Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Flying through ash and destruction as a silk moth is never pleasant for Aglaea or her fragile wings. Very unfortunately, though, it is a necessary action for her task. 

Her Teacher, Tribbie, had informed Aglaea of a new prophecy, one concerning the missing Deliverer. A prophecy of very high importance, considering that the Deliverer is the only missing Chrysos Heir that would complete the Titans’ Coreflame Inheritors. 

‘South-South-West,’ said Tribbie. ‘In a burning village called ‘Aedes Elysiae’, a place protected by Oronyx. You won’t find it on any maps.’

At her word, Aglaea decided to look for the Deliverer herself, and cleanse some of the Black Tide on the way. No matter what the Deliverer’s condition is, getting back to Okhema will be infinitely easier without enemies hounding them. Not only that, but if Aglaea encounters any refugees or travellers on the way, they will have a safer time getting to Okhema, where they can rest easily. The further away from Okhema, Amphoreus’ last bastion of safety, the thicker the Black Tide is. She can very clearly imagine what happened to ‘Aedes Elysiae.’

Once Aglaea had approached what is very evidently the burning Aedes Elysiae, she was immediately struck by the heavy layer of ash in the air, making it hard for her to fly. If too much ash got on her wings, abrasion would wear down her wings, potentially damaging them.

She dearly regrets not bringing an entourage to accompany her. Although Aglaea is, by all means, a solitary figure, navigating through the ruins of a still-flaming village is not something she would willingly do alone. This silk moth is not partial to heat. It is very nearly detrimental to her health, if not outright. Because of her sudden weakness, she decides to shift back to normal human (demi-god) form.

The easiest location to spread her threads across Aedes Elysiae is the center of the village, or what Aglaea assumes is the center of the village. That is what necessitated her harsh trek through ash and smoke. It will all be worth it, hopefully, once the Deliverer is found, marking a new start of the Flame-Chase journey.

She lets her threads weave an interconnected web of sounds and signals all throughout the village, very loosely.

Nothing. Hmm, that’s odd. If she was too late to find the Deliverer, Tribbie wouldn’t have let her leave in the first place.

She weaves her web thicker, spreading herself thin trying to listen intently to every vibration and signal for any sign of the Deliverer. Shutting her sightless eyes, she guides the thread through buildings and their remains, creeping through derelict fields of withered crops. Wheat, she assumes. Endless fields of gold reduced to nothing but more life for the Black Tide to consume. What a shame, she thinks, they could have been beautiful.

Still nothing.

Further…

Further…

There.

Bloody and panting for breath near the edge of the endless wheatfields lies a young puppy. Its fur is matted and dirty, covered in ash, and both red and gold blood alike. Despite the state of its coat, the conspicuous golden marks on its chest and the side of its neck don’t end up less conspicuous. If anything, the marks shine through the mess as if unable to be hidden. The puppy’s eyes are barely open, but Kephale’s symbol gleams within dull sky-blue.

What a surprise, meeting the prophesied Deliverer here like this. And in their animal form, nonetheless. A warm feeling almost blooms in her chest, unable to take shape as any feeling at all.

Priorities.

The young puppy is clearly injured, ichor congealing and dripping down their fur. Aglaea needs them pliable so they can get to Hyacine as soon as possible, lest they perish before their time is due. They will be leagues better in the hands of Hyacine and Tribbie. They had always been better with children.

Without their presence, it is Aglaea’s responsibility to make sure this child is cared for before they reach Okhema together.

Focusing on her physical form, she runs to the beginning of the wheat fields. From there, she shifts back into a silk moth and flutters her way over to the child. The trip doesn’t take long. Aglaea made sure to take the most efficient path possible, if only so the child doesn’t bleed out before she gets there.

As she approaches the panting form of the puppy, she wills herself to truly embody the butterfly-like characteristics of a silk moth. In her past, she had always been accosted by various types of canines, both Chrysos Heir and natural dogs alike. There must be something in dog instincts overstating the importance of chasing butterflies around. At least, for Castorice, dogs tend to avoid her due to her curse. Somebody once told her long ago that she exudes a deathly aura, even in her butterfly form. With this natural attraction, the puppy will have a positive first impression before she shifts back to a human.

Immediately, she can see that the puppy is enamoured by the specimen in front of it. It perks up, forgetting about its injuries and trying to bound after her joyfully. Struck by pain, it freezes and curls in on itself. Its injuries are covered by dirty fur, but they must be serious. Aglaea knows she needs to handle the child as gently as possible. That doesn’t mean she isn’t going to try and work out benefits for her Chrysos Heirs.

From her experience working with refugees fleeing from black-tide infested regions, those who have been displaced typically feel safer in Okhema while accompanied by people they recognise, like individuals from the same region, or the person(s) who saved them. If Aglaea can pull off her role as this Deliverer’s ‘saviour’, they will be exponentially more inclined to join the Flame-Chase Journey.

Shaking the ash off of her wings, she shifts back, to fear and surprise from the dog. Its eyes widen at her sudden change, growling as it sits back on its haunches. Still such a fierce little one, a fighter, persevering until the end despite being hurt, barely able to move. A perfect addition to the crew.

She kneels in front of the pup, dirtying her robes, while making sure she’s on the same level as it. Holding out a hand, she imbues as much warmth into her voice as she could summon from her cold, emotionless heart.

“My name is Aglaea, the Dressmaster of Okhema and one of Amphoreus's Chrysos Heirs.” Her voice comes out without that familiar detachment. “Come with me, little one. You will be safe in Okhema.” She kneels there, patiently waiting for the dog to respond.

It recognises some part of what she said, because it lowers its guard and relaxes somewhat. It isn’t hostile anymore, she can tell that much. The puppy’s head turns to look behind it, back at the burning ruins of its home, the remains of its people. Its gaze lingers there for a while, burning the view into its memories. With a sad whimper, it slowly, slowly stumbles forward, painful and careful. Gently, it bumps Aglaea’s outstretched hand with a wet nose. Confirmation. Permission for Aglaea to take it back to Okhema.

It falls limp in her grasp. Willingly or unwillingly, its eyes close, Kephale’s symbol striking set in dull blue. 

Sleeping with possible head injuries – if the dripping, molten gold staining her hands is anything to go by – may cause the wound to worsen, but Aglaea doesn’t think the child has any other choice. It poses a huge risk, but Aglaea wouldn’t trust a child in this state to stay awake long enough to get from here to Okhema. It will be much easier to manoeuvre the child in any case, lest it feel pain while moving. A nice dream is all Aglaea would wish for the child until it needs to face its responsibilities.

The Deliverer is undoubtedly too young for the weight of the world. Aglaea and the other Chrysos Heirs can only do their absolute best to reduce the weight until the Deliverer is ready.

The dog stays asleep throughout their entire journey back to Okhema. Concerning, but not unexpected. Its heartbeat still rests strongly in its chest.

She’s let in past the gates of Okhema the moment she steps through them, calling Garmentmakers over to her to carry the child over to Hyacine. She needs to wash herself. Clearly, she underestimated the effect ash would have on her clothing.

In the rays of Kephale’s light, her pure white-and-gold dress does not nearly blind whoever looks at her. IT is stained an uneven, muddy grey, dirtier at the knees and torn in places. The blood the child had carried on its coat transferred to her as well. Some spots shine gold, others red. She looks like a mess.

Aglaea heads directly to her own living quarters to clean herself, ignoring the incredulous stares of the citizens. Hyacine can deal with the child’s injuries, then Tribbie can organise their living quarters if Aglaea doesn’t get back in time.

-

After Aglaea washes up and gets some well deserved rest, the next Action hour she goes directly to the Okheman branch of the Twilight Courtyard. Hyacine is the one she sent her Garmentmakers to, trusting she could heal the child. 

Her trust is well-earned, as, sitting upon a cot is a white-haired and blue-eyed child with the same markings as the dog. He is bandaged in appalling quantities all over his body, but he seems to feel no pain. Above him stands Hyacine with Little Ica at her side, her hands on his shoulders and her eyes closed. Her eyes open at the child nudging her, fear and caution in his eyes as he stares at Aglaea.

“Hyacine,” she greets first. “Is that the Deliverer?”

The healer smiles, heading over to Aglaea and bringing her closer to prove that she isn’t a threat. “Lady Aglaea, this is the little one you brought back from your expedition. He has something he’d like to say to his saviour.” She leans down to whisper in the child’s ear, “You can do it! Agy doesn’t bite.”

The child glances at Hyacine, down to the floor, and back up to Aglaea. Voice shaking, he speaks, “Hello Lady A-Aglaea. I’m… Phainon,” her threads tremble, but she can sense that he doesn’t have any malicious intent, “From Aedes Elysiae.” The information she was given from Tribbie was correct after all, and that burning place was indeed Aedes Elysiae. Good, this is the right person. “Thank you for… saving me…” He trails off to something less than a murmur, but her threads pick it up and she smiles.

“How old are you, little one?” She asks, not unkindly. If he is as young as he looks, Deliverance will have to wait a few more centuries.

His voice trembles, “I-I’m 11, Lady Aglaea.”

Much too young for what he’s meant for. He needs to get a full education and proper training before he can be let out into the world.

“Recover swiftly, child.” She smiles at him, fake and performative but intentional to make him feel better. “You will be needed in the future.” The future, yes. The millennia-long flame-chase journey can wait a few more years for a child to grow up. As she turns away, a small voice stops her before she leaves.

“W-wait!” Phainon calls, but flinches as she turns back to him. “Lady Aglaea, is there anything I can do to repay you for saving me?” he asks.

“Your repayment…” she starts, watching as Phainon braces himself for the worst, “Will come with time.” He splutters, not having expected her answer.

“Wha… Huh?” 

Aglaea smiles again, “We will speak again after you heal. There, we can discuss all you wish to know.”

Phainon blinks dumbly at her. He does look like a puppy, even as a human.

After bidding farewell to Hyacine and Phainon, Aglaea goes to Marmoreal Palace to sort out his living quarters and education. He should learn history and a basic foundation from Tribbie, with combat training on the side. Then, when he’s old enough, Aglaea will send him to the Grove. That man will certainly delight in receiving a new student from her of all people. Phainon will appeal directly to his soft spot.

The Deliverer is certainly adorable, even from her objective standpoint. She can only hope he won’t grow to detest his animal form.

Chapter Text

Tribbie thinks that the child Agy brought back to Okhema isn’t the true Deliverer.

She knows that he should be. The prophecies told her that the child Agy found will definitely take up the role and put up a stellar performance while doing it. It’s just that, something inside her, deep down, doesn’t want him to be. Her instincts have never been wrong, and if they say that this child shouldn’t be the Deliverer, then Tribbie is going to trust them.

He’s small, for one. Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon are all small as well, smaller than who they saw Agy holding. The difference is that they have thousands of years of experience piled up on them, while Little Grey – the nickname they gave to him after seeing him, with his ashy grey hair – looks like he’s never seen the world outside of the sheltered Aedes Elysiae. Young, small, and inexperienced. If the world were laid on his shoulders, he’d topple. Little Grey’s weakness is as plain as Kephale lighting the day.

Normally, that wouldn’t be much of a problem. With other Chrysos Heirs, Oronyx was kind enough to lend them enough time to build them up properly. Get them settled in this new area, find their own niche, train them and acclimatise them to their lives from then on. A literal god’s gift.

This is a problem because the Chrysos Heirs don’t have enough time to do that for Little Grey. After Strife was found, and  – reluctantly – joined the Flame-Chase journey, the pace of it has been unmatched. Their goals are so much easier when the Black Tide recedes, but their newfound efficiency also means that everyone’s fates are growing nearer. They have half a century at most before Era Nova comes, meant to be heralded by this Deliverer. That isn’t enough time at all.

Everybody else has hundreds of years worth of experience, training, etc. Little Grey is going to have barely a fraction of that number by the time the dust is settled. He’s just a child – he’s lost his home, his family, everything, in just a few days. He’s going to shoulder the world at such a young age – it’s startling. The Flame-Chase Journey is a cruel one, filled with loss and pain for the one at the end of the world. And the one in question will have their humanity ripped away from them with every piece lost, stripping him of his innocence and turning him into whatever he has to be to fulfill his duties. That isn’t heroism. That’s martyrdom.

Tribbie doesn’t want children to be soldiers. Isn’t that enough?

The timespan available just means Little Grey will have to be trained and educated as quickly as possible, in preparation for the worst. Tribbie’s willing to teach him as well, and she agrees that going to Naxy and the Grove after that is a good move. But…

“Agy! We are NOT going to put Little Grey in sword fighting lessons!”

It’s what is supposed to happen, and it’s strategically sound. Let him become a swordsmaster early, or a master in whatever weapon he wants. When the time comes, he can defend himself. Tribbie still doesn’t like the concept.

Making Little Grey train!? He just lost everything, even Janus couldn’t find a way out of the mourning hole he’ll dig himself into. Giving a weapon to a child in an unhealthy mental and emotional state is a one-way passage to destructive behaviours, and self-destructive or not, nobody wants destruction.

But it’s the best move for him. He needs to learn eventually. It’s reasonable.

Tribbie hates this.

Agy is still silent. She knows what Tribbie is thinking. She always knows, she knows everything, she acts so high and mighty all the time when they still remember the days she was a child herself. She’s so omnipotent and all-powerful and smart, isn’t that great? Aglaea knows what’s best for the Flame-Chase, her and her stoic demeanour, so strong and reliable. More god than human. 

Because that was the deal she made. And it isn’t her fault. 

“Agy… He has to do it anyway, doesn’t he?” Tribbie’s voice comes out resigned, a statement rather than a question. Her words feel like they refer to more than just making him learn swordplay.

“He does, teacher.”

“Okay.”

And that’s that.

…

Tribbie isn’t in a good mood anymore.

Agy’s been whisked away by her responsibilities, the ones that pile up and stick to her fatigue like a second skin. The end of their discussion left both of them quiet.

But there’s something that can cheer her up.

Getting petted!

She morphs into her fox form, bright red with white flowers dotting her coat, ready to prance among the streets of Okhema and get fed treats and stuff. Maybe she’ll visit the Twilight Courtyard and act like a therapy animal. Little Grey is resting there, maybe she’ll learn about him. His name and age, for starters.

But when she gets there, there aren’t any grey-haired children to be seen. The closest thing would be the fluffy white puppy in the cot next to Hyacine. Tribbie didn’t know Little Ica had relatives!

The little fox runs all the way over to Hyacine and Little Ica, yipping happily as she jumps onto the cot to join the pup.

Hyacine gasps, “Oh! Why hello little fox, what are you doing here?” She smiles. Tribbie yips and barks at her, scolding her for obtaining Naxy’s habit of pretending she doesn’t know people.

The dog nudges her with its wet nose. Tribbie, spurred on by this act of curiosity, can’t resist nuzzling his soft white fur.

Then she freezes.

It’s really…

Really…

Soft!! 

The dog is so adorable, snow white, beady blue eyes, fur soft to the touch… Tribbie’s a little jealous. Her coat, even with constant maintenance, doesn’t reach the level of fluff that this cloud does. Probably because she likes playing in the bushes too much but! That’s beside the point!

Hyacine giggles behind a hand, and it's then that Tribbie realises she’s been nuzzling the puppy as if it were her kit. It’s been laying there, confused, while a random fox treated it like a baby. Can Tribbie really be blamed for this? It feels really nice. Its size makes Tribbie’s long-dormant parental instinct act up, even though her physical and mental forms are children.

She barks. It barks back. 

Little Ica doots.

Tribbie turns to Hyacine, who smiles kindly. “This is my newest patient. His name is Phainon. He’s, what, a year old in dog years?”

A puppy!!! Just a puppy with an oddly human name and odd gold markings. Who hurt this little one bad enough he had to go to Cinny for help?

Staring at Hyacine with pleading eyes, Tribbie begs for playtime with Snowy through sad whines. Snowy joins in, hitting her with devastatingly cute puppy eyes. She just knows that he’ll be a force to be reckoned with when he grows up.

Cinny sighs fondly, a good sign. “Stay in here, and don’t overdo it. He’s still injured,” she says, which really confuses Tribbie. She doesn’t see any signs of injury.

Well, if Cinny says so, then Tribbie trusts it!

And off they go, a red fox and a white pup playing together in the confines of the Twilight Courtyard under the supervision of Cinny and Little Ica, who joins them at one point. 

The puppy is intelligent, she finds and files away, because playing with him is too much fun to be suspicious of her playmate.

Once they’re all tuckered out, laying back on the cot, Cinny brings them all water. Kephale’s rays are hotter and harsher today, so her ice water is a godsend for the panting animals. Tribbie gets up to drink the water on the bedside tray, so does Little Ica, but Snowy stays down. Tribbie barks in concern, getting Cinny’s attention.

And Snowy morphs.

He morphs into a child with pure white hair and the same golden markings, bandages wrapped around himself, a light gold bleeding through.

A Chrysos Heir. She should’ve known. But the only Chrysos Heir–

This is Little Grey. He wasn’t as grey as Tribbie thought.

This is the destined Deliverer, she thinks numbly, watching Hyacine heal his reopened wounds. 

This is who will be the only one left at the end, she thinks numbly, watching Phainon brush stray leaves out of his hair.

He’s still so innocent, she thinks, watching his baby fat move as he beams happily.

Tribbie doesn’t want Snowy to become the Deliverer. The title is harsh and unforgiving, where one wrong move can cause everything to crumble. That’s too much weight. He’ll break.

But they can’t deny fate. No one can. They can only delay it.

Inevitability is a curse.

(Sometimes they wish they never sent Agy on that mission at all.)