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“In our next life, come visit my library.”
“But what if there isn’t a next life, Mydeimos!” Khaslana cried out, the pain of the past 100 thousand cycles all weighing down on his shoulders, forcing unwanted tears into his eyes. It always was the same. Khaslana would fall in love with the Mydeimos of that cycle, and that Mydeimos would leave Okhema to fight the Black Tide in his homeland, stating that in the next life, he should visit his library. But when Khaslana would see Mydeimos next, it was always in madness, when Mydeimos embraced Strife and became the new Nikador.
Mydei paused, taken aback by the sudden outburst from his Khaslana, worry creasing his eyebrows. “Deliverer, what do you mean?” He didn’t understand, of course he didn't, he didn't know about the other Mydeis, the other versions of him that had said the same words, 108,642 times over. All Mydeimos knew was that his land was in danger, the Flame Chase journey, the Flame Reaver, his comrades, and…Khaslana.
“Every single cycle, you say those titan forsaken words! And when I come to find you again, you’ve been driven mad!” Khaslana had to pause after he looked at Mydei’s face. It was full of concern, a complete flip from what he usually was. Mydeimos hesitated for a moment, wanting to reach out, longing to reach out, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. One of Mydei’s biggest regrets. Khaslana reached a shaking hand up, a finger dabbing at the fresh tear tracks on his face, pulling his hand away. Despite everything, despite knowing that the cycle would continue, he still felt the same grief he felt the first time.
Silently, almost pitifully, Khaslana sunk to the ground, clutching at himself, the tears coming faster, flowing like a river behind a freshly broken dam. All of those cycles, all of the same hot searing pain of grief that hit deep in his soul, yet a different reaction. He let out a small, shaky exhale when he heard Mydei exhale frustratedly before an almost awkward, but welcome, weight settled onto his back. Was Mydei actually..hugging him?
“Well Khaslana, I’m not going to pull you into my arms, you have to do some of the work too y’know?” While Mydei’s voice was still rough, there was almost a tender underscore to it, like Mydei actually cared. Hell, the Prince even used his name, not the nickname Khaslana had taken with a little too much pride once he had accepted his place in the world.
Now it was Khaslana’s turn to hesitate. He didn’t know the intentions behind Mydei’s ‘hug’, if one could call it that by the man’s fucking gauntlets, armor and pride, but nevertheless, if Mydeimos, the greatest conqueror, the mightiest protector, the strongest of all gave him a hug, who was he to reject? Slowly, tenderly, he wrapped his arms around Mydei, pulling the younger closer, feeling his heartbeat, something he didn’t even notice was beating at a million cycles a minute, start to slowly calm. Mydei tightened his grasp ever so slightly, his gruff voice, quieter now since Khaslana could hear him, his breath brushing and caressing his ear. “Don’t think that this will be a regular occurrence, Deliverer.”
“I know…” Khaslana had to swallow his tears down, his voice betraying how he felt. He never wanted to let Mydei go now that he had him. But he had to. He had to let go, had to endure the same grief he did for a hundred thousand cycles. What was one more, he would ask himself every cycle, as his hope, his humanity, and his will deteriorated.
_= TIME SKIP :3c =_
The cycle passed as normal, he had the coreflames of his previous comrades, and now it was time to face Mydeimos for the 108,643rd time. Khaslana dragged his feet slightly, the exhaustion of knowing exactly what would happen each time chipping away at him ever so slowly, torturing him. He found Mydei looking over his fallen Kremnoans, a mask of indifference on his face. While he cared about his subjects, seeing them fall numbed him more and more.
“Mydeimos.” Khaslana called out, his voice carrying over the dead silence. He watched Mydei turn around, in the same manner as before, but now, there was a slight softness to his eyes. Khaslana noted that. Gathering his pride, he spoke once more, forcing his voice to be stable and strong. “I’ve come for the coreflame of Strife.”
Mydeimos, of course, put up a fight, but there was something different about his fighting, almost like he wanted to say something the whole time, slightly distracted by something. In the end, Mydei ended up in Khaslana’s arms, laying on the ground, a heavy hand on the victor’s shoulder, his voice gravelly and weak, the opposite of Mydeimos. “Khaslana,” A cough and a shaky exhale. “I have always loved you, you know that?” Mydeimos almost laughed, his laugh being a sorry attempt at one, but still good enough for Khaslana.
Khaslana barely had time to react before Mydeimos pulled him down for a kiss. He was surprised, but his hands scrambled to cup his Mydei’s cheeks holding onto them even as the prince under him faded into time, leaving behind the coreflame of Strife and an even bigger ache in his chest. Khaslana wailed, his cry echoing off of the walls of the battlefield he had just taken from Mydeimos.
Khaslana’s body seemed to have a mind of its own, taking him to the one place he refused to visit. The Library of Garbaniphoro. Mydei’s library. He spent hours, maybe even days and weeks, looking at each book, noting the ones with marked pages, bookmarks, anything with Mydei’s mark on them, holding them in his arms as he wept, grieving for the first time in thousands of cycles, all of the pent up tears and emotions coming out for the first time.
Eventually, Khaslana forced himself out, taking the most worn, the most loved and cared for book with him, pressing his nose to it to smell Mydei one last time before lighting it ablaze, setting it down gently, like an offering, watching as it caught flame, spreading it to the other books rather quickly, the scent of burning wood, paper, and something undeniably Mydei filling the air. Khaslana basked in it, having to wipe away tears as he watched, resisting the urge to run back in, to burn with the last physical pieces of his Mydeimos.