Chapter Text
In the promised glory of inevitable deliverance, his soul died a million times before his body tasted the pain of descent.
Sometimes, when hope could be measured by droplets, Khaslana thought that he loved you before he even knew you. Cyrene spoke of a girl with the voice of a windchime and the moodiness of a lightning strike with a sort of reverie Khaslana could not quite understand yet. Not yet a man with no name, burdened by the eternal recurrence of loss placed upon his shoulders by a malevolent ruler above, as a little boy Khaslana of Aedes Elysiae dreamt of running away. Of escaping the fields of wheat and the quiet waves splashing on the nearby dock and disappearing amongst the unexplored lands of Amphoreus and beyond. He could not, so he was forced to spend all his evenings by the swing, Cyrene humming a tune that sent cold shivers running down his flushed skin.
Khaslana once told her this, a little annoyed by her constant humming and Cyrene laughed, her usual teasing glimmer brightening her eyes. Then she told him it was a soundtrack for a romantic tale like no other. Young and enchanted by the idea of an adventure, Khaslana told her he didn’t believe in romance and wished she would rather write a hymn about his future life as a knight. Cyrene shook her head, always the knowing one, and admitted it was you who wrote the song. Soured by the mention of your faceless presence, Khaslana said that he hated you for it. Blessed by the gaze of Time, Cyrene called his bluff.
The melody of Nameless Faces haunted him into the bleak future, a flicker of the guiding candlelight amongst the darkness of despair.
And when Khaslana finally met you for the first time, you looked right at home in the warmth of the night. Squished together on top of the tiny swing, Cyrene was fruitlessly trying to tug on your pointy ears, and you, all flustered and squeamish, kept pushing her hand away. Noticing Khaslana’s presence, Cyrene winked at him, expecting her friend to help her out in her sly endeavor. You watched him, dark eyes almost hopeful, all but begging him to save you yet never asking him to pacify Cyrene’s unruly hands.
Loyalty to a mischievous forest witch or chivalry, bestowed upon a runaway princess; for the first time in his life Khaslana of Aedes Elysiae stood at the crossroads. The decision was never his; your quiet words of gratitude were inked into his crumbling flesh with the brightest of gold. Khaslana often looked at this fateful meeting with longing, cradling the broken glass shards in his bleeding palms. Loving you was never a choice he was allowed to make, yet against the better judgement of those above, he did so anyway. And in this one singular act of selfish defiance, he saved your life by resigning you to eternal suffering.
Since that fateful night Khaslana stopped wishing to run away and started chasing after you instead. From the swing to the wharf. From the wheat fields to the windmills. From his house to the courtyard. From your home to the maze. From the temple to the woods. From the dreamscape right into his open arms. You moved at half pace, yet he ran full throttle, just so he could get to the finish line first and patiently wait there for your uncertain arrival.
Cyrene said he had nothing to worry about, your heart might have been guarded yet your feelings were as transparent as the sunlight on a hot summer day. She was right, it was a romantic story she was writing, after all. Yet her words never eased his worries until your heart was beating along with his, and his voice fell at home with yours, following your lead yet failing to grasp the right notes every time. Warm and hopeful, the world has never felt kinder than in the moments when he held your hand in his.
And even amidst the destruction of that very world as you all knew it, that kindness lingered. Your love, young and naïve, held him standing even when the Black Tide washed over the fields and the pressure of this world’s true nature tugged him down into the Abyss. And when Cyrene’s body dispersed into hundreds of whisps right before your eyes, her ghostly touch still lingering on his cheek with the warmth that was gradually fading away, you hid him safely in your embrace, fearful that he too may vanish. And by Kephale’s name, if he were truly nothing but some lines of code, then he must have been written by one hell of a programmer, Khaslana was sure of it. For what other reason would his heart be so full of despair at the thought of never holding you like this ever again?
Your touch scorching, you ran your fingers along his cheek, never letting the tear fall, “It is my decision to make.” It was. Yet how cruel would it be, to allow himself to be so selfish as to push you off the precipice into what could possibly be the longest eternity known to the universe? How egotistical was he to allow you to love him enough for that devotion to doom you to a myriad cycles of uncertainty? You two were far too young for such worldbearing decisions. And somehow you still stood, trembling and terrified, yet unwavering in your convictions. “So if this world they built is destined to end in your suffering, I want to be with you for the rest of time. Not because they forced me to, but because I decided so. Please, Khaslana, allow my love for you to see tomorrow.”
His throat felt too tight to form proper sentences, shallow breathing barely keeping him alive. Unable to handle your affection, choking on his own yearning, Khaslana averted his gaze. Once blazing blue eyes were now flickering with the sparks of gold, yet the tears dulled their shine akin to the rain clouding the glow of the sun.
Shaky breath and racing heart, he cradled you to his chest, “When I was younger I used to dream of running away so I could fight for all that is beautiful in the world.” The words came with a price, the one that he would never repay in full even when the last cycle would inevitably run its course, yet it was a price Khaslana was willing to pay if it meant there was even a sliver of chance that he could meet you again, under the brighter sun. “Then I met you and realized that in my heart, you're the most special part of all those beautiful things this world can offer. I am sorry, my love, but I can’t accept this. Eternity is far too cruel of a fate for you, [Name].”
“And this world means nothing to me without you!” Truly a lightning strike, your anger could rival the wrath of the heavens.
He refused to look at you, so you pushed him aside just to reach out to him the very next second, for once being the one chasing after him just so he would finally look at you. The moment your eyes met, Khaslana knew he would do anything you asked him to, even if it meant walking through hell side by side with your corpse. Resigning it all to fate, Khaslana fought the unbearable heaviness in his limbs just to feel your skin under his fingertips. Stuttering breath, you leaned into his touch as if it were the only comfort that you have ever known.
“Your heart is far too full of love to be reduced to just a string of code, thus I refuse to treat you as such.” Your hoarse voice was muffled by the tears you so fruitlessly tried to keep at bay. They soaked in the fabric of his sleeves, yet he still held your face so tenderly in the palms of his hands. The very same hands that one day would be stained by blood. And how cruel his fate was, that it was yours that he would be forced to spill at the dusk of the first cycle. “Look for me in the shattered stained glass, Khaslana. And I will wait for you at the end, wherever it may be. Just know that for as long as you can spot me in the ripples of time, you will never be alone.”
He kissed you then, for the first time. A romantic farewell to his only love tasted like salted copper and bitter defeat. You may have died by his hand but Khaslana of Aedes Elysiae got buried along with you. He could only hope that wherever the time took her, Cyrene wasn’t too disappointed with the man he turned out to be. Your blood smelled almost like cinnamon and burnt oranges when he had to scrub it off the ceremonial blade Cyrene entrusted him with.
It was by your own will that you could only ever exist in fragments, and it was by his own choice that Phainon was born from the ashes of the person that died when your mortal body shattered into a billion pieces of colorful stained-glass shards. He, Khaslana, searched for you in every cycle yet was never able to graze even the hem of your dress before your hand got snatched from under his nose by the false Deliverer. Phainon was overflowing with a peculiar kind of wide-eyed ignorance that forced your broken fragments to steel themselves with the resolve of the thunderous skies ready to strike lightning and even with his crumbling sanity Khaslana thought you deserved better than that.
Heart heavy with the Coreflames stolen from his friends and teachers, Khaslana watched time and time again as he – the one of sound mind and high hopes – let the light slip from your eyes, the heartbeat fall flat inside your chest. Every version of him deserved a taste of true love, Cyrene said at the end of each cycle, even if it always ended in tragedy. Too early into this eternity, he never truly understood her words to their fullest.
There were times when the world was engulfed in flames and your blood, still warm and not yet golden, soaked up in the black fabric of his tattered cloak. Phainon, still wide-eyed but no longer delusional – watched as his shadow self crumbled right before his eyes. The sword that slayed all his friends was thrown aside and the empty gaze was so tender one could mistake it for love, Phainon could not force himself to breathe. The Flame Reaver held you till there was no blood left in your body and even when the ice crept up your stiffing limb, the shadow of a swordsman who took away everything that Phainon cherished so dearly still clung to your corpse as if terrified it would shatter if he were to let go.
Blurry vision clouded by the buzzing of crimson static, glitching screens flickering in and out of existence; those were the moments when Khaslana had to remind himself that he could never give this up. Even if it broke him to the point of no return, even if there would not be enough space for the Coreflames left in his heart, even if the stench of blood his friends drowned him in overpowered all his senses, with the last of his sound consciousness Khaslana forced himself to remember.
You died to preserve his hope in the future and you would die again and again, until there would be no more broken glass left for him to collect. Only then would you meet again at the end of this perilous journey. It was a sacrifice you were willing to make, he reminded himself, piercing the ceremonial blade into his own disenchanted reflection. He could live with this pain if it meant he got to reunite with you at the beginning of the new era, amidst the sea of flowers Cyrene was so painstakingly planting just for the three of you.
Yet there was never space for hope in the code which made up the simulated universe of Amphoreus, not under the administrator’s watchful gaze. And the next time Khaslana saw you again, he came to Aedes Elysiae to reap the Coreflame of Time, only to drop his worn-out sword when your fragment showed herself, shielding both Phainon and Cyrene. He found you without even searching. You stepped out of the tiny house with the stained-glass windows – which once used to belong to your father – and closed the door tightly behind you. The most faraway piece of glass he would ever find, all paling and losing color, you looked out of place amidst the golden sea of wheat and rustling trees.
“Now is not the right time for anguish.” Unafraid and resilient, you stood your ground firmly. The glowing marks on your skin seemed to move the way the liquid gold did. A demigod deserving of the title, you knew your end was near. It must have been the Coreflame that let you inherit all those memories, yet Khaslana still wondered what he had done to deserve the punishment of your becoming a flamebearer this time around. “If I am to die, it mustn’t be with them witnessing my departure. Let’s leave this place together. I wish to fall asleep amidst the sea of flowers, where your embrace will guide me into the new start.”
He knew he was supposed to kill you. He did it once before, despite all his corroded memories Khaslana still remembered that day as if it were yesterday. He should have fought you and he would have won. No weapon but a pouch with something clanking along to your every breath, you stood guard between the calamity that was the Flame Reaver and your only family. It would have been so easy, the easiest cycle of them all, the fastest one with the least regret for there would be nothing to look forward to. And yet he couldn’t will himself to strike. Defying the will of the code forced upon you and the promise he had given to Cyrene, Khaslana walked away. To Lygus’ greatest misfortune and Khaslana’s greatest shame, the Eternal Recurrence of the 8128th cycle lasted for over 2000 years.
You died a decade after Khaslana’s departure, body enclosed in glimmering ice, buried at the vast golden fields with the Coreflame of Time vanishing as if it never existed. Your passing shook something in the depth of the universe, the gaze of Remembrance watching this doomed world far closer than ever before. Under Fuli’s unyielding presence the flow of time was never the same in the small village of Aedes Elysiae, resetting itself whenever your translucent fragment heaved her last breath, as if racing to help in gathering your uncomplete image from the stained glass that Khaslana scattered around Amphoreus with his own two hands.
Avoidant and oh so careful, he watched your diluted remnants fall in love with another. Painted with ruby and gold, your devotion to one of his dearest friends made for the suffering far greater than whatever he would have felt when ending your brittle life with the dull side of his blade. The administrator could not think of the punishment wicked enough for his and Cyrene’s defiance, so the Aeon of Remembrance brought the divine retribution to his doorstep for the misery he has thrown you into.
You never feared death. As if searching for something, you traveled to the very end of Amphoreus, a haunting song and an unsettling gaze mesmerizing even the coldest of hearts. For two thousand years you chased after him, be it the warm midnight glow of your presence that greeted him with agonizing kindness or the fading pallor of your most unreachable crystalline pieces that was thrown at his feet, you found him even when he forgot his true name. Yet he ran, despite his memory failing him and the crimson overtaking his vision. Khaslana ran until he could not run anymore.
With the Black Tide closing in, the Chrysos Heirs fought their way to light, yet the clouds gathered right back over the dark skies. Hunted by the Flamechase into the secluded corner of the Abyss of Fate, Khaslana was left with no choice but to continue his Sisyphean endeavor of retrieving the Coreflames.
It was then, amidst the heavy battle, that you caught up to him at last.
The darkness of your eyes could rival the longest of nights, the familiar glimmer in your smile made you seem closer than ever before, almost sending him back in time to the swing near the dock. That singular moment of hesitation was more than enough for Mydei and Phainon to act, yet they could never predict you standing in the way of their fury. You fell by the strike of Phainon’s blade, as it pierced you clean through your chest.
Despite not being his in this lifetime, your last fleeting smile was a gift you were willing to give only to the estranged prince of Kremnos. Overflowing with devastation, Mydeimos struck him once more, leaving Phainon to fruitlessly try to stop you from bleeding out. Yet even with his mind all but lost, Khaslana knew the truth. The prince loved you even when you met your end during your eternal pursuit of the shadows of the false Deliverer. Truly undying, he carried all those memories of you with him till the bitter end. And maybe that was why stealing the Coreflame from Mydei this time around brought him far more shame than your second self-sacrifice did. Mydeimos deserved your love far more than he ever did, and that might have been the cruelest chapter of this romantic story.
With only you and him left standing, you brought your bloodied hand to the jagged edges of his mask, Phainon’s shallow breathing playing a tune of inevitable end somewhere behind you. “Let us end this loop at once,” you whispered, the strength slipping from your voice. “We must move towards light and deliver this world by any means possible. She is waiting for you on the other side, Khaslana. But trust me, your suffering will never be forgotten. Or forgiven. They will pay the price; she will make sure of that.”
The Coreflame of Time rested solemnly on the palm of his hand. Khaslana was not yet aware, but he would not meet a fragment as close to resembling you as this one in all the thirty-three million, five hundred forty-two thousand, two hundred and eight cycles that would follow. The you that existed in the fragments after that was far more resilient, changed yet permanent, engraved in the glimmering crystalized ice with the will of Remembrance. Your desire to preserve the memory of his self-sacrifice wasn’t left unnoticed by Fuli, nor was it left unrewarded. Cyrene said your second death brough the changing tides to the still waters of the abandoned shores. Khaslana could only dream of believing her.
In the last cycle before the great blaze of destruction, Khaslana watched your broken pieces come together into a glass sculpture of the you which could only have it all at the price of losing everything. Not the woman he loved but the culmination of all the moments that cut him open, your broken soul was at the brink of evanescence.
Cyrene’s body forgotten, you dragged Phainon by the sleeve until the scorching fires that engulfed Aedes Elysiae disappeared from under the smoldering horizon. Okhema felt foreign to you, he could see that. Even when you sent Phainon to the Grove, arguing that it would help him to regain some sense of normalcy, you never truly felt at home under the dark candlelight of the Temple of Silence. And when you stared down the Goldweaver, her unblinking eyes watching you with apprehension, you turned the other cheek, walking away from the only friendship you were able to form since Cyrene’s unfortunate passing. And it was only in the privacy of your shared bedroom that you admitted – shamefully yet earnestly – that you wished he could set aside his burden as the Deliverer and live as just Phainon.
It almost felt like you were speaking to him as Khaslana – all unstable and malfunctioning – through time and space, breaching the impervious darkness just to deliver your true thoughts to him. It could not have been so, yet he yearned for it, drifting through the waves of the all-devouring Black Tide. Not even a short month after that hushed confession, this cruel, yet beautiful world threw the Prince of Castrum Kremnos your way.
The Coreflames of Strife burning in his chest, Khaslana watched as Mydeimos confessed his feelings for you. In spite of Phainon’s own devotion never left unvoiced, you rejected both of them, subsequently selling your body and soul to the fire. By marrying the flame, you lost your hearing, yet in this union of mutual self-destruction you were able to preserve all that existed under the false sky and all that could ever exist beyond the will of the Scepter.
In spite of their differences, they chased you down. At that moment in non-existent time, for the two of them sharing your love seemed like a natural thing to do. And as inevitable as it was, you caved in. Be it the pressure of your duty or the memories that did not truly belong to you, yet you loved them with all that you had. And when it was time to move towards the blinding light of inevitable tomorrow once again, you pressed a lingering kiss on Phainon’s forehead and turned your back on him.
“My dream remains the same,” you confessed, not knowing whether your words brought forth blight or salvation. “May this world never have need for a Deliverer.”
“It is for the better,” Phainon admitted then, yet his words never reached your ears. “I never ever loved myself. So how… how can I love this world if it seems like instead of saving them, I only hurt those I love the most?”
You could not hear him, so you never pacified his worries. And for his own good that you didn’t, or he surely would have begged you to stay. Instead, Phainon saw you and Mydei off to the gates of Okhema, then returned to the numbing darkness of your empty bedroom and prayed to whoever would listen to take this burden of deliverance off his shoulders, for they were never strong enough to bear the weight of this world. No answer followed, yet it never meant that nobody was listening.
As one and only act of self-love, Khaslana granted Phainon his last wish of departure.
Blazing with flame and fury, Amphoreus burned. Mydeimos the Undying stood no chance against the blade that bathed in his blood far more times than the shallow count of victories the prince was allowed to taste. You averted your gaze from the golden ichor staining the stones, shameful frown smearing your lips. Be he any saner, Khaslana would have tried to erase that sorrow, instead he embraced the maroon creeping up his vision, feeling like nothing more than an intruder in his own crumbling body.
Crimson crackled and his limbs moved despite him never willing them to. The sword and the blade became one, his own shadow self ripping the Flame Reaver’s mask, unveiling the true horror of this Eternal Recurrence. Stunned into breathless silence, Phainon took a guarded step back, a flimsy shield between your fragment, Stelle and the calamity that wished to be anything but. Just like that time you bore the Coreflame of Time, you took an assured step forward, dispersing the suffocating tension with a tender touch of your hand.
“It is finally over, Khaslana,” you said solemnly, thumb gliding over the ridges of cracks on his cheek. “You held off till the arrival of the true Deliverer. Now it’s time for us to go.”
It all seemed so easy, so tempting. And he was so tired, so worn out. Maybe in this new cycle he would finally find peace. It would be just like he used to imagine. You and him in a little house on the hill above the windmills, the stained-glass windows would be catching light. Golds, blues, pinks, purples; you would watch Cyrene’s reflection in the colorful glass. She – no longer a child – would be chasing little Aspasia, Myrrhine, and Odessa around the courtyard, Snowy hot on the young girls’ tail. He would lean down to kiss your bare shoulder, Sotiris safely cradled to his chest. No armor and no dreams of stealing away into some wild adventure. Only the wheat fields and the sea of flowers Cyrene put all her love into. You would grow old, and your children would grow up. It would be enough. It was always enough.
“Would it…” the rasp in his voice was hard to combat. His brain wouldn’t cooperate, and his mind was too foggy to think properly, Khaslana all but forgot this fragment of you could never truly hear him. “Be different this time?”
Yet the flame long had been reaved and you put your trembling heart into the fire, just so his anguished words could reach you, “Yes.”
“Did I do enough?” Despite all your efforts in preserving his memory, after passing the torch to the Phainon of today, Khaslana knew he would cease to exist in all but the crystal you would keep on your person for the rest of times.
“More than that.” You nodded, a crack in your tone dripping with unspilt tears.
“And she’s still… waiting for me?” At the end of this journey of destruction, amidst the most beautiful things this cruel world could offer. He still hoped it wasn’t all in vain.
“Always.” You smiled, the tears in your eyes were nothing short of stars. “So be kind to yourself, she loves you more than this world can comprehend.”
To love you was to love this world. And to love this world he had to love himself. In the upcoming tomorrow, Khaslana of Aedes Elysiae vowed to love himself enough so he could love the world twice as much, for you existed in it. And this would always be enough for him.
With that, the thirty-three million, five hundred fifty thousand, three hundred and thirty-sixth cycle came to an abrupt close.
Phainon of Aedes Elysiae would burn this world to ashes just for one single chance of delivering you into the brighter tomorrow where the jagged fragments of your broken soul could gather themselves into the shiny stained-glass mural of your unwavering devotion which he would never have the need to share with another. For you would only ever be his. Mended with care yet complete, he would disregard the Aeons and Titans and pray to you and the gold-filled cracks of your body till his knees turned sore and his voice failed him. He would build the dream of a simple life from scratch with his own two hands and prove that they could reject their purpose of destruction and create a divine reverie where all that was beautiful could be eternally at peace.
He would. But first Phainon had to destroy this cruel, ugly world that brought you so much suffering.
“You must go, outlander.” Your voice kept getting lost between the crackling of fire and the scorching boulders falling from the blazing skies. Stelle looked at you, heartbroken and dazed, as Cyrene tried tugging her closer to the exit of the Vortex of Genesis. “Be the hero this world needs.”
“If I can save at least someone, let it be you.” Phainon could sympathize with Stelle’s anguish, he remembered the pain of losing you for the first time. The agony of not being able to save even one single person. The only one left, her trailblazing companions put their lives on the line and fell in the process just to deliver her here. And it was now Stelle’s turn to repay them. If only things were that simple. “It’s not fair.”
“Our whole existence is unfair.” You scoffed, his most beloved lightning struck with blistering thunder. “We are nothing but some sentient lines of code, and we are more than aware we cannot make change, yet you still have a chance.” A heavy, defeated sign fell from your lips. You placed a deep blue, almost black crystal into Stelle’s trembling hand, “When you meet the me of tomorrow give this to her, she will know I sent you. She might not be me, but she will be complete. Competent. You can trust her to aid you. She and Cyrene will not let you fall.” Cyrene screamed something, it got stranded amidst the destruction. You put your heart into the fire, yet Phainon doubted you would have heard her even if her new voice was loud enough to reach you. “I am begging you, please save him, Deliverer.”
Swallowing her fear, Stelle nodded, “I will. All of you. I promise.”
You did not stay long enough to oversee their safe escape, just turned your back on hope and surrendered yourself to misery. The flames raged on yet never grazed you and even if this festering heat scorched you, you never let it show. A personification of destruction, a fallen angel of the most malevolent god, Phainon watched from above as you stood at the precipice of demolition. Allowing himself to touch the divine before his inevitable descent into carnage, he lowered himself next to you, knees hitting the ground right before your feet.
“Why did you stay?” Despair. How much despair a man could keep inside the cracks of his ribcage before it stared spilling like his rotting insides? “The flame of this ire is not under my control, it will not spare you.”
“Do you think I care for being spared from the fire that will take you away from me?” He must have crossed the line, as your lips formed into a frown of heavenly retribution. “For the third and final time I wish to fall with you.”
How unjustly cursed you were with this devotion to a man who could never rise to your expectations. “I failed to save them. I failed my promise to Cyrene. I failed her trust in me. And I will fail you too. Why would you still wish to burn with a sinner parading himself a savior?”
“Savior?” Something so painfully bitter bloomed on your face. You reached for him, the heat of his skin contrasting with the chill that followed your fragments wherever they went. Always freezing, you lost all your warmth when you fell apart into the sparkling pieces of glass. Delicate and gentle, yet never hesitant, you pressed your palms to his cheeks. “Not for her. Not for me. To me you were never a Deliverer. You were simply the man I loved and the man I wished to be loved by. You were just Khaslana. Just Phainon. In my most treasured dreams, I fantasized of a simple life with nothing more than you quietly loving me. And it was always enough.”
“Loving you quietly?” He laughed as if your words insulted him. And truly, they did.
Khaslana, Phainon, Flame Reaver. In no iteration of his being could he ever offend your existence by staying quiet. Not him, not his devotion. He was created not to destroy but to meet you, to hold you, to steal the air you inhale, to be the one you can rely on unconditionally, to be the only one you call at any given time. Phainon knew he was made for you, and it was the only reality he would ever accept.
“I will love you against all odds, despite our nature, regardless of circumstance. I will love you loudly, shamelessly, with no remorse and no abandon.” That was the only truth he could ever live. In any universe and in each cycle in which you allowed yourself to be his, he would love you with everything he had. “I loved you in the irretrievable yesterday, I am in love with you amidst the inexorable today, and I continue loving you come the inevitable tomorrow. This love for you will fuel my hatred, and it shall burn us a way into the new dawn where you have no need to exist in pieces of broken glass.” A stutter, his breath stumbling over the heavy lump in his throat. His tears could never be seen, for they evaporated faster than they could fall. “Just give me one more shameful chance to prove it to you and leave this place before I hurt you any more than I already did.”
“She promised to wait for you at the end of the Flamechase. And I will get you there even if this vessel turns to ash. I may not be her, not fully, not yet… but in our memories we only burn for you.” Stubborn and headstrong, you leaned onto him, allowing the skirts of your dress to catch fire.
You surely must have known that Nanook was watching the birth of Their newest emanator, and oh how disappointed They must have been, seeing him bend to the will of a shard of Remembrance, instead of following the call of Destruction. Yet knowing that gaze could touch you only fueled his anger, fanned his rage and fed his wrath. If They wished him to become a perfect pathstrider, then he had to embark on the journey of demolition, for his love would be enough to incinerate even the personification of carnage.
“And if rescuing you is a sin, I will gladly become a sinner.” You were no better; he came to realize in that timeless moment. A beloved daughter of Remembrance, you would stop at nothing if it meant to preserve his memory. What a terrible match you made. “Farewell, Khaslana. May we meet again under the bright new dawn where your shoulders do not cave under the weight of Deliverance.”
He may have been born of fire, yet the kiss that followed your words lingered even after both his wings were torn off and his all-encompassing anger reached Nanook’s ever-imposing, yet pointless existence. Impressive as it was, Phainon fell, nonetheless. And as he rapidly descended back into this wretched world, he could still taste your scorched flesh as it melted on his tongue. He could still feel your ashes staining his lips. He recalled as they soaked up the golden ichor of his blood until they became one forever more. And as his vision crawled with the flickering specs of crimson for the last time, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae vowed that he would carry a piece of you into tomorrow by any means possible, even if he needed to turn his own body into the vessel of your love.
So run, Akivili. Bring forth a cycle of hope.
Amidst the colorful meadow full of blooming flowers, a new dawn broke.
In this tranquil quietude the clear skies awaited the world to wake up from its golden slumber. Alone in these early hours, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae watched two white doves on the olive branch with a longing he would never be able to describe to those who have never been through hell. And maybe it was for the better that not many people could relate to his suffering, it meant the world – no matter how cruel – was still full of beautiful things worth fighting for.
“What, planning on running away before the responsibility catches up to you, Deliverer?” He still shuddered when someone mentioned the word, and he battled nightmares every time he closed his eyes. Yet somehow, Phainon still pushed through the cold shivers and the bitterness coating his tongue. Because under this brand-new sun, in this new less heartless world, there was no need for a Deliverer.
He scoffed, wiping his sweaty palms on the harsh fabric of his pants, “I bring my wife’s honey cakes to my sister-in-law’s house once, and this how you repay me?”
“No need to be so defensive.” Mydei heaved a tired sigh, yet he never pushed any more than was necessary when it came to you. Despite their competitive nature they both had a line they would never ever cross, and this line started with the mention of your name. “She is not going to die.”
“Easy for you to say, my friend. Kassiani isn’t troubled by her weak health.” Still a little shaken, Phainon resumed his bird watching, yet the doves long since left the olive branch. The disappointment of their departure brought him back to reality, and only then did Phainon realize how insensitive he must have sounded. “Not that I am saying that she should be.”
Mydei sent him a look of guarded apprehension. The one that would have surely started a fight if circumstances were even a tiny bit different. Only Phainon didn’t have it in him to compete right now, he could not allow himself to make you worried. What you needed was peace, yet with friends like yours who would ever get even a second of quiet.
“He’s right, you know!” As if sensing that he was in desperate need of rescue, Cyrene plopped herself onto the ground next to him. No longer stuck in between time, she finally grew into a lovely woman she was always supposed to be. It was almost enough to bring tears to his eyes, but Phainon was still hesitant to let them slip, unsure whether he was able to control the heat that would follow. “It is a beautiful romantic story in which we get to see my dear nieces be born to grow big and healthy. Because bright and positive girls deserve only the happiest lives!”
“Cyrene…” Phainon used to dream of times like these. To chastise her for unabashed behavior, to reprimand her mischievous antics. As if back at the swing you first met, only this time instead of tugging on your ears, she was threatening to raise the whole village with how loud she was. Phainon would not give this up even if they had to kill him for it. “Please lower your voice, you will wake [Name] up.”
An annoyed huff, a sleepy, tired foxian emerged into the clearing. “She’s already up.” So rudely awakened, Shuhua must have been looking for the doves, Phainon realized. Too bad they left before she was able to catch them with her teeth, “Little Miss Pink Elf can’t stop tugging on our ears even in her sleep.”
“Can you blame me?” All coy and teasing, Cyrene clapped her hands, “I just can’t resist myself when I see a cute girl!”
One confused blink in her direction, Shuhua gifted Cyrene the most deadpan of stares, “You are well aware that I am happily taken.”
Pursed lips and a feigned disappointment, Cyrene sniffled, “How cruel of you to remind me of that man.”
A cunning snicker from Shuhua’s side, Stelle’s hand dropped on her companion’s shoulder. She seemed so much more mature right now, contrary to that time he so shamelessly dropped his burden on her lap, it rang in dissonance to the childish words that left her mouth, “A trusted songbird source told me that you should try March instead.”
“Oh, is that so?” Cyrene pretended to catch the bait, hurriedly sprinting away through the rows of flowers, on her way to the house with the glass-stained windows. “I’m right on it~”
So little space and so many people. Phainon knew the outlanders would inevitably depart soon once more, visiting only when a glowing crystal or glossy tarot card would call them back into the world which harbored the slumbering beast of destruction.
Mydei and Kassiani would soon leave as well; a King could never let himself avoid his duties any more than his mother would allow him to. Hyacine, Anaxagoras and Melpomene would pay them a brief visit; once a week, on the dot, but they would never overstay their welcome, far too busy with the Grove to spare any more of their time. Castorice and Polyxia would drop by for some tea; Castorice would shyly ask you to read yet another short story she wrote in the time that passed since she saw you last and you would eagerly read it, cuddled with Cyrene on the porch as the sunset burned with oranges and purples. Aglaea, Cipher and three fragments of Tribios would invite you two to Okhema, any bad blood long since lost in the purifying flames, and you would spend hours complaining about his awful sense of style, Cipher staring him down for the empty spot next to you. Phainon would let her win, and you would scratch her head while Trianne, occupying your other side, would tug on Cipher’s tail and put all the blame on him for which Phainon would surely get a scratch or two himself, courtesy of Cipher this time around. Neither Tribbie nor Trinnon would sell their sibling out and the cold war would continue until it was time for you to go,
And then you would return home, Cyrene and Snowy waiting for you at the front door. She would inevitably tug on your ears to her heart’s content, and you would try to push her away, kicking and screaming for Phainon to save you.
This life was so simple. This life was so beautiful. This life was all Phainon ever dreamed of, he was constantly afraid it all would inevitably get taken from him in one single written command. And it must have been oh so obvious to everyone around him. It had to be, Phainon could not see any other reason for Stelle’s adamant insisting on staying here, in this tiny house till your daughters were born.
Breathless heaving, these days you were way too tired to even stand, yet still you decided to come all the way here. Phainon sent you a stern look, the one that he kept trying to muster for the future he would have to live as a father, but he wasn’t sure whether he seemed convincing enough. You shook your head, pressing a kiss to his shoulder as a silent sign of gratitude for helping you down on the grass below.
Stelle still watched you with the same haunted gaze she donned back at the Vortex of Genesis, and Phainon had to remind himself that Deliverance was not a thing that simply happened to someone. It was a continuous path which one had to walk for the rest of their life, and only at the very end would they finally be saved. His true Deliverance would always be forgiving himself. And it was a process far too tedious for it to happen overnight.
“Stelle, what did you say to Cyrene?” Finally calming your breath, you looked up at her with accusatory stare. “She almost broke the front door…”
“Now why would you think it was me?” Stelle coughed awkwardly, trying to hide her guilt behind a pathetic chuckle yet never succeeding in doing so and giving up halfway, “Okay it was me…”
“You’re grounded.” Shuhua’s disgusted hiss was the only warning sign before she dragged her friend back to the house.
Watching outlanders leave, Kassiani smiled, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead, “We should head out as well. Mother must be going insane all alone in that castle. Call me if you need anything, sister.”
You nodded, a little tightlipped, and once more Phainon wondered how you must have felt, stripping yourself from a part of the past that made you into who you were today to create another living being. Dan Heng once said it was like creating a copy of a previously existing file, and Cyrene scoffed at his clinical cynicism. She said that someone as cute as you couldn’t be this dull and your power as a pathsstrider of Remembrance simply made you special. Because all pretty girls like you and her were special by default.
The eccentric lady in a big hat that once showed up along with the rest of Astral Express simply called you and Cyrene emanators, then left to never show her face again when nobody entertained her overinflated ego. Phainon was inclined to trust the narcissistic witch’s judgement more than his pink friend’s usual rambling.
“She has your face; she has your temper. But whenever I see her, it’s as if I am looking at a stranger.” Phainon himself felt like he would never truly be used to it, yet he would never ask for anything other than this. “At some point I remember thinking that he was far more deserving of your love. I wish I could tell that Phainon to be kinder to himself.”
It was still a terribly arduous endeavor to not reduce himself to those he could not save. Phainon knew he would most likely spend his whole life running away from the shadows of nightmares clinging to him whenever he closed his eyes. But you were here next to him, complete albeit covered in glowing golden cracks, and when the terrors finally caught up to him, you held his hand firmly in yours. Even if it burned you, you still refused to let go. Because his loud love was enough.
“You are the only one who deserves me.” You said it with such conviction, even a man like Anaxagoras would have believed your most egregious lie were it delivered with that voice of yours. “He met a broken fragment of my soul, the one that was never allowed to love you. It would be far too brutal to take it away from them. All of you and all of me deserves to be loved.”
Lips pressed to the palm of your hand, Phainon lingered, “Thank you, for letting him keep this happiness.”
You raised your brow at him, unamused, “He is my friend too, you know.”
“I do.” He did. He had never doubted you even once. For this you, the complete you, were always his and his alone. “Is this enough?”
“It is more than I could ever hope for.” At last, Phainon allowed himself to cry. Some fell into your open palm, some evaporated before they could ever touch you. He wondered if you would be open to the idea of letting him choose the names for the triplets. He could swear on the love he harbored for you, that his atrocious taste would never be an obstacle this time around. “But please tell them to vacate the premises before I am forced to do that myself.”
Maybe tomorrow, then. After dinner and a little cake Cyrene would inevitably feed you by hand. Maybe then your temper would not strike him with lighting for such foolish question. “A precaution in case things go haywire. You can never be too sure when it comes to delivery.”
“Alisa is enough.” You pointed out. “Hyacine was enough, actually.”
“Not when Cyrene is around.” Phainon shook his head, not backing down despite your greatest efforts. “Not for as long as I breathe.”
You laughed, your voice sounded just like windchimes, “Whatever you wish, husband.”
The crystal on Alisa’s nightstand was glowing the purest shades of blue.
Cyrene was right, it was a romantic story like none that has come before.