way Phainon’s hair falls across his forehead and, for some unfathomable reason, Mydei finds himself slowly reaching out.
It does not take long for the man to stir, though, pale eyelids fluttering open to reveal blue irises. Mydei drops his arm.
“You stayed,” He comments, words almost lilting into a question.
“Of course I stayed,” Phainon replies with a sleepy smile on his face. “I said I would be sticking around, didn’t I?”
Mydei huffs, the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly.
“So you did.”