Work Text:
He wasn’t expecting to ever open his eyes again. In theory, he knew the afterlife existed. However, in practice, he didn’t think he deserved it after everything he’d done. So why, why was he standing in the sunlight, eyes open and very much alive?
He blinked away the spots in his vision and looked around, finding a sea of endless wheat fields and a small village to his left and the vast blue ocean to his right, an eternal sunset over the horizon. He was in Aedes Elysiae, back when it had been completely untouched by the black tide.
His wing twitched, and that’s when he realized he was still in his broken form. That’s what he had taken to calling his Khaslana self, anyway. A man so broken beyond repair that even his own body shone with cracks of gold. Poetic, really.
Khaslana turned toward the sea, walking to the edge of a dock that reflected his own shattered state. The sea glimmered beautifully, the sun’s rays reflecting off the ocean’s deep blue waters. He stared out at a distant boat decorating the horizon, thinking to himself.
Why was he here? Was this some sick, twisted afterlife? Was this another cycle? If so, where was his inner hero? Had the trailblazer failed?
He heard footsteps behind him but dared not turn around, resigning himself to let fate take him away. If this was his executioner, he was by no means going to resist.
His wings twitched, and the footsteps paused. He held his breath, this moment feeling like another eternity, one separate from the ones he had already lived. What was taking so long? Why wasn’t there a sword being driven into his back?
“It took us a while to find you, you know.” The voice was female, unfamiliar to his ears. Turning his head he was met with a woman dressed in purple, witch hat seated upon her light brown hair. “You were one interesting puzzle. I almost had to ask for help. Hah! As if I’d ever.”
She held a hand outstretched for him to take, but he dared not move a muscle.
She was clearly not impressed. “Come on, puzzle boy, I’m getting you out of here.”
His vocal chords fought against him, his words coming out hoarse and quiet. “And where is here?”
The woman rolled her eyes. “You’re clearly aware of the simulation, I’m here to drag you out of it. Don’t you want to see your friends again? They’re the ones who put me up to this, after all.”
Khaslana inhaled sharply, a million thoughts surging into the forefront of his mind. “They don’t want that. Not as I am, not after what I’ve done.”
She scoffed. “What better way to find that out than to take my hand, or are you simply that dense?”
Khaslana fully turned toward her, apprehension clear in his face. “You don’t understand, not fully.” He shook his head. “After the sins I’ve committed, I can’t live. Especially not with the coreflames I’ve consumed.”
She paused a moment, then laughed. “As if I haven’t already found a way to stabilize your form. I’m not the Madame Herta, number 83 of the genius society, for nothing.”
“You’re… not of Amphoreus, are you?”
“Wow, and I thought you were plain stupid. Seems as though he’s got a brain in there after all.” She waved the hand not outstretched to him. “Hurry along now, I can’t wait here forever.”
He paused for a moment. If this woman, Herta, was telling the truth, if there was truly a way to see his friends all okay and alive… he should at least make sure his job was truly done before letting himself fade.
Wordlessly he took her hand and the world came to life.
Around him spun hundreds of millions of colors, dancing around his eyes and flowing through his wings. He found that he couldn’t close his eyes, couldn’t move his body, as everything faded to black in an instant. Then, he awoke.
Gasping, he violently sat up from the bed he was laid in. The walls of the room he was now inside of were gray, the bed cold and stiff. Where was he?
Beside his bed, Herta stood up from her seat. “I’ve done my part. Now, if you wish to see your friends again, just walk through that door. I’ve got more important things to do.” She pointed toward the door opposite to his bed, one he hadn’t noticed upon waking, and promptly walked into what seemed to be a mirror and vanished.
He breathed heavily, taking a moment to just exist before looking down at himself. He was still in his broken form, wings tucked neatly behind his back. Standing up, he unfurled them, noticing that they now felt more real, more attached to his body.
Looking in the mirror Herta had disappeared into revealed that his eyes were still gold, cracks still apart of his skin, hair still blonde instead of the snowy white he was starting to dearly miss. It seems that, even if he truly was woken up from the simulation, he couldn’t escape the burning of coreflames he had grown so accustomed to.
Except now, the burning felt different. Instead of all consuming, it was warm, welcoming. It was as though he had come home from a long day of playing under the sun.
He was interrupted from his musings by voices outside the door.
“We gotta give him time, De. He’ll come out soon!”
“If he doesn’t come out to face us in the next ten minutes, I’m going in there. We know he’s awake, he’s just too cowardly to face it!”
“You don’t mean that, Mydeimos, and you know that time is what he needs right now. We can’t rush him, especially not when he’s been through more than the rest of us have 33 million times over.”
Mydei, Aglaea, and someone who he recognized as Tribios, from before she was shattered. His breathing quickened as he realized that a confrontation was less than ten minutes away now, right outside the door. His wings twitched, almost knocking over a potted plant in the corner. The noise must have been heard from outside the room, because the voices went quiet.
There was then a knock. “Phainon?” Hyacine gently asked, “Are you okay?”
He froze, breathing stopping. There was no escaping it now, he had made his choice. He took a deep inhale before stepping toward the door, pausing with his hand on the handle before taking the plunge and opening it.
What greeted him was everyone from the flame chase, waiting there at the door, for him. Castorice was toward the back, a safe distance away from everyone else but still close enough to be part of the group. Anaxa stood by her, arms crossed and looking like he wanted to be anywhere else. Tribios was playing with her hair. Aglaea stood beside Hyacine, the two of them sharing a glance, and Cipher was flicking her coin between her hands.
And at the front of it all stood him. Mydei. Or, he supposes, Mydeimos. He didn’t have the right to call him Mydei anymore.
Titans, the things he felt for that man. No matter how inhuman he portrayed himself, no matter how deep he hid his emotions, Khaslana’s love for the other couldn’t be suppressed. Out of everyone there, he was the hardest to kill every time.
The expression on his face was one of impatience, then when he saw Khaslana, one of surprise. It was then that he realized that none of them had ever seen his form up close, and never outside the heat of battle.
He didn’t know what to say. He just stood there in the doorway, wings slowly unfurling behind him to save himself from the cramps that would follow if he kept them too close. The silence was awkward, nobody having the right words to encapsulate this moment.
It was Cipher that spoke up. “Woah, what a downer we are. Cheer up, people, we just saved the world!”
Castorice laughed from behind her hand, Hyacine following with giggles of her own. Aglaea smiled. “I suppose we did, didn’t we?”
Anaxa scoffed. “No thanks to you, I think you’re forgetting who the real heroes are in this situation.”
And he had gestured to Khaslana.
Khaslana blinked, then shook his head. “I’m no hero.”
The room froze. “What do you mean, Phainon? You saved the universe?” Tribios questioned.
He bowed his head. “I’m not Phainon anymore, and I’ve committed more atrocities than I can count.”
There was silence before Mydei surged forward, pulling him into a tight hug. Khaslana didn’t dare move a muscle, not even his wings.
“For fuck’s sake, you think all heroes are good guys?” Mydei scolded. “Just because you’ve made mistakes doesn’t mean you aren’t the reason we get to stand here. Accept that and move on, HKS.”
Khaslana hadn’t cried once in 33,550,336 cycles, but he could feel his resolve finally waver in Mydei’s arms. He silently rested his own around Mydei, wings curling slightly around the other man.
“Khaslana. That’s my name.”
Slowly, one by one, the other members of the Chrysos Heirs migrated to their little huddle, an arm around Khaslana’s back, a hand on his arm, one in his hair. He felt tears slowly drip down his cheeks, down, down onto Mydei’s shoulder. His frame shook with unresolved tension as he finally let himself cry, just a little.
“You’re okay now, Khaslana.”
“You’ve done so much for us.”
“You deserve to be happy.”
They voiced their praise, comforting words he didn’t deserve flooding into his ears.
“We forgive you.”
That’s what broke him. His crying turned from a little drizzle to full on storm, sobs wracking his body and face buried deep in Mydei’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…” he repeated, over and over, being shushed and comforted by his companions around him.
And when he felt Mydei kiss his forehead, when he felt Anaxa’s comforting yet cold touch to his wing, when he felt Aglaea’s hand running through his hair, when he felt Hyacine’s arm around his waist, when he felt Cipher’s hand on his arm, when he felt Castorice’s presence nearby, he felt more at home than he ever had before.