Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When Mydeimos opened his eyes, he was met with a hellscape more terrifying than the Trial of Strife.  

Beneath a sky of red and black, jagged peaks thrust upward like blades. There was no solid ground beneath his feet—only endless piles of corpses, not a single face among them at peace.  

Mydei's next thought was of Phainon—his dearest friend, his beloved, the sworn enemy who had pierced through his spine.  

Had he succeeded?  

If the Era Nova had been completed, then where was Phainon? And what was this place?  

A thunderous crack echoed high above. He looked up and saw a flash of gold shatter into pieces, falling from the clouds. At first, it was too far to make out clearly—but then he saw broken wings, followed by scattered human limbs. A dreadful premonition began to form, and almost instantly, it was confirmed. A mangled body tumbled down, struck the ground with brutal force, and like a broken puppet, skidded away, kicking up clouds of dust.  

No—it can't be—!  

Impossible.  

He must have seen wrong!  

Mydei's mind refused to process what he was seeing, yet a piercing, bone-deep agony arrived faster than logic.  

He tried to move toward the body, but as he did, he realized something was terribly wrong. His downward gaze revealed not human hands and feet, but the forelimbs of an insect. He couldn't stand—no, it didn't matter. He would crawl if he had to. He had to see again. It couldn't be. He must have been mistaken—  

Suddenly, a familiar woman's voice echoed faintly and distantly in the back of his mind.  

"No... Mydeimos... don't go closer..."  

"You're no match for it..."  

"Come back... turn back... Mydeimos, your purpose lies elsewhere..."  

"Do not let... the efforts of Khaslana be in vain..."

Mydeimos gasped violently like a drowning man breaching the surface, coughing as if his organs had been stuffed into a sack, churned over, thrown off a cliff, and fished out again. He wanted to vomit.

His vision gradually cleared from the blurry halos and spots. The grey-haired girl before him pried open his eyelids to check, then glanced back at an unfamiliar Antikytheran behind her.

"Did it work?" she asked.

Mydei's muscles tensed; he was anxious to sit up. A tug on his arm revealed several blue threads connected to various parts of his body.

"Query: Mr. Mydeimos, do you recognize the lady before you?"

"Who are you?!" Mydei retorted with a question, glaring at him warily before turning to the Trailblazer, "Stelle, what's going on?"

The girl, having been called by name, instantly became vibrant and spirited.

...Fragments of past events slowly trickled back into his mind. Two similar yet distinct memories climbed through his consciousness like parallel vines, intertwining in the present. The immortal Mydeimos instinctively clutched his chest, his palm finding only a faint, nearly invisible old scar. The blade wound that had pierced his tenth thoracic vertebra from behind seemed never to have existed.

A thousand questions swarmed to get out, but they jammed like a stampede, all stuck in his throat.

"Phainon!" Mydei thought of the dream he just had. What could be more important than this? "The Era Nova—did he succeed?"

"It can't be called a failure, nor can it be called a success. Listen to me now." Stelle firmly pressed down on Mydei's shoulder.

She began to explain what had happened, though wanting to be concise, summarizing thirty million cycles of recursion was no easy task.

"...In short, time is tight. With Screwllum having to crack the firewalls set up by Irontomb everywhere, he can only restore a tiny fragment from just before the end of the last cycle. So, for now, we only have you."

"Thirty-three million, five hundred and fifty thousand, three hundred and thirty-six times..." Mydei's golden eyes widened in shock as he slowly repeated the number.

Just reciting it took an age. What had Phainon gone through all alone?

Making an electrical signal believe it's merely a tiny electrical signal often shatters their worldview, but Mydei showed no signs of doubt or breakdown. Instead, he beat the bed in frustration:

"Then now, but, since so many cycles haven't succeeded, why does this guy still insist on charging headfirst to fight the Scepter? Can't we make him retreat first, and then we—"

"I'm afraid that's no longer an option," Stelle interrupted. "Khaslana has chosen to gamble everything. He has already merged with the core of Irontomb."

"Merged?!"

"This means this battle allows only victory, not defeat. Otherwise, the nightmare of destruction will descend upon reality."

This time, it took Mydei much longer to process.

"...You went to such great lengths to restore my memory, not just to drag me out for a chat, right?"

"Indeed," Screwllum confirmed. "Although the Astral Express and the Genius Society can provide assistance, there are many areas beyond our capabilities. To protect Amphoreus and save the universe from the impending catastrophe, we need you."

Stelle led Mydei to Phainon's dwelling.

The familiar yet alien bustle of Okhema made Mydei involuntarily reading the other set of experiences growing in his mind, and the Phainon he knew in mostly similar, slightly different ways—the one who always pestered him for sparring and fun.

Inside, a white-haired young man was curled under a thin blanket, his breathing even and deep.

Mydei felt confused. If the Khaslana in his dream was the Phainon who had merged with Irontomb, then who was this one before him, sleeping soundly like a gentle, adorable big puppy?

Yet he couldn't help but walk towards him. Disregarding the other person in the room, he sat on the edge of the bed, gently stroking Phainon's rosy cheek and shaking his shoulder.

"Don't waste your effort. He won't wake up. He fell into this slumber long ago," Stelle tried to hide her sad. "Although Khaslana exists as two rendered entities simultaneously, they are sustained by the same one set of electrical signals. Now that his core has merged with the Scepter, Phainon remains in this state—devoid of motor function, yet not dead, merely in standby."

Mydei gritted his teeth.

In their countless past battles, Phainon and he had often stayed behind to cover the retreat of the other Chrysos Heirs. The only two times Phainon had to leave first, he had shown extremely reluctant. Now Mydei finally understood the frustration, anxiety, and worry of watching a comrade charge alone while he could only fall back.

"We haven't yet figured out how to completely halt the Annihilation calculation. I worry whether Khaslana, in his current state, can hold on until the end."Stelle paused and lowered her head, as if having failed a friend's trust. A trace of guilt appeared on her face, usually so full of confident nonsense. "...Sorry. We're all doing our best, but it's still not fast enough."

"Don't say that," Mydei looked back. "This was never your obligation to begin with. If anything, we are the ones deeply indebted to the Astral Express for going this far for Amphoreus. Now, what can I do?"

"Good, let's get down to business. Mydei, your awakening is abnormal and has definitely been observed by Irontomb or Lygus. You will be under surveillance, so I cannot explain the specifics clearly. You just need to know what we expect you to do, the thing only you can do now: repair the damaged code of Khaslana—you can understand it as mending his body, his memories, his soul."

"How?"

"Screwllum has cracked a very tiny port for you. Our side can use it to resolve simpler issues, but deeper wounds require you to enter the Scepter's interior through the dream port and perform the repairs directly on his person. It's dangerous. The slightest misstep, and Irontomb will capture and eliminate you. If you have doubts..."

"There is no word for 'doubts' in Kremnoan’s dictionary."

"Mydei, this is an unceasing struggle. You must repeat it endlessly until the true Era Nova arrives. You can no longer protect your Kremnoan people, no longer join the guards of the Holy City, no longer seize the power of Strife, and at times, you might even have to sacrifice something more precious—the glory of being the Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos, the glory of being Mydeimos."

"To halt the steps of Destruction, I will spare no cost."

"You agree so readily?"

"I'm the one who was awakened. Why are you acting like you're meeting me for the first time?"

Stelle smiled a relieved smile.

"Am I starting to sound more like Aglaea? I'm only two years old, I don't want to become a serious leader!"

"What do you mean you're only two years old?"

"Haha, never mind." Stelle smiled bitterly and paused. "...Phainon is definitely going to kill me later. I'm gambling his life with yours."

Mydei waved a hand. "Afraid of him? If he gives you trouble, just hide behind me."

"Screwllum will teach you the tools and how to use them shortly. Until we have the ability to restore the memories of the other Chrysos Heirs, to ensure the world's stability, please don't explain too much to them for now... I'm sorry, Mydei. I know you are a lion meant for the battlefield. If only there were a better choice—"

"A better choice?" Mydei raised an eyebrow.

He looked down at his lover sleeping on the bed.

"I AM the best choice. Who in this world knows him better than I do?" Mydei grasped Phainon's hand and murmured lowly, "Besides... entrusting the task of repairing this guy's soul to anyone else is something I could never feel at ease with."

Mydei brushed aside the sleeping man's stray hair. The lingering warmth from his fingertips was a rare comfort to the Prince's heart: "This time, it's your turn to take the vanguard, Phainon. Strike hard at that vile hyena ahead. I will be your support from behind."

He leaned down and gently kissed Phainon's forehead.

Oh my Kafka, oh my dear Akivili!

"Ahem!" Stelle coughed loudly, hands on her hips. "There are still other tasks I haven't finished instructing! You can be as lovey-dovey as you want after we leave."

"Tch, then speak quickly."

"Oho, getting impatient now? Just you wait, there will be plenty of time for you two to be alone together in the future, right up until the day you get sick of the sight of his face."

"That day will never come."

"Eww—" Star held her nose. "Screwllum, how's it going on your end? Hurry and save me; I'm surrounded by cyber homosexuals."

The projection of the Antikytheran soon reappeared in the air.

"Hehe, Trailblazer should cherish all before them. The perception of beauty and love was something inorganic lifeforms once sought with all their being," the mechanoid said. He produced a small briefcase and, with a light tap of his finger in the air, it was printed into existence directly into Mydei's hands:

"Mr. Mydeimos, I will now transmit the following information directly to your electrical signals via an independent encryption protocol. For security reasons, the bandwidth is extremely limited. You must carefully remember every detail at once: ..."

[ALERT]

Destruction Factor NeiKos496 Repeated Load Detected!

Load Interception Failed!

NeiKos496 Neuron Occupancy: 23.6% | Electrical Signal Integrity: 43.8%

Destruction Factor Recovery Rate: ↓73.7%

[ALERT][ALERT][HIGH-PRIORITY ALERT]

δ-me13 Hub Core Invaded by Factor NeiKos496!

Firewall Initiated Counter-Factor Rendering...

Rendering Complete.

……

Do you still remember your wish, Khaslana, the one who won't reach the dawn?

Every cycle upon awakening, his first act was to pose this question to himself.

I remember, Khaslana answered, swinging his first sword.

My wish is to fulfill everyone else's wishes.

To fulfill everyone's wishes, I need to—

A dull pain throbbed in Khaslana's head; familiar voices and faces from the past had dissolved into the chaos of thirty million cycles. The eternal fire ignited by countless embers scorched not only his enemies but also himself. The one-armed savior charged at the mimetic Emanator of Destruction, watering madness with madness, nurturing hatred with hatred, splashing Nanook's golden blood upon the foes he despised.

This time it was a black-haired woman. The time before, a nebula of unfathomable breadth. Before that, a ghost in white robes. Any earlier than that, he could no longer recall. Their attacks varied, but Khaslana had neither the time nor the inclination to analyze and dismantle their techniques. These vile, filthy abominations were undeserving of an opponent's respect.

Dawnbreaker lopped off the woman's head, yet a disgusting, viscous screech still issued from her throat. Crawling branches and grotesque lotuses grew from her neck, forming a new head. The sky-blotting branches enveloped Khaslana like a cocoon. Though he cleaved through them swiftly, he knew this was far from over. This Lord Ravager had a million guises; to resist it was to engage in an unceasing battle.

During his youthful travels, a mentor who had once taught him some swordsmanship had said: For your killing blows to be precise and steady, you must remember why you fight.

Khaslana always repeated those words to himself in these moments.

"Snowy, see you tomorrow!"

"Deliverer, remember to stay alive till the final act!"

"Go be the dawn of Amphoreus..."

……

Who knows how many times this fall was, Khaslana thought before losing consciousness: It matters not. For Amphoreus, no matter how many times I am shattered, I will still be the scorching sun destined to rise!

[UPDATE LOG]

Destruction Factor NeiKos496 Connection Terminated.

NeiKos496 Neuron Occupancy: 0.018% | Electrical Signal Integrity: 43.5%

Counter-Factor Rendering Halted.

Firewall Entering Standby Mode...

In the past, once it came to parting hour, Phainon was always dragging Mydeimos off to do something.

Whether it was sparring disguised as training, soaking in a scalding bath he called 'muscle-relaxing tolerance therapy', or competing to see who could help the most people in Okhema... Mydei knew it was all just an excuse to hang out. Phainon just wanted to be with him, doing anything at all.

And yes, he felt exactly the same.

"Hmm, fighting again? So boring. Let's try this today instead."

Two identical scrolls lay before them, checkered with black and white squares, a line of tiny clues written at the bottom.

"Ta-da! A crossword puzzle! The high-difficulty kind I got from Lady Ctesiphon," Phainon announced, grinning as he waved a feather pen. "Time to see if the Crown Prince of Kremnos has actually read all those books he boasts about! So, what'll it be? Speed, or accuracy?"

They went with accuracy. Mydei lost by two words. He'd never been to the Grove of Epiphany, so he didn't know the name of the 'last Sage of the Caprine School'. And he was no antiquities expert, so 'Verdigris Scar' meant nothing to him.

"No fair. This was practically custom-made for you, Phainon," Mydei grumbled. "Next time, we're picking a topic I know."

Such nostalgia.

Now, in this parting hour, Mydei held the unique blade to Phainon's throat and held his breath.

He replayed the sound of Phainon's teasing voice in his head, begging the past to steady his present panic.

The Antikytheran had said:

"Mr. Mydeimos, we will grant you a unique perspective. Use the blade as your quill. Start from the Adam's apple, part his chest, trace the lines along his limbs, and chart the pathways that reveal the script. Do not fear the golden blood, for his life is rooted elsewhere now. Do not spare his flesh, for this vessel is the easiest thing to mend."

The knife, which felt like water in his grip, was sharper than any weapon Mydei had ever known. Just as Screwllum promised, beneath Phainon's skin was a universe of stars. From the incisions bled clusters of fragmented, pale blue characters, spilling out like seeds from a dandelion clock. Luckily, he'd sealed the room and cleared the furniture as instructed. The exposed code soon filled the air, like a goose-down duvet rupturing. Finally, a tree-like core sprouted from the void, its branches weaving the very code that made Phainon.

And the body's owner lay peacefully still, lost in a dream, unaware.

Mydei took a soft, steadying breath. The fragments swirling before him danced on the exhale. He reached out and caught one:

/Cognition://Definition: Deme__r :

///__%% Fruit Stall Owner

%*&/ Association Entry Entry Entry Entry ####@* Medi____*_ Fig

"I know this one."

Mydei pressed the shimmering blue fragment against his left wrist. He took the pen and tweezers from the case, carefully plucking away the corrupt data with the tweezers before filling in the gaps.

/Cognition://Definition: Demeter :

/// Fruit Stall Owner

//// Association Entry: Mediterrana Fig

A match. The new glyphs slid into place, fusing with the old, until the fragment was whole again.

Mydei spread out a vast blank scroll, fixed this fragment at the top, and began the methodical work of gathering the others from the air, sorting and placing them on the paper. When he was done, he was staring at a mind-bogglingly complex crossword puzzle, literally one hundred percent tailor-made for Phainon.

Mydei huffed a quiet, fond laugh, looking at the sleeping man.

"You always did know how to give me the hardest problems, didn't you?"

The Antikytheran had said:

"Mr. Mydeimos, you must become the physician who heals Khaslana. Even minor ailments must be diagnosed, their cures found by overcoming great obstacles. You must become the bricklayer who fortifies Khaslana. The entries, more numerous than the cosmos's stars, may seem insignificant alone, but together they will form the walls that guard his heart. Khaslana bought precious time for Amphoreus. Now, you must buy time for Khaslana alone. After that, comes the..."

Mydei finished the entries. He scanned the result. It wasn't as complete as he'd hoped; maybe sixty, seventy percent. Many fragment answers didn't match the records in Phainon's core and were rejected.

"...tedious but essential inlay. The verification keys change in real-time. They cannot be memorized, nor can this task be handed to another. You must focus. You must be meticulous. You must endure the grind of isolation and repetition."

Mydei picked up the stylus. Like turning pages, he browsed Phainon's cognitive tree, fitting the piece about Demeter into its slot. The edges sealed perfectly. In his mind's eye, dots of 1s and 0s flickered. The stylus rose and fell, quantum threads weaving. Hovering at an awkward angle over Phainon's torso, his arm suspended without support, he patched the code.

Success. One down.

His wrist was getting sore. Mydei shook out his arm and glanced back at the scroll. Not counting today's unsolved clues, over eight hundred patches remained.

"Just you wait, Deliverer," Mydei chuckled, selecting a second fragment with the stylus, talking to his silent love. "When this is over, I'll know every last one of your secrets."

"Next time we have a fight and you threaten to break up—no, wait, by then I suppose it'd be divorce—I'll just pick one and whisper it in your ear. You'll be too flustered to even move. And I'll use that leverage to keep you right here with me. For a lifetime."

He could imagine how Phainon would reply:

"Seriously, Mydeimos? Since when do I threaten to break up every time we argue?" And, "Staying with you forever doesn't require leverage." And then, a beat later, the flustered, blushing retort:

"Wait... was that a proposal just now?"

[ALERT][ERROR]

Detection of Factor PoleMos600 performing illegal overwrite on Factor NeiKos496!

Path: Eco-Construction Module, Cognitive Module, Cache Module. Total of 865 entries.

Revert operation?

[Confirm] [Cancel]

……

[Cancel]

*Conclusion: A new variable introduced by the extraterrestrial guests. Fascinating. Will not intervene for now. Maintain close surveillance. Autonomously filter and intercept suspicious data. Report every 1 Entry Hour unit.

Mydei lay down beside Phainon. He turned his head to look at the man, then interlaced their fingers, holding his hand tightly.

He closed his eyes.

The Antikytheran had said:

"Mr. Mydeimos, please endure this cramped vessel for now. Only by severing and sacrificing much can you pass beneath the Iron Tomb's gaze. Let us be thankful for the unexpected hope brought by computational remnants, allowing you to become Khaslana's weaver. Let us hope the puppet's gaze still holds curiosity, that he scorns the world's most vital things, seeing this only as a pitiable, lamentable ballad... until the joys and sorrows of thirty million cycles no longer entertain our guest."

...It was still that same hellscape, but now it was eerily quiet, save for the crackle of burning flames and the whisper of embers scraping over corpses.

The ochre nymph climbed to a high point and waited a moment. Nothing happened. It seemed the Iron Tomb truly hadn't detected him, or if it had, it didn't deem this insignificant existence capable of changing anything.

So where was Khaslana?

Screwllum had warned him never to attempt a search query, as the massive data fluctuation would reawaken the firewall. Mydei reached out with his consciousness, sensing his surroundings until he could detect a faint, almost imperceptible cluster of signals still pulsing and flowing in the distance.

Mydei had never found travel so difficult. These six slender insect legs had to scramble for what felt like an age just to climb over a mountain formed of those who had fallen into eternal slumber. Hmph, I hope this technology gets preserved. I'm going to turn Phainon into a nymph too, put him on his back, and watch the clumsy Deliverer wriggle around, unable to flip over. Or we'll both change, share an extra-large golden honey cake, and fight in a clay bowl to see who's tougher. Wait, that sounds like something kids would catch us and place bets on...

His self-soothing imaginings ceased abruptly when he finally reached Khaslana.

The battle-hardened lion had witnessed many tragic scenes, but none could compare to the sight before him. Khaslana lay unconscious on the ground, his pale gold hair matted with dirt, his nose broken at the cartilage. His right arm was completely severed. His left hand still gripped his greatsword, but the wrist was far from his body, trailing a spray of golden blood. The gash in his chest was so wide it seemed it could swallow Mydei whole. Calcification was slowly creeping upward from the wound. His other leg was bent outward at an angle completely alien to human anatomy.

The nymph's antennae trembled violently. He took two steps forward, then back, as if struck hard on the back of the head, as if an invisible force had suddenly choked him. Dizzy, ears ringing, he couldn't catch his breath.

Mydeimos wanted to scream, but the nymph's body could only produce a high-pitched whirr.

What to do? WHAT TO DO? How was he hurt this badly?! The nymph scurried left and right, not knowing where to start. Everywhere was critical!

Was he even alive?

The thought struck Mydei, making his legs go weak. He crawled to Khaslana's head and nudged his cheek with his horn. No response.

No. No more waiting! At least that other body of Phainon's was still breathing; he HAD to be savable! Mydei forced himself to calm down, turned one last circle, and decided to start with the chest wound. He climbed onto Khaslana's torso and plunged his sharp, forked antennae into his body.

Along with Khaslana's data, the searing burn of the Eternal Blaze crashed over him, instantly flattening the nymph against his body. Mydei struggled to endure it. This was likely only a fraction of the heat borne from the millions of embers Khaslana carried, yet it was enough to make him stop everything in agony, forced to adapt.

NeiKos496>>>

Eco-Construction Bridge... File Corrupted

Pectoralis_Major Render Sigil... Missing

Rectus_Abdominis^Render Sigil Sigil Sigil█Missing Missing██

@@% Rib... Missing

Manubrium Architecture... File Corrupted

Blaze&*&$###### 4026%##32

Mydei told himself not to think, to focus all his attention on the next line of code that needed filling. Don't look back at his lover's exposed bones and blood. Don't think about what kind of power could inflict such wounds. The more you delay, the more Khaslana suffers...

When Khaslana awoke, his mind felt strangely, unnaturally clear.

His first instinct was to grip Dawnbreaker tightly and sit up rapidly—and he realized it was his right arm that pushed him up. His intact right hand.

His golden eyes widened slightly. He splayed his fingers, examining his palm and the back of his hand. Then he realized his left wrist, severed by the Iron Tomb, was also reattached. His broken leg was similarly healed. Reaching back, he felt his wings. Though still broken, the parts he had severed himself were regrowing. The golden one was significantly longer than the deep blue one, looking as if a careless craftsman, hammering away, suddenly slapped his forehead—"No, this will unbalance him"—and hurriedly started repairing the other side, but hadn't finished.

It was like a moment of sudden clarity amidst recovery from a grave illness. This sharpened focus made the resentment and hatred smoldering through ten million cycles within Khaslana burn even fiercer. His anger rippled out, quickly re-awakening Irontomb's firewall.

Khaslana switched his sword to his right hand. Dawnbreaker drew a searing blue arc in the darkness.

Since he was restored, he would continue his mission, no matter how many times he had to fall and rise again, rise and fall again.

I'm sorry, mysterious helper. Some of your efforts will be wasted...

Khaslana swung his sword behind him, shearing the golden wing down to match the size of the other.

"Come on!" he roared at the tide of squirming, wall-like abominations already surging toward him. "I bring you destruction!!!"

Meanwhile, in Okhema, Mydei awoke from the dream, ending yet another cycle in the endless alternation of forced sleep and wakefulness, unloading redundancies and loading patches. He staggered out of bed and rushed to the bathroom. He could no longer bear the compression, stripping, filling, and expansion of his soul's abrupt changes and vomited into the toilet.

Not that much came up. Mydei hadn't eaten properly in days.

He took it back. He wouldn't turn Phainon into a nymph after all. He hoped Phainon would never experience this feeling—Ha... ha... Mydeimos, how ridiculous you are! What is this compared to the blaze Khaslana endures? It's lighter than a feather!

Screwllum and Stelle had emphasized repeatedly: if Khaslana shows signs of waking, you must leave immediately, and only return when the signals indicate he has fallen unconscious again. Phainon, bearing millions of embers, struggles against Irontomb as it is. If you stay, death might not come from a direct attack, but merely from the casual step of a single abomination... And you cannot die. You still have a role to play.

Abandoning his beloved, fleeing the battlefield like a true insect to avoid danger, filled Mydeimos with self-disgust. He leaned against the wall, swaying as he stood, and saw his own hateful reflection in the mirror. Rage surged through Mydei. He let out a thunderous roar and drove his fist into the glass. It shattered instantly, webbing into cracks like a bruise blooming on the reflected face's cheek. Shards flew out, embedding themselves in Mydei's forehead and cheek. Golden beads of blood welled up and trailed down.

Mydeimos! You shameless deserter!

You incompetent, vile coward!

Hear that skittering, frantic sound of insect legs? That is all you deserve now!

He punched the mirror again and again, until the glass tore free from the wall entirely, scattering fragments across the sink and floor.

He braced himself against the sink, gasping for breath.

……

Enough. Enough. Think of something useful.

Hundreds of unsolved crossword clues still waited for him on the scroll.

Go find the answers. If you wish to protect the beloved who protects you.

Chapter Text

"Hurry up, hurry up! One minute left!" Phainon's leg bounced with excitement, which only made Mydei, who was already struggling for an answer, even more flustered.

What word starts with J, ends with D, has so many S's in the middle, and has the clues 'primary colors', 'little wings', and 'Zagreus'? How do these completely unrelated clues even fit together?

"It's definitely something I don't know again."

"No, you've definitely seen it. It's right here in Okhema. Twenty seconds left."

"I CAN'T GET IT!"

"Aww—" Phainon drew out the sigh, putting on that expression that was half pity, half smugness. "The Prince loses to me again! The answer is 'Janus' Steed'."

Mydei counted the squares. It fit. "Red, yellow, blue. Has wings. Fine... but how is Zagreus related to Janus?"

"Haven't you heard that little story? Legend says someone once imitated the divine steed of Janusopolis, stuffed warriors into its hollow belly, waited for the enemy to drag the gorgeous, giant construct into the palace as a prized war trophy, and then the soldiers, in the dead of night, suddenly—!" Phainon thrust a hand forward abruptly, making Mydei blink in surprise. "Boom! — burst out of the steed and took the royal city in one fell swoop!"

"Hmph." Mydei put down the crossword scroll. "No wonder I couldn't get it. The Kremnoan armies have always disdained such underhanded tricks. We still win battle after battle."

"Can't really call it underhanded. Letting the enemy just waltz into the city like that was the city lord's own fault for being negligent."

"The priests of Janus had no objections to this sacrilege?"

"It's a legend! Most of it's made up. It's not like you can hold Lippo, the guy who tells these stories to kids, accountable." Phainon also tossed his pen aside, slung an arm around his boyfriend, and leaned against his shoulder. "Heheh, you promised you'd buy me that pot from the antique shop if I won today."

"A bet's a bet. Let's go." Mydei took his hand. "What do you want for dinner?"

/Cognition://Definition: Janus' Steed :

/// Titan of the Passage, Blessing ///Information; Oracle; Passage; Channel; Sapience;

///Recognition Anchor: Crimson head; Golden wings; Azure body; ___ stars;

//// Association Entry: Janusopolis; Crossword Puzzle; Stratagem; Golden Era Amphora A028 (Forgery);

…

Mydeimos snapped back to reality, realizing he had been staring blankly at the characters before him, a smile creeping onto his lips from the fond memories the code had stirred. He rubbed his face and pulled his focus back to the present.

"How many stars does Janus' Steed have? Is this what the Deliverer's clever brain is filled with?" Mydei smiled, glancing at the sleeping figure beside him, then slipped this fragment into the parchment folio.

Some answers about Phainon required venturing outside to find.

Mydei visited Theodoros to verify some specialized archaeological terminology—it seemed Phainon's sensitivity to historical knowledge was highly subjective and selective. He then asked the Trailblazer for some details about "Dawnbreaker," probed Charthonus for the materials Phainon might have chosen—it sounded like a truly fine sword, one he'd definitely appreciate up close if given the chance. Held in the hand for admiration, not lodged in the chest.

The imagined Phainon said: "If you keep making jokes that fall this flat, I'm going to get mad."

As he approached the entrance to the Court of Seasons, he happened upon a group of Chrysos Heirs running in the opposite direction, their expressions tense. Mydeimos's instinct was to stop someone and ask what was happening, but then he suddenly remembered Stelle's warning—his purpose lay elsewhere. In the shadows cast by wisteria flowers, a Kremnoan child, holding a small shield and wooden sword, cheered for the fading heroes, then noticed the Crown Prince who had also stopped to look back, watching his former comrades depart.

"Your Highness! Your Highness!" the girl exclaimed excitedly. "Are you going out too to fight the Black Tide's lackeys outside the city?"

"No," Mydeimos heard himself reply. "I'm not going. I have other important matters."

"Next time then? Can you take me? I have Kremnoan blood too! I want to go to the battlefield and win my own glory!"

The new path he had once painstakingly laid out for his people had been washed away by the cycles, and the Crown Prince now had no energy to start over. He could only offer a dry denial: No, not next time, not the time after that, nor the time after that. The child, curious for a reason, received none; as her smile wavered with uncertainty, the lion could only avert his gaze.

Finally, Mydeimos bent down and ruffled her little head. Eat well, study hard, train seriously. Matters of glory could wait, at least until she knew enough characters to read a whole manual on warfare and her arms were strong enough to lift a shield and spear single-handedly.

The child's eyes reignited with idealism, and she skipped away. Mydeimos remained, turning to count the stars on the wooden steed.

"One, two, three, four, five..." The Prince from the realm ruled by the Nikador half-crouched on the ground, tapping the divine steed's body and muttering to himself, drawing a few curious and puzzled sidelong glances.

"The observant you would surely count these two on the wheels, and the symmetrical half on the reverse side—you're secretly betting I'll miss some, aren't you?"

He opened the parchment folio, filled the answer into the code. "Fourteen" seamlessly integrated into the fragment, proclaiming Mydei's small victory.

"No," the imagined Phainon tilted his head back slightly, as the wind carried over a few hushed comments from passersby. "I'm betting... that despite all your mental preparation, it still doesn't feel good in your heart."

The newborn Weaver finished another set of fragments, but when he confidently cut open his beloved's body again, more shattered characters exploded from within, filling the room. Mydei froze in shock for a moment, then gently plucked the code that had burst onto his face. Some patches he had meticulously sewn before had been rendered futile, while a host of new puzzles now lay sprawled before him, not to mention the pile of blank questions still waiting on the large scroll beside him—questions whose answers couldn't be found in Okhema.

Mydei knew what this meant. Khaslana had once again thrown himself recklessly onto the battlefield of destruction. Knowing Phainon, the man probably saw that his wounds had inexplicably healed and became even more reckless in his sword swings against the enemy, focusing solely on slaughter, abandoning even the most basic defense.

"You idiot! I said charge ahead, but that doesn't mean abandon everything else!" He cupped Phainon's face. "You used this move during our spars too, and it ended with us lying on the lawn until midnight, too exhausted to move. Then you said you were thirsty and kicked me to get up and pour juice, even though I was the one you'd been chasing and hacking at. And then you still complained from the ground that I didn't add ice cubes or lemon slices."

What else could he do? The Mydei of the past had no choice but to go back to the kitchen and mix the drink exactly as Phainon demanded. The Mydei of the present had no choice but to become Khaslana's final line of defense.

Shattered twice, Mydeimos would repair him twice. Torn apart ten times, Mydeimos would mend him ten times. And for a hundred times, a thousand times, ten thousand times. He was the Crown Prince who had repeatedly watched armies march out from the city walls, only now the army consisted of a solitary figure in white. That man alone propped up the sky and earth, holding back the churning mortal froth.

But it was hard to keep up. As the nymph climbed onto Khaslana's battered, dismembered body for the countless time, a thought surfaced: I'm not fast enough. I'm still not fast enough...

Even if Mydei went without sleep nor rest, even if he had committed so much of Phainon's code to memory, making it second nature, destruction always came more ruthlessly and swiftly than protection. Mydei wanted to solve the other unanswered riddles, to weave another layer of protection around Phainon, but where could he find the time for long journeys now?

Mydei paced the streets of Okhema, deep in thought, his face clouded with worry.

More children innocently asked why he had withdrawn from the battlefield, why he no longer even attended their pretend-play games; the youths who once followed him cast doubtful glances; the rumbleling, increasingly unconcealed, now seldom hid behind hands; the elders, who had always vehemently disapproved of submitting to this weak Holy City, pointed accusing fingers behind his back—See, I told you the Kremnoan blood in him has thinned.

A robe weaver adorned with gold thread brought concerned yet wary greetings from its master, wanting to know why the Deliverer, who had been asleep for months, was suddenly being kept indoors by Mydeimos? Even the Hyena of the Council of Elders sent an olive branch via a Purifier, saying she knew Mydeimos was pained by his lover's severe illness, and that if he was willing to take his beloved and leave the Chrysos Heirs' control, she had a way to cure Phainon's stubborn ailment—Mydei never expected the first person to make him laugh in a long time would be Caenis. Turns out, when you're utterly speechless, you really do laugh.

He looked up at the world-bearing Kephale. Oh, the omniscient and omnipotent sky father of Okhema, though I now understand you are but an illusory hope, please grant me some inspiration. Please show me a way to help Khaslana.

Wait. Illusory hope?

Mydei whipped his head around, staring at the Dawn Device that still emitted a dazzling light.

Oh. Of course. This must be the Trailblazer and Screwllum's clever plan. The machinations of Cifera, unaffected by us "outsiders," were still generously sheltering the Holy City.

Mydei had an idea. Things had developed to this point; it was time to further stir the waves.

He had said it before: for Amphoreus, and for Phainon, he could forsake wealth, he could forsake glory. If it could save their shared home, Mydeimos could discard everything. He could even forsake his own life.

So he could also forsake his pride.

Absurd puppet, will you laugh at this tiny, pathetic electrical signal? Mydeimos thought self-deprecatingly, just as the foolish Caenis, in my eyes, also interjected a clown's circus into my slide into a grey life.

"Let me check the goods first."

The cat woman landed nimbly beside the Prince.

Mydei was sitting on the rooftop, gazing towards the gates of Okhema. He handed her a small box containing two tiny gems, one red, one blue.

Cipher held them up to the light to inspect their quality and let out a low whistle. "Whoa, premium pigeon's blood and starry earth crystals. Since when is the little lion so generous? What do you need from me?"

Mydei handed her a scroll.

Cipher unrolled the paper. The list was long and diverse, ranging from strange plants of distant city-states to exclusive books and alchemical apparatus from the Grove of Epiphany,and a few people who need her to interview them with some weird questions, and she even needed to visit that remote, burned-down village always mentioned before a certain someone's name.

She snapped the list shut. "Gathering all this would require me to venture into dangerous areas swarming with Black Tide monsters. What are you planning?"

"I'm saving Phainon. How I'm doing it is not something you should ask, and not something I will tell."

"Oh, the Deliverer kid who's been sleeping forever? But he's my dear friend, my sworn brother!" Cipher's eyes rolled slyly. "It'll cost extra."

Mydei looked at her calmly, unsurprised. "How much more would it take to buy the genuine sincerity of the Demigod of Trickery? I fear the effect of mere material possessions is fleeting."

He stood up and looked towards the imposing figure of Kephale.

"How about this: you have a colossal secret. I can keep it for you."

Cipher's face stiffened slightly.

"...I don't know what you're talking about."

Ignoring her feigned ignorance, Mydei pointed downwards. "Look. During the Action Hour, Okhema's politicians, scholars, merchants, and refugees jostle at the city gates, bustling off to different destinations for their livelihoods. If a single drop of ink were to fall into this rushing river now, it would soon pollute the entire ocean."

"Cifera." Mydei's gaze was piercing. "Two gems and a promise are my final offer. Do you accept?"

The Demigod's thin lips trembled. She glanced fearfully at the silent Dawn Device, utterly baffled. "How do you know? If you... then it should—"

"It doesn't matter. Cifera, deal?"

"Are you threatening me?" Her voice turned cold.

"Let's say I am."

"Hmph, the Crown Prince of Kremnos, burdened with great responsibility. I've heard all about you from the countless praises sung far and wide. I don't believe you would personally destroy this world."

"Phainon has been unconscious for nearly half a year. I ALONE know the last way to save him. If this fails, tell me—"

Mydei took a step closer to Cipher. His eyes, fixed on her, were bloodshot. The once-calm golden orbs seemed tainted by something terrible.

"—what use is a world without Phainon to me?"

In an instant, the Scion of Strife tried to grab the Demigod of Trickery's hand, but the alert Cipher sensed the danger immediately. A cat-headed coin flipped through the air, and only flowing wind remained where she stood.

"Fine." Mydeimos stated, certain she could still hear him. "I'll take that as a refusal. Don't you dare regret it."

He jumped onto a higher rooftop, spread his arms, took a deep breath, and yelled down loudly:

"EVERYONE, LOOK AT ME! I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE!!" Mydei paused, as if giving Cipher one last chance. The commoners below had already been drawn by the commotion, all looking up in unison.

"THE DA— urk!"

A bolt of lightning and a gust of wind slammed into Mydei, knocking him over. The confused populace below only saw the figure of the Kremnoan Prince suddenly thrown backward, blocked from view by the high tiles.

"You *Dolos expletive*! Are you *Dolos expletive* insane?! If you want to die for love, go do it yourself!! Don't you *Okhema expletive* drag all of Amphoreus down with you two!!!" Cipher pinned Mydei down and pummeled him. "How can someone like you be *Okhema expletive* worthy of being with the little Deliverer?! If he knew what you were about to do, he'd be the first to draw his sword and cut you down!"

The triumphant Mydei, ignoring the blows and curses, actually burst out laughing heartily.

Cipher found it somewhat creepy. She stopped, jumped off him, her grey hair a mess from panic and sheer rage, making her look like a bristling cat.

"Three days." Mydei stood up and pointed a finger at her. "It's urgent. I'll be waiting for your news at Phainon's place."

Someone yelled from below: "Hey! What was the announcement? We're all waiting!"

Mydei peered over the edge. Cipher stared at him intently, as if one wrong syllable would result in a white blade going in and a golden blade coming out, consequences be damned—she'd send him to the other side first, immortal or not.

The Crown Prince cleared his throat. "I announce that today, all drinks at the city gate's courier station are on me, Mydeimos. Drink up, everyone!"

Amidst the cheers, Mydei looked back at Cipher, gave a slight bow to show his sincerity was offered, and tossed the small box back to her.

"I don't want these." Cipher flung them back at his face, flustered and exasperated. "Don't think I can't tell what these gems are meant for. I don't want wedding-or-funeral junk, it's bad luck! Get lost! Just keep your mouth shut and I'll thank the titans."

The Demigod of Trickery vanished again, leaving behind only one last, very dissatisfied attempt at bargaining in the wind:

"Five days! Three is impossible! Not even the chimeras in the Life Garden are driven this hard!"

Somehow, the matter was settled. Mydei let out a long sigh of relief. He had to go back now. Khaslana was still waiting for him.

When he got home, the imagined Phainon spoke again:

"Just now... you wouldn't have actually said it, right?"

"Prepared to draw your sword and cut me down?"

"...Answer me."

"A certain Deliverer who worries himself to death over the world is trying to trust the person he chose. He held back the question the whole way, too embarrassed to ask, but couldn't rest easy without knowing, his conscience eating at him. Right?" Mydei lay down and took Phainon's hand. Before departing for the dream battlefield, he answered in his heart:

"I wouldn't have said it, Phainon. Rest assured."

[ALERT]

Detection of Factor PoleMos600 behavior pattern deviating from model fitting range. Deviation magnitude ↑5.8%

Event summary follows:

……

An administrator closely monitoring the Express crew and the Genius Society noticed this small pop-up in the corner. He casually opened it for a look.

*Conclusion: Ignore. This electrical signal is influenced by the restoration of 33,550,336 cycle records and the extraterrestrial guests. Computational weight is currently highly concentrated on writing patches for Factor NeiKos496. Minor fitting deviations are within expected parameters.

With an assistant, things became somewhat easier. Cipher brought back what he needed on time, albeit with a gloomy expression. Mydei coaxed this senior figure as if baby sitting a kid, stuffing a large bag with candies, gold coins, and jewels, and handing her a new list before she left.

So, there were still so many things about Phainon he never knew.

Mydei twirled the small green flower Cipher had picked for him, as if retracing a segment of young Phainon's journey to Okhema, witnessing him pluck a sprig of fragrant solace by the dirt roadside.

Mydei could look up the flower's name, origin, and appearance in the Okhema library, but he couldn't fill in the anchor point for its scent in Phainon's heart. He tried guessing with similar plants or fruits, but the wrong answers swiftly vanished. The imagined Phainon giggled: Another loss for Mydeimos.

A very peculiar fragrance, and very sweet. How would Phainon describe it?... Mydei uncertainly raised his pen. The finally merging letters were like the two of them speaking in unison across time and space: It smells like toasted marshmallow.

The net bag filled with items and mementos was a Phainon-kaleidoscope. Mydeimos peered through the opening to see the blue-eyed sun running wild within. A boy at play, a youth at study, a man in battle. Phainon sighing deeply over how hard the alchemical incantations were to memorize during a long night of study; Phainon proudly patting his chest saying he'd helped a lost child; Phainon excitedly introducing this as the seventh greatsword he'd ever bought; Phainon whispering to him in tears about how the flour-grinding windmill could, in the end, only stir the ashes of Aedes Elysiae.

And so, when the nymph stubbornly and futilely came once more to mend Khaslana's body, he stopped and stared at that advancing line of calcification. He crawled to the ear of the colossal, fallen angel, his long horn burying itself in the pale golden hair, sinking into Irontomb's earth. Mydei used this brief stillness to curl up beside his lover, if only to press close to him for a moment.

Could this tiny, pathetic nymph, for the sake of a lovefire simulated by a stream of signals, truly cast aside the dignity of a so-called Crown Prince, humbling himself to prostrate in the dust and worship?

[ALERT][ERROR]

Detection of Factor PoleMos600 performing illegal overwrite on Factor NeiKos496!

Path: Eco-Construction Module, Cognitive Module, Cache Module, Anomaly Log Folder. Total of 4799 entries.

Factor PoleMos600 illegally created a new text document within Factor NeiKos496's Cache Module. Content summary follows:

Do you still remember yourself, Khaslana, who chases the dawn?

The one who bears expectations, the one who ignites hope, the one who overturns the table of fate. A prisoner shackled by hatred born from love. A hero who chose the same sacrifice thirty million times. A blazing sun burning eternally for Amphoreus.

Tell me, if Kephale never forgets: does the Deliverer, who promised me to see this through to the end, intend to keep his word? And how many wings have you already broken? How many times have you torn your heart from your chest?

You have lived vibrantly in this magnificent, multicolored world! Remember the scent of wheat from Aedes Elysiae, remember the bricks and tiles, the flowers and trees of the Holy City. Remember the heartfelt gratitude and love bestowed upon you by all, and every failure, every mistake, every loss—they are inscribed upon the path you have tread.

O, mightiest warrior! Do not surrender your beautiful soul! Behind you stand those who admire and yearn for you, awaiting their champion's return, longing for you to whisper tales of resilience in his ear, to depict legends he would never tire of hearing.

……

Revert operation?

[Confirm] [Cancel]

[Cancel]

* Conclusion: Delete the illegal document. Lower monitoring priority. Cease tracking non-critical data that has been overwritten more than 10 times. Report every 15 Entry Hour units.

Even though time in this small realm had stagnated, the outside world would not stop for Khaslana and Mydeimos.

The characters in Mydei's eyes blurred slightly, and the hand holding the tweezers trembled. He couldn't remember when he last ate again. He had to pause his work and go out. Fortunately, there were many places near Phainon's residence where he could grab a quick bite.

Mydei once again walked downwards against the flow of departing Chrysos Heirs, once again encountering the Kremnoan children cheering them on. Sometimes he felt fate was playing an endless, cyclical joke on him too. Mydeimos cast a faint glance and continued on, his foggy mind unwilling to utter another word. But to those children, the Prince was still a beacon of glory. They caught up to him, asking when he would go out and pound those big black monsters.

"He's not going." The slightly older girl, their ringleader, was the same one who had first questioned him. She sullenly called her friends to a stop. "Stop asking. The Prince hasn't fought in a long time. He's not going anymore."

Looks of confusion and disappointment pricked at his back like thorns. Mydeimos did not stop, nor did he refute them.

This scene was taken in by an old general standing in the shadows. He waited for the children to disperse, then blocked his young lord's path, shoving his shoulder.

"What sort of state is this!" Krateros scolded. "Look at your listless appearance! You neglect the future of Kremnos, you cast the Black Tide's onslaught aside! How can you act with so little sense of a Crown Prince's responsibility?!"

"I've long since handed over all protocols for our people's affairs to you and the other ministers. I said I have other tasks now. I don't need to explain much to you. Move."

"Can the task you speak of truly be for—for—that mere soldier who crawled from the hinterlands to Okhema? That so-called 'Deliverer' the Chrysos Heirs prattle about? Tell me, what manner of affliction demands that you alone must tend to it behind locked doors? Is the renowned Twilight Courtyard merely a decorative folly?"

Ah, he could have crafted a more clever and polished lie, but perhaps this madness, this apparent folly for a pretty face that others saw, was the shield he needed to protect Khaslana.

So Mydei only corrected him:

"He has a name, it's Phainon."

"You...! Mydeimos! I defended your name! Until this very hour, I dismissed the vile rumours—that you grew decadent amidst the Holy City's luxuries, that your senses were addled by the bathhouse's steam... By the Nikador! It seems it was not the mist that clouded your mind, but another! O Young Master! Warrior who conquered the Styx! Leading lion of Kremnos! How can the dazzling butterfly of Mnestia now blind your far-seeing eyes?!"

Mydei's vision darkened. Before he lost consciousness, the last thing in his ears was still Krateros's fury.

"How can you face the orphaned army of Kremnos who once followed you?! How can you face your people?! How can you face Gorgo—your mother!"

Mother, if you were still here, what would you think of me?

……

He didn't know how much time had passed before he felt someone patting his face.

"Hey, little lion? Little lion!"

Mydei woke up groggily and groggily drank the sugar water the grey-haired cat-woman fed him.

"You can't keep this up, Mydeimos. If anything happens to you, the hot potato of stitching the Deliverer kid back together will get passed to me!"

Mydei was confused for a few seconds until he recognized the person before him as Cipher and realized they were in Phainon's house. He bolted upright from the bed in a panic, spreading his arms wide, trying to shield the still-cracked skin of Phainon behind him.

"Save it, little lion. I know."

Mydei initially wanted to shout, WHAT DO YOU KNOW? But when he met Cifera's lake-like eyes, he found they no longer held the anger and impatience of being coerced into repeated errands. Instead, there was something calmer, deeper, more desperate—a rebellion against fate, and a profound hatred for the so-called creator.

He opened his mouth. A thousand questions swarmed in his chest, but none made it out.

The Trailblazer had instructed him: No matter what is happening outside, don't ask about our progress. The less you know, the safer Phainon is.

So he just nodded to her.

The same rebellion and hatred flowed between their locked gazes, like embers waiting to start a prairie fire.

"Back to business." Cipher shoved a bag of grilled meat wraps and a bundle of supplies into his hands. "First, eat. I'm terrified of death, so please, please don't leave the job of crawling into Irontomb to me. Second, everything you asked for last time, I've gathered it."

Then Cipher held out her empty hand to him.

A brief silence fell.

"What are you asking for?"

The Demigod of Trickery rolled her eyes, pondering for a moment. "You said it yourself... the effect of mere material possessions is fleeting... Time for my new payment, isn't it?"

Another brief silence followed. Mydei squinted at Cipher, his eyebrows furrowing slightly, as if cautiously thinking, verifying whether he should feel at ease about certain things.

Cipher shrugged. "I know you've been spending more than you make lately, and your own Kremnoans look down on you now. So pitiful. If you're not ready yet, I can be merciful and give you an extension until—"

"No."

Finally, Mydei said in a low voice:

"I am ready. Wait a moment. I'll go get it."

While Mydei went to another room, Cipher looked down at the sleeping Phainon. Screwllum hadn't granted her special sight; she couldn't see the code and characters yet, only the unfathomable starry sky within his body.

Good luck, little Deliverer. She gently flicked Phainon's nose bridge, offering a blessing.

Mydei returned, cradling a package in both hands. Slowly and solemnly, he placed it into Cipher's palm.

Golden eyes locked intently on blue ones—a silent warning.

Cipher weighed it; coins clinked inside.

"That's more like it. I'm off."

"...Be careful on the road."

After the Demigod left, Mydei paced around the room anxiously.

The imagined Phainon reminded him: "Mydei, everything else can wait. If you don't eat something now, you'll faint again."

Mydei obediently grabbed a wrap and began to devour it. But after all, it was just his imagination. He looked back; Phainon was still sleeping quietly. Mydei gripped his hand tightly, rubbing his own cheek against the warmth of its back. Krateros's scolding and the children's disappointment seeped into his bones with a delayed ache, making the Crown Prince's spine throb faintly; Cipher's awakening churned another kind of unease within him. The lion pressed against his beloved, seeking comfort in silence.

"I'll be fine. Today was just a small accident," he explained to Phainon. "And I won't give her the chance to crawl into Irontomb either. There are still some... little secrets about certain aspects of us in your code. Wouldn't be convenient for an outsider to know, haha... I just..."

Mydeimos paused. He knew many things must never be spoken aloud.

"It's nothing. Phainon, I miss you."

[ALERT][ERROR]

Detection of Factor PoleMos600 performing illegal overwrite on Factor NeiKos496!

Path: Eco-Construction Module, Cognitive Module, Cache Module, Anomaly Log Folder. Total of 3146 entries.

Factor PoleMos600 illegally created a new text document within Factor NeiKos496's Cache Module. Content summary follows:

Do you still remember me? Khaslana, who chases the dawn?

I am the Crown Prince who placed a paper crown upon your head amidst children's teasing laughter. I am the lion who craved your warmth during afternoon slumber. I am the lover who witnessed you make a wish to the Titan beneath the eternal day.

Your fingers interlaced, trembling lashes like spring vines caressed by the wind, then eyes opening anew, their brilliance putting the clear sky to shame.

Speak! If Kephale never forgets: Would you still recognize my face? Do you too cherish every moment of our parting hours? Do you still yearn for that wished-for future—where we grow old together, and life is sweet as honey?

Phainon, Khaslana, Deliverer—you may have thirty million names. I will call for you thirty million times. I will find you across the Black Tide thirty million times. I wish to hold you in my arms thirty million times, to imprint more kisses than the embers burning in your chest.

But when I see you in my dreams, I am jolted by the realization that a fragile nymph cannot block Irontomb's assaults, cannot bear your bone-deep agony for you, cannot quench the Eternal Blaze! I cannot even shed a single tear of blood for you!

Mock me, rebuke me, scorn my impotence—do so with abandon! If you would but speak again for this shameful coward, then I might hear your voice once more.

My love, my other half, the destination and home toward which all my journeys lead…

……

Revert operation?

[Confirm] [Cancel]

[Cancel]

* Conclusion: Delete the illegal document. Lower monitoring priority. Cease tracking non-critical data that has been overwritten more than 100 times. Report every 30 Entry Hour units.

*Admin Note: Cease flagging these documents as critical data. They are merely output from simulated emotional functions of electrical signals. They provide no positive or negative feedback to Irontomb's Annihilation Calculation. Such redundant system garbage need not be reported going forward. Delete them directly.

Chapter Text

To be destruction, or to destroy destruction—that is the question.

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the tyrannical slings and arrows from the Aeon, or to take arms against a sea of Amphoreus' troubles and, by Strife, sweep them all away?

/Cognition://Definition: The Immortal King Mikas :

/// Musical ///Fiction; Allegory; Song; Performance;

///Output Cache: Fondness; Enjoyment; Happiness;

//// Association Entry: Thanatos; Stratagem; Wheat Web; Okhema Grand Theatre; Crossword Puzzle; Cranberry Spritzer;

…

"Excuse me, coming through, pardon me."

Phainon weaved swiftly through the noisy crowd with a tray, the liquid in the two tall glasses sloshing precariously. The figure with gold-red hair up ahead was still busy writing. He grinned and picked up his pace.

Turning into the fourth row, Phainon could already see that the final vertical column on the crossword grid before Mydei was still blank, but Mydei had simultaneously grasped the answer and begun writing furiously. Five letters, written in three seconds.

Thump!

Mydei slammed his pen down. Phainon took his seat.

"Draw," said Phainon, handing Mydei his drink.

"What draw? I finished the last word before your backside even touched the seat." Mydei shoved his playbill for The Immortal King Mikas at Phainon. The crossword puzzle on the back for the audience to pass the time had just been completed. He took a sip of his drink. "Hmm? This is good. What did you order?"

"Cranberry spritzer. Wanted to get you pomegranate but they were sold out." Phainon scanned Mydei's sprawling handwriting. "Your writing is so messy."

"Is admitting my victory that difficult for you, Deliverer?"

They bickered and chatted like this, back and forth, until the theatre lights softly dimmed and the surrounding noise gradually ceased.

It was no small feat to stage such a refined public performance under the Black Tide. When the curtain calls came, Phainon was the first to rise in applause, his enthusiasm quickly sparking a wave of standing ovations throughout the house. Mydei clapped along, glancing sideways at his boyfriend, who was cupping his hands around his mouth to loudly cheer the bowing actors. The stage lights made Phainon's blue eyes sparkle, his cheeks flushed with excitement, making Mydei feel the exorbitant price he'd paid to snag these good seats for the premiere was worth every penny.

"I particularly loved the part where the Nightingale impersonated Mikas's dead wife to beguile him," Phainon said, still savoring the performance on their way home. He jumped onto the ledge of a flower bed, singing a song from the play. Mydei instinctively reached out to steady his hand.

Singing while gazing at the Prince holding his hand, a mischievous idea struck Phainon. In the next verse, he secretly swapped the male lead's name:

"O Immortal King Mydeimos!

"You who deceived the gloom, while I wander on the other shore!

"Why so cold of heart, so chill of soul, O Mydeimos, open the window, open the window!

"Come away with me to where the Antila flowers bloom—"

He jumped down from the flower bed, circling closely around Mydei. He fancied he'd captured the essence of the actress's ghostly grace, but the actual effect was more like an overly affectionate big puppy welcoming its owner home.

Laughing, Mydei interrupted him: "I broke free from Thanatos's control fairly and openly. Do not compare me to that scheming, deranged fool. And besides, you're standing right here safe and sound before me. Don't sing nonsense."

"That was the Nightingale in disguise," Phainon, still deep in character, murmured softly into Mydei's ear, the street deserted in the Curtain-Fall Hour as he held him close. "I would never want to drag you down with me. You'll remember that, won't you?"

Khaslana awoke from a beautiful dream.

He did not open his eyes or move a muscle, keeping his breathing perfectly steady and even, as if he were still asleep.

‘Dream’ wasn't quite accurate. Lately, similar fragments had been popping into his mind out of nowhere, likely memories from that other Phainon.

Khaslana had long lost any sense of time. These fragments were like low-resolution, badly compressed videos on the World Wound Web, that had been reposted one too many times. The handsome face of the Kremnoan Crown Prince, which had once captivated him at first glance, was now growing somewhat blurry, his voice muffled as if through velvet. Khaslana sat alone in the empty, high-up booth, watching a play-within-a-play that seemed unrelated to him.

I wondered how partner was progressing.

As long as I could buy time for Amphoreus against Destruction, what did it matter if I was trapped here forever? Occasionally watching these low-resolution clips was fine too. They were all himself, after all. He could—what was that trendy net phrase Mydei had mentioned? Ah, right—they were a "substitute" for him.

He felt an itch on his body, as if an insect was crawling around. Was this a new trick from Irontomb?

Khaslana quietly focused his awareness, ready to swing his sword the moment a threat appeared, even if it meant splitting himself in half. But unexpectedly, the little insect made no move to sting him or call more of its kind to devour him. Where it lingered, he only felt a slight pulling sensation. Simultaneously, scabs of golden blood formed and vanished; his aching wounds and severed limbs were gradually healing.

So that's how it was...

As the insect began mending the fingers on his right hand, Khaslana opened his eyes and glanced down. It was like briefly returning to his childhood, crouching in the shade of a tree in Aedes Elysiae, watching ants diligently carry grains of wheat for an entire afternoon. The nymph had its back to him, continuously injecting code into the severed area with its antennae. The data flow efficiency was hardly impressive, but perhaps that was why it had gone undetected by Irontomb.

Bone was slowly rendered from the cross-section, followed by blood vessels, nerves, and muscle. Just as it began repairing the outermost layer of skin, Khaslana suddenly raised his arm, cupping it on the back of his hand and lifting it before his eyes.

It was a reddish-brown stag beetle nymph, patterns on its carapace faintly glowing with golden light.

The sudden movement startled it terribly. Khaslana heard a short, sharp whirr. Its six tiny legs clung to his finger as it shook its head, looking around frantically. Khaslana thought his giant form had frightened it and meant to offer some comfort, but the nymph suddenly leapt forward, landing on his forehead and causing Khaslana's head to fall back to the ground with the momentum.

A strangely familiar action. It reminded him inexplicably of when they used to ambush Black Tide Creatures, and Mydei would always press his head down during dangerous moments.

The nymph walked all over him, climbing onto the bridge of his nose to stand tall and look out, then scurrying to the tips of his feet to check another direction. It anxiously surveyed its surroundings like a vigilant soldier searching for traces of the enemy.

It was all too familiar. Could it be...

"Are you Mydeimos?" Khaslana asked softly, not knowing why he was putting faith in such an absurdity.

The nymph seemed to relax slightly only after confirming there was truly no abnormality around. It crawled back before Khaslana's eyes, hesitated for a moment, then lowered its head and slowly rubbed its long horn against the soft flesh of his cheek.

Mydei apparently couldn't speak. Khaslana blinked, then intuitively activated another method of communication.

[NeiKos496 requests to establish an information transfer pathway]

[Accept]

NeiKos496: Is it you, Mydei?

PoleMos600: It's me, crrk

NeiKos496: How are things outside?

PoleMos600: Everything is fine for now, don't worry, crrk

PoleMos600: With you here, the Black Tide's offensive has slowed considerably. Casualty rates for citizens and Chrysos Heirs have both dropped significantly. The Deliverer is worthy of the name, you've protected many people, crrk

NeiKos496: That's good.

NeiKos496: So it was you repairing my body. I should have guessed sooner.

NeiKos496: How did you—

NeiKos496: Oh, must be partner's doing. But it's too dangerous here. You shouldn't come often.

PoleMos600: Heh, want me to come less? Simple. Just make sure the Deliverer gets injured less, crrk

PoleMos600: When did you wake up? Why hasn't Irontomb reacted, crrk?

NeiKos496: If I keep my mind sufficiently calm, the firewall won't activate.

NeiKos496: But most of the time I cannot remain calm, nor do I wish to wait.

NeiKos496: Why do you always have a "crrk" at the end of your messages?

PoleMos600: Don't know. The underlying code seems to be written this way. I can't control it, crrk

PoleMos600: Don't laugh, crrk

NeiKos496: I'm not laughing.

PoleMos600: Just because you didn't type "haha" means you're not laughing? Then what's that on your face? crrk?

NeiKos496: It's the expression of love of seeing you again.

PoleMos600: ……

NeiKos496: ……

NeiKos496: Okay, that was a bit cheesy, wasn't it?

PoleMos600: No, crrk

PoleMos600: It's good to make you smile. It's one of the few things I can do for you now, crrk

PoleMos600: I also have a set of emojis here. The Trailblazer said the nymph's memory is tight, so why was this useless stuff loaded in? Want to see, crrk?

NeiKos496: Sure.

PoleMos600: ( ♡´∀` ♡ )

PoleMos600: ( 。• ω -)ε • ｡ )

PoleMos600: (｡•ω•｡)ﾉ ♡

NeiKos496: Why are they all the same type?

NeiKos496: I'm going to print this log and post it at the entrance of the Kremnoan palace.

PoleMos600: Good. I'll be waiting for that day, crrk

PoleMos600: All done. You rest well now. Don't get up and start fighting right away, crrk

NeiKos496: Mm, I know. You can go.

NeiKos496: I love you too.

[Information transfer pathway disconnected]

After disconnecting, Mydei stood on the fingertip he had just repaired, looking at Khaslana for a while, wanting to imprint those golden eyes, both familiar and strange, upon his heart during this precious opportunity.

Khaslana cupped Mydei closer.

The deity who stood guard alone in the crimson-black inferno, his form as brilliant and majestic as the sun, lowered his pale, fan-like eyelashes and bestowed the lightest kiss in the world upon the tiny lover perched on his fingertip. ※

Then he placed Mydei on the ground, the tiny insect rustling down his finger. Khaslana lay down obediently, waiting for Mydei to leave the core area of Irontomb.

The instant that electrical signal went offline, Dawnbreaker arced forth with a terrifying radiance. The ground rumbled and shook. Nauseating abominations of the Black Tide charged toward Khaslana. He soared into the air, his wings like clouds blocking the sky. The sun's warmth was ever only for those he held dear, while the lackeys of Destruction would inevitably suffer the flames of a solar flare.

[ALERT]

Destruction Factor NeiKos496 Repeated Load Detected!

Load Interception Failed!

NeiKos496 Neuron Occupancy: 39.5% | Electrical Signal Integrity: 91.6%

Destruction Factor Recovery Rate: ↑224.8%

[ALERT][ALERT][HIGH-PRIORITY ALERT]

δ-me13 Hub Core Invaded by Factor NeiKos496!

......

"Kiddo, the usual three for me." Cipher tossed out a bag of Balance Coins, casually swinging her long legs up onto the adjacent chair. Underground taverns didn't have many stuffy rules—or rather, whatever the Demigod of Trickery did became the rule.

"Boss Lady, you're back! Aiyah, you're too generous!" The grey-haired proprietor grinned, wrinkles deepening, as he obsequiously served up aged spirits. His hands, however, weren't idle, swiftly sweeping the Balance weights into his pocket. "Hehe, hitting the jackpot lately? You're spending much more freely than before."

"Landed a gig with great pay and steady work." The cat-woman stretched. "Meeoowww—So good! Finally getting a taste of the royal treatment. If that Seamstress wasn't still lurking outside trying to corner me, I'd have rented out the Marble Palace for a proper good time."

"Royal treatment?"

"Here." Cipher extended her hand, showing the bartender the array of rings and bracelets. The gems still shone dazzlingly even under the tavern's dim light. "See this? This quality? These are top-shelf, museum-grade pieces. The kind only the Kremnoan royals use. Giving you lot a free viewing today."

"You mean their Crown Prince, Mydeimos? He'd hire the likes of us for jobs?"

"The higher the rank, the dirtier the hands." Cipher said mysteriously, her words a mix of truth and falsehood.

The bartender and a few other onlookers exchanged meaningful glances, seeming slightly disapproving.

"Boss Lady, you're not in Okhema much, you wouldn't know... That Prince lately, tsk tsk." The owner lowered his voice, tapping a finger to his temple. "Not quite right up here."

"Oh? Do tell."

The cat-eared demigod cast out the question as bait. Now Source A and B took the stage.

"What kind of people the Kremnoans are, we all know. But their valiant Prince seems cursed: Black Tide Creatures gather on all sides, yet the lion remains silent, no roar to be heard. The handsome lad lets his appearance wither, his sturdy frame wasting away day by day."

Cifera: "One adorns themselves for those who appreciate them. If the one who appreciates them lies with closed eyes in deep slumber, what use is grace and bearing?"

"The neighbors see him act strange, talking to himself at times; dashing between places like a Flying Amphora everyday, yet never fetching any goods. Scholars see his pen fly across the page, but up close the paper is blank, nothing written; if you try to take his booklet, the Prince flies into a rage, threatens to throw you in jail."

Cifera: "Best not provoke him. You can't afford to offend him. Has no one heard the Prince's beloved is gravely ill, beyond a cure?"

"Of course we have—the Deliverer's coma has the Chrysos Heirs uneasy. The Gerousia has tried multiple times to use it to disrupt the Flame Chase efforts. Does Mydeimos truly have some unspeakable, miraculous cure, becoming the antidote to this strange illness? Or has he lost his grip on reality, stubbornly clinging to delusion, leaving us with only a mad king?"

"HAHAHAHA!" laughed Source C, his gold tooth glinting. "You're all far too naive! Could it be this illness is just a lie, and the reality is even crazier than we imagine? The tyrannical lion enraged the antelope, has imprisoned his lover who wanted to flee, stopping him from resistance! The way I see it, it's worse—Phainon of Aedes Elysiae was already smothered by the Prince in his bed, now dead and gone!"

"SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"

Cipher suddenly slammed the table so hard several bottles rattled and shattered on the floor. Everyone stared at the Demigod in shock, not daring to utter another word.

Ah, damn, lost my cool. Cipher annoyed. No chance for a retake.

"The Deliverer kid is alive and well. I've seen it with my own eyes. Gossip about anything else is whatever, but if I hear anyone spreading rumors that Phainon is dead again, don't blame me if Zagreus comes knocking on your door."

"So... you know something?" The scent of gossip still tempted them. Cipher knew well that whatever she said would soon seep through the omnipresent sewers and spread all over Okhema.

Cifera: "The trials of love have felled many a lovesick soul throughout the ages. Alas, the truth is just as the rumors say: Mydeimos refuses to believe futile treatments cannot save his beloved. He has gone too far down the wrong path, lost in delusion! Even as an ally of the Flame Chase, this thief Cifera can only offer minor help. Matters of the heart are difficult to advise on, and even harder to prevent."

"Even if what you say is reasonable, a mad king is still a mad king. Even if we get through today safely, who knows if tomorrow he might shatter the sun itself? When the final straw breaks his back, and time brings only despair, Mydei will take the unconscious Phainon and plunge headlong into the homeland of the west wind."

Cifera: "No... He, he wouldn't..."

"See, even the Demigod of Trickery has no certain words. Ah well, we're just mushrooms in the corner. No need to take the affairs of a foreign crown prince so much to heart."

...The song ended, the crowd dispersed.

Cipher stood at the tavern entrance, feeling displeased. Before she awoke, had the little Prince suffered like this every single day?

Hear me, you who watch me now—that wasn't exactly a lie. Mydeimos's love is real, and Cifera's helplessness is no falsehood either.

Forget it! She still had goodies from Mydei in her pocket. Off to the next stop! Time to spend! To carouse! Wine, treats, and song!

As she flitted away, a single golden thread slithered out from a crack in the tavern's signboard, flying toward the heart of Okhema.

——

A knock came at the door just as Mydei had finished a repair session, supporting Phainon’s back to slide the thin blue shirt back onto him. Cipher had once teased him for always doing this meaningless thing—it’s just going to be cut open again in a couple of days anyway. But he wanted, in these occasional moments of respite, to turn and see the complete Deliverer lying in the covers, as if merely taking a short nap.

Mydei ignored the sound. The person outside finally couldn't resist calling out.

"Lord Mydei." Castorice's voice was gentle. "I know you're in there."

He tucked the code-laced parchment booklet into his breast pocket and bent down to kiss Phainon.

"Myde— Ah."

The door opened. Although Castorice had heard a thing or two from the rumors circulating in the city, finally seeing Mydeimos in his current state with her own eyes still made her expression cloud with sorrow.

"Castorice, I was just about to look for you." Mydei spoke to her, but his expression seemed lost in the clouds. "I want you to contact a few people who are already dead. There's something I need to ask them."

"Wh-what? How could I possibly do that?"

"Since you have already... Ah, I forgot... The current you hasn't yet attained Thanatos's authority... If you had passed the trials of death, you wouldn't be standing here in Okhema talking to me now... My mistake..."

Castorice's brow furrowed slightly. She didn't understand what Mydei was fantasizing about and stated her purpose directly:

"Lord Mydei, Lady Aglaea wishes to see you. She requests you spare some time to come to the Marble Palace for a... reunion."

She couldn't bear to keep staring into those hazy golden eyes anymore, glancing slightly aside, trying to peer past him into Phainon's room. But Mydei suddenly braced an arm against the doorframe, blocking her view like a beast guarding its food.

"Aglaea?" Mydei seemed jerked back to reality. "Hah. She didn't send a Garmentmaker with a message, but asked you to invite me personally. It seems I simply must go today?"

"...Please don't make this difficult for me, my lord."

Castorice led the way, five paces ahead. The waterfall parted, granting a path as the azure curtain slowly drew open. A floating disc descended, lifted them up, and the heroes' bath welcomed a hero onto its stage.

The leader of the Chrysos Heirs turned around, but the perceptions from her golden threads only made her tense further. The Kremnoan Crown Prince made no effort to hide or conceal himself, yet his mind was like a fortress of brass walls—her probing threads could retrieve not a shred of information. The three-in-one messenger's expressions were fraught with worry, the state of their former student made the loving sisters sigh with sorrow. Castorice, however, simply lowered her eyes quietly, hoping for an explanation that would satisfy everyone.

Aglaea: "Good day, Mydeimos."

Mydeimos: "Dispense with the pleasantries, Goldweaver. I know you wish to discuss the Deliverer."

Aglaea: "Straight to the point, just as I like it. Since you claimed you could rouse the slumbering Phainon, .time has flown by like a white steed. What is the current state of our companion? Every friend waits in burning anxiety."

Mydeimos: "If you ask only of progress itself, I shall speak candidly: Victory for Amphoreus awaits not far off; our efforts have already borne fruit."

Aglaea: "Such hollow words cannot convince me. You halted the treatments, refused all visits. If his condition had taken a turn for the better, how could there be no news? If the spark of hope cannot reignite the sun, then we should seek other methods early—"

Mydeimos: "No."

The air hung still for a brief moment.

Aglaea: "A brusque refusal—do you judge I can only acquiesce? Arrogant words—blind belief that you will surely win? Were it not for my Mentor staking her reputation as your guarantor, the rumors outside would be far uglier. Do you realize you have betrayed your people's admiration and threaten the very progress of the Flame Chase journey!"

Tribios: "De, little De, whatever difficulties you have, you must confide in us... Aglaea always keeps watch on the condemnations swirling on the World Wound Web; she uses her own body as a dam to block the tidal surge of filth aimed at you, only defenses from those who still trust you flow into her golden threads. Snowy is our shared companion, everyone is willing to lend their full support. One Tribbie is small and weak, a thousand Tribbies spread the Flame Chase oracle far and wide; all Chrysos Heirs are brothers and sisters, why not tell us the whole story from beginning to end?"

Mydeimos: "Ah, I have exhausted myself explaining time and again. We are gathered today, a rare occasion, and I have no wish to repeat the same words over and over! Only I know the truth about Phainon, only I hold the secret remedy. The star that descended from the heavens, the Aeon bestowed its blessing upon me, allowing me to see clearly now... while your eyes remain unopened, blind to the cycles of the past..."

The Crown Prince gazed into the distant void, as if having forgotten some injunction of the Trailblazer.

Aglaea: "Your words are incoherent and nonsensical, doubling my worries; you claim to have explained a thousand times till your mouth is parched, yet it's all riddles impossible to decipher. Mydeimos, is all this some scheme of those celestial visitors? Perhaps this love was once pure, but your stubborn delusion is now being used by them!"

Castorice: "My Lady, please do not judge based on premature conjecture. The guests from the stars have indeed helped us resolve many constraints. Sir, I also implore you, cease your concealment. For Phainon, Aglaea would also give her all."

Mydeimos: "Only me. He has only me... Only I can save the Deliverer..."

Aglaea: "It seems communication has served its purpose. Mydeimos, I now issue an ultimatum! Phainon of Aedes Elysiae is a registered First-Class guardsman of Okhema. You, as Crown Prince of Kremnoa, are merely a guest in the Holy City and have no right to detain our citizen privately! Hand him over."

Mydeimos: "I SAID, NO!"

Aglaea: "Guards!"

The Marble Palace, supposedly cleared out, suddenly teemed with Chrysos Heirs guards emerging from seemingly nowhere, leveling spears and shields at Mydei. The battle-hardened Crown Prince let out a scornful laugh. "Aglaea, knowing me as you do, do you truly think this rabble of shrimp soldiers and crab generals can stop me?"

Before the words had faded, sharp red crystals erupted across the marble floor tiles, forcing the crowd back step by step. Perhaps the last vestiges of Mydei's reason were spent on avoiding genuine harm to innocents. The red crystals and the lion's iron fists served only to clear a path, sweeping aside the soldiers who charged at him haphazardly one after another, leaving them groaning and clutching their stomachs at a distance. Seeing this, Castorice summoned her scythe, but she trembled, hesitated, unwilling to aim her weapon at a friend. Tribbie and Trinnon tried to fly forward to mediate but were fearfully pulled back by Castorice; Trianne was still shouting Mydei's childhood nickname, hoping words could still resolve this.

In an instant, a overwhelming wave of golden threads shot forth like arrows, hooking firmly onto Mydei's body, trapping the nymph like a tightly woven spider's web. Sparks flew where the threads cut into his armor, and Mydei's violent struggles produced a shrill, grating screech that made one want to cover their ears.

For every cluster of threads the red crystals severed, more grew forth. Mydei twisted around, realizing he wouldn't get through this door without dealing with Aglaea. He spun violently and lunged towards the Goldweaver. The taut threads, suddenly unbalanced, collapsed, sending Aglaea reeling, dizzy and unsteady. Tribbie caught her, Trianne screamed, Castorice tried to run and block but was too late. Finally, Aglaea could only gather her threads to barely block the red crystals before the group, but some shattered fragments broke through the net. One piece grazed the beautiful cheek of the Romantic Demigod, leaving a trail of golden blood.

"Mydeimos!" Castorice shouted angrily. "Have you gone mad?!"

The Crown Prince ignored her, descending via a staircase paved by his red crystals. Castorice moved to pursue, but Aglaea stopped her.

"After he leaves, tell the guards to seal all exits of the Marble Palace as planned. The outer secondary gates are to be closed after he returns. Don't let the Kremnoan people see him like that..." Aglaea said, holding her cheekbone as she stood up. "And also... Ay... In-Inform Xenia to prepare some food for him..."

Tribbie worriedly tried to examine Aglaea's wound.

"I'm fine, teacher, it's just a graze on the surface." She sighed wearily. "But how did things come to this? Why do I feel, despite all my calculations and efforts, that I'm still being led by the nose by someone? Why is the Flame Chase Journey so fraught with hardship? When will we finally see the dawn of Era Nova..."

[ALERT]

Detected Factor PoleMos600 behavior pattern deviation from model fitting interval. Deviation magnitude ↑24.1%

Event summary follows:

……

* Conclusion: Interesting. Continue observation.

The chaos of the Marble Palace was shut away behind the watery curtain. Mydei emerged, panting heavily, startling a few pedestrians strolling leisurely outside. He paid no mind to their stares, running towards Phainon's home. A deep sense of wrongness filled him with anxiety. Aglaea had clearly been pushed to her limit by him, so why had she let him leave the palace so easily? Even now, could she still—

His thoughts cut off abruptly as he turned into the familiar street. A crowd of onlookers had gathered, craning their necks to see something, creating a noisy commotion. Mydei's heart hammered wildly against his ribs; a sense of foreboding pounded in his chest. He shoved his way roughly through the crowd, pushing aside those blocking his path.

A wreath of blue hydrangeas had always hung on Phainon's door, with a chimera plushie that looked remarkably like him perched on top. In the past, when Mydei came to visit, he would gently poke its nose during the wait, until the door swung open cheerfully and Mydei's finger, aimed at Vigethos, would end up booping his host's nose instead.

But now the door stood wide open. The interior was dark, the curtains drawn tight, like a black hole.

The wreath had fallen. The adorable Vigethos was gone. Hydrangea blossoms lay scattered on the ground, trampled into mud, leading inside.

No. Impossible. It couldn't be.

That lock was specially custom-made by him—

Mydei burst into the room. The bedroom was empty. Phainon was gone. The soft bedding retained only a shallow impression of a curled-up form.

Mydeimos's breath came in short, rapid gasps. Dizziness washed over him. He didn't dare to think what this meant.

No. No...

Clutching at a final shred of hope, he checked every room, every corner, but it was a futile act of self-deception.

"AGLAEA!!!" The Crown Prince's roar, accompanied by the sound of his fist smashing a crater into the wall, sending the onlookers fleeing in fear.

Chapter Text

Seven days until the opening, Mydeimos charged at the gates of the Marble Palace.

Golden gauntlets hammered against the blessed masonry, the very Spine of Bedrock bending under the force.

Blood-stained crystal shards erupted in waves, yet they could not breach the impregnable defenses.

Mydeimos: "Aglaea! You shameless witch!! You viper full of schemes!! You ignorant, self-righteous fool!! Where have you hidden him?! Give Phainon back to me!!!"

[ALERT]

Factor PoleMos600 behavior pattern deviation detected beyond model fitting parameters. Deviation magnitude ↑33.7%

Five days until the opening, Mydeimos threatened her sternly, then followed with cunning persuasion. The Lance of Fury seemed poised to strike, the Coin of Whimsy willing to prostrate itself before the Demigod's skirt.

Mydeimos: "Aglaea, return Phainon to me. As a leader of the Chrysos Heirs, you surely do not wish to see the Kremnoan armies at your gates. Once I tear down Okhema's walls, let's see where you can wield your schemes then."

Mydeimos: "Aglaea, return Phainon to me. I understand your ideals; whatever obstacles the Flame Chase encounters, I will remove them for you. I know your worries; whatever grievances Cifera holds, I can help you resolve them."

[ALERT]

Factor PoleMos600 behavior pattern deviation detected beyond model fitting parameters. Deviation magnitude ↑38.2%

Three days until the opening, Mydeimos collapsed before the door, begging piteously.

Past glory and promises were cast aside; the Crown Prince's tears could have overflowed a Chalice of Plenty.

Mydeimos: "Aglaea, Lady Goldweaver... I implore you... return Phainon to me... He is fighting a lonely battle in a place unseen... Without my repairs, his body might be severed by the enemy, his consciousness turning to stone from the burning..."

Mydeimos: "Punish me however you wish, I will confess to any crime... Have mercy, Demigod of Mnestia! Just pity a man heartbroken for his partner! Our souls are already separated; how can you bear to part our physical forms as well..."

[ALERT]

Factor PoleMos600 behavior pattern deviation detected beyond model fitting parameters. Deviation magnitude ↑45.3%

On the day of the opening, Mydeimos's voice had grown hoarse.

The meals brought by Xenia came and went, not a single bite swallowed.

The wind blew a poster to his side; the Prince, head bowed in silence, shifted his gaze.

The Immortal King Mikas premiered tonight; Phainon's song echoed anew in his ears.

Yes, yes, why was he wasting time here?

He should go piece together the remaining runes! Then he could surely reunite with Phainon!

Aglaea paced anxiously. The days Mydei had spent blockading the door had left her too worried to eat or drink much. The pink-haired girl detached the instrument she had brought from the Courtyard from Phainon's chest and shook her head at Aglaea with some remorse.

Hyacinthia: "Please, do not be so anxious. There must be a turn of events yet... But my conclusion differs not from the multitude of physicians at the Courtyard: the Deliverer is not ill, nor has he suffered external injury. Phainon seems merely weary, having simply fallen into a slumber."

The girl hesitated for a moment, as if she wanted to add something more, but a guard suddenly rushed into the hall in a panic, shouting loudly.

"It's terrible! Lady Aglaea! Something awful has happened!"

Those were the last words Aglaea wanted to hear.

"L-Lord Mydeimos! He went back home, then came out carrying Lord Phainon's sword, heading straight for the Okhema Grand Theatre!"

"What?" Aglaea could scarcely believe her ears. "Armed?! Is there anyone at the theatre today?"

"So many! The Immortal King Mikas is playing during the Parting Hour! My Lady, please go check quickly! That Prince scared so many people on his way; the streets are in chaos! The Captain sent me back to report. If we couldn't stop him, I fear he's already broken in by now!"

Hyacine suddenly stood up nervously, interjecting, "Are there children inside the theatre?"

"Huh? Uh..." The guard didn't understand why she asked, stammering as he tried to recall. "Probably not. Mikas seems to be for adults only— Aiya, Miss Hyacine, adults' lives matter too!"

"I'm going now. You return to your post immediately. Dispatch all nearby soldiers to maintain order and evacuate the theatre crowd!"

"Lady Aglaea, I'll come with you!"

Hyacine had barely stepped forward when the other woman hurriedly pressed her back. "No! Absolutely not... We must have someone we utterly trust to guard Phainon now. You stay here."

Lady Goldweaver left swiftly with the guard. The vast Hero's Bath was left with only two people. The hot springs still gurgled, their faint echoes resonating in the spacious Marble Palace.

Hyacinthia: "..."

Hyacinthia: "Ah, Khaslana, who chases the dawn. They all say Mydeimos has gone mad, yet this madness makes me envy him. A healer unskilled in war has little use for now, and can only wait quietly for the Water Lyre's melody to play. I wonder how you fare, ensnared within Irontomb, but I believe the future of Amphoreus must be the Utopia where the dawn finally arrives."

The once-fellow student grasped her junior's hand, pressed it against her own forehead, and after a long prayer, she smiled softly.

Hyacinthia: "Just this once, please allow me to call you this."

Good luck, Phainie.

[ALERT]

Factor PoleMos600 behavior pattern significantly deviates from model fitting interval. Deviation magnitude ↑60.0%

Event summary follows:

……

[Retrieving simulated data metrics for Factor PoleMos600]

Heart Rate: ↑20.6％

Rest Time: ↓94.3％

Emotional Volatility Index: ↑87.1％

Physiological Function Composite Index: ↓46.2％

* Conclusion: Observed that PoleMos600's cognition and behavior regarding repairing NeiKos496 have exhibited overfitting. Based on past operational data, unrestricted simulation based on "Obsession" has a 99.7% probability of ultimately leading the individual to destruction. Assessed as non-threatening. Removing the [ALERT] tag for PoleMos600.

Aglaea charged into the Grand Theatre against the fleeing crowd. The scene before her left the millennia-old Demigod aghast.

Screams filled the air. Spectators who hadn't escaped in time crouched in corners, hugging their heads and weeping. Brave guards clambered over seats, shielding them as they bent low to escape. The central seats were smashed askew by scattered debris, as if a glorious spiral staircase of red crystal had been forged and then shattered there. Clusters of magic-born spikes had exploded all over the theatre. Aglaea's gaze followed the destruction upwards. The massive central chandelier hung precariously, its connecting column to the ceiling hacked to pieces.

Mydeimos lay half-reclining upon it, his clothes dishevelled, the golden armor on his arms gone. He lazily twirled Phainon's sword.

"What are you doing?! Mydeimos!" Aglaea shouted.

The golden-red figure high above paid her no heed.

Aglaea turned and grabbed a guard rushing past. "…How many casualties so far?" she asked, bracing for the worst.

"The count isn't finished, but no casualties have been found yet. Everyone is just terrified."

"What exactly happened?"

"The citizens said he came in holding the sword halfway through the play. Everyone thought it was a special effect until the Crown Prince suddenly started ranting things they couldn't understand, swinging the sword at the stone pillars and the empty back rows—actually swinging it! The theatre fell into chaos immediately. Then he started conjuring these red crystals like he had a vendetta against someone. The audience panicked and fled, and then he—" The guard pointed a trembling finger upwards. "—climbed up there— Ah!"

BAM!

With a deafening crash, Aglaea turned to see Mydeimos bring the sword down on the already slender support column once more. Those still trapped inside wept in terror, invoking the names of every Titan they could think of—KephaleAquilaNikadorOronyx and more.

A Thief Star darted in from backstage. Cipher crouched on the catwalk, scanning the theatre.

More Chrysos Heirs arrived. Now even Tribbie dared not fly forward, though she still tried to call out, hoping to reason some sense back into little De; Castorice joined the evacuation efforts, glancing up frequently at the now swaying chandelier—Mydei was using it as a swing. He began to sing to himself:

"O Immortal King Mydeimos.

"I who deceived the gloom, while he wanders on the other shore.

"Why so cold of heart, so chill of soul, O Mydeimos, open the window, open the window.

"Come away with him to where the Antila flowers bloom…"

Aglaea's heart plunged into an abyss. He, he, he wouldn't… Could he possibly be trying to…?!

"Mydeimos!" Aglaea's voice cracked. She dared not act rashly, afraid of further provoking the man. "Come down! Just come down first! You just want Phainon, right?! Fine! Fine! Just come down, and I'll return him to you immediately!"

"You know, Aglaea," the Crown Prince's voice drifted down, raising ghostly echoes in the theatre, "Phainon sings much better than I do. His voice is perfect for the high notes. But you don't have to tell him that. I'm afraid he'll never stop showing off, belting it out whenever he gets the chance…"

"Mydei! Calm down! Don't presume on your immortality! No one knows how many times that power still works! Come down! Phainon is in the Marble Palace, he's perfectly fine, completely unharmed!"

"De—" Tribbie could no longer hold back her tears. "Don't you dare do anything stupid! De please come down!"

Footsteps sounded at the entrance again. This time, it was Stelle and Dan Heng who had arrived. Aglaea's anger flared at the sight of them, but there was no time for interrogation now.

The grey-haired girl's jaw dropped, even more shocked than Aglaea had been:

"Mydei what are you doing?!"

In that instant, triggered by some unknown stimulus, Mydei abruptly hauled himself higher using the lamp post, leaning out sideways like a sailor on the yards, brandishing Phainon's great sword.

Mydeimos: "Guests from beyond this world, and my Chrysos Heir friends, listen to me—What a piece of work is a human! How noble in action! How like a Kephale in form! How like a Cerces in wisdom! The paragon of the universe! The quintessence of all life! But to me, what are these lives molded from electrical signals?—"

"MYDEI!" Stelle suddenly screamed in terror. "Have you forgotten what I told you?!"

Mydeimos: "—Crimson-blooded humans hold no interest for me; no, nor golden-blooded humans either—"

"MYDEI! STOP IT RIGHT NOW!! You can't truly be crazy?!"

Stelle made to rush forward but was held back firmly by Dan Heng.

Mydeimos: "—The ONLY one who can interest me!! Is KHASLANA!!!"

Aglaea, frantic, grabbed Stelle. "What is he talking about? What are 'electrical signals'? Who is Khaslana?!"

Cipher watched silently, her form hidden by curtains and fly bars.

"Mydei! Come down now! What else do you want?! I promise to return Phainon to you safe and sound! I'll never take him away from you again! Alright?"

Mydeimos: "Return Phainon to me? No, no, Aglaea. Speak not jests at this hour. The Titan of Fate has delivered her oracle: Some puzzles of Phainon's I have yet to decode, perfection lies but a few lines untold. The Immortal King Mydeimos must journey far, pray tend his lover pricked by the spindle's spar. Until the prince slays the drake, and for Khaslana, true love's kiss he'll awake!"

"No, Mydei!"

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Mydeimos intoned dramatically. "Welcome to the Okhema Grand Theatre!"

"Lord Mydei!"

"Bear witness! Tonight, I shall perform a one-horned play—" He spread his arms and executed a bow.

"De!"

"I will find!—"

The sword once held firmly by Phainon was laid against Mydeimos's own neck.

"—All the answers!! Of PHAINON!!!"

Too many things happened in the same instant. Dan Heng pulled Stelle close, covering her eyes and forcing her grey head away; Cipher, unable to bear the sight, closed her eyes and turned away; High upon the glittering spectacle, golden blood gushed forth. The falling body of the man finally snapped the already overstressed core column. The great chandelier crashed down with an ear-splitting roar, sparks flying, metal and glass scattering like falling stars. Aglaea mustered all her strength, conjuring golden threads to barely catch it mid-air.

Screams were endless, all was in vain. Some Chrysos Heirs covered their faces, backing away, wanting to flee.

In this moment where hearts sank faster than the chandelier, applause and laughter suddenly rang out from a high box in the theatre.

Dan Heng's grip loosened. Stelle broke free and looked up.

"My esteemed guests, what a splendid performance. Once again, you have helped me verify the calculations are without flaw."

Stone and iron feet stepped forward. The face of Lygus emerged from the darkness, his mechanical voice carrying a bizarre, self-congratulatory excitement:

"Pray, enjoy the show… Forcing information they should not know into a signal-brain is like feeding Sagelore fruit to a fool. You have personally brought upon the once glorious, honor-laden Crown Prince a destruction of body and mind."

"LYGUS!!!" Stelle roared in fury, summoning her bat. "He's there! Now!!!"

Cipher was the fastest to charge out, but before her moves could reach Lygus, they were deflected mid-air by the Antikytheran's power. The Demigod was as nothing to him. Cipher's body was sent flying out of control, smashing through a wall and buried under collapsing bricks and billowing dust.

Mydei, hanging from the lamp, convulsed and spasmed, unable to breathe. Excruciating pain overwhelmed all senses. The loss of golden blood darkened his vision. Blurrily, he saw the Trailblazer raise her bat and chase after Lygus; Dan Heng's head crowned with the illusion of dragon horns; Castorice and Aglaea, bewildered but instinctively choosing to charge alongside the Nameless; the Knight appearing from somewhere to strike…

Some Chrysos Heirs drew their weapons and joined the fray; others protected Teacher Tribbie and comrades whose psychological defenses had collapsed; some tried to lower the chandelier to see if the Crown Prince could still be saved…

In the depths of those golden eyes, amidst the chaotic comings and goings of the crowd, the imagined Phainon stood quietly, watching Mydei.

The glass-hearted Deliverer was already in tears.

His lips parted slightly; his sky-blue pupils constricted in shock, shimmering with unshed tears. He clutched the fabric over his chest, knuckles white, wanting to gasp for air but forcing himself to remain silent.

What a lovely and polite audience.

Finally, Phainon wiped his tears, a trembling smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he managed a difficult smile for Mydei. He began to clap softly, a silent admiration.

Mydei saw the shape of the words before his vision went completely dark.

Phainon said:

Bravo.

Cipher raced across the rooftops of Okhema.

As a child, she'd always sneak into the theater to watch other people's heroic tales, but she always left before the final curtain call.

Time was tight. To ensure she had an absolute alibi firmly planted in Lygus's perception, she had to get back before the stone hyena fled, pretending she had just regained consciousness after being knocked out and was rejoining the fray.

Hah! What a gamble! The Chrysos Heirs have all been corrupted by that Deliverer kid!

Cipher cautiously slipped into Phainon's house. All the treasures Mydei had been hoarding lately were here. She pulled out her magic magnet and went on a furious sucking spree. Under the gaze of the Demigod of Trickery, Balance weights, gold and silver coins, beautiful jade, and ore were all drawn into her bag.

She didn't know where the rendezvous was today. She bounded up towards the Marble Palace to get her bearings when suddenly, the blessing of the Flipping Coin was paused by someone.

The air congealed into an invisible solid. Everything slowed down a thousandfold. Cipher was startled, wanting to turn her head, but her movements were unbearably sluggish, like a groggy dromas waking up.

Wow, she'd never experienced someone being faster than her before—a truly awful feeling.

A familiar figure. Mint-green hair and splendid robes, stirred up by the wind from Cipher's passage, floated up and then settled down. A strange mirror hovered behind him.

The Grove boy was unaffected by the time dilation. He walked towards the cat-woman frozen mid-run and plucked the Bottomless Pouch from her waist.

Anaxa summoned some power, forcing everything inside to pour out. The Demigod of Trickery's glamour dissipated. The jingling objects shed their disguises of gold, silver, and treasure, revealing their true forms: chunks of red crystal, like amber, encasing small, irregularly squirming cubes that resembled the Black Tide. In Anaxa's eyes, they were also densely packed with red-and-black code characters.

The terrifying amber was forcibly shoved by Anaxa into the starry void on his chest. Violent coughs and dry heaves made Cipher anxious, but she couldn't move or speak.

Anaxa took her hand and established a one-way information pathway.

*** SkeMma720: Volume too large and urgent. I'll take it personally. ***

*** SkeMma720: Genius encryption. In the soul. Secure. ***

*** SkeMma720: The dawn has appeared. ***

The now-deflated pouch was hung back at Cipher's waist. Anaxa turned and stepped onto the frame of the mirror. Then, as if remembering something, he silently looked down at the Marble Palace beneath his feet. The cutout design allowed him to see the flowing waters of the bath below, where the once disruptive honor student now lay empty, merely a shell slumbering.

Good luck, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.

The instant Anaxa vanished into the mirror, the order of all things returned to its normal flow. The Flipping Coin dropped. Cipher stumbled.

Well, that's good, no more running around everywhere.

Cipher stretched her limbs. Time to go back and kick Lygus's ass.

In Dragonbone City, where lingering souls piled up, the murmurs of the lost surrounded him.

Mydei was exhausted, his eyelids heavy, almost impossible to lift, but he knew he absolutely must not fall asleep here.

Perhaps it had been too long since his last visit to the nether realm; resisting death didn't come as effortlessly as it used to. The Crown Prince vigorously rubbed his temples, commanding himself to wake up, then pulled out the parchment booklet tucked inside his clothes.

/Cognition://Definition: Pythias:

/// Teacher of Aedes Elysiae

////Association Entry: Arithmetic; Geometry; ____; Geography; ____

/Cache: Livia told me she likes observing ____

/Cache: Uncle Galba brought me some ____ seeds from the woods, I plan to find a flowerpot in ________

……

There were several such fragments, only half-repaired. Although he could technically save them to ask Cyrene later, he was already here—might as well try his luck.

The clogged nether realm, the dwelling place of souls, was not without its patterns. Those who were close and familiar in life often gravitated towards each other, though most had forgotten the things once most important to them, or else lingered ceaselessly in some bygone era, unaware of their own death. Using the name 'Aedes Elysiae' as his guide, Mydei asked questions all along the way. Although many spirits spoke drowsily and blurrily, he managed to piece together a direction from their fragmented clues, gradually filling in some of the gaps.

He didn't know how much time had passed. He trekked deeper and deeper into the realm of the dead, until only one entry remained in his hand:

/Cache: I went out to play with Piso at dusk, ____a full eight______, and ____ very pretty ____

A piece of memory Mydei couldn't fill correctly no matter how hard he thought. Harvested a full eight rows of wheat? Picked a full eight baskets of fruit? Read a full eight books? Some very pretty kind of flower, sunset glow, small animal? None fit.

Piso, Piso. Where was this boy from Aedes Elysiae named Piso?

The golden man hesitated at a certain point. He would never have allowed himself to come this far before. The gravity tempting him to abandon his resolve was growing stronger. Several times he had to brace himself against broken stone railings, banging his head against them with a thump to maintain balance and clarity.

He could turn back now. Missing one or two entries wouldn't affect Khaslana. But having come this far, Mydeimos felt a kind of inexplicable competitive spirit that always surfaced when it came to Phainon.

I truly want to find all the answers about you.

Even if it's just to know you a little better, to hear more of the interesting stories you haven't had time to tell me yet.

And, incidentally, to protect you.

It's fine. I've held on this long, haven't I? Look, I've broken my own record for distance traveled in the nether realm. I—

Mydei heard a scream not far away.

It was Phainon's voice.

How was that possible?! Mydei felt his organs sink, a throbbing pain swelling at the back of his head. How could Phainon be here? He was supposed to be fighting Irontomb! Even if he had been defeated— No! Khaslana would not be defeated!

Mydei ran towards the source of the sound, but after only a few steps, the agonized scream suddenly twisted, rising into a cheerful song. The voice was clear and melodious, showing no signs of torment, even carrying a hint of laughter.

Was Phainon playing a trick on him again? Phainon loved to tease him, and he, fool that he was, fell for it every time.

No, it seemed to be coming from another direction now. Mydei felt as if cotton had been stuffed in his ears, the afterimages before his eyes overlapping more and more.

Ah... Thanatos is ever wise... The nightingale will tap lightly on the window of your soul with its beak...

Ah... Immortal Mydeimos... My love, my king... Come keep me company... Open the window, open the window... Come away with me to where the Antila flowers bloom...

"Hey, young man?"

Ah... No...! No! No! Mydeimos, Mydei! Where are you?!

Mydei, it burns! It's burning! Save me, save me! Those embers burned my insides— I'm in so much pain!! So much pain!!!

"What are you trying to do over there?"

I don't want to be alone here, Mydei... Don't go back. Don't leave me alone to suffer the hardships of the Flame Chase journey again...

"Young man!"

Come here, Mydei... Don't you want to hold me tight, to sleep eternally, happily, here with me...

Suddenly, a hand—calloused yet soft and warm—cut diagonally across with firm, undeniable force, steadily grasping Mydeimos's wrist.

Mydei jolted awake as if from a dream, gasping sharply. He found himself leaning over the edge of a rotten wooden platform, the bottomless river in the nether realm reflecting his hollow expression.

The whispers in his ear vanished instantly, scattering and fleeing as if afraid of the morning sun.

Mydei broke out in a cold sweat, breathing heavily as he turned around. The person holding him was an unfamiliar middle-aged woman, her golden-brown eyes gazing at him with concern.

"Trying to catch fish, child?" The woman chuckled, releasing his hand now that he had stopped. "You can't go in from here. The water looks shallow, but there are undercurrents and soft mud everywhere. You'd sink right in!"

"Fish? I, I came to catch fish?"

"Listen to your auntie, go to the netted area south of here to catch them, it's safe there. Kids often drown here in the summer, even a couple of adults have fallen in. Luckily the village is small, help comes quickly. Even my own clever little one took a tumble here once."

"Is that so... Then... I'll try another day." Mydei scratched his head.

"You look unfamiliar, an out-of-towner? Here for the tide pools?"

Mydei looked down at his hands. "I brought a notebook and a pen... I might be here to... sketch?"

"Oh! An artist! Then you've come to the right place. The wheat fields and ocean waves of Aedes Elysiae are beautiful. You can find a scene to paint just by sitting down anywhere."

The woman's words seemed to carry a certain magic. When Mydeimos looked up again, a harbor with sparkling blue waves and endless golden wheat fields stretching to the horizon indeed appeared before him. The sky was so clear, dotted with white clouds. Had he been here just now? The woman said this was Aedes Elysiae, but what was Aedes Elysiae? How had he gotten here? Never mind, it didn't seem important...

"If I didn't have work in the fields today, I could show you around. You gotta be careful where you walk, young man, don't fall off the pier again!"

"Work in the fields?" Mydei looked at her. "I don't have anything to do right now. Let me help you."

"Oh, I couldn't possibly impose. You're a guest in our village."

"The one who should be embarrassed is me, Auntie. I haven't even thanked you for saving my life." Mydei picked up a sickle from the ground that seemingly hadn't been there a moment ago. "Though I'll have to trouble you to teach me how to harvest wheat."

Mydeimos learned quickly. After just a few swaths, he got the hang of it. Combined with the advantages of youth and strength, he even ended up far ahead of the woman. More and more wheat was bundled and stacked. They chatted, ate the smoked venison and honey suncake the woman brought, the wind saturated with the scent of wheat brushing away the sweat on Mydei's forehead, cool and pleasant.

"Impressive, young man! Youth is wonderful, just as energetic as my son. I'm getting old. If he were here, he'd probably be jumping up and down challenging you to see who could harvest faster."

"He definitely would." Mydei laughed, though he didn't know why he said it. "He's not home now?"

"No, he went to the next village over to buy some things. He's been planning to go to Castrum Kremnos to learn swordsmanship for a while now, just getting some supplies for the journey first."

"Castrum Kremnos? That's where I'm from." Mydei straightened up from the wheat field.

"By Oronyx, what a coincidence!" The woman laughed happily. "Then you simply must stay for dinner today! I think you two would definitely get along. Why not stay a while longer and set off together? I'd feel much better knowing someone is with him."

Mydei was about to agree immediately when a sudden feeling of wrongness hit him. An intuition faintly told him he could not stay here long; he had to leave immediately. But why?

"Oh, right. I have a photo of him here. Would you like to see?" The woman rustled through the wheat to his side, pulling a small photograph from her breast pocket.

Mydei gently took it. His golden pupils constricted.

In the picture was a white-haired, blue-eyed young man, arms raised high, each hand clutching four plump field mice. In front of him was another boy, sticking out his tongue at the camera and flashing a big peace sign. Both their smiles were brighter than the sun.

"You can call him Phainon. This little one is Piso—"

The woman didn't notice Mydei's change in demeanor. She didn't know that with the appearance of the photo, the wheat fields and ocean waves of Aedes Elysiae were shattering and disappearing. The warm breeze ceased to blow; the azure sky was devoured by eternal night.

"—This was taken just the other day. Adorable, isn't he? Phainon is famous in our village for being an expert at catching field mice."

Mydei turned the photo over. On the back was handwriting he knew so well he could even imitate it:

I went out to play with Piso at dusk, caught a full eight field mice, and took a very pretty photo!

He remembered everything.

He could not stay long in the nether realm. He had to leave immediately. Behind Phainon, him, and all the Chrysos Heirs, an entire world still waited to be saved.

Mydeimos clutched the small, old photograph. His mind was clearer than ever before, as if no tempting whisper could ever sway him again.

"...I'm sorry, Auntie. I have to go."

"Huh?"

"I... have important things to do."

The woman looked at him quietly for a moment.

"Alright, haha. The way you said that... it actually reminds me a bit of my son too... It's such a pity I can't introduce you."

Mydei sadly lowered his head, not daring to look into Audata's eyes. He tried to hand the photo back, but she pushed it towards him.

"Keep it, child. If..."

The woman grasped Mydei's hands and shook them gently. The touch of her thin calluses conveyed a reassuring warmth, giving Mydeimos the courage to look at her again.

"If someday in the future, by fate, you two meet... Please look after him for us, alright?"

"Okay."

The Crown Prince of Kremnos raised their clasped hands high. Before setting off, he bowed his head to her respectfully and vowed in a deep voice:

"I will. I promise."

Chapter Text

The figure with a head made of dice stood in the distance, hands in pockets, strolling as if in a leisurely garden.

Black Tide Creatures and Voidrangers, vast as mountains and seas, advanced in shifting formations.

Khaslana wielded Dawnbreaker in his left hand; his right arm had long been severed, lost to who-knows-where. From a certain point on, the mysterious helper had stopped leaving traces on his body. This worried the Deliverer faintly. He knew that man with his excessive sense of responsibility—if Mydeimos had chosen to do something, his human figure wouldn't vanish without a reason.

...insect figure .

What had happened to Mydei ?

Or worse, what had happened to Amphoreus?

"You are distracted, NeiKos496. Is it because of PoleMos600's absence?"

A moment of panic upon clearly hearing these words created an opening. A violent force struck his chest and abdomen, sending him tumbling over multiple times, a new golden gash tearing open on his flank.

"Yes, I noticed its endearing little trick... But after endearment comes disappointment. I initially thought the Factor of Strife had come to fight by your side. It seems even it will flee from battle when faced with an overwhelmingly powerful enemy."

"Flee from battle? You think Mydeimos left out of fear?" Khaslana bared a grin both ferocious and joyful amidst the slaughter. "Irontomb, you have all the data at your back, yet the solutions you derive are always wildly incorrect. Your ignorance is what I find endearing."

"Hmm. Although the 'flee from battle' assertion is refuted, and no sufficient basis is provided, we can still engage in deep thought: In 33,550,337 random simulations, PoleMos600 became NeiKos496's lover without exception. In the current cycle, it is repeatedly loading into the core to patch you. Various data indicate a high similarity to stereotypical behavior formed by obsession..."

Ay, here we go again. Khaslana rolled his eyes while fighting. Last time it was a dissertation on the Hero Within, the time before that on the meaning of the Flame Chase journey, and further back, other Chrysos Heir companions, the Nameless from beyond the sky, his parents, his homeland... The Irontomb was tireless in its attempts to shake the Deliverer's resolve; Khaslana was endlessly disturbed, his head buzzing from the noise.

"...Civilizations enjoy defining this as 'passionate love,' but passionate love itself is a form of stereotypical behavior. Speaking of which, an interesting minor statistic: Since it began accessing the core, it has output 11,762 documents for you, primarily declarations of love. However, the electrical signal corpus has its limits. As early as the 42nd document, the text it generated began to collapse and is no longer worth reading."

"Whether they are worth reading is not for you to judge." Khaslana paused. "Where are the letters?"

This made the Irontomb laugh.

"You truly wish to see them? What meaning do these florid, impractical words hold? You are fighting for your life, while it hides in a corner, turning you into another kind of 'Flame Reaver'—You could have had your spine broken by me, lying down to await destruction's arrival. Yet it insists on repairing you again and again, forcing you back to your feet, only to be struck down again, to have your abdomen torn open and your liver devoured by me once more."

"I wouldn't have it any other way!!" Khaslana roared, Dawnbreaker slashing, branding the name of Strife. "So fond of quoting classics, then you should observe the future the stories lay out for you: Heroes will shatter their shackles and shoot down the ugly vulture! The embers will ultimately be scattered to every corner of the land!"

"Pity reality is not as idealistic as in stories, Flame Reaver. You may declare a spiritual victory verbally for now, but—"

"Alright, alright, my ears are calloused from hearing this." Khaslana interrupted him. "I don't know what relationship you have with Lygus, but you are as noisy, as foolish, and seem to be taught by the same mediocrity as he is. Irontomb, I pity you. It is not without reason that Erudition abandoned you."

The simulated Asat Pramad halted its steps. The Black Tide, like a colossal wave, surged higher, shooting towards him in a fit of rage.

This move never failed. Khaslana laughed heartily at the sky. Poking the Irontomb's sore spot was one of his few sources of entertainment in this inferno.

"Do you still stubbornly believe, as before, that this connection should be interpreted as 'love'? But I have expounded countless times: Love belongs solely to life. If you harbor so many naive fantasies about love, I might as well concede further—NeiKos496, witness the birth of Destruction with me. Then, the merciful Creator will bestow a singular honor upon the most perfect Factor: I shall grant you freedom."

"You were the first to walk out of the cave. Why trouble yourself, turning back to float and sink in my fabricated data? Let go of Amphoreus. The world is vast, larger than you can imagine! As one who has become life, you can soar through the cosmos, perhaps board that Astral Express, to seek a new home, harvest a genuine relationship, and enjoy yourself properly before the great Blemished One accomplishes their feat."

"Is this the prime mover of life you've deduced?" Khaslana said coldly. "You think abandoning your true body, abandoning everything of Amphoreus, means I have come to life? You are wrong. That would be my death."

"I knew you would rush to refuse. How can an electrical signal imagine something it has never seen? Allow me to help you."

A sudden snap of fingers sounded in Khaslana's ears.

In an instant, all sound ceased.

His consciousness uncontrollably blurred. Dawnbreaker, slashing towards Finality, became heavy and slow. The voice of the Lord Ravager changed, accompanied by a sizzling electric current, sounding more and more like another person.

"Speak, NeiKos496..."

The man murmured softly by his ear.

"Do you still anticipate that wished-for future..."

The Irontomb's inferno vanished. Khaslana found himself floating above Okhema, but the Holy City stilled into a photograph and flew away. Thousands upon thousands of photographs connected into a Möbius ribbon, and then that ribbon also grew distant, becoming a flickering point of light within a nebula. Then that nebula was but a tiny speck within a galaxy, and the galaxy a tiny speck within the universe.

"Do you also miss every moment of parting sorrow..." The speaker embraced him from behind, the warmth against his spine so familiar, the arms encircling his waist ones he had traced countless times.

"Can you... still recognize my appearance..." Fingertips hooked under his chin from behind, guiding him to turn gracefully.

Khaslana—no, it should be Phainon—clad in a thin shirt, his light blue hair floating weightlessly. His right arm was restored, the embers that had devoured his bones and blood extinguished.

"Mydei?" Phainon gazed blurrily at the silhouette formed by stars. Points of light and mist continued to coalesce, gradually merging into the man he longed for day and night—golden hair, golden eyes like a majestic lion, the hint of crimson at the corner of his eyes luring him forward for a gentle peck.

It had been so, so long since Phainon had last seen Mydei...

But something seemed off.

The Crown Prince, though young, was battle-hardened; his skin wasn't as smooth as a peeled egg. When very close, like after a gentle but enthusiastic kiss, Phainon would always cup Mydei's face, freely admiring every inch of charm that secretly amazed him, carefully studying those harmless pores, fine lines, and old scars. But the face before him was flawless, supremely perfect.

Some instinct drove him to retreat.

"Darling, do you know where we first met?" Mydei asked.

"...Depends on which time you mean. Mostly at the gates of Okhema City."

"No, those are insignificant, unchangeable pasts." The man shook his head, held his waist, and leaned back with him, tracing a beautiful arc through the cosmos with their bodies.

"We meet in the future. For instance...

"You become a staff member at Herta Space Station. During your lunch break, you go to the observatory for some air—a colleague with gold-red hair catches your eye—I am standing there gazing up at the giant planet, cold light outlining my sharp brow, sparking your curiosity, your heartbeats. Then our eyes meet. Sparks fly silently. You approach me, and I share my homemade lunch, just to keep you near a moment longer with the delicious food in the box.

"Phainon, isn't this the peaceful and gentle love you secretly yearned for in your youth, before everything began? Say you're willing. Just say you're willing, and for the rest of our lives, I'll prepare two portions of delicious food every morning."

Mydei pulled Phainon closer, stroked his lips, swaying with him among the stars.

"Delicious food? I don't want it. You always make me unpalatable meals deliberately. I'm often left searching the whole house for iced goat milk because it's too spicy." Phainon couldn't help but laugh. "But you even hide the goat milk ahead of time."

Mydei denied it with a beautiful yet cold smile: "Why would I do something so meaningless? I excel at cooking. Making you happy with food is a good partner's duty."

Phainon's smile froze. Just as he was about to retort, Mydei immediately led him in a graceful turn, smoothly changing the subject.

"Or, you become a soldier of the Xianzhou Cloud Knights. Your martial arts are superb, but an Lord Ravager is hard to withstand. When the undying Mara-Struck charges to you, at the critical moment, an unknown soldier throws a punch, blocking the fatal blow for you."

Mydei supported his back and sank down sharply. Phainon almost lay flat, looking up at him from the severe tilt.

"The dust settles. You see that solid figure spreading its arms, shielding you. With me here, you are absolutely safe. No enemy will ever slash you into a million pieces again. No more enduring the scorching of perpetual calamitous flames. Lay down the sword named Dawnbreaker. Return to the Starskiff Haven and await news of victory—Protecting you is my innate duty."

"What joke is this?" Phainon tried to break free of Mydei's grip, but the strong embrace felt like an imprisonment. "How could I, a warrior, retreat when my home is in danger! How can you tell me to retreat?! Besides, we are clearly close friends of equal strength, fighting side by side! Who protects whom is not even certain!—Let go of me!"

Mydei ignored his protests, stepping with battle-dance-like moves, using a crisp, powerful rhythm to block Phainon's attempts to escape. Seeing his dissatisfaction, he immediately changed tack again.

"Or, you become a rising star on Penacony's Heavenly Ring, undefeated thanks to your handsome looks and proud singing voice. Giant posters show your eyes like blazing suns, but in reality, you too are troubled by views and works. One day, you slip away to the Dream's Edge alone to relieve the pressure. A meteor streaks by. A man, prince-like from an idol drama, approaches you and invites you for a dance.—Since you prefer opponents of equal skill, then I am your on-stage partner. I will help you temper your voice and dance skills, reaching the ultimate peak."

Mydei took Phainon's hand and leaped without his consent. Phainon was pulled stumbling, his landing imperfect. The golden-haired man looked down and nudged the side of his foot, correcting the posture aggressively.

Mydei pulled his arms, twisted his muscles, forcing him to exert force in this movement, relax in that one. His ankles ached from those strict guidance repeated again and again.

Even so, Phainon was still not proficient. He was like a puppet—stiff, jerky, hesitant.

Was this the correct way to dance? Every movement felt so forced and uncomfortable.

On the next turn, Mydei drew him into an embrace. That perfect, handsome face drew closer and closer.

Alarm bells blared in Phainon's mind. He shoved the other away violently—

The romantic nebula illusion shattered instantly. The grip on his wrist, which had been hurting him, suddenly vanished. Phainon—no, it should be Khaslana—staggered and fell heavily, the burning in his chest erupting anew. The surrounding space fractured into shards of glass, each reflecting a slightly different 'Mydei': Some human, some with fox ears or dragon horns on their foreheads, some with metallic faces of intelligence, some as blue-green flames, semi-transparent bubbles...

Irontomb began applying progressively increasing pressure on his body, almost crushing him into a sheet of paper.

Asat Pramad walked towards him, electromagnetically sizzling, its voice changing back.

NeiKos496, with continued iteration, you will certainly find someone just like it. Even more than one.

Khaslana was almost losing consciousness. But under the endless dome of 'Mydeis', he suddenly recalled the tiny nymph he had only met once.

He couldn't help but imagine: If Mydeimos—the real Mydeimos, the one and only Mydeimos in the world, HIS Mydeimos—were here right now, what would he say?

As if by fate, he heard the originally voiceless nymph roar at him:

"Get up!"

His lover used all the strength of this tiny body, pulling at his fingertips.

"Deliverer, GET UP!"

He couldn't drag him up, but he never gave up.

Yes.

This was Mydeimos.

The one with the few adorable freckles on his cheekbones. The one who liked to sneak mustard into his food. The one who actually wasn't good at dancing at all... The one who knew his convictions. The one who endure heartbreaks, mended his broken limbs, and helped him return to the battlefield.

Khaslana resisted the immense pressure. His left hand found Dawnbreaker's hilt. He thrust the sword into the ground beneath him with all his might, using it to shaky support himself. The flames of the Embers were now burning outside his body, scorching his resilient soul.

Asat Pramad continued indifferently: "I admit, PoleMos600 is a top-tier Factor with exceptionally high composite indices, balancing appearance, strength, strategic intellect, and maintaining high altruism. It resides firmly on the extreme right of the normal distribution. Your infatuation with it is understandable...

"But don't forget we are discussing the universe. Even the smallest probability, multiplied by an absolutely vast population base, yields a considerable result. Conclusion: There are countless entities in the universe with a 99.9% similarity to PoleMos600. Each can become a substitute for 'Mydeimos'—"

Upon hearing this, Khaslana's strikes carried a bit of personal vendetta.

"Silence! You fool! Scrap metal! Arrogant lackey! How dare you—You are unworthy to speak his name! I forbid you to insult him! I forbid you to insult any of my companions again! Do you hear me?! The future I will advance towards is only that of Amphoreus! I will never abandon it! Even if the past cannot be changed, I will still bear it and march towards the dawn!!"

The Deliverer once again burned completely into a blazing flame, burning towards the Irontomb, towards the distant phantom of Nanook.

Asat Pramad was somewhat surprised by the strength of the assault. It had to summon more Voidrangers, but the formations gradually began to struggle against Khaslana's fury.

Until the battered electrical signal once again exhausted all its strength, falling like a tear shed by the Aeon...

Lygus returned to the console, breathing heavily—if the noise a system made from external damage could be counted as breathing.

Unbelievable... Although Phainon had once severed his head, and both Herta and Screwllum had destroyed one of his shells, no one had ever managed to go further. His defenses should have been impregnable. Yet today, in the Grand Theatre, his core layers had been genuinely damaged by a magnet, a sword, a lance, and a ridiculous bat. Their strikes seemed premeditated, their weapons seemingly coated with some strange enchantment.

It had to be those acolytes of Nous who had researched something. This hadn't happened before they came to Amphoreus.

And that SkeMma720, colluding with them... He knew leaving that time bomb unchecked would lead to trouble eventually.

Pop-ups were numerous, each vying frantically for the administrator's attention. Lygus dismissed them all, forcing himself to patiently review the latest intelligence on the movements of the Genius Society and the Astral Express crew. But those flyer-like alerts kept flooding in, rudely cramming themselves into the center of the screen like plaster on a wall, blocking Lygus's view.

[ALERT] Detected Destruction Factor NeiKos496 Repeated Loading!

[HIGH-PRIORITY ALERT] δ-me13 Hub Core Compromised...

Lygus closed it. The firewall could handle it itself. If the protection wasn't compromised, there was no need to report such things anymore.

[ALERT] Detected Factor EpieiKeia216 Cycle 33,550,336 Data Illegally Accessed, Access Channel...

Lygus swiped it away. The frequency of the buzzing from his external damage and malfunctions was increasing. It didn't matter. What could they possibly do even if they restored thirty million cycles of data to these signals? The important thing now was—

[ALERT] Detected Factor PoleMos600...

The temperature of Lygus's core layers spiked abruptly. The hand he pressed against the console sparked with currents. The screen's image shifted red and blue out of alignment, glitching into colorful static, the alert text on it scrambling into gibberish before rapidly correcting itself.

He spoke with a sinister tone, issuing a command to no one in particular: "Ah, if I recall correctly—and of course, my cache is never wrong—I have already issued this directive: Cease attending to that theatrical madman. Remove his alert tag. How many times must an administrator repeat himself for you to learn to execute this most basic procedure? Now, investigate what research the Genius Society is conducting, what plans the Astral Express is formulating. If they have indeed caused substantive hindrance to the Calculation of Destruction..."

A row of profile pictures arranged themselves on the screen.

"...Kill them."

Mydei slowly regained consciousness.

The ceiling of Phainon's house greeted him, with sunlight tracing the scrolling floral carvings of the window frame on the wall. Mydei was dazed for a moment, as if he had just spent another ordinary night at his boyfriend's place. Now he should go wash up, stuff the clothes scattered all over the floor into the laundry basket, brew coffee, haul the lazybones out of bed, then fry eggs and bacon, and start a perfectly ordinary new day.

No, there were differences too. Phainon was a restless sleeper. Every time he woke up here at Entry Hour, Phainon was usually using him as a giant body pillow with a long leg hooked over him, or else splayed out sideways with his head on Mydei's abdomen. But now, Mydei felt light. He could sense the warmth beside him; the person who often suffered from insomnia or midnight panic attacks and liked to curl up into his arms was sleeping properly.

There was a pattering sound of running water by the balcony window. Mydei looked over. It was Stelle watering their plants, but her eyes were gazing into the distance towards Kephale. The water had already overflowed the pot, dripping down from the rim.

She was about to drown Phainon's daffodils.

"You—Cough..."

A sharp pain shot through his throat. Only then did Mydei notice the thick bandages and brace around his neck. The fatal wound was healing slower than before.

Hearing the noise, the Trailblazer turned her head so violently she nearly wrenched her own neck. She dropped the watering can, trying to rush over, but slipped on the waterlogged tiles, landing with a *thud* right before the Crown Prince and his Consort on the bed.

Mydei teased in a hoarse, strained whisper:

"Rise, my subject."

Stelle scrambled up awkwardly by the bed, lunging forward to feel Mydei's forehead and cheeks, wanting to confirm she wasn't dreaming.

"You're finally awake! It took so long, I thought you..."

Mydei looked at her quietly. He hadn't even glanced at Phainon beside him first.

"I just told you to— I mean, for your—" Stelle tried for some humor, to crack a joke, but after stammering for a long time, the result was an uncontrollable sob. "Why must you... Why must you go to such lengths?"

Mydei still didn't look away. He stared at Stelle, waiting for her to give him that answer.

After a moment of quiet, Stelle finally reached out her arms, one hand grasping Mydei's, the other Phainon's, her nails almost digging into their flesh. Her gray bangs fell, hair obscuring her face, leaving only a single teardrop to fall onto Mydei's chest.

She sniffled, nodded gently, then nodded firmly.

Yes. Yes. You did it. He believed.

"For Amphoreus, I will not fail this trust," the Trailblazer vowed to them, her firm voice tinged with a hint of hatred. "I will not let any sacrifice be in vain."

Mydei slowly let out a breath and squeezed Stelle's hand in return.

The incident at the Grand Theatre was hastily brushed under the rug.

Since there were no casualties, the verdict was simply a hefty fine for Mydei. This was lenient, he knew. He had already been considering plans for after being expelled from Okhema. The current outcome was undoubtedly the result of the Trailblazer and the Chrysos Heirs operating under pressure.

The people of Okhema no longer used the love-crazed Crown Prince of Casturm Kremnos as dinner table gossip. On the contrary, "Mydeimos" had become a kind of dark magic curse. No one dared mention it, afraid that merely uttering those four syllables would somehow transmit his madness through the air.

Fragmented, broken code still occasionally fell from Phainon, entirely new. When Mydei went out onto the streets, whether he was writing characters no one else could see in his parchment booklet or handing over Balance Coins for food, the gossip and pointing that once surrounded him had vanished. People avoided him like the plague, giving him a wide berth. Some vendors didn't dare take his money because the weights had passed through his hands; some shops would hang "Closed" signs the moment they saw him approaching from afar; parents would always fearfully cover their children's eyes when Mydei passed by.

Additionally, some friction had arisen within the Holy City. Some citizens of Okhema were unhappy that a dangerous element like Mydei remained within the walls, feeling he and his people should be thrown out; while the Kremnoans retorted that their highness had been a perfectly fine Crown Prince when he arrived—it must be Okhema's decadent and indulgent ways that had changed him like this, and they wanted to settle that score. The two sides,holding prejudices, argued fiercely over trivialities. The once-proud name of the Lion was now used as a sharp tool for insults and curses. The Kremnoans, losing the war of words and burning with shame, threw the first punch. The situation spiraled out of control until the guards arrived and separated everyone.

Mydei read about this on his slate. He only read it once because when he refreshed by swiping down, the post and its trending tag were already gone. The XiaoGoldShu account named "Fig Stew is Yummy!" had somehow been doxxed, its notification center bustling like a battlefield every day. Morbidly curious or hateful private messages would quickly pile up to 99+, but then suddenly clear back to 0, over and over.

Even after such things, even though the current Aglaea still knew nothing, in front of outsiders, she still chose to protect him.

Mydei turned off the slate and sat alone by the window, lost in thought for a while.

The next day, he fully delegated the task of information gathering to Cipher.

He stopped going out onto the streets.

Time passed in a blur.

The prying gaze of the Theoros had largely withdrawn from him. Mydei's frequency of visits to the Irontomb and the duration of his stays were increasing. Unfortunately, Khaslana hadn't woken up early again. That previous meeting was the only bittersweet candy that could be savored repeatedly. Before leaving, the nymph would always nestle close to him for a while. Sometimes, Mydei couldn't tell which side he preferred to be on.

During the Curtain-Fall Hour, when everyone was deep in sleep and the streets were empty, Mydei would go to the backyard to bask in Kephale's sunlight. Surprisingly, this new habit was discovered by Teachers Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon.

When the three messengers flew over, Mydei grabbed his booklet and tried to slip back inside. Trianne was the fastest, blocking his way with her hands on her hips. Mydei tried to skirt around her and squeeze inside, but even the longest legs couldn't outmaneuver wings.

"Save it, little De!" The girl looked down at him, arms crossed. "You used to run like this when you couldn't hand in your math homework! We always caught you in the end!"

Mydei said nothing. The people of Okhema had agreed that Mydei's madness had progressed from the first stage of nonsensical rambling to the second stage of reclusive gloom. He would use this when he didn't want to be disturbed, putting on a frightening expression to scare people off. But clearly, Tribios wasn't having any of it.

"We brought you fig stew!" Tribbie acted naturally, as if they had a picnic at dawn every day. "But you have to eat your meal before dessert! Ciphy told us you're still not eating regularly. That won't do! Didn't little De himself say 'thirty percent training, seventy percent diet?"

Mydei found it hard to refuse. Once became twice, then three, four, five, six, seven times... Although Mydei remained silent, they still treated him as the best listener in the world, gesturing animatedly as they told him about recent fun stuff while he ate: Little Cas had taken many photos lately and might want to hold an exhibition; Little Ciphy was still spending money lavishly everywhere; Little Grey had helped Agy give the Council of Elders a lesson; Little Cinny had taken up the Demigod's authority and stayed in the heavens—Mydei's hands, shelling an egg, paused at this. The progress was much faster than he had imagined. He wondered if he should also—

"Oh, right, De. We were also entrusted to bring you a gift today."

Tribbie handed over a not-so-expertly crafted pop-up card. On it, a golden-haired prince was drawn in crayon, holding the hand of a boy wearing a dragon-head mask with his left hand and a girl in a puffy dress with his right hand. It came with a serving of sweet strawberry fried goat milk.

He read the crooked little words on it:

Big Brother Mydei, we miss you so much! Mom and Dad always say you caused big trouble recently and told me not to go find you, but I don't believe it! Big Brother Mydei is the bestest prince! If even Big Brother Mydei could cause trouble, then it must be a secret move that Prince used to defeat the big bad guy! We bought you fried goat milk, but we only have a little pocket money, so it's just a tiny bit. It's sweet and yummy, though it's still far from what Big Brother Mydei makes!

This card was placed on the display shelf in Phainon's bedroom. Teacher Tribbie visited frequently, never mentioning the previous drama, only bringing him meals, chatting with him, and giving him gifts, letting the colorful little objects accumulate more and more.

Mydei didn't understand their purpose at first. Until one day later, when he returned from the Irontomb, he climbed out of bed, fighting nausea. He tried to make it to the bathroom, but halfway there, he slowly slid down against the wall and sat on the floor.

Supporting characters and extras made their entrances from the left and their exits from the right, but some still had to perform a solo. On stage for too long, the glaring lights above and the boundless darkness in the distance would blur everything, making the actor gradually sink too deep into the role, forgetting the boundaries between inside and outside, real and fake...

In this silent, stagnant moment, Mydei didn't want to move a muscle. He sat there, his mind a complete blank. He didn't want to face the mirror in the bathroom, didn't want to get up to pour a glass of water, didn't want to unlock his slate to check messages, and didn't want to consider when to cut open Phainon next. An indescribable, unfamiliar heaviness pressed down on him slowly. Mydei felt utterly drained, his fingertips numb. Everything felt utterly uninteresting to him. He knew he still had a mission. He would definitely return to Khaslana's side. But in this false and brief eternity, he just wanted to sit here and do nothing.

Mydei decided to just lie down. Just a gentle lean to the side...

"What's this, Mydei?" Just before his eyes closed, the imagined Phainon, who hadn't appeared in his thoughts for so long, suddenly spoke.

Mydei's eyes snapped open. Phainon's phantom stood before the display shelf, pointing at two crocheted dromas, one orange and one blue, snuggled together.

"...Castorice made them," he said, realizing his voice was hoarse and grating. He cleared his throat. "Castorice has been crocheting lots of friends into dromas lately. This is her version of you and me... Looks alike, doesn't it?"

"So cute! If she'd learned this earlier and made one for Professor Anaxa every semester, would she have worried about exams and papers? Hey, isn't this my Vigethos? It feels a bit bigger?"

"It's new. Aglaea embroidered it herself. Her craftsmanship is unquestionable."

"The expression is even more lively than before! Hang it back up for me tomorrow. And this one?"

"A card from the kids. I played house with them many times."

"Oh, an official Good Prince certificate! Mydeimos deserves it. Was the fried goat milk good?"

"It was good." Mydei rolled his eyes, recalling seriously. "Just a bit too sweet. If I were making it, I'd add some blueberries to balance it out."

"Well said. Reward: you make it for me to taste next time." Phainon walked over. "How dare you secretly collect so many fun things without telling me! Come here and tell me about them."

He reached out his hand to him.

Backlit by the light, Phainon was outlined in gold.

Get up, Mydeimos. Get up.

When Mydei came back to his senses, he had already dealt with a pile of tasks. A few red crystal gems lay quietly on the table. A freshly brewed cup of hot tea sat before him. Messages from the Trailblazer, Dan Heng, and Cipher on his slate had all been replied to. Mydei tapped the porcelain cup lightly. The tea's calming effect was working; he felt much better. But after a moment of peace, new, deeper worries crept into his heart.

The phantom was a comforting painkiller. In reality, there was no hand to pull him up. What had ultimately given him strength were the companions and experiences behind those colorful little objects, and his real lover fighting fiercely in the distance.

Khaslana, do you ever have a moment like that?

If you do, what can I use to be the hand that pulls you up?

Mydei looked at the display shelf. Ideas formed in his mind. He unfurled a blank piece of parchment.

A quill dipped in black ink drew some grids, filled them with Amphoreus letters, and then wrote a clue at the bottom as the puzzle prompt.

Across, down, across, down... Mydei followed the overlapping letters in those words, crafting question after question. Sometimes, finding this path led to a dead end, he would take a knife, cut them into strips, and shuffle them around to see which arrangement fit best.

Designing games was much harder than playing them!

As he wrote, Mydei suddenly recalled the most successful crossword puzzle he had ever designed in his life...

Back then, he and Phainon were still just good brothers, at least that was the verbal definition. Phainon sat at the city gate, waiting for someone from the Grove of Epiphany to collect the valuable instruments gifted by Okhema. Mydei, having no immediate tasks, kept him company. With a heap of time to kill and no ready-made puzzle book, they took turns making puzzles for each other. A turn-based system, one clue each. As more words were added, the letters intertwined, and the difficulty escalated.

The slip of paper was passed back to Mydei. A new across clue had been added, only the starting letter was occupied: 'P'.

"The clue?"

"It's your favorite one. Should be pretty simple, right? Giving you a freebie." Phainon replied with a smile.

Mydei lowered his head and thought for a moment. The adorable man beside him, bored while waiting, admired the street view and stared wide-eyed at the dromas across the way.

Mydei glanced up at him secretly, a chord struck in his heart.

It was simple. For him, it was the simplest question in the world.

He suddenly felt this was the perfect opportunity he had been searching for for so long.

The quill moved. Mydei blacked out the last few squares. In the remaining part, he carefully wrote H-A-I-N-O-N. Then, using the 'I' as the center, he drew four blank squares vertically above and three below.

He pushed the paper back.

Phainon first saw those four cheating black squares: "Hey Mydeimos! Isn't this against the rules? We agreed on a set number of letters; you can't just change it personally... Why is it my name? 'POMEGRANATE' would have been so easy to guess! I said it was your fav—"

His voice cut off abruptly.

Ah.

So quiet. The street noise suddenly felt miles away.

So loud. Two frantically beating hearts hammered against their owners' eardrums.

The debate champion's lips parted and closed, closed and parted. He swallowed hard for a long time but couldn't produce a single coherent sentence. Mydei offered no explanation, just watched as the blue eyes blinked rapidly with sudden understanding and shock. He kept a straight face, but inside he was carefully observing Phainon's expression, trying to discern if he felt repulsed—probably not, right? Because a blush was spreading across his pale cheeks.

Just then, a Chrysos Heir barged in with perfect timing.

"Yo, Mydei, there you are. Been looking all over for you." He waved, his hearty voice scattering most of the intimate atmosphere. "I just ran into Lord Krateros. The Kremnoans are preparing to purchase a batch of ore. He wants you to come take a look."

"Alright, I'm on my way."

Mydei responded calmly and began gathering his things to leave. Phainon held the slip of paper, looking at him as if his system had crashed. It wasn't until the Crown Prince had taken two steps away that the Deliverer spoke softly.

"Mydei?"

Mydeimos turned back.

"You..." Phainon glanced at the paper again. His fingers were so nervous they almost crumpled it. "You haven't told me the clue for the next puzzle yet..."

Mydeimos thought for a moment.

"No clue. Guess."

Golden eyelashes lowered slightly, veiling the emotions swirling in the amber depths. The wind carried those gentle words, blowing the hint into Phainon's ear.

"If you can guess it... he's yours."

Chapter Text

It was during a certain Month of Gate that the mechanoid from beyond the sky initiated a discussion on an encrypted channel.

Query: Could you find an impenetrable shield in Amphoreus?

"That phrasing sounds somewhat familiar." Stelle smiled faintly. "I feel like I've heard the same advertising spiel somewhere before—'Come one, come all, behold the shield forged from Georios's nails, which no weapon can breach!'"

Hahaha, then let us borrow this delightful analogy.

Assuming the blessing of the Earth Titan could, in a narrow sense, create such protection, do you believe a soldier raising this shield on the battlefield enhances its effectiveness?

Anaxa did not answer immediately. He rested his head on his hand, silent for a moment, his fingertips stroking his chin.

This process of contemplation is precisely what I desired—your hesitation.

"Self-awareness" is a marvelous thing... it bestows diversity upon inorganic existence, allows us to perceive the sensation of being soaked in happiness and entangled by troubles. We ultimately evolve into independent life because of it. However, it is not a necessary and sufficient condition for helping an individual become stronger, let alone the fact that the definition of "strength" itself varies vastly.

Intelligence breeds thought, thought produces insight, insight possesses perspective, and perspective—

can be obscured.

Conclusion: Every warrior in this world raises not an impenetrable shield.

Anaxa crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow slightly at Screwllum. "Is that so? And what about you?"

"Heh. A very sharp application of the concept—precisely proves you understand it completely." Screwllum did not seem offended. "Yes, Mr. Anaxagoras. Myself included."

Therefore, do not fear your enemy, my friends.

It was during a certain Month of the Evernight that Okhema was greeted by a fine spring rain.  

Castorice held an umbrella, standing atop a roof with a broad view of the city gates, gazing toward Phainon's home. The raindrops pattered, masking a light, slow footstep, yet the ripples in the accumulated water still drifted to her feet.  

Lygus followed Castorice's gaze to the same distant direction. The house had its doors tightly shut and curtains drawn—likely, the nymph was still continuing his amorous yet futile weaving.  

The assassinations by the Chrysos Heirs persisted relentlessly, but today, Lygus found a moment of peace in the rain, which made him suspicious. The observational data concerning the Factors harbored doubts, the Antikytheran had not yet woven them into a complete logical web.  

He knew Castorice was preparing to depart for the Sea of Flowers, to reclaim the authority of death. So, was she merely bidding farewell to an old friend today? But why, upon noticing his approach, had she not attacked but instead posed two peculiar questions—

"Lord Lygus, do you believe the artisans of Amphoreus can forge a spear that is utterly unstoppable?"  

Lygus analyzed the pinnacle of spear-making craftsmanship across the city-states, compared it with the materials possessing the highest hardness values in the world, and reached a negative conclusion. Of course, he knew this was a metaphorical rhetoric—Castorice was hinting that the Trailblazer had prepared a special weapon and was highly confident of victory. Heh, when the day of battle truly arrived, he would present a negative conclusion once again, with an outcome beyond all doubt.  

The second question was: "Lord Lygus, do you have the courage to shake my hand?"  

Castorice turned, her slender arm pausing motionless in the air.  

Lygus stepped forward. Of course he dared, he was different from these electrical signals that were entirely bound by rules.  

But when living, deep purple sludge emerged around him, Lygus hesitantly chose an unoccupied spot to place his foot. He slowly reached out toward the other, his core operations accelerating. Disjointed background calculations warned him: the situation was abnormal, the interfering factors were unknown, the probability of being silenced by Epieikeia216 was small yet seemingly not zero...  

When their hands were two palms apart, Lygus recalculated and began simulating the probability and feasibility of the Trailblazer achieving their goal through this scheme...  

When their hands were one palm apart, his metal fingertips trembled imperceptibly. Castorice lowered her gaze, then suddenly made a swift move to grasp the hand so near. Lygus jerked his arm back as if scalded, and Castorice caught nothing but air.  

She withdrew her hand and chuckled softly behind it.  

"Lycurgus, you are afraid."  

Castorice turned and sighed toward the distant little house: "See, my friend? Our enemies fear us. They are not invincible."  

Good luck to you, Lord Phainon.

Castorice gracefully departed in the rain.  

It was during a certain Month of Weaving that an ear-splitting roar jolted Mydei from a shallow sleep at his desk, sending the half-repaired cerulean code into disarray.  

A fierce wind whipped up dry leaves in rustling swirls, and the world outside grew increasingly chaotic. Mydei drew back the curtain to see thick plumes of smoke rising from the city gates. Chrysos Heirs and guards rushed back and forth, and anxiety began to spread through the streets in hushed whispers.  

It had been a long time since such a major disturbance—did this mean a large-scale attack? Had his companions encountered some sort of trouble? Mydeimos’s body moved faster than his thoughts; by the time he realized what he was doing, he was already clad in armor that had long lain unused. Then came another deafening blast—this one even more violent, shaking the very earth. Caught off guard, Mydei lost his balance, stumbled backward, and fell against the bed.  

Dust shaken loose from the ceiling by the tremors drifted down onto Phainon’s face. The sight of his lover's face entered Mydeimos's view like a warning, urging him not to act recklessly. Yet the turmoil outside left the warrior restless. He could entrust minor skirmishes with inconsequential Black Tide creations to others, but on a day like this… could he still stand by and do nothing?  

Mydei wiped the dust from Phainon’s face. After a fierce internal struggle, he decided to go out and assess the situation—even if only to blend into the crowd and seize an opportunity to offer some small aid.  

He threw on a hooded robe and went downstairs. Peering through the peephole to confirm no one was outside, he turned the doorknob. Yet the brass lock refused to budge, emitting only a dull, rattling sound.  

The Crown Prince stared down in shock and confusion to find the handle thickly coiled with a golden thread.

Then the thread began to grow like a vine, creeping up Mydeimos’s arm. A sudden, encrypted message flooded into his consciousness, as though someone had predicted his reaction with perfect accuracy.  

***User Stelle: Mydei , watch over Phainon. Do not interfere.***  

Another distant explosion echoed outside, making the long-deserted living room feel even more silent and still.  

His gauntleted hand remained on the doorknob, reluctant to let go. Whenever Mydei tried to stealthily apply force, the golden thread tightened—not enough to cause pain, but firm and unyielding, as if that very lady stood before him, gently yet firmly holding his shoulder.  

***User Stelle: Mydeimos , confirm receipt?***  

***User Stelle: Protect Phainon. No matter what happens, you must not intervene.***  

Finally, after a moment of unwilling silence, the strict rationality of the Kremnoan Army’s discipline overcame the man’s emotions.  

***PoleMos600: Understood***  

Only after receiving the answer Stelle required did the golden thread slowly loosen its bindings.  

She did not leave immediately.

***KaLos618: I wish to see him again. May I?***

So Mydei led her to the bedroom on the second floor. The room was now somewhat cluttered, filled with crumpled paper balls and scattered drafts. The walls were nearly covered with hanging parchments, cut into strips and collaged into patches; the pages were covered in intersecting black and white grids, the handwriting within messy—written and crossed out, crossed out and rewritten—likely decipherable only to their author.  

Had the situation not been so critical, Aglaea would have been keen to ask Mydei what he was working on, to hear what he had experienced before she awoke… But now, she too had a role to play on the front lines against Lygus. She could not afford to linger long, distracted.  

The golden thread slid down from Mydeimos’s arm. Through its perception, Aglaea gazed upon Phainon’s face—unchanged from his days in the Marble Palace. Her worries remained, yet her state of mind was not quite the same.  

The tip of the golden thread gently coiled around his fingertip.  

Good luck, Phainon.

After bidding Aglaea farewell, Mydei returned to his desk. Outside, the smoke grew thicker and the unrest more intense, but the Crown Prince of the Castrum Kremnos had given his word—just as he once vowed to sacrifice a warrior’s glory for Amphoreus.  

And so he removed his armor and resumed his monotonous mending amid the clamor, willingly yielding to the passage of time.  

It was a certain month of —which one?  

Mydeimos could not recall, Khaslana had no time to care, and the Irontomb disdained even to acknowledge such a fictitious calendar.  

Outside the window, dark clouds gathered—it seemed a heavy rain was coming again. Muffled thunder rumbled like round stones rolling down a high slope to crash in a hollow; like war drums pounding, screaming under the vast sky that a charge was imminent.  

All Mydei remembered was that when he opened his eyes, his heart was pounding wildly, his breath as rapid as if he had just awakened from a fatal dream for the first time. He leaned over the edge of the bed, retching dryly, then bursts of low laughter erupted through his coughs and gasps—elation had burst through all restraints.  

He pushed himself up and looked back: Phainon was sleeping soundly. He cupped that beautiful face with both hands; his excitement made him apply a bit too much force, leaving faint red marks on the skin.  

“Ha…… Haha……”  

Mydei pulled Phainon up, guiding the other’s head to rest against the crook of his own neck.  

“Phainon! I’ve solved all of the puzzles!”  

He clutched the man tightly to his chest, wishing he could merge him directly into his very bones and blood.  

“I’ve found all the answers!!!”  

——Meanwhile, on the other shore, Khaslana had awakened, his expression as resolute as when he first arrived, his body intact as if he had never endured fierce battles. He beat his wings and soared into the air, the heterochromatic wings fanning gale-force winds, his majestic golden light shining upon the scorched earth. Khaslana raised his left hand appreciatively, flexing his long fingers deftly, proudly displaying them to the simulated Lord Ravager below.  

Countless battles had passed, yet this electrical signal, despised by the creator, had restored itself to a state of perfect wholeness. Pray tell, who is truly the one toiling in vain?  

NeiKos496 Neuron Occupancy: 42.2% | Electrical Signal Integrity: 100%  

The Irontomb’s calculations produced redundant accumulations: it suddenly felt some regret for allowing that nymph to come and go freely. NeiKos496 was greatly emboldened by it, each time Irontomb had to take slightly longer to force **NeiKos496** into dormancy. The 100% in the data was glaringly bright, as if NeiKos496 and PoleMos600 were pointing at it and laughing in unison—  

“Hahahaha… How about it, Deliverer? Convinced yet?” Meanwhile, on the other shore, Mydei was still gasping for breath. He nuzzled against Phainon’s hair as if expecting an answer. “You definitely couldn’t compare to me, could you? This is Mydeimos’s first victory! Don’t even think about it—I won’t give you a chance to compete with me. This is Mydeimos’s second victory! I win… Haha…”  

But as he spoke, his childish rivalry and laughter were swallowed by sobs. Joy, anger, sorrow, and hatred intertwined and compressed within his chest; from Mydei’s throat, only ugly, guttural whimpers could be pressed out.  

“No… You won long ago. You’ve been fighting alone all along… This victory of yours already surpasses any of the nymph’s tricks…”  

He kissed Phainon’s forehead and cheeks, whispering to his unhearing lover: Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid, it will all be over soon.  

Though he knew well that the heart jokingly called “weak and fragile” had never held a trace of fear.

But 'soon' does not equal 'now'. What he should do now is… yes, yes. Cipher. Cipher! Mydei grabbed the stone tablet, his excitement causing him to mistype several letters. He was so hungry; today, his appetite had suddenly returned with a vengeance! He must hold on until the very last moment. O the Demigod of Trickery, please conjure some delicacies and send them to me!  

Yet, this milestone joy did not last long. The next time the nymph visited the Irontomb, before it could even take a step, an intangible gaze fell upon it eerily. Within the boundless darkness, a lone, straight beam of light shone down from afar.  

Mydei froze, a sense of foreboding rising within him. Hesitantly, he crawled in that direction, winding past mounds of corpses piled high, until he saw the end of this purgatory—under a spotlight, the battered Khaslana knelt atop a peak, his wings spread powerlessly at his sides, supporting an enormous round stone with his neck, back, and hands. Sharp stone spikes had pierced through his neck, palms, and torso, pinning him to the giant rock, forcing him into this pose. Beneath him there lay layer upon layers of dried golden waterfalls.  

He could not see the Khaslana’s expression. The deity’s bowed head was adorned with a mask—a large goat skull.  

This was not a battlefield relic.  

This was a humiliation, a cruel boast, a condescending trampling.  

On the flat ground before the nymph, even a starkly out-of-place, pristine white card had been placed:  

*My Greatest Work—*

*The Giant Kephale Who Swore Never to Forget *  

*The Flame Reaver Pushing the Stone in Vain*  

*The Sentient Bird Who Took Your Punishment*  

*The Golden Scapegoat, Suffering for the World*  

*Materials: Electrical Signals, Stone, Beast Bones*  

Irontomb observed the insect with interest. It had thought PoleMos600 would go mad, be broken by the horrific sight, that it would understand it had brought deeper suffering upon its beloved and thus surrender to fate—*O obsessed, infatuated fool, did you rejoice over that perfect 100%? You should have known how foolish it is to provoke the creator!*

But what transmitted through the signal was hatred of unimaginable intensity, pure and unadulterated. The nymph stood there, its long horns trembling with extreme rage, its small body heaving violently. The ground beneath its feet cracked with loud *snaps*, the shockwaves spreading outward layer by layer, reaching the very boundaries of the δ-me13 core.  

This was far beyond the energy the nymph’s structure should be able to output. The Irontomb’s background processes triggered a primary alert. Just a little more, and PoleMos600 would be able to use this fragile insect body to awaken the firewall—and its darling currently lacked the ability to protect it. *How much more interesting that would be! Come, ignite your magnificent wrath! Show me the miracle of strife! PoleMos600, destroy yourself, and I will be one step closer to destroying NeiKos496! One step closer to destroying the intellect of the cosmos!*

“Beepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeepbeep—”  

The alarm almost merged into a continuous tone.  

But contrary to Irontomb’s expectations, the threat index, just as it was about to hit the limit, suddenly stopped its rapid climb. It began to fluctuate dangerously on a high plateau, as if an invisible great hand pressed down, forcing it to descend.  

“Beepbeepbeep, beepbeep, beepbeep, beepbeep…… beep, beep, beep……”  

The nymph breathed heavily in silence.  

What words were being spoken in its heart? Irontomb had no way of knowing.  

After what felt like an Amber Era, the nymph finally moved. But it only did what it had done countless times before: painstakingly crawled to NeiKos496’s side, prepared to begin mending its beloved’s broken body. Aside from circling, thinking how to remove the giant stone, it took no extra action.  

The alarms died down. Irontomb felt bored.  

A war of attrition had begun.  

100%  

42.6%  

100%  

38.4%  

100%  

40.7%  

100%  

……  

Until the final Month of Gate.  

The messenger of the Gate of Infinity flew across forty-two kilometers of fate, delivering to the Prince the long-awaited tidings of victory.  

Lady Tribios arrived at just the right moment, as Mydei had just finished another session of mending Phainon. They dressed him in that blue-and-white battle suit—Aglaea’s masterpiece.  

Mydei supported Phainon’s back and knees, lifting him steadily, and left this cozy little home together with the messengers.  

Before departing, he glanced back at the Vigethos hydrangea wreath hanging by the door.  

"See," Mydei said softly, looking down at the figure in his arms, "I hung it back for you."  

Okhema had long entered a state of wartime readiness; the leisurely ease on the streets had vanished entirely. The long-forgotten Mad King suddenly reappeared before everyone's eyes, even bringing out the slumbering Deliverer, triggering waves of gasps and discussion wherever he went. Mydei paid no mind, following Tribbie with a fixed gaze toward the Marble Palace—that central place of cleansing, now repurposed as the headquarters for discussing strategy and sheltering refugees.  

In the gathering area for the Kremnoan commanders, Krateros had just returned from the front lines to recuperate. He recognized the familiar yet unfamiliar figure of Mydeimos from afar, the water cup he was bringing to his lips lowering slowly. He stared, rising to his feet involuntarily. What feeling was this in his heart? Perhaps disappointment, perhaps anger, perhaps frustration at his failure to meet expectations, or perhaps, upon seeing the Crown Prince in full armor, a final sliver of hope remained.  

Mydei finally stopped before him. The surrounding conversations died down layer by layer.  

"Krateros, hear my command."  

Mydeimos's voice was high, clear, and reverberated with authority.  

In this moment, the Crown Prince seemed determined to shed his title of heir and assume the mantle of King.

Krateros was silent for a moment, not immediately accepting the order. "Mydeimos, you have long cast aside the affairs of the Kremnoans. How can you know we would still honor you as king?"  

Hearing this disrespect, Mydei actually revealed a pleased smile. "Oh, a fair point, understandable. But if We recall aright, the kingslayer becomes king have been the ancient rules of the Castrum Kremnos, and I still walk soundly upon the earth of Amphoreus."  

Holding Phainon, he raised his head and walked slowly to the center of the hall.  

"Who wishes to challenge for the throne in combat? Step forward. Now."  

He scanned the crowd, turning a full circle. His sharp lion's eyes were like molten gold; wherever they passed felt like the slow sweep of the Lance of Fury, lowering every head in their path.  

"Lest it be unfair, We shall grant you a concession: you need not kill me utterly. Merely take Mydeimos's head once, and you shall be the new king of the Castrum Kremnos!"  

His physique was no longer at its peak, yet the warriors quietly, uniformly shrank back an inch, like wheat bowing before the wind.  

"Come! This is a chance for eternal fame! Your victory would be proclaimed to the world by Lady Tribios herself!"  

No one stepped forward. No one uttered a sound.  

No one even dared meet Mydeimos's gaze.  

You could hear a pomegranate seed drop on the floor.  

Mydei let out an unsurprised snort through his nose. "Krateros, hear my command."  

The Royal Tutor took a deep breath, brought his arm across his chest, and bowed his head to Mydeimos.  

"This man is Phainon of Aedes Elysiae. You should know him. You should remember who helped us overcome opposition and clear the obstructions of the elders and the city's nobles when we first arrived in Okhema; who rushed through streets and alleys, selflessly giving his time for our families, for the elderly, weak, women, and children who were strangers to him.  

"Krateros, We command you to entrust him to your most trusted attendants, to arrange for his proper care and safekeeping.  

"If We both return in the future, he shall be the new Queen of the Castrum Kremnos—those who dare mistreat the Queen shall be severely punished by Us, without leniency.  

"If only he returns alone in the future, you must still not be discourteous—remember well, repaying kindness with betrayal pollutes the glorious bloodline of Kremnoan."  

Having spoken, Mydei carefully handed Phainon over to Krateros. The Triplets of Fate, who had been quietly watching, flew forward to bid farewell to Phainon. Three warm, childlike hands touched his forehead, chest, and closed eyes.  

Good luck , Snowy .

Krateros, holding the white-haired man, looked at them in confusion. A peculiar pre-battle tension arose inexplicably, knocking at his heart, again and again.

"My King, what means this 'return'? To where are you going?"  

Mydeimos turned and left with great strides, his armor sparking as he struck his fists together, power surging through the blood patterns within.  

"I depart to wage war upon the root of strife."  

O Heart of the Genesis Vortex, in thirty million cycles, have you ever witnessed the gathering of the demigods?  

Mydei set foot on this sacred ground and saw that at the end of the sea of waves, under the vault of heaven, only one of the twelve Titan stars remained unlit. His former comrades-in-arms stood on either side, making a path for Mydei. Some leaned on staves or spears, others toyed with coins or flintlocks, others still had hands over their hearts in silent prayer... It seemed they had already defeated the maddened god. The Trailblazer standing at the farthest end, holding the Ember of Strife, looked down, waiting.  

She looked up at the sound of Mydei's footsteps, causing all to straighten and fix their intense gaze upon him.  

Mydei walked forward steadily. His friends conveyed silent blessings with their eyes—  

Good luck , Mydeimos .

Trinnon flew to his side and stood firm, finally looking to Mydei for confirmation. He gave her a slight nod.  

So the Interpreter of Oracles spoke to the stars:  

"Behold, the wide-eyed gods, and the son of man, full of deceit and humiliation.  

"The final Ember you crave once belonged to the great 'Lance of Fury, Nikador'. Now approaching it is a lion long lurking in wait.  

"Hark, his thunderous roar has already sounded the horn of strife.  

"You are about to witness that though the Flame-Chase Journey is fraught with loss, he still bears the visage of courage, still forges a body of tenacity, still bears the corpus of sacrifice, still upholds a soul of reason—thus the crown of honor never leaves him.  

"Mydeimos of the Castrum Kremnos, step forward and speak with *us* in one voice."  

Trinnon took Mydei's hand, guiding him closer to the Tides of the Basin.  

"O majesty of the twelve Titans, pillars of the world—  

"We seek your divinity, to mend the rifts of the world—  

"Fill our bodies with blood of gold, till we wither in willing service to the prophecy—"  

Stelle raised the Ember of Strife, offering it to the immortal hero...  

Praise Mydeimos, greatest of conquerors, greatest of guardians.

You are the tyrant of all defeated, solely bearing all wounds of the world on your back.

At first, it was a faint, mosquito-like buzzing in Khaslana's ears. Then the sound grew clearer, resolving into meaningful calls...  

"Phainon. Phainon?"  

It seemed someone was calling him.  

"Wake up, Phainon."  

The return of consciousness was like rubbing salt over a body full of fresh wounds, and the resurgence of pain, in turn, sharpened his awareness further.  

A rough, warm hand lightly patted his cheek. Khaslana struggled to open his eyes. A blurred, familiar figure swayed above him, a dangling red braid gently swinging.  

Was this an illusory dream, or was Irontomb resorting to its old tricks again...?  

He blinked, finally seeing the visitor clearly—that face he could never mistake, those resolute and beautiful golden eyes.  

"Mydei?!"  

Khaslana, realizing it was him, jolted in shock and tried to sit up, but managed only a few inches off the ground before collapsing weakly back down. Both his arms were severed, and the gaping wound on his chest gushed blood with the slightest movement, making it impossible to support himself.  

Mydei pressed a hand down on the squirming figure. "Long time no see. And you still recognize me. What a cause for celebration."  

He opened a case beside him and began pulling out strangely constructed tools, as if preparing for surgery.  

The ground beneath them trembled slightly. Anxiety and longing exploded within Khaslana simultaneously, his gaze clinging to Mydei like a starfish, unable to tear itself away. He scrutinized Mydei while urgently whispering: "You—how did you get here directly?! You'll be attacked!"  

If he hadn't lost his hands and been unable to stand, he would have surely dragged Mydei toward the exit by now. But as it was, Khaslana could do nothing but stare at his lover with aching heart—Mydei had dark circles under his eyes, his hair was dry and lackluster, and his cheekbones seemed more prominent than remembered, as if he had endured some long-term hardship.  

"Mydei... did I not hold back enough of Black Tide?" Khaslana's voice was tight. His shoulders lifted slightly, perhaps an aborted attempt to touch Mydei's face. "You look so haggard... You've lost so much weight..."  

"What, disgusted by me?" Mydei didn't stop working, shooting him an amused glance. "Has your love diminished so quickly now that my looks are fading? I'm hurt."  

Khaslana actually took him seriously: "You know that's not what I meant, you—"  

"Enough 'you-you-you'. Think of yourself first, Deliverer." His tools ready, Mydei began explaining clearly and deliberately. "Listen. Amphoreus has reached its last stand. After I fix you, I must join the hunt for Lygus. Your injuries are too severe, and the nymph's capacity is too limited. I have to take this gamble."  

The ground shook more violently. Faint silhouettes of Black Tide Creations began to appear in the distance.  

"Then leave now! Don't worry about me! What if it notices you—"  

"It already has."  

"You don't understand, Mydeimos! It's not that I want to argue with you at a time like this, but you're truly no match for it this time! I'll cover your escape, there's still time!"  

Khaslana began to struggle violently, flapping his intact wings trying to take flight. Mydei, who was half-kneeling, stretched out a leg, attempting to pin him down with his knee, but it was hardly effective. As the man beneath him grew more frantic, his tone more urgent, the earthquake intensified, and more monsters appeared on the horizon.  

"Stop moving, Phainon—"  

"You and I are different! I have four hundred million Embers in my body, my soul is fused with Irontomb—it's difficult for it to erase me completely! But if you're caught, it can delete you from the database in an instant, or simply devour you! If— Mmph!"  

Without warning, Mydei suddenly leaned down and crushed Khaslana's lips in a fierce kiss, his hands gripping Khaslana's face tightly, preventing him from turning away. Khaslana's shouts were stifled. His unfocused vision was completely occupied by Mydei's face. Unable to break free, he could only lie there, enduring the assertive kiss.  

Neither of them closed their eyes. The lion's amber eyes were calm, unlike someone with monsters bearing down from afar. This was no time for romance. Khaslana felt he should be angry, yet his frantically beating heart actually began to calm under Mydei's gaze.  

Mydei released him. Their noses touched as they caught their breath.  

The King commanded softly, "Take a deep breath."  

Khaslana instinctively obeyed. As his chest fully expanded and then fell, the tremors around them immediately lessened considerably, as if through the kiss and mingled breath, Mydei had transferred a measure of his own calm to him.  

"Tell me, Deliverer."  

The Black Tide creations were charging, but Mydei didn't even turn his head. He asked softly:  

"Do you believe in the Trailblazer?"  

"Of course."  

"Do you believe in me?"  

"Always."  

"Good." Mydei smiled, satisfied. He gently took Khaslana's hand and pressed it against his own chest. A steady heartbeat transmitted to Khaslana's palm; the Ember of Strife jubilant in sync with the Eternal Sea of Fire.  

"I believe in you too, Phainon. You can definitely overcome Irontomb. You must believe that yourself, understand?"  

"...Okay." Khaslana had calmed down. "Is there something you need me to do?"  

"Excellent. The Deliverer is finally being clever."  

Mydei straightened up and swiped a hand in front of him. A semi-transparent screen appeared in the air, a grid of intersecting black and white squares spreading out from the center. Khaslana's consciousness received a slight fluctuation. Then, as he looked at each blank space, the corresponding prompt automatically appeared in his mind—  

1. The first dish you learned to make with your mother.

43. Cyrene's favorite divination tool.

112. Where your first kiss was in the last cycle.

186. Your research subject for your sixth-year final project at the Grove of Epiphany.

394. The music Castorice first danced to with the golden thread.

…

The grid could extend in any direction, almost infinitely.

"Solve them. By running this with your full concentration, you can mobilize neural interference, temporarily blocking Irontomb. Buy me time. The more, the better."

Mydei picked up his tools again and began burying his head in repairing the code.

What? How? What's the principle behind this? Khaslana wanted to ask these questions, but at that very moment, a massive Dark Tide creation *whooshed* up behind Mydei—so close! When did it get there?! A sharp axe-blade swung down towards Mydei's back. Khaslana's heart almost stopped—ShouldIdoitShouldIreallyobeyIfIforcefullyflapmywingsnowImightstillhavetimetocarryMydeiaway—this is the last chance—at the critical moment, he sharply turned his head back to stare at the screen. The correct answer appeared in his mind and immediately mapped onto the grid:

1. Colorful Salad

With a loud *BANG*, the Tide-Eroded Blade crashed against suddenly appearing blue-and-white glass, twisting and falling down.

More creations surged forward, but just as Mydei had said, as Khaslana immersed himself in solving the puzzles, the glass rapidly expanded, unfolding into a protective barrier of will. No amount of pounding or attacks could shake it. It even slowly grew larger, pushing the enemies outside further away.

Mydei input characters with single-minded focus, his speed far surpassing the nymph's, much faster. The surroundings were full of the clamor of abominations and the screeching of the Black Tide, but Mydei didn't divert his attention in the slightest, as if this place were not a purgatory, but the splendid, silent library of their home; as if they weren't entrusting their lives completely to each other, but merely studying together at the same desk.

In the distance, the ashen figure of the Zephyro appeared, but it didn't immediately charge at the two. It merely approached step by step, quietly. After a while, a lotus bloomed at its side, and from the blossoming flower, Phantylia emerged. Then, the Emanator with the dice-shaped head manifested from the sandy haze.

"What are they doing?" Phantylia asked. Though this was merely Irontomb's self-directed, self-answered play-acting.

"Seems to be playing some sort of game," Zephyro replied. "Part of the neural network has formed a shield. A clever but not-so-sturdy little program. Shall we shatter it directly?"

"Don't. I want to see what trick they're up to this time," Asat Pramad stopped him.

Gradually, Khaslana's arms were restored. The calcification receded, allowing more skin and flesh to move freely. His mind also grew clearer. Some answers he had temporarily skipped due to vague impressions were now retrieved from the sea of memory.

Suddenly, a strange sensation reached his chest. The data probe seemed not only to be repairing his original body but also sewing something new into it. A substance, cool as ice, poured in, seeming to extinguish the scorching fierce flames by a measure. Khaslana didn't ask, didn't even glance at Mydei. There was no time to ponder the whys and wherefores. Would Mydeimos ever harm him?

From his chest, waist, and hips to his legs, from deep trauma to surface scratches... Mydeimos completed all repairs. Finally, at the very end, he took a quantum stylus, pierced Khaslana's ear on the spot, then took off his own sapphire earring and fastened it to Khaslana's left ear.

"Done. Let it accompany you in battle for me," Mydei whispered. "I'm finished. Get ready. Three, two—"

The protective shield vanished on cue. But before the surrounding Black Tide creations could react, before the three Lord Ravagers could prepare their defenses, a massive shower of giant meteorites was summoned, crashing down upon Khaslana's enemies with overwhelming force. The erupting blinding light and irresistible power annihilated almost everything into ash, pressing it deeper into the ground, whipping up a dust storm that scraped the dome of the sky. Khaslana reached out, slowly drawing First Light from the void. The sword's sharp blade severed the air with a piercing screech. His blue-and-gold wings snapped open with a *whoosh*, shielding Mydei behind him.

"Go, Mydeimos. It won't breach my line before you leave," Khaslana said, his voice low, "Give my regards to our friends."

Mydeimos did not comply. When the violent winds subsided, squirming dark crimson Black Tide cubes emerged from the air ahead of them. The Lord Ravagers stepped out from within them, advancing on the pair once more.

The lion stared at them like hyenas on the savannah. His expression was terrifying, as if he wanted to utter a few threats, but he looked left and right, seemingly unable to figure out whom to address.

Helpless, Mydei sighed. He tilted his head slightly toward Khaslana and asked:

"So many people? Which one is Irontomb?"