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Mydei wakes up. He normally does this, especially after sleep or death. Unlike normal, he sees some glaring issues. Around him wasn’t a raging battlefield around him, nor a calming golden wheat field.
Water. Titans-damned water.
Let it be known that Mydei mostly drinks pomegranate juice with milk for a reason.
Baths? Sure. He’s fine with that. It’s hard not to intimately know baths, after settling in Okhema, and when a specific, white haired, blue eyed HKS drags him to the baths twice a day. Being in water is fine.
Except for when he can barely touch the floor, and water is rapidly filling his lungs.
Mydei thrashes in the water, trying to both tread water and hurl insults at it. It’s like he’s back in the Sea of Souls again, fighting an endless battle against the waves. Almost like both Phagousa and Thanatos had collaborated with the intent to make Mydei suffer.
Drowning is less pleasant than he remembers.
Waking up, Mydei hacks black-grey water out of his lungs and wonders, is he gonna get infected? Instead of the things he should probably be worrying about. Questions such as: where is he, or where is Phainon, slip his mind, because thinking is difficult while locked against the tide. His mind answers the question anyways, because nine consecutive years in one place can get someone quite familiar with it.
The Sea of Souls. A place where the lost wander, never to be found. The prelude to the much better Sea of Flowers, and where the unfulfilled dead lay restless.
He fights his way to some debris, where he can stop and — ironically — catch his breath.
His name is Mydeimos. He is the son of Gorgo, and the King of Castrum Kremnos. He’s in the Sea of Souls.
Mydei glances down. Yuck. He’s definitely not in the body he was in before, if his arms are anything to go by. He feels weak and thin, helpless. Very unlike a Kremnoan warrior.
It’s not hard to put two dots together, despite his less-than-stellar mathematics test scores from the Tribios. Something’s happened. Either Zagreus or Cipher had pranked Mydei, or something’s gone horribly wrong with Oronyx and their coreflame holder. And Mydei is too good a warrior to fall for one of Trickery’s tricks.
Time travel is the only way he can comprehend being back in his 8-9 year old body, so time travel is the assumption Mydei will work with until he gets actual intel. Anaxagoras had complex ideas, and Mydei only had half an idea of what was going on in his head, but that scholar could at least think better than half of Amphoreus combined. If Anaxagoras exists here, he’ll be a valuable asset. Probably not, though.
He sighs, but winces at the ache in his throat. Of course being a child would dull his pain tolerance, as well as his mind.
Mydei is a godslayer. He is a demi-god. Mydeimos is the demi-god of strife. With Nikador’s tenacity, as well as the inherent tenacity of a Kremnoan, combined with his immortal body and near-pearless strength, fighting his way out of this Sea and onto shore should be easy.
But Mydei just feels tired. There’s an unfamiliar twinge in his heart, phantom pain in his back, insisting that he had already properly died by the hand of the only person he ever told of his weakness. The one he loved most.
Mydei has spent millions of lives fighting for Era Nova. Fighting through to the next day, all for tomorrow. He’s died a valorous death a thousand times, gloriously returned a thousand more. He deserves to be at peace.
Maybe the Sea of Souls is where he’s supposed to be?
Or maybe this is a false thought conjured by the Sea, another trick to keep him here. No, no! Mydeimos the Undying isn’t falling for these falsehoods.
Kremnoans speak with honesty and bravery. Lies are for cowards who do not have the strength to back their beliefs. Lies are for kings who have too much strength, and thus wish for none. Mydei will speak his truth, and project it directly into this Sea of Souls, denouncing its claim over him one more time. He had escaped before, and he shall do it again. So mote it be, or whatever fancy declaration scrolls end with.
Mydei pushes himself off the piece of debris he was leaning against. Even with this weak body, he will use his sheer will to keep it steady against the current.
Peace, he thinks, taking a step on the not-sand of the sea floor.
Peace isn’t in the flowers.
A dismissive glance is sent to the weeds dotting the water’s surface.
Peace is with his friends long-gone.
Visions of them melt through the haze of struggle. Perdikkas, Leonnius, Ptolemy, Peucesta, Hephaestion, and the Kremnoan exiles that had raised him. Krateros, who had taught him about his heritage, what he was born to become. A crown prince, then the king, then a god. A strong and worthy warrior who embodies the ideals of Castrum Kremnos.
Peace is with the friends he made.
The Chrysos Heirs, the Flame-Chase— Aglaea, Anaxa, Cipher, Castorice, Tribbie, and Hyacine all appear like phantoms. People who had shaped the man he ended up as. Stubborn, inane, difficult. Caring, helpful, fierce.
Peace is Mydei’s one and only equal. His rival, and the one who knows him better than himself.
Banter in the market, silly competitions all around Okhema, and fighting side-by-side on the battlefield. Brighter mornings, shared space. Habits he can’t forget but aren’t his.
Peace is tomorrow, with all of his friends. Phainon at his side, unburdened. His people, unharmed.
Mydei will fight against anything and everything, sacrificing a million more lives for his cause. Neither the Black Tide nor the Sea of Souls will stop him. He’ll get to shore, and he will prevent Amphoreus from ruin.
He’ll protect who he couldn’t before. The agony this world needs, the agony he won't let his people feel.
———————————
How long has he been fighting? Hours? Days?
Mydei still bares his teeth at the sea, unrelenting in his purpose.
His limbs are weakened, fatigued. How many times had he succumbed to the temporary touch of death?
But, he can see silhouettes in the distance. Instead of a long stretch of emptiness, there are souls in sight. That means he’s getting closer to the entrance.
Closer to freedom.
———————————
The Kremnoan Detachment watches as their Crown Prince fights some Okheman boy. Normally, they’d be cheering, because a good fight for their leader is hard to come by.
No. This Okheman lunatic has been fighting Mydeimos the Undying for ten days. And they’re still going at it. Equals, undoubtedly. Marriage is inevitable at this point. But even so, the entire detachment is sick of their lovey-dovey bulshit. They haven't. Stopped. Flirting. Romance doesn’t exist in the Kremnoan language, but by Nikador can it be expressed in many, many ways.
The Okheman boy just bit the prince’s right thumb, leaving a bleeding mark. A declaration that roughly, very roughly, translates to ‘something about the ability to hold weapons, something or other this mark means mine only. Nothing will hinder your work on the battlefield except for me,’ or something close. It’s more of a vibe thing. Very forward, very aggressive. It garners a few winces from the unknowing Kremnoans who don’t truly know their crown prince, because surely he doesn’t know the significance of such a gesture, and both of them will be stuck in an unwilling courting that they must see through to the end.
People who know him better, like Krateros or Hephaestion, know that Mydei is most definitely staking his own claim on the boy. The gashes on his arms, left by Mydei, are too symmetrical not to be ancient Kremnoan ritual symbols, carved straight onto pale flesh and leaking golden blood.
Something about equality and sharing blood and weaknesses. Again, it’s all about vibes. It’s basically an ancient Kremnoan declaration of intent. Again. That Mydei somehow knows, despite having been raised mostly in water. The only way they’d both know is if they were stuck in a time loop together, doing different things again and again, and spent one loop learning about Kremnoan declarations of love and devotion. But that isn’t possible. Ha ha ha.
Not to mention the oddly intimate closeness they keep experiencing. It seems like they come face-to-face every few minutes. The battle they play out feels more like a dance, where both sides know exactly what the other will do seconds before they do it. There are Kremnoan romance comedy plays with less sexual tension in battle.
What? Everyone runs out of things to fight at some point. Stage plays and stage battles are the next best thing. Teleslates get broken too easily.
The point is, this is unnatural. Even the grand duel between Queen Gorgo and King Eurypon saw them learning about each other along the way. The Kremnoan saying ‘equality is met through battle’ was a long-standing constant in Castrum Kremnos’ journey through the ages, because fighting against and alongside each other is the best way to observe someone at their core.
And these two men, boys, really, have seemingly never met before this. So either both of them
have incredible combat sense, or something is up.
Mydeimos does have an incredible combat sense, though. It’s just this Okheman kid that’s suspicious…
The two fight for five more days. And only then do they show true signs of exhaustion. The white-haired warrior is using two hands to swing his greatsword more often than not, but Mydeimos is visibly experiencing recoil whenever his punches land. Equal in every way. Homophobia doesn’t exist in Kremnos, but sometimes equals can do a bit too much with each other. Many, many soldiers are having their first collective experience of near-hating equals.
As long as their prince is happy.
An explosion sounds. Mydeimos and the Okheman are suspiciously singed.
Both warriors collapse on the ground next to each other.
They hold hands.
Huh?
Well, that development wasn’t completely unexpected. As long as the prince is happy!
The Kremnoan Detachment watches like fond parents as their prince, found at 9 and now 19, finds his perfect match on the battlefield. The silence is comfortable, warm, like the sun had descended on the aftermath.
They’re still suspiciously calm, but nobody will get any answers from them, locked in their own world.