Chapter Text
Phainon—Khaslana, makes an endless march to freedom. His hand shook as the blade within his palm had been stained with the blood of his closest friends.
There was no way he'd get used to this—to the feeling a plunging a blade through a friend's chest, the dropping of his heart when he watches the light from their eyes drift into a pool of blurred emptiness. Their faces had seen Phainon—Phainon, the Deliverer, before their deaths. He was supposed to be their savior, instead he became their burglar and murder. They had become victim to an experimental loop none were privy to, but him, and he could not utter a word. This cycle of violence would have to continue until a variable was able to stop it.
Phainon—Khaslana, doesn't know what cycle he's on now, but he had learned from his past few loops, the intricaties of his colleagues. What makes them tick, their various motivations, their weaknesses, and just how easy it would be to snatch a coreflame from their unsuspecting hands. Except, he was wrong—there were still things he didn't know. Specifically pertaining to the two eldest of the current era of Chrysos Heirs—Tribbie, Trianne, Trinnon, and Aglaea. He knew very well the flaw they had taken after claiming their coreflames, Tribbie or rather, Tribios' being regression, and Aglaea's being her humanity. Her cold disposition was needed to protect Okhema, but he often pondered the nature of her soul before the erosion began. Those hours of staring at her, thinking of her, of basking in her presence during his time as Phainon had lingered, even through several cycles. He still wondered and craved to understand such a complicated woman. And due to his current nature, it would seem that Khaslana would be able to "scratch this itch" of his.
Aglaea, the Goldweaver that he had looked up to and shamefully lusted after (in his privacy) during youth, felt completely different than the one he saw now. Of course, Khaslana was only in the beginning of his mission of collecting coreflames, but he had still seen different versions of all of his colleagues. Yet, he hadn't thought to disrupt the cycles any further, to become more of an anomaly until now, when he had entered a time long before Phainon of Aedes Elysiae was to be born.
"I've never gone this far back," Khaslana mumbles to himself as he walks through the gaurded gates of Okhema, noticing how different it is to the one he is used to.
According to his observations, this seemed to be around a decade since the Chrysos war had ended. Though the demigods he knew of were not born yet, he had become privy to new ones he wouldn't have had the chance to encounter otherwise.
The Coreflame of Law, held by Cerydra, the current ruler of Okhema.
The Coreflame of the Ocean, held by Hysilens, the general and right hand to Cerydra.
And finally, the Coreflame of the Earth, held by Terravox, a titankin of Georios who had presumably slain his sire titan.
Then there were compainions he recognizes despite their different appearances. There was Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon who looked much older than the counterparts we was used to. Each walked with a graceful step, their lengthy red hair swishing elegantly behind them. And then there was Aglaea, who hadn't changed much in the face except for being more expressive, but has changed in her clothing and hair. Unlike her future counterpart, she seemed to dress more conservative (but so did everyone else from this era), not without a slit in her dress though—and instead of her cropped golden hair, it was much longer and elegantly tied in a bun with long strands pulled from it that rest on her shoulders.
He could understand why people often wondered if she was simply a human form of Mnestia. Had Khaslana not known better, he would've mistaken her for a goddess.
Pale eyes glance over the tailor shop he spots a distance away. He had asked the gaurds at the gate where he could find Aglaea or Tribbie, and sure enough she was at her own shop. As he ventured closer he saw her sitting a small table next to the shop, a chessboard atop with others accompanying her. Draped over Aglaea's shoulders was the adult form of Tribbie, she seemed to giggle at whatever was happening during the chess match. Across from her was who he knew to be as the Empress Cerydra, with Hysilens leaning over the ruler. He couldn't see her nor Cerydra's faces, but she figured they were amused based on Aglaea's troubled expression as she near glared at the board.
"It's your move, Goldweaver." Cerydra hums, her foot bobbing up and down as she sits with her legs crossed.
"I'm not sure I've ever seen her with an expression this troubled," Hysilens teases, leaning against Cerydra's chair. Her eyes follow Aglaea's hand as she hesitatantly makes a move, only for her eyes to widen and a curse to leave her lips when she sets the piece down. The women around the table chuckle as Aglaea rests her head in her palms.
Tribbie pats Aglaea's head with her signature encouraging smile, "It's okay, Agy. No one's beat Cery at chess before."
Aglaea sighs, watching as Cerydra makes her move, dooming her into an inescapable loss. "I resign," she sighs and tips over her king, ignoring the chuckles. Aglaea's eyes look upwards and past the women in front of her, noticing someone waiting outside of her shop—a tall, white-haired man. He had the body of a warrior and eyes that spoke of a harsh journey.. She quickly excuses herself and walks towards the man. "I apologize for my lack of appearance, is there something you need?"
She sounds...warm.
"Oh, I was told by the gaurds at the gate that this is where I could find Aglaea." Soft whispers echo from the table, all a mix of 'Oh my, little's Agy's this popular now?!' Aglaea herself subtly rolls her eyes. Khaslana's lips twitch, attempting to keep himself from saying something he shouldn't. "Oh, um—was I interrupting?" he asks in a soft tone, softer than he had spoken in quite a while. He glances over at the women left by the chessboard, those who are failing miserably at being discreet watchers.
"Hm? Oh! No, the game had ended, you've interrupted nothing," Aglaea reassures. She tilts her head, her bright, unfocused eyes lingering near Khaslana's head. Her eyes sparkled much more than before, quite frankly, she was an entirely different person. "Are you a refugee? What's your name?"
Khaslana swallows, jaw feathering as he thinks of a way to answer her question. "Er, yes. I had been traveling and Okhema was closest city near me for rest. P-Phainon, thats my name," he gulps. This might have been the worst decision he's made in a while.
Aglaea smiles, her head tilting as she's clearly picking up on his anxiety. "Well, then its nice to meet you, Phainon. Why I don't guide you to the temple to help you get settled in?" Aglaea gestures in the distance, a polite smile spread across her face.
By Kephale, Khaslana can't help the way she captivates his gaze—her bright eyes, her round cheeks, the cheer and life that is present in her voice. He's never come across an Aglaea that looks and acts like this, not once has he seen the women looking this lively. Perhaps it was because she had recently become a Chrysos Heir, or because Okhema hasn't been entrusted to her just yet, but Khaslana is unsure he wants to end this. He couldn't destroy this miracle he came upon. Aglaea, untouched by the grim grasp of fate was something he wanted to cherish. To kiss her palms and worship her feet, to covet her and hold her in his arms, to intertwine so they could never part.
A warm, radiant gold would not find itself near her, it couldn't.
He couldn't bear it the first time, he wouldn't be able to bear it now.
The woman in front of him was acting as the guide she had always been to him, but he had an urge for more. A time where strife would not destroy the world in mere weeks would be the perfect time to indulge himself. Khaslana is fully aware he shouldn't—Aglaea, and the rest of her colleagues should be finding themselves at the mercy of his blade. But, he couldn't bare to raise the metal and swing. The boyish desire in him blared in his mind as he fell into the soft gaze of those familiar, unfocused eyes.
His hand twitched, the overwhelming need to grasp her, to pull her into him and squeeze was far too strong. He knew, she would understand the second he did, that she would let him melt in her arms. But he didn't—couldn't.
Khaslana wishes his feelings different overpower him as often as they did. If they didn't, he would be logically thinking how this entire idea was stupid, how he shouldn't have approached Aglaea in the first place. She shouldn't be interacting with him, for he was detrimental to her comfort and security.
However, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae is stubborn.
Phainon's confidence may waver—perhaps thats why he never pursued Aglaea in any other cycle despite having the ability to—but he would never succumb to his cowardice. How stupid Khaslana was to think he could avoid this.
"Yes, after you," Khaslana smiles.