Chapter Text
Phainon was by no means an incompetent pilot.
Physically he was very fit, always ensuring he kept himself in top condition - a necessity when there was no rhyme nor rhythm to Kaiju attacks. They had to be ready to sortie at a moment's notice.
He’d passed through the Jaeger Academy’s brutal training program with flying colours, showing great promise for his future as a Jaeger pilot.
Phainon had no qualms with drifting and he’d cleared battle simulations in record time, stunning both his peers and his instructors.
At his graduation he had been lauded as the golden boy of his generation and yet…
Everything seemed to fall apart on the real battlefield outside of Okhema’s Shatterdome.
Prior to enrolling at the Jaeger Academy, Aglaea had given him a firm warning - that he was to learn how to keep his emotions in check before they dragged him to his demise in the cockpit.
Phainon thought that he had managed to bottle up the volatile feelings that had bubbled and festered since his youth, always making sure to smile brightly at the people around him, doing his best to embody the spirit of the perfect hero he dreamt of becoming every time he went to sleep.
However, this mask was flimsier than he had thought.
Seeing and hearing a Kaiju in the flesh swiftly broke down the dam he had built up to contain the rage and sorrow that had oh so faithfully followed him from the fiery ruins of Aedes Elysiae.
Phainon became irate and reckless on the field, his mind locking onto the monstrosity in front of him, pursuing with the single-minded intent to kill. His former copilots described his spontaneous bloodlust as an all-consuming inferno, the headspace quickly becoming unpleasant to share.
It was a miracle if they were willing to bear drifting with him again after a single drop.
And so, Phainon found himself standing in the Marshal’s office, his options limited and the path forward looking as uncertain as it did ten years ago.
Marshal Aglaea gazed at him with the same soft resignation in her clouded eyes that he had seen a year ago when she saw Phainon off at the Academy. Perhaps she had already foreseen this scenario as an inevitability even back then.
“Phainon,” began Aglaea with a sigh. “I’m sure that you are already aware that you’ve near exhausted the list of pilots that are drift compatible with you.”
“I know, Aglaea,” responded Phainon, eyes downcast.
“...There are still a myriad of other options if you wish to make a meaningful contribution to the resistance,” said Aglaea gently.
She wasn’t wrong. The technology department would welcome more hands on deck to help with maintenance work, and in the worst case scenario Phainon could pivot to a teaching role at the Academy to help raise the next generation of pilots.
But that wasn’t enough. Phainon had to be out there personally. He had to slay those monsters with his own hands otherwise his mind would never know peace again.
“Aglaea, please give me one more chance,” said Phainon, stepping forward and meeting the Marshal’s eyes. “I’m begging you. You know I have to do this.”
After taking a moment to think, she let out another resigned sigh. “There is one last candidate on the list that I believe could be a good fit for you.”
Phainon immediately perked up at her words, a dangerous spark of hope reigniting within his heart.
“However, I was hoping not to call on his assistance for a matter like this,” continued Aglaea, kneading the bridge of her nose as though to stave off an incoming headache. “If you wish to copilot with this Ranger, you will have to petition him yourself.”
---
Phainon set his tray of lunch down with a sigh as he took a seat in the bustling cafeteria. “Castorice, why couldn’t you have been my piloting partner?”
His lilac haired friend sat opposite him softly giggled. “I wouldn’t have been opposed to the idea. You were just a little slow on the draw.” Her gaze softened as she watched the white haired man listlessly pick at his potatoes. “Did Aglaea lecture you again?”
“No, she didn’t,” responded Phainon. “Though she did basically hand me an ultimatum.”
“So there’s still a chance?” asked Castorice.
“Just the one, yeah,” muttered Phainon, sticking a lump of mushy meat into his mouth as he glanced at the cafeteria walls, eyes tracing over the posters depicting legendary Jaegers that had made their mark in history.
Naturally, Phainon was familiar with the Jaegers scattered across the world and the people that piloted them. He kept a close eye on their exploits and the Kaiju they felled, eagerly gathering news footage and articles to pore over and study intently.
(His personal favourite was the Trail Blazer and the ashen-haired twins at her helm.)
And of course Amphoreus had its own fair share of legends.
Phainon’s eyes reached the end of the line of posters and fell onto a table tucked away in the corner of the room. There sat a solitary man with a striking mane of unruly blond hair that faded into red at its tips.
Mydeimos The Undying.
A seasoned pilot known for his steely resolve and incredible tenacity. He was once at the forefront of Okemas’ defences, piloting the bulky, heavy-hitting Crimson Fury and racking up an impressive kill count of five Kaiju within seven drops.
Though his moniker sounded impressive, its origin was one steeped in tragedy. Throughout his career, Mydeimos had lost numerous partners in battle. He had suffered a devastating defeat in his final deployment - losing his fifth copilot and his Jaeger being mauled beyond repair.
Phainon remembered that day well. The sight of a bloodied Mydeimos pulling himself out from the wreckage that washed ashore had been immortalised in photographs and global news outlets were commentating on his miraculous survival for weeks.
It was no wonder the man retired from piloting after that. Even now he had a weary look on his face.
…How the hell was Phainon supposed to convince this guy to copilot with him?
Curious, Castorice followed Phainon’s eyes, doing a double take when she saw who he was looking at. “Did she ask you to partner up with Mydei?”
Phainon blinked a few times at the nickname. Unexpectedly… endearing for such an honoured hero. “Are you familiar with him?”
“I’ve spoken to him a few times,” answered Castorice. “He attends our book club gatherings every now and again.”
“I see,” said Phainon. This man was full of surprises.
“He’s quiet and much gentler than he looks,” continued Castorice. Then she frowned. “I doubt he’s in a hurry to return to piloting though.”
“I wouldn’t either, knowing what he’s been through,” said Phainon with a sigh.
“Are you going to ask him anyway?” asked Castorice.
“I have to,” answered Phainon quietly. “He’s the only hope I have left.”
---
Phainon spent the next few nights sleeplessly trying to come up with a way to approach Mydei.
Usually he had no problem talking people up. At this point, Phainon was familiar with most of the personnel working in the Shatterdome, all too happy to lend his assistance whenever it looked like people needed a hand.
However, it was rare for him to have ulterior motives, and Phainon was fighting an uphill battle with what he wanted to ask of Mydei. No matter how he framed the conversation in his mind, the only response he could imagine was a flat out “No”.
But he had to try anyway. Aglaea wouldn’t have made this suggestion if it was a lost cause from the get-go. Phainon wasn’t smart enough to unravel the threads of her machinations but he trusted her all the same.
Unfortunately, Phainon knew very little about Mydei outside of his combat achievements and a few tidbits of trivia from Castorice.
The best scenario would be if he just “happened” to bump into Mydei in the corridor, but Phainon had no clue where that guy spent his spare time. The fact that he had rarely seen him around the Shatterdome was a clear indication that this was the kind of guy who did not want to be found.
He did know that the man sat at the same cafeteria table every day. However, the fact that everyone steered clear of the vacant seats around him meant there was some sort of unspoken rule to leave Mydei to his own company. Phainon had a strong feeling he would be sent packing to the nurse’s office if he even dared to try sitting next to him.
Eventually, he settled on doing the second best thing - chasing him down as soon as he finished eating and left the cafeteria.
“Hey! Mydei-” Phainon called out.
Mydei turned around, piercing golden eyes giving Phainon a confused glance before he scoffed. “Well if it isn’t the Marshal’s golden boy. What is it?”
The words jammed up in Phainon’s throat. He hadn’t expected Mydei to know of him. If even a fraction of the rumours running amok around the place about Phainon and his drifting experiences had reached this man’s ears then perhaps he even already knew what he wanted.
He gritted his teeth, deciding to rip off the bandaid immediately.
“Mydei, I need your help,” said Phainon. “I… I’m looking for a new copilot.”
The other’s eyes instantly darkened. Then he barked out an incredulous laugh.
“Are you insane?” asked Mydei, his voice low. “Have you really dropped so low that you’re willing to drift with a washed-up retiree, ‘Deliverer’?”
Phainon flinched at the nickname.
It started during his academy days, back when he was still a little too hopeful, a little too zealous. After the other trainees learned of his naive dream of becoming the next hero of Amphoreus, they took to calling him the “Deliverer” in mockery.
He thought that moniker had long been worn out, but it was probably circulating around again, just out of earshot, along with all the other rumours.
“Aglaea told me I could trust you,” said Phainon.
The last thing he wanted to do was rely on the Marshal’s name, but with his reputation in tatters he had to use whatever he could to turn the tide to his favour.
Luckily, something in those words made Mydei shift his demeanor. His hostility simmered down, meeting Phainon’s eyes with a level gaze.
One more push.
“Besides, you haven’t really accepted your retirement, have you, Mydei?” asked Phainon, raising an eyebrow. “Why else would you still be hanging around in the Shatterdome?”
Mydei scoffed at his words. “Even if that were the case, what makes you think I can trust you? Drifting is a two-way street, in case you forgot.”
“Then fight me,” challenged Phainon. “A few rounds in the combat room. I’ll get you to change your mind.”
The smirk that spread across Mydei’s face sent a chill down Phainon’s spine. “You’d better not chicken out once you realise what you’re up against, Deliverer.”
---
Phainon’s memories of the Kwoon Combat Room were noisy and sweaty. He had spent countless hours here, either squashed up shoulder-to-shoulder in the crowd of recruits waiting for their turn, or being thrown to the ground by his instructors.
(Less fondly, he couldn’t forget the day Ranger Cifera danced circles around him, making him trip over his own feet before he could even try landing a hit on her. They were a poor fit for each other, butting heads like a cat and a dog.
However, her following match with Castorice felt more like a ballet recital, both elegant and lightfooted in their movements as they sparred with wooden poles in hand, twirling around the ring.
From the bright smiles on their faces it was clear that something had clicked for the pair. Phainon was happy for Castorice, truly, though he couldn’t deny that he greatly envied her.)
It felt odd to be here after hours. The air was cool and it was deathly quiet.
“You just happen to have a pass to get in here anytime you want?” asked Phainon.
“I’m a part-time instructor, idiot,” responded Mydei.
“Huh.” Did Phainon just manage to dodge Mydei’s shifts the whole time he had been enrolled in the Academy? A shame.
Mydei rolled his eyes and shrugged off his jacket. The striking red tattoos that trailed down his neck, dipping under his tank top, seemed to continue snaking around his muscular arms.
Phainon only realised he was staring when Mydei folded his arms across his chest with a grunt. He quickly discarded his own jacket, rolling up the sleeves of his turtleneck jumper.
“What will it be first, Deliverer?” asked Mydei, gesturing to the crate of training weapons shoved into the corner of the room.
“Whatever you’re comfortable with,” answered Phainon with a smile.
Mydei wordlessly tossed over a wooden sword, Phainon easily catching it with one hand.
He hummed in approval at the choice. Something lightweight and easy to use for a warm-up.
Taking his position in the ring, Phainon fiddled with his grip on the weapon as he refamiliarised himself with the weight in his hand. Mydei stood opposite him, rolling his shoulders as he limbered up.
One second, Phainon was shifting his feet and readying his stance, the next, Mydei lunged forward. He effortlessly cleared the distance between them, swinging his weapon at Phainon’s head.
Barely reacting in time, Phainon twisted his body and arms around so that he could block the unprovoked strike. Their wooden swords clattered loudly against each other, the sound softly echoing in the empty room.
“Not bad,” commented Mydei.
A quiet laugh fell from Phainon’s lips. “Oh do save me the sarcasm.”
He retaliated with an experimental swing and Mydei easily parried the attack without a sweat.
Mydei responded with another heavy swing of his sword, sending shockwaves down Phainon’s arms when he braced to block, his bones rattling under the strength of the blow. It suddenly dawned on him that Mydei was truly a powerful and ruthless warrior. Perhaps this was why he’d never seen him at the Academy. An instructor like Mydei would likely only strike fear into the heart of the recruits.
Phainon let out a huff of laughter at the revelation. What part of this guy is “gentle”, Castorice?
Mydei raised an eyebrow. “What’s so funny? I thought this was supposed to be ‘do or die’ for you.”
“...That it is,” said Phainon.
He straightened up, moving to a two handed grip, tightening his grip on the sword handle. Phainon had always prided himself on his ability match up with his opponent’s fighting style - it was natural for him to mold himself into the image of what the other person wanted to see.
For Mydei, he would have to kick it up a notch.
Phainon charged forward, putting everything into a swipe directed at Mydei’s side. His attack was deflected, but this time he didn’t let up. He stayed on the offense, not giving the other a chance to strike back until-
His vision suddenly spun, the room suddenly turning upside down. The bastard had swept at his leg and Phainon fell flat onto his back, the impact knocking the breath out of his chest.
A second later, a sword was pointed at his throat.
“One to zero, Deliverer,” declared Mydei.
If that was how he wanted to play then…
Phainon kicked at Mydei’s shin. Hard.
When the blond man stumbled, Phainon sprang up, grabbing his arm and yanking him down to the ground. He quickly straddled Mydei, pinning him down, pushing his wooden blade to his throat.
“One-one,” said Phainon breathlessly, still winded from his previous tumble.
Though momentarily stunned, Mydei eventually fired a smirk back at him, amusement in his eyes. It was almost as if he was admitting, ‘Fine, you have my attention.’
Phainon stood up, offering a hand. Mydei ignored it, getting up on his own. He silently tossed his sword to the side and went back to the weapon crate, picking out two longer wooden poles.
The white haired man grinned as his new weapon was tossed over. He was most fond of this one. Its reach was longer and he felt less bad striking people with a stick instead of a blade, even if none of the training gear was ever sharp enough to actually draw blood.
Without missing a beat, they resumed combat with renewed fervour.
This was a far cry from the usual disciplined matches that went on between trainees - both Phainon and Mydei were hungry to break the tie, rushing at each other, the sound of wood smacking against wood and the shuffling of their feet filling the room.
Parrying a strike aimed for his head, Phainon managed to swing the other end of his staff and land a hit on Mydei’s thigh.
One-two.
In the split second he took for himself to celebrate gaining the initiative, Mydei hooked the back of his knees, toppling Phainon onto the floor again.
Two-two.
Phainon hissed. He could already hear the remark in his head.
Concentrate. Dumbass.
He sprang back up and launched himself at Mydei again.
Swing. Block. Counter.
Three-two. Three-three.
Swing. Parry. Counter. Dodge.
Four-three. Four-four. Four-five. Five-five. Five-six. Six-six.
Time became a blur. The match extended far beyond the traditional best-out-of-five, neither satisfied with a one point difference.
It was getting progressively difficult to land a hit. Mydei’s defences got tighter and tighter, though his attacks were also getting easier and easier to read.
Despite this, Phainon was relishing the challenge. When was the last time he felt this engaged in a duel?
At some point they dropped the weapons, going at each other with their fists instead. The fight devolved into something closer to two kids wrestling each other on the playground, complete with petty hair pulling and the unnecessary gnashing of teeth.
Eventually, they tired themselves out, collapsing onto the floor.
Phainon’s ears were buzzing, his heartbeat thumping loudly in his head as he was catching his breath. He rolled over his head to look at the other man. “I think I won.”
Mydei laughed. “You wish.”
“I definitely got the last hit in!” retorted Phainon, sitting up.
“...I suppose you did,” conceded Mydei.
Oh. He expected more of an argument.
Phainon just stared dumbly as Mydei stood up and offered him a hand. His brain switched back on after a few seconds and he gingerly took it, getting hauled back onto his feet.
“You’ve caught my interest, Deliverer,” said Mydei, stepping away to pick up his jacket.
“I have?” blurted Phainon. “Does that mean-”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” said Mydei. “We might not even be compatible in the Drift, however I don’t see the harm in trying. I’ll inform Aglaea tomorrow.”
He subtly gestured towards the entrance to the room and only then did Phainon see a janitor nervously peeking inside. He did not want to think about how long the poor man had been standing there.
“Right, I’ll see you tomorrow then,” said Phainon with a sheepish laugh.