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Chapter Text

The midday sun poured through the marble arches of Mydei’s villa, warming the stone courtyard where a low table was set. Bowls of olives, roasted meat, and honeyed bread sat between them, the air thick with the mingling scents of spice and ripe fruit.

Mydei lounged in his usual spot, propped against one broad arm, stretched lazily across the cushions. Every so often, his tufted tail flicked like an afterthought while he tore bread with his teeth. Beside him, Castorice coiled in a comfortable sprawl, serpentine tail looped protectively around one of his legs, her golden-purple eyes fixed on a parchment she was reading even as her slender fingers plucked grapes from the platter.

Across from them sat Phainon, hunched over his plate. His wings were folded tight, but the glossy feathers drooped pitifully, and every so often one ruffled as if betraying his mood. He stared at the bread in his hands like it had personally offended him.

“You’re sulking,” Castorice observed, not looking up from her scroll. Her voice was smooth as honey but carried the faint hiss of amusement.

“I am not sulking,” Phainon muttered. His clawed fingers clicked nervously against the edge of his plate.

“You’ve barely touched the roast.” Mydei leaned forward, his red-tipped golden hair catching the sunlight like a crown. His golden eyes softened with concern. “What troubles you, brother? You were in better spirits even after that time Cassie nearly choked you with her tail during sparring.”

“I was demonstrating a technique!” Castorice protested, though her smirk said she wasn’t sorry.

Phainon groaned, wings twitching. “It’s Stelle. I…” He hesitated, feathers puffing. “I saw her yesterday. With someone else.”

Mydei raised a brow. “Someone else?”

“A man,” Phainon admitted miserably. “Tall. Handsome. One of those fae nobles. He was speaking to her outside the forge, and she was laughing at something he said.” His wings drooped further, and a single feather slid loose, spiraling to the ground.

Castorice hummed, eyes glittering. “If you faint every time a woman laughs at another man’s joke, you’re going to molt yourself bald.”

Phainon’s head sank into his hands. “I don’t know what to do. I want to…I want to court her. But I don’t know how. She’s a phoenix. I am…” He flared his wings helplessly, the tips brushing against the stone. “…just a harpy with nothing to offer.”

“Nothing to offer?” Castorice echoed, sounding almost affronted. “Nonsense. You are strong, noble, and loyal. What woman would not be honored?”

“Stelle,” Mydei said drily, “apparently.”

Castorice shot him a look, but he only smirked, fangs glinting. “Don’t pout at me. If he’s asking for advice, we might as well give him something useful.”

Phainon lifted his head, feathers trembling. “You’d…help me?”

“Of course,” Mydei said warmly, tail flicking. “Strength wins hearts. Power, dominance. A roar so mighty it shakes the ground, then a prize laid at her feet; a beast felled by your hand. That is how you show devotion.”

Castorice tilted her head, tail tightening around Mydei’s leg like a lazy noose. “Or you could try our way. Ensnare her. Wrap her close until she realizes there is no escape, no distance between you. That’s how I claimed this one.” She gave Mydei’s arm a squeeze, earning a fond smile from him.

Phainon paled. “That sounds less like courting and more like…abduction.”

“Romance,” Castorice corrected sweetly.

“Two fine choices,” Mydei said, grinning wide enough to show his fangs. “Roar until she kneels, or bind her until she yields. Either way, show no hesitation. Be bold.”

Phainon stared at them, the color draining from his face, feathers puffed like a startled owl. “…Roaring. Wrapping. Boldness. Right.”

Castorice plucked another grape and popped it into her mouth, her smile wide. “Oh, I cannot wait to see how this ends.”

By the time Phainon left Mydei’s villa, his stomach was full of bread and his mind full of terrible ideas.

“Roar,” he muttered, flexing his claws as he walked down the sun-baked road. “Yes. A roar of dominance. Simple. Dignified.”

He paused, cleared his throat experimentally. “Grrh–” It came out like a deflating bagpipe.

A nearby goat stared at him.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Phainon told it gravely, feathers puffing. “You’re not in love.”

XxxOxOxOxxX

The marketplace of Okhema was winding down for the evening, lanterns glowing like little stars against the dusk. Merchants closed their stalls, voices echoing as they counted coins and stacked crates. At the edge of the square, Stelle stood beside a brazier, turning a newly bought trinket in her hand; a phoenix feather pendant that glowed faintly in the firelight.

She didn’t notice Phainon at first. He was crouched behind a pillar, wings trembling, muttering under his breath. “Roar. Beast. Boldness. Yes. Bold.” His talons scraped against the stone. “You can do this. Mydei does this all the time.”

A stray feather popped loose and drifted across the street. Stelle tilted her head. “...Phainon?”

Too late. He burst from cover, wings flaring, chest puffed. “HHRRRAAAAAAAGHHHH!”

The roar shook the square. Pigeons exploded from the rooftops, dogs barked, and one poor wood elf merchant dropped his entire basket of figs. Stelle blinked as the echoes rattled off the marble.

Phainon, panting, pointed both arms at her dramatically. “For…you!”

For a few moments there was silence, then a child’s voice rang out from a nearby stall. “MAMA, IS HE DYING?”

Stelle’s lips twitched. She tucked the trinket into her pouch and clapped politely, as if he’d just finished a ballad. “That was…impressive. Are you feeling all right? Your voice sounds–”

“I’m fine,” Phainon croaked, immediately breaking into a coughing fit.

Stelle reached into her bag, pulled out a waterskin, and pressed it into his hands. “Drink.”

Mortified, he drank. Half the water ran down his chin, and his feathers drooped. “…Bold enough?”

She smiled, soft but amused. “Very bold.”

Phainon flushed scarlet. He had to recover, he had to try the other advice. Without thinking, he lunged forward and wrapped his arms and a wing around her in what was supposed to be a serpentine, inescapable embrace.

It was…not.

“Phainon,” Stelle said after a moment, voice muffled against his chest. “Are you…hugging me?”

“Yes,” he said, stiff as stone. “This is…traditional.”

She tilted her head back to look up at him, eyes shining with laughter. “Traditional where?”

His feathers puffed in panic. “…The…um…mountains.”

A voice hissed from a rooftop. “Oh, this is delicious.”

Castorice was sprawled across the tiles, lilac tail dangling, grin wide. Mydei’s laugh rumbled beside her like distant thunder.

Phainon nearly combusted on the spot.

XxxOxOxOxxX

Later, Phainon found Aglaea and Anaxagoras exactly where he should’ve expected them: in the colonnade gardens, mid-argument.

Aglaea dangled from a silken thread above the path, sipping tea with the elegance of a noblewoman despite being upside down, eight arachnid legs poised around her. Anaxagoras, arms crossed, scales glinting under the moonlight, was glaring at her like she’d insulted his entire lineage.

“I’m telling you,” Aglaea said, swirling her cup, “the color is all wrong. You cannot possibly hope to court anyone wearing that shade of blue. It screams desperation.”

Anaxagoras hissed, forked tongue flicking. “Better desperation than deceit. At least I don’t bind half the people I meet in sticky silk and call it romance.”

“It’s effective,” she shot back. “Besides, they usually thank me after.”

Phainon cleared his throat. Both turned on him immediately, like predators scenting prey.

“…What do you want?” Anaxagoras asked.

Phainon’s feathers fluffed. “Teacher, I…I require advice. For…courting.”

Aglaea’s grin was immediate and sharp. “Ah, for your phoenix.” She drifted closer on her thread, turquoise eyes alight despite being sightless. “Well then, it’s simple. Weave her something. A silken gift, spun from your very hands. Nets, webs, wrappings; the symbolism is obvious. Binding, devotion, protection. She’ll swoon.”

“Ridiculous,” Anaxagoras interrupted, tail lashing the stone with a crack. His slit-pupiled eye fixed on Phainon with intensity. “If you want to prove loyalty, you offer something irreplaceable. For my kind, the eye is sacred. To give it is to give yourself entirely. Nothing less will do.”

Phainon paled several shades, wings drooping. “...My eye?”

“Precisely,” Anaxagoras said, utterly serious.

Aglaea cackled, legs twitching. “Yes, perfect. Pluck your own eye out at her feet. How charming.”

Phainon stammered. “I…I think I’ll…try the weaving.”

Aglaea clapped her hands together. “Wonderful choice. Do try not to tangle yourself.”

Anaxagoras scoffed, but his gaze lingered on Aglaea a moment too long before he turned away.

XxxOxOxOxxX

The next morning, Stelle was wandering near the cliffs overlooking the sea, the wind tugging her gray hair into wild waves. She was humming absently, her hands full of seashells she’d gathered, when she stopped short.

There, strung awkwardly between two pillars, was what could generously be described as…a net. Rope tangled and knotted, fraying in some places, tied in others with what could only be described as inexperience.

And in the middle of it, Phainon stood proudly, wings puffed, talons still clutching loose ends. “Stelle! I…made this. For you.”

She blinked. “…Is it a trap?”

His feathers bristled. “No! It’s…It’s a gift. A…symbol. I want–”

The wind caught the ropes, and the whole contraption sagged.

Stelle tilted her head, then laughed, the sound like sparks. “Oh, Phainon, it’s lovely. A hammock!”

Before he could protest, she dropped her seashells into the grass and flopped into the sagging ropes, sprawling with a grin. The net creaked alarmingly but held.

Phainon’s nose twitched, mortified. “…It’s not–”

“Come sit,” she said, patting the space beside her.

His wings twitched so hard a feather flew loose. Carefully, awkwardly, he perched at the edge of the net, claws clutching rope, terrified he’d snap it. Stelle shifted closer until her shoulder brushed his.

“I like it,” she said softly. “It feels…safe.”

Phainon’s heart stopped.

From behind a bush, Aglaea’s voice purred, “Oh, I love this.”

Anaxagoras’ voice followed, “It’s supposed to be an eye. Idiot.”

Phainon considered throwing himself into the sea.

XxxOxOxOxxX

Dan Heng was seated cross-legged in the Astral Library, a scroll unrolled across his lap and his draconic tail wrapped neatly around him, when March 7th burst in with her usual whirlwind of cheer. Phainon trailed behind her, wings drooping in visible despair.

“Okay, okay,” March said, shoving him into a chair across from Dan Heng. “He needs help. Urgently. It’s so obvious he’s crazy about Stelle, and somehow she hasn’t caught on yet–”

“I think she has,” Dan Heng interrupted mildly, turning a page. “She simply finds his attempts…interesting.”

Phainon groaned, clutching his feathers. “They’re disasters. Please. Teach me how to…not fail.”

March plopped onto the table, legs swinging. “What you need,” she declared, tiny snowflakes flaring around her, “is a grand gesture. Something flashy! Something no one could miss. You’ve got wings, right? Use them! Write her name in the sky! Or swoop down dramatically with flowers in your talons–No, wait, better! Carry her into the sunset!”

Phainon stared at her in horror. “That sounds like kidnapping.”

“Romantic kidnapping,” March corrected.

Dan Heng sighed, folding the scroll. “Ignore her. The phoenix is a creature of rebirth and legacy. To court her properly, you should appeal to her lineage. Recite a ballad of her flames, honor her ancestry, vow to guard her eternal cycle. It is less…flamboyant than March’s idea, but it shows respect.”

March snorted. “Boooooring. Trust me, girls love dramatic entrances.”

Phainon buried his face in his wings. “Ballads…skywriting…oh stars…”

XxxOxOxOxxX

The training arena glowed in the evening light, fire tracing elegant arcs as Stelle practiced. Sparks spiraled in the air around her, warm and alive.

Phainon hovered at the edge, parchment clutched to his chest, feathers trembling.

Steady. Dan Heng said honor her lineage. Respect, devotion. Just speak.

He stepped forward. “Stelle!”

She turned, her flames dimming. “Phainon?”

He unrolled the parchment with a dramatic flap. “I have…composed something. For you.”

Her eyes softened. “For me?”

He nodded, throat dry. “Ahem– ‘O blazing star reborn in ash, eternal dawn that–’”

A spark from her palm flared unexpectedly, streaking across the stage. Before either of them could react, it caught the parchment like tinder.

“AHH!” Phainon yelped, flapping wildly, the scroll curling into ash in his claws. His wings smacked against the air in panic, feathers flying everywhere.

Stelle rushed forward, slapping at the flame with her hands which only made it spark hotter. “Wait, no, don’t move!”

Together they managed to stamp it out, leaving only a charred stump of parchment and a pile of singed feathers between them.

Phainon stood frozen, smoking slightly. “…That was the ballad.”

Stelle’s cheeks were pink, her laughter barely contained. “It was…fiery.”

From the balcony, March hollered, “TEN OUT OF TEN! SO ROMANTIC!”

Dan Heng sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I told you, pick fireproof parchment.”

Phainon wanted the earth to swallow him whole, but Stelle’s smile lingered, soft and warm, as she brushed a bit of ash off his feathers.

“Maybe next time,” she said.

His heart nearly combusted.

XxxOxOxOxxX

The glade outside Okhema shimmered faintly under the moonlight, its flowers glowing like tiny lanterns. Phainon sat on a mossy stone, wings drooped, staring glumly at the rippling pond.

“You look like a crow that’s flown into a window,” a lilting voice teased.

Phainon flinched. “Cyrene.”

The fae drifted into view, skirts brushing the grass, wings glittering with a soft, otherworldly light. Her smile was playful, but her eyes knew too much; they always had.

“So,” she said, circling him like a cat, “my little harpy eagle has been trying to court a phoenix, hm? And setting himself on fire in the process?”

He buried his face in his hands. “…Everyone’s laughing. Every attempt. She must think I’m an idiot.”

“Maybe she does,” Cyrene sang, plopping down beside him. “But she’s smiling when she does, isn’t she?”

Phainon’s wings twitched. “…Yes.”

“There’s your answer.” She leaned back on her elbows, watching the fireflies dance. “You can roar like a lion, weave like a spider, recite like a dragon…but none of it matters if it isn’t you. The Phainon she looks at isn’t a role you’re playing. It’s the one with singed feathers, clumsy talons, and a heart so obvious it could blind the sun.”

Phainon blinked at her. “…That’s not very helpful.”

Cyrene smiled, tapping his forehead with one delicate finger. “Oh, it’s extremely helpful. You just don’t like answers that don’t come with instructions.”

He groaned, dragging his claws down his face. “You’re impossible.”

“Mm, but I’m right.” She hopped up, her laughter chiming like bells as she drifted away. “Stop trying to be everything else. She doesn’t want a lion’s roar or a fae’s tricks. She wants Phainon.”

And with that, she vanished into the fireflies, leaving him alone with the rippling pond and his tangled thoughts.

XxxOxOxOxxX

The amphitheater lay empty at twilight, marble glowing like amber under the last of the sun. Phainon lingered at the edge of the stage, wings drooped, eyes fixed on the ground. For days he had done nothing but stew; no roaring, no weaving, no ballads. Just silence, and the ache of wanting.

“Phainon.”

His head snapped up. Stelle stood at the center of the arena, framed by the setting sun. Her hair was loose, strands catching firelight in shades of red and gold. Two great wings arched behind her, each feather edged in glowing ember hues, like they were carved from flame itself. She looked at once ethereal and terribly real, her gaze pinning him in place.

“You’ve been quiet,” she said. Her voice was warm, teasing at the edges.

Phainon’s talons scraped the stone. “I didn’t want to…make a fool of myself again.”

A soft laugh escaped her. She stepped closer, the glow of her wings washing over him. “Embarrass yourself? Phainon, you’ve been running around half-burning, half-tripping over yourself just to make me smile.”

His feathers fluffed miserably. “…And did you?”

Her lips curved. “Every time.”

He blinked, startled.

She let her gaze linger on him, softer now. “You think you’ve failed, but don’t you see? I didn’t laugh at you. I laughed because it was you. Because no one else would roar like a lion, tangle themselves in a hammock, or set their own poem ablaze just to be near me.”

His heart hammered in his chest, wings trembling. “…I only wanted to prove myself worthy.”

“You already are.” She lifted her hands. Flames sparked at her fingertips, curling outward until a circle of fire enclosed her, its light flickering over the marble. The air shimmered with heat, embers drifting lazily like stars.

Phainon stared, breath caught. “Stelle…”

“This is how my kind courts,” she said, stepping deeper into the blaze. Her wings unfurled, red and gold, their fire casting long shadows across the stone. “We bare our flame and invite the other to step in. To prove they’ll stand with us, even if it means being burned.”

The fire roared higher. Her amber eyes fixed on his, steady and daring. “So…will you?”

Phainon’s talons clenched. Every instinct screamed at him to recoil from the heat. His wings shivered with fear. But he looked at her – at the glow in her hair, the strength in her stance, the quiet hope flickering under her boldness – and he stepped forward.

The fire licked his feathers, searing the edges and making him wince, but he didn’t falter as he reached her.

Her hands closed around his. The flames softened, curling around them like an embrace.

“I’m supposed to be the one doing the courting,” he whispered, voice rough.

Her smile broke, radiant as sunrise. “I got tired of waiting.” And she leaned up to kiss him.

The fire flared, a rush of heat and light, and when it dimmed, they stood in the center of the ring, wings and embers tangled together.

From the balcony, March squealed loud enough to shake the stones. “FINALLY!”

Dan Heng muttered, “Took them long enough.”

And somewhere beyond the amphitheater, Aglaea’s laughter rang out, sharp and delighted, followed by Anaxagoras’ hissed, “It should have been an eye.”

Phainon didn’t care. He was too busy realizing that, for once, he’d finally gotten it right by not trying to be anything but himself.

Chapter Text

The air in the Ancient Amphoreus wing smelled faintly of stone and dust, with a sharper undercurrent of old bronze. It was the kind of scent that clung to places where history had sat quietly for centuries, undisturbed.

“This wing will be yours for the next few weeks,” Aglaea said, her voice warm and composed. The Museum Director moved with elegance, her pale-green silk scarf swaying lightly as she walked. “Ancient Amphoreus. I understand it’s your field of study?”

“It is,” Stelle said, adjusting the strap of her satchel. “I actually wrote my last paper on Amphoreus’s maritime trade routes.”

That earned a pleased glance from Aglaea, who stopped before a display of gold-and-lapis necklaces. “Then you already know the value of careful preservation. Your task will be cataloguing a series of smaller artifacts we’ve recently acquired. You’ll also help me reorganize the labeling in this section; some of it is decades out of date.”

They passed rows of pottery and ceremonial masks, each bathed in the soft white light of hidden fixtures. Stelle took it all in with an eagerness that felt almost childlike.

Aglaea slowed at the far end of the hall, her gaze drifting toward the open archway ahead. “And there,” she said, “is the centerpiece of this collection.”

Stelle stepped through and stopped.

The Nameless Hero stood alone in the chamber, as though the rest of the museum had been built around him. Carved entirely from white marble, he stood tall, one hand resting on the hilt of a sword driven into the earth at his feet.

The sculptor had captured a paradox; the set of his jaw spoke of determination, but his eyes…the eyes were carved with sorrow, a depth of loss that made her throat tighten without knowing why.

“No one remembers his name,” Aglaea said softly beside her. “But legend says he brought forth the dawn when Amphoreus faced its darkest hour.” She nodded toward the plaque at the base.

“He shouldered the weight of the world so others could live to see the sun.”

Stelle crouched slightly to read it, fingertips brushing the cool edge of the pedestal. “It doesn’t say anything else?”

“Nothing that history can confirm,” Aglaea replied. “We have the statue; we have the stories. The man himself, if he ever truly existed, is lost to time.”

They stood there a moment longer before Aglaea excused herself to meet a donor in another wing, leaving Stelle with her clipboard and a task list.

She should have turned away, started with the cases of artifacts by the wall. But instead, she found herself circling the statue slowly, memorizing the lines of his expression, the fall of hair against his cheek, the way the sculptor had caught the sword mid-rest, as if the battle had ended only moments before.

There was a strange stillness in the room. Heavy, but not suffocating, almost safe.

On her break, coffee in hand, she found herself here again, just standing, looking up at a stranger’s face carved centuries ago, and feeling…No. She didn’t have a name for what she felt.

Not yet.

XxxOxOxOxxX

By midday, Stelle’s first day at the museum had turned into a marathon of small, urgent requests.

She had started in the Ancient Amphoreus wing, carefully labeling a set of delicate amphorae, only to be summoned by one of the junior archivists to help carry a crate of catalog cards down from the library mezzanine. No sooner had she set them down than someone from Visitor Services appeared at her elbow, asking if she could point a lost family toward the modern history wing.

“I promise it’s not usually this chaotic,” Aglaea said at one point, gliding past in a rustle of silk, balancing a stack of acquisition forms and a phone pressed to her ear. She still somehow looked entirely composed, like the chaos bent politely around her.

Stelle smiled faintly and kept moving. It wasn’t that she minded – she liked being useful – but by the time her break rolled around, her legs ached, and she’d barely had a moment to breathe, let alone really see anything in the museum.

She bought a coffee from the staff lounge machine – weak, watery, but blessedly warm – and told herself she’d just sit for ten minutes before diving back in.

Her feet had other plans.

Almost without thinking, she found herself retracing the path through the high-arched hallways, past displays of Amphoreus coinage and ceremonial masks, until the light shifted cooler and softer. And there he was again.

The Nameless Hero stood alone in his chamber, marble pale beneath the filtered winter light.

She lingered a few steps inside the doorway, sipping her coffee, eyes drawn inevitably upward. He looked unchanged from earlier, of course. The steady set of his shoulders, the quiet sorrow in his carved gaze were still the same. And yet, standing here now, with the muffled sounds of the museum behind her, it felt… different. Closer.

She drifted forward until she was near the base of the pedestal, setting her cup down on the bench beside her. The words on the plaque were as simple as before.

He shouldered the weight of the world so others could live to see the sun.

A shadow moved in her peripheral vision.

She turned and something froze her in her spot.

A man stood near the far side of the statue, tall enough that the marble figure didn’t entirely dwarf him. His white hair caught the pale light in soft strands, his posture relaxed yet watchful, hands in the pockets of a well-worn coat.

Something about him felt…anchored. As if he belonged in this room, in a way no modern visitor ever could.

For a moment, they just regarded each other in the quiet. His eyes – striking, and not just for their blue color – lingered on her with mild curiosity, before shifting back to the statue as if he, too, had been caught mid-thought.

Stelle’s fingers curled slightly at her side. She didn’t know him. She’d never seen him before. But there was an odd pull, not unlike the one she felt toward the statue itself.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” His voice was low, carrying easily in the quiet chamber.

She found herself nodding before she remembered to answer. “Yes. It…feels different when you’re standing here.”

He smiled faintly, like he understood that in a way he wasn’t going to explain just yet.

Stelle hesitated, shifting her weight. “I’ve read the inscription a few times now, but…” Her gaze slid back to the marble face above them. “It’s frustrating that there’s no name. Just ‘Nameless Hero.’ I keep wondering who he really was.”

The man’s expression softened, though she caught a flicker of something like amusement. “Maybe the name wasn’t the important part.”

She gave a small huff of a laugh. “Easy for him to say, but it’s driving the historian in me crazy.”

“Historian?” he echoed, turning more fully toward her.

“Student,” she corrected, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “History and mythology. Which probably explains why I’ve been hovering around this statue since I got here.”

His smile deepened, though now it held something almost puzzled. “I think it explains a lot more than that,” he said softly, though it sounded like he was half-speaking to himself.

She tilted her head. “Such as?”

But before he could answer, a familiar voice cut across the hall.

“Stelle! We need you a moment. Shipment just came in early.” Aglaea stood in the doorway, immaculate as ever, though her tone carried the brisk edge of a schedule derailed.

“Coming!” Stelle called back. She stooped to grab her coffee from the bench, resisting the urge to glance at the man again but failing, just for a moment.

He hadn’t moved. He simply watched her go, brows faintly knit, like someone trying to remember a half-forgotten dream.

XxxOxOxOxxX

The rain had softened to a steady patter against the café windows, blurring the world outside into a watercolor of grey and gold. Stelle sat curled into the corner booth, hands wrapped around a mug that steamed faintly against her chin. Hyacine was already there, her sunny smile as constant as the soft floral perfume she wore, while March leaned half over the table, trying to snap an artfully candid shot of her latte.

“You’ve been quiet on text lately,” March said without looking up, her camera phone angled just so. “Which means either you’ve been buried under essays or…” She glanced up with a grin. “…you’ve got a secret.”

Hyacine giggled. “A good one, I hope.”

Stelle smirked faintly. “Option one. Maybe option one-point-five.”

Hyacine tilted her head. “And what’s one-point-five?”

“I…met someone at the museum,” Stelle admitted, trying to sound casual, though she could feel the warmth creeping up her neck.

That got March’s attention instantly. She set her phone down and leaned in. “Oho? Tell me everything.”

“Not much to tell,” Stelle said quickly. “I was on break, and he was just…there. Standing in front of the Nameless Hero statue like he’d been drawn to it. We talked for maybe a minute before Aglaea called me away.”

“What did he look like?” Hyacine asked, chin resting on her palm, her eyes soft with curiosity.

“Tall. Broad-shouldered. White hair. Kind of…warm smile, but the quiet kind. Like it could get dangerous if he wanted it to.”

March gasped theatrically. “Stelle, you’re describing the male lead of a romance drama. Did he also have tragic eyes and a mysterious past?”

“Maybe,” Stelle muttered, sipping her coffee to hide her face.

That was when Castorice arrived, her coat still damp from the rain and her expression bright with the promise of caffeine. She slid into the empty spot beside Hyacine, setting down her peppermint latte. “Okay, what did I miss?”

“Stelle met a man,” March announced with unholy glee.

“A hot man,” Hyacine amended gently.

“A possibly fictional man,” March added.

Castorice arched a brow, intrigued. “Oh? Do tell.”

Stelle sighed, resigned. “He was at the Nameless Hero statue. Tall, white hair, blue eyes, sharp cheekbones. That smile that feels like it’s keeping secrets.”

For a moment, Castorice’s expression flickered into something sly. “That’s oddly specific. You might be describing someone I know. Or, at least, someone my boyfriend knows.”

March leaned forward. “Who?”

“Phainon,” Castorice said, stirring her latte with deliberate slowness. “Mydeimos’s best friend. He’s been away for years, only just came back to Amphoreus.”

The name sank into Stelle’s mind like a stone in water, sending small ripples outward. “Phainon…” she repeated under her breath.

“Mhm,” Castorice hummed. “And if it is him, then I can tell you one thing; you’ll be seeing him again. Mydeimos has a habit of roping everyone into weekend plans, whether they like it or not.”

Something in her friend’s certainty made Stelle’s pulse trip. She looked toward the rain-smeared window, but her mind was still in the museum hall, still at the marble statue, still with the man who had looked at her like he was trying to remember a dream.

XxxOxOxOxxX

That night, the rain had cleared, leaving the city wrapped in silver starlight. Stelle fell asleep with her hair still damp from her shower, the soft rhythm of droplets against her window lulling her into slumber.

She opened her eyes to golden light.

It spilled over a wheat field, the stalks swaying like liquid under the touch of the wind. Beyond them lay a village she did not recognize, all stone cottages and curling chimneys, the scent of fresh bread and wildflowers hanging in the air. She was standing barefoot, the earth warm beneath her toes, and someone was beside her.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. His presence radiated a strange familiarity, the kind that made her chest ache in the gentlest way. She couldn’t see his face – every time she tried, the sunlight seemed to blur it – but she could feel his hand in hers, solid and sure.

They walked through the field together, their steps falling into an easy rhythm. His voice came low, amused, a murmur in her ear that made her laugh without quite knowing why. He teased her about something – something only they would understand – and when she swatted his arm, he caught her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles.

“I love you,” he said, and it came as easily as breathing.

The warmth spread through her chest, so deep it felt endless. She turned toward him, smiling –

And the world shifted.

The sun dimmed to a blood-orange haze. The wheat bent as if under a sudden storm, the air thickening. She looked down and there, jutting from her stomach, was the gleam of a blade.

Her breath caught, a choked sound tearing from her throat. She heard his voice again but this time it was raw, broken, screaming her name like it could pull her back from the edge.

The sky tore open, and everything went dark.

Stelle woke with her heart pounding, the ghost of golden light still burning behind her eyes.

The next morning, Stelle was still thinking about the dream. Not the details – those had already blurred into soft edges and fading light – but the feeling of it.

It clung to her like perfume, bittersweet and impossible to forget. She could still feel the ghost of a hand in hers, the echo of a voice that made her chest tighten, the heat of sunlight that seemed to seep straight into her bones. And beneath it all, the sharp, startling memory of pain, the sound of someone screaming her name.

By the time she was back at the museum, shuffling through artifact lists for the Ancient Amphoreus exhibit, she’d told herself twice to focus and failed both times. Her pen hovered uselessly over the clipboard. She kept catching herself staring off into the middle distance, brow furrowed like she could will the dream back into focus.

On her way to the archives, her feet slowed. She had meant to keep walking, but something in her chest tugged at her, and before she quite realized it, she was stepping through the arch into the Nameless Hero hall.

The morning light from the tall museum windows spilled over the statue in a soft wash, catching in the marble folds of his cloak, glinting on the sword’s hilt. That same quiet determination was etched into his expression, but the longer she looked, the more she thought she saw sorrow there too, tucked into the corners of his mouth.

She stood before him for a long while, the buzz of her unsettled thoughts quieting into something steadier. Peace, almost.

Her fingers traced the inscription on the base without really thinking.

He shouldered the weight of the world so others could live to see the sun.

No name. No history, not here at least. But standing in that patch of sunlight, the weight in her chest eased. She didn’t understand it.

She only knew she would come back.

XxxOxOxOxxX

The bell over the café door chimed softly as Stelle stepped inside, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face. The air was warm with the smell of coffee, cinnamon, and something sweet baking in the back, the kind of cozy atmosphere that made this place their unofficial meeting spot.

She scanned the booths along the side wall, expecting to see Mydeimos’ broad-shouldered frame waving her over, maybe Castorice half-lounging beside him with her usual elegance, March already halfway through her pastry.

Instead, her eyes landed on someone she wasn’t expecting at all.

There he was.

The man from the museum. The one who’d caught her in front of the Nameless Hero statue like she’d been caught trespassing in her own thoughts.

He sat next to Mydeimos, laughing at something; not a polite laugh, but the kind that leaned his whole frame forward, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The sound carried over the café chatter and hit her with the same inexplicable warmth she’d felt before.

“My favorite museum girl!” March’s voice jolted her from her thoughts. The pink-haired whirlwind was already halfway across the café, nearly bouncing on her toes as she looped an arm through Stelle’s and tugged her toward their table. “You’re late. We were about to order without you.”

“I’m on time,” Stelle protested, letting herself be pulled along. “You’re just early.”

“That’s not important. What’s important is –” March stopped at the table with a dramatic sweep of her arm. “–this is Phainon. Mydei’s oldest friend in the entire world. He’s back in Amphoreus after…how long was it?”

“Six years,” Mydeimos supplied, grinning as he leaned back in his seat. “And he hasn’t aged a day. Annoying, isn’t it?”

“Good to meet you,” Phainon said, and when his gaze met hers, the smile in his eyes softened into something that felt like a private joke. “We’ve crossed paths before, haven’t we?”

“A little,” she said, unsure whether to admit the context. “At the museum.”

“The museum?” Castorice, perched gracefully beside Mydeimos, arched a brow. “Don’t tell me you were already charming the staff.”

“I wasn’t–” Phainon started, but March cut him off with a grin.

“He has that face. You know, the ‘trouble in three conversations or less’ face.”

Hyacine, sipping tea at the end of the booth, laughed quietly. “To be fair, if he was in the Nameless Hero hall, he probably just wanted the view.”

Stelle felt her ears warm and quickly busied herself with sliding into the empty spot beside March. “I didn’t say where in the museum it was,” she pointed out.

“Didn’t have to,” Hyacine replied with a knowing little smile.

The banter rolled on around them; Cipher arguing with Dan Heng over the café’s “terrible” tea selection, Mydeimos recounting some half-disastrous training story from school that had Phainon groaning into his hands. But every so often, Stelle caught him looking at her across the table, the corner of his mouth quirking like he knew she’d notice.

By the time the waitress came to take their orders, she was beginning to suspect this was going to be the start of something that would refuse to stay neatly in its box.

XxxOxOxOxxX

By the time their orders arrived, the table had dissolved into easy chaos. March had stolen half of Dan Heng’s croissant, Mydeimos and Castorice were quietly sharing bites of cake, and Cipher had somehow convinced Hyacine to try an espresso shot despite her protests.

Stelle nursed her latte, trying not to be too aware of Phainon’s voice; warm, smooth, carrying through the jumble of conversation straight to her. He spoke easily with Mydeimos, and yet, every so often, his glance flicked toward her, almost imperceptibly, and she felt a peculiar pull in her chest.

Eventually, the crowd thinned. March had a photography project to finish, Dan Heng wanted to make it to the library, and one by one, chairs scraped back. Soon it was just Stelle, Phainon, and the last crumbs of cake on the table.

“I’ll walk you,” he said as they stepped out into the late winter air. The sky was caught between gold and pink, the last remnants of warmth of the day brushing over the streets.

“You don’t even know where I live,” she replied, though there was no real resistance in her voice.

He grinned. “Then I’ll walk with you until our paths split. Fair?”

They fell into step together, the city’s hum around them, the murmur of street vendors, the occasional rumble of a passing tram.

“So…what brought you back to Amphoreus?” she asked, curious despite herself.

“I needed a change of pace,” he said, shrugging. “Been traveling a lot. Jarillo V, Penacony, the Luofu…you know, seeing the world a little before it’s too late to run.” He chuckled lightly. “And of course, Mydeimos promised this city hasn’t changed a bit.”

“You mean all the cobblestone streets and the overpriced coffee?” she teased.

He laughed, deep and easy. “Exactly. You fit right in, don’t you?”

Their conversation flowed, light and teasing, until at a crosswalk, she reached for the pedestrian button at the same time he did. Their fingers brushed; just a light touch, nothing that should have mattered. But it did.

A jolt shot through her, subtle on the surface but enough to throw her off, like a single note resonating through a quiet hall. She inhaled sharply, and he seemed to do the same. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the city around them blurred at the edges.

“Static shock?” he asked, voice low, almost a whisper.

“Maybe,” she said, though her voice didn’t sound entirely convincing, even to herself.

The light changed. They crossed, and neither spoke for a few blocks, both turning over the same unspoken question.

Finally, they reached the point where their paths split. He gave her that same soft, almost secret smile from the café. “See you around, museum girl.”

The name should have been teasing. Instead, it felt like a promise, lingering between them long after they parted.

XxxOxOxOxxX

That night, sleep came reluctantly to Stelle. Her mind replayed the city walk, Phainon’s hand brushing hers, the electric thrill of a touch that should have meant nothing and yet had left her unsettled. When she finally drifted off, the dream carried her far from the hum of the city.

She found herself standing in the middle of a battlefield. The air was thick with smoke and the scent of metal, the ground beneath her boots scorched and cracked. The sky was bruised with storm clouds, lightning flickering faintly above and high in the air, a monstrous shape circled. It had the body of a beast with wings like tattered banners, a long spear clutched in clawed hands, its tip dripping with some unholy light.

Beside her stood the tall, broad-shouldered man from her other dream, the one whose face she still couldn’t see. He moved with lethal precision, every motion a shield for her. His blade sang as it struck, cutting down smaller creatures that swarmed from the shadows, but every few moments, he would glance over his shoulder, eyes she couldn’t see burning into her, checking, making sure she was still standing.

“You’re too close to it!” he barked once, even as he cut down another foe. But beneath the urgency was something deeper; the same fierce protectiveness she had felt in the wheat field, now sharpened into steel.

On her other side was another figure; taller still, draped in crimson robes and golden armor that gleamed even in the dim light. Red markings coiled like serpents along his arms and chest, their patterns glowing faintly. He fought with a strange, controlled grace, his fists slicing arcs of gold and scarlet through the air. She couldn’t see his face either, but his voice was calm, steady.

“Hold the line,” the crimson warrior said, without looking at her. “It will break soon.”

The faceless man she knew snarled in response. “She is not a line to be held. She’s–” He cut himself off, gritting his teeth, then stepped in front of her just as the winged beast dove.

The impact rattled her bones. She swung her sword, parrying a strike, and felt the man at her back shift, blocking the rest.

And in that moment, just for a heartbeat, she swore she felt his hand brush against hers, even as chaos roared around them.

Then the beast let out a shriek so loud it split the air, and the dream tore away from.

Stelle woke with a sharp inhale, staring at the ceiling, heart racing as though she’d truly been fighting moments ago. Her arms ached faintly, her pulse still erratic. And yet, amid the lingering fear, there was that same pull, that same impossible certainty, that she had known him before. Both of them.

XxxOxOxOxxX

The days that followed slipped by in a kind of quiet suspension. Stelle worked through her catalog lists, her hands steady but her thoughts elsewhere. Every brush of dust from an old relic, every flicker of lamplight across the marble floors seemed to hum with an energy she couldn’t find a name for.

And then there was Phainon.

He began appearing at the museum again; first with Mydeimos, then alone. Always polite, always with some pretext: a misplaced brochure, a question about the exhibit schedule, a passing interest in the Amphoreus displays. But each visit lingered a little longer than the last.

Once, she found him standing in the Nameless Hero hall. The morning light had just begun to spill through the tall windows, painting the marble in soft gold. Phainon stood before the statue with his hands in his pockets, gaze distant.

“Feels like déjà vu,” he said without turning.

Her mouth curved before she could stop it. “The tourist kind or the cosmic kind?”

He glanced back at her then, and there was something in his eyes that looked both like amusement and sorrow. “Maybe both. You ever get the feeling you’ve been here before? Not just this room. This…moment.”

She didn’t answer, though her chest tightened. Because she did.

That night, the dreams returned.

She stood amid a burning citadel. Smoke curled from the broken ramparts, the sky bleeding with light. A man knelt before her; the same tall, broad-shouldered figure whose hand she’d once held in sunlight. His armor was cracked, his breath shallow. Behind him stood another warrior, cloaked in gold and crimson, his voice calm even as the world fell apart.

“Run,” the first man said, forcing a broken smile as he pressed his sword into her hands. “If the dawn won’t come for me, let it come for you.”

She tried to reach for him but the ground split, fire and ash swallowing everything in its path. His name tore from her throat is a scream.

“Khaslana!”

She woke with tears on her face and the echo of his voice in her ears.

The next morning, Phainon found her first. No friends, no excuses this time; just him, framed in the doorway of the archive room, sunlight outlining his shoulders.

“You didn’t sleep,” he said softly.

She hesitated, then admitted softly, “Dreams. They feel…real.”

He crossed the room until he was close enough for her to catch the faint scent of rain on his coat. “Tell me.”

And she did; haltingly at first, then all at once. The wheat field. The battle. The name that had slipped through her mind like smoke.

When she finally looked up, his face had gone pale. “I’ve seen it too,” he said, almost to himself. “Not as dreams but as flashes. A field. A woman’s laughter. A promise I couldn’t keep.”

Their eyes met, and something inside the air changed; a faint pressure, a hum at the edge of hearing.

Without thinking, she reached for him and just as their fingers brushed, the world lit up.

For a breathless instant, the museum was gone, replaced by marble walls and the sound of distant waves. The air shimmered, heavy with gold light, and she thought she heard voices; laughter, weeping, a vow spoken under a dying sky.

Then, as suddenly as it began, it was over.

She stumbled, and he caught her by the shoulders. His heartbeat thundered under her palms.

“What was that?” she whispered.

Phainon’s voice was unsteady. “The truth,” he said. “Trying to find its way back to us.”

They stood like that for a long time, the silence between them trembling. When their hands finally drifted apart, the air still pulsed faintly, as though refusing to let go.

That night, sleep found her again but gently this time, like a tide returning to shore.

She dreamed of the wheat field once more. The light was softer now, the wind warm. The man stood before her, whole again, his blue eyes clear and calm as the wind swept his white hair. When he spoke, his voice was the same one that had haunted her across centuries; steady, and full of love that had never faded.

“Stelle,” he said. “Even if the world forgets, I will remember you.”

“Khaslana!”

She woke with the name still on her lips, her pulse echoing like a drumbeat beneath her skin.

She stood, nearly not in control of her own movements, her body seemingly having a will of its own. She dressed quickly, grabbed her keys, and walked out of the door, her fingertips tingling with the faint sensation of touching wheat.

XxxOxOxOxxX

The museum was silent, its grand halls emptied of visitors, only the dim glow of moonlight filtering through the glass dome above. The statue of the Nameless Hero loomed above, carved in eternal stone, his name erased by time but his stance still defiant, immortal.

Stelle stood before it, her chest aching with the same pull that had haunted her for months. She had tried to rationalize it; her fascination with this forgotten figure, the late nights spent combing through scraps of myth, the way she sometimes dreamed of places she had never seen, of laughter not hers, of a hand slipping out of her grasp.

And always, the statue, always him.

A sound behind her made her flinch; footsteps echoing softly across the marble floor. She turned sharply, heart in her throat.

Phainon stood there, framed by the pale light, his expression unreadable at first, but when his gaze fell on the statue, and then on her, something shifted in his eyes.

Recognition.

For weeks now, she had been getting those dreams; moments where looking at him felt like staring into a half-remembered dream, where her chest tightened with a longing she couldn’t understand. And now, with the statue looming over them, it all threatened to come spilling out.

Phainon’s expression wavered, and she realized that he knew. He had always known. Not fully, not clearly, but in the way his eyes lingered on her.

In that moment, the truth struck them both at once, and when he finally spoke, his voice cracked with the weight of centuries.

“Long time no see, partner.”

Those words were worth centuries. They were a vow made at the edge of death, carried through lifetimes, whispered in the marrow of his soul until he found her again.

Stelle’s tears broke free instantly. She stumbled forward with a choked sob, and Phainon caught her in his arms, clutching her against him with a desperation that shook them both. His hands trembled as he pressed her to his chest, as if terrified she might slip away again.

“I knew it…I knew it was you,” he rasped into her hair, his voice raw. “The flashes, the dreams…I remembered pieces, but I thought…Gods, I thought I was going mad.” His breath hitched, and he held her tighter, nearly crushing her against his chest. “I couldn’t lose you again. Not again.”

Stelle’s fingers fisted in his shirt, clinging to him. Memories surged in fragments; his laughter ringing across Aidonia’s shores, his hand gripping hers in the heat of battle outside of Castrum Kremnos, the last sight of him standing tall against the eternal sun of Okhema even as the world crumbled around them. She sobbed against him, raw and aching. “I saw it too. Flashes, pieces I didn’t understand, but I felt it. I’ve felt you all along…Khaslana.”

Phainon drew back only enough to see her face, his own streaked with tears. His thumb brushed her cheek shakily, as though reassuring himself she was real. Then he crushed his mouth against hers in a kiss that was desperate, and hungry, two souls colliding after lifetimes of longing.

It was messy, wet with tears, their lips clashing, breaking, and finding each other again and again as if afraid to stop. His hands framed her face, slid to her back, pulled her closer still. Her arms wound around his neck, her nails digging in, both of them shaking as they kissed like drowning souls finally breaking the surface.

When they tore apart, gasping, their foreheads pressed together, breaths ragged, tears mingling.

Stelle whispered hoarsely, “You waited for me.”

His chest shook with a sob, his hands gripping her as if to fuse her to him. “I swore I’d find you again. And I…I did. Stelle…I didn’t care how many lifetimes it might take. You’ll always be mine, and I’ll always be yours.”

Her vision blurred, but she smiled through it, trembling and radiant all at once. “Then don’t let go. Not this time.”

Phainon kissed her again, harder, longer, a vow sealed but with the desperate press of lips that had waited too long. And in the silent museum, under the gaze of the stone Hero, the Nameless One was no longer nameless; he was a man reunited with his beloved, whole again after centuries of aching, endless loss.

For the first time since Amphoreus, he was home.

XxxOxOxOxxX

The next morning, before the museum opened, Aglaea slipped quietly into the hall of the Nameless Hero. She often came here, though she never said why.

Her footsteps echoed lightly across the marble floor until she stopped before the statue.

The plaque at the base had changed and etched clear as day, were the words:

“Khaslana. Beloved, remembered, eternal.”

Aglaea stared at it for a long moment, and then slowly, a smile tugged at her lips.

She said nothing, only turned and walked away, her footsteps fading into the quiet.

Chapter Text

The morning light in Okhema was almost too perfect, all soft gold and honeyed warmth pouring through the tall arched windows of the Amphorean archives. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, the scent of old parchment and sun-warmed stone filling the space.

Stelle stood on a wooden ladder, one hand steadying a heavy clay tablet while the other reached for the shelf above her. “You could hand me the next one, you know,” she called down, her tone light.

Phainon didn’t answer immediately. He was standing below, hands crossed over his chest, watching her reach. “I could,” he said finally, “but then I wouldn’t get to see you pretending that you don’t need help.”

She glanced down with a dry smile. “And yet, I’m the one doing all the work.”

He gave a quiet, amused hum, a sound that always seemed to vibrate more than it should. “You’re the one who insisted you ‘knew the archive system by heart’ because of your ‘experience’ with the Archives on the Express. I thought I’d let you prove it.”

“Very generous of you.” She leaned back down, holding the finished tablet toward him. Their fingers brushed as he took it and stayed just a little too long, just enough for the air between them to thicken.

Her heart stuttered once when his hand lingered another second longer than it should have. For a moment, it felt like the world around them – the city, the archives, the endless hum of Okhema – simply stopped.

He looked up at her, sunlight tracing the line of his jaw, and she met his gaze, something sparking there.

He took a step closer to the ladder, one hand rising just slightly as if to rest against her hip, and then –

“Stelle.”

Aglaea’s voice cut through the air like a divine decree. The Demigod of Romance swept in a flurry of gold-trimmed silk and the faint scent of jasmine, clutching a bundle of scrolls in both arms.

Phainon froze mid-motion. Stelle blinked, half-flustered, half-exasperated.

Aglaea, of course, took in the scene immediately – the ladder, their proximity, Phainon’s hand still half-raised – and smiled that smile. “Oh. I see.”

“Lady Aglaea,” Stelle said with admirable composure, though her voice carried the faintest tremor. “Did you need something?”

Aglaea’s eyes narrowed. “Just wondering if the archives were suddenly being repurposed as a courting hall.”

Phainon exhaled through his nose, a silent laugh he didn’t bother to hide. “Good morning to you too, Aglaea.”

“Good morning, indeed,” she said sweetly. “Do carry on, then with your professional duties.”

Stelle shot him a look that said ‘don’t you dare laugh’, climbed down, and muttered, “You owe me for this.”

Phainon followed, grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Would dinner make it even?”

“Dinner would barely cover the embarrassment,” she replied but the edge of her lips betrayed the ghost of a smile.

Aglaea lingered just long enough to hum thoughtfully to herself before gliding out again, no doubt to spread news of her completely innocent observation to Tribbios and Castorice.

XxxOxOxOxxX

The midday sun blazed over Okhema’s marble courtyards, heat shimmering above the white stone. The air rang with the sound of sparring, steel against steel, the thud of shields, the low calls of instruction echoing from the colonnades.

Phainon moved easily among the trainees, the loose folds of his training garb catching the light, each motion precise and unhurried. When he fought, it was less battle, more art, a rhythm that drew the eye without meaning to.

Which, naturally, was exactly when Stelle appeared.

“Showing off again?” she called, arms crossed, leaning lightly against one of the pillars. Her tone was cool, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her amusement.

Phainon turned, lowering his sword just slightly. “You wound me. I’m merely demonstrating proper form.”

“Proper form doesn’t usually involve half the training ground stopping to watch,” she said, tilting her head toward the group of recruits pretending not to stare.

He smirked, stepping closer, his hair damp from exertion. “Maybe they’re watching you instead.”

She rolled her eyes. “Flattery? That’s a new tactic.”

“Effective?”

“Transparent.”

He chuckled under his breath, and for a moment, the noise of the courtyard seemed to fade away. She could feel the pulse of warmth from him, the faint scent of sun and worn leather, the steady calm in his gaze that always made her chest tighten just a little.

“Since you’re here,” he said, picking up a wooden practice sword and offering it to her, “you might as well join. Unless you’re afraid to lose.”

“Lose?” She arched a brow, taking the sword from his hand. “That’s a big word from someone who tripped over a forgotten scabbard last week.”

His grin flashed. “That was strategy.”

“Of course it was.”

They circled each other, mock-serious but smiling. She struck first, and he parried easily but her follow-up forced him a step back. The second clash of blades sent sparks of laughter between them more than competition.

When she lunged again, he caught her wrist mid-swing and suddenly they were close. Too close. Her breath caught; his grip loosened instinctively, fingers sliding down her arm.

For a few moments, neither moved. The air between them hummed like the edge of a drawn bowstring.

His gaze dropped to her lips. She tilted her chin up, just slightly –

“Deliverer!”

Phainon froze. Stelle blinked, halfway between mortified and murderous.

Mydeimos was striding across the courtyard, golden armor gleaming, grin bright and entirely oblivious. “There you are! That teacher of yours been looking for you everywhere. Something about the canopy on the western terrace collapsing again, and –”

He stopped dead, squinting between them. “…Am I interrupting something?”

“No,” Stelle said instantly.

“Yes,” Phainon muttered under his breath.

Mydeimos blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” they both said in unison.

The prince looked vaguely suspicious, then shrugged. “Right. Anyway, hurry it up before that temperamental scholar starts cursing the Titans and picking fights with Lady Aglaea again.”

As Mydei marched off, Phainon exhaled through a slow laugh. “He really has a gift for timing.”

Stelle sheathed the wooden sword with a sharp click. “Maybe the Titans sent him to save you.”

He smirked. “Or to test me.”

“Then you’re failing miserably.”

He leaned in just enough that she felt the warmth of his breath. “Maybe. But I don’t give up easily.”

She shot him a sidelong glance, half a smirk playing at her lips. “You’ll have to survive Mydei first.”

Phainon laughed quietly, that soft, low sound that always seemed to reach her before she wanted it to.

XxxOxOxOxxX

Evening came softly over Okhema. The city glowed in the afterlight, its marble streets strung with ribbons and lanterns that shimmered like captured starlight. The scent of roasted figs and sweet wine floated from the stalls; musicians played by the fountains, lyres and flutes twining into a melody that made the whole city hum.

Stelle had told herself she was only going to pass through, and yet here she was, standing near the harbor terrace, watching as the first lanterns were released over the water.

She didn’t even hear Phainon approach until his voice came low beside her. “Careful. If you stare too hard, you’ll fall in.”

She turned, half-startled, half-amused. “You’re one to talk. Don’t tell me you’re actually here for the festival.”

“I was dragged,” he said, hands in the folds of his sash. “Hyacine insisted the Heirs ‘show a presence among the people.’ I think that was her polite way of saying ‘stop avoiding everyone.’”

“Sounds like her.”

He looked her over, the corner of his mouth curving. “And you? Don’t tell me you’re here on official business.”

“Maybe I just wanted to see the lights.”

“That so?” he murmured.

For a moment, it was peaceful, laughter echoing from the crowds, the waters reflecting every flickering flame. The world felt softened somehow, folded in gold.

“Here,” he said suddenly, reaching for one of the unlit lanterns by the railing. “You’re supposed to write a wish before you set it off.”

“I thought you didn’t believe in that.”

“I don’t,” he said, offering her the brush and ink. “But I’m curious what you’ll write.”

She hesitated, then bent over the lantern. Her strokes were careful, almost hesitant.
When she handed it back, he leaned to read and his lips curved.

‘No more interruptions.’

He huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s oddly specific.”

She arched a brow. “Is it?”

Before he could answer, the crowd behind them roared with laughter and applause. March 7th had arrived. Dressed in bright festival garb, she waved a fan with an exaggerated flourish, dragging a long-suffering Dan Heng behind her.

“Stelle!” she shouted across the terrace, beaming. “You’re here too? Perfect! Help me win the lantern contest!”

Phainon groaned softly. “Of course.”

Dan Heng gave him a look of pure sympathy. “You have my condolences.”

March, already bustling toward the lantern rack, noticed their untouched one. “Oh! Are you two doing the paired wish release?”

“What?” Stelle blinked.

“The one for couples!” March said brightly. “You tie your lanterns together and let them drift off at the same time. The strings symbolize unbreakable fate! Isn’t that cute?”

Phainon coughed. “Deeply.”

March, oblivious, was already rummaging for ribbon. “Don’t move! I’ll get you a gold one!”

Dan Heng muttered, “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Of course I am! They look so –”

A sudden crack cut her off as one of the firework launchers misfired. The whole rack of lanterns ignited in a spectacular bloom of light sending March shrieking, Dan Heng dragging her away by the wrist, and half the terrace ducking for cover.

In the chaos, Stelle’s half-lit lantern slipped from her hands. Phainon caught it, shielding her from a shower of falling ash with one arm.

When the noise faded, they were suddenly, impossibly close again, her pulse thrumming, his heartbeat steady against her back.

She looked up, eyes catching his in the glow of the surviving lanterns. “You still think wishes don’t work?” she whispered.

He smiled faintly. “Ask me when we finally get one uninterrupted moment.”

Their faces hovered close; close enough that the heat of his breath brushed her lips–

“STELLE! PHAINON! ARE YOU BOTH ALIVE?”

March’s voice thundered from somewhere behind the smoking stalls.

Stelle groaned aloud, burying her face in her hands. “I hate everything.”

Phainon’s laugh was low and warm. “I think the Titans are mocking us.”

“Next time,” she muttered, “we’re meeting in a cave.”

He tilted his head, smile crooked. “Romantic.”

“I wasn’t kidding.”

XxxOxOxOxxX

The city slept beneath them.

From the upper terraces of Okhema, the view stretched endlessly; rooftops silvered by moonlight, the harbor glowing faintly with the last of the floating lanterns. The air had cooled, carrying the faint scent of salt and crushed flowers.

Stelle leaned against the marble railing, chin resting on her hand. Below, the last of the festival laughter faded into quiet murmurs. “I think that’s the first time I’ve seen March actually speechless,” she said, smiling faintly.

Phainon’s voice came from just behind her. “Dan Heng bribed her with candied lotus. A brilliant tactical move.”

She laughed softly. “He’s the real hero of Okhema.”

Phainon moved to stand beside her, both of them framed in the pale wash of moonlight. For a while, they didn’t speak. The silence wasn’t heavy; just easy, the kind that happens when there’s nothing left to hide behind.

“You’re quiet,” she said eventually, glancing at him.

“I’m thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

“Only when I start listening to myself.”

She smirked. “And what are you thinking about, exactly?”

He looked out at the hills beyond Okhema, and then at her. “About how hard it is to find a moment alone with you in this city.”

Her breath caught just slightly, though she tried to mask it with dry humor. “Maybe the universe is trying to warn you.”

“Maybe the universe needs to mind its own business.”

That earned a laugh, soft and genuine, out of her. “You sound like Mydei.”

“I’m much quieter when I’m about to do something reckless.”

He stepped closer; close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him, smell the faint traces of incense and sea air on his skin. The world around them seemed to still: no laughter, no fireworks, no meddling voices. Just the hush of the waves below, and the rhythm of two hearts that had been waiting far too long.

Her teasing faltered into something quieter. “You think this counts as uninterrupted?”

He smiled, eyes half-lidded. “I’m afraid to test it.”

“Coward.”

His answering laugh was low, breathy, and before the sound faded, he leaned in and kissed her.

It wasn’t rushed, or desperate, or stolen like all the moments before. It was slow and warm; the kind of kiss that felt like the city itself had been holding its breath for them.

Her hand found his shoulder, steadying herself; his fingers brushed against her jaw, gentle but certain. The night wind lifted her hair and carried the faint scent of salt between them, and for once, there was no interruption, no divine trick, no well-timed disaster.

When they finally pulled apart, her forehead rested against his, both of them smiling like fools.

“Finally,” she whispered.

“Finally,” he echoed, voice a soft laugh.

From somewhere far below, the faint sound of Mydeimos shouting something unintelligible drifted up, but it was too far to matter.

They both ignored it.

Phainon pressed a last, brief kiss to her temple. “Next time, let’s skip straight to this part.”

Stelle smiled, eyes glinting with mischief. “You assume I’ll let you.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

Chapter Text

The sun hung high over Okhema’s Lotus Pavilion, its jade tiles gleaming beneath drifting banners of gold and scarlet. The air was heavy with incense and excited energy; disciples from every sect filled the courtyard, whispering excitedly about the upcoming demonstration.

At the center of it all stood Stelle, sleeves rolled, hair bound high with an aquamarine ribbon instead of the traditional jade pin, her white robes faintly scuffed from morning sparring; unconventional, sharp-eyed, and perfectly unconcerned with the scandalized glances of the more refined cultivators watching from the shade.

She flexed her fingers, gathering a thread of golden spirit energy between her palms. It danced like lightning, bright and alive.

“Impressive,” came a voice behind her, warm, and threaded with laughter.

She didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Phainon,” she sighed, “I see your talent for arriving exactly when no one asked for you remains unmatched.”

He stepped into view, dressed in dark royal blue robes that shimmered faintly with gold thread. His long white hair was tied high with a simple clasp, loose strands framing a face that could’ve belonged to a god if not for the smirk tugging at his mouth.

“You wound me,” he said lightly, clasping his hands behind his back. “I only came to offer support. After all, it’s not every day the Lotus Sect lets outsiders demonstrate their new spiritual constructs.”

“Support?” Stelle turned, her energy thread flickering brighter. “You mean distraction.”

Phainon grinned wider. “Ah, but distraction builds character.”

“Then your character must be overflowing.”

Their exchange earned a few muffled laughs from nearby disciples. Even the pavilion elders watching from their dais, Aglaea among them, elegant as ever, looked faintly amused.

“Lord Phainon, Lady Stelle,” Aglaea called with grace, “perhaps you might save your usual sparring for after the demonstration?”

“Of course, Lady Aglaea,” Phainon said smoothly, bowing just enough to be polite. “Though I find that a little tension makes for better results.”

“Then you’ll be thrilled,” Stelle muttered, striding toward the demonstration platform.

XxxOxOxOxxX

The faint hum of talismans filled the air, trembling with barely-contained energy. A dozen disciples ringed the edge of the pavilion floor, waiting, watching. Mydeimos leaned lazily against one of the red columns, his expression one part amusement, one part worry.

“Are you two sure this is a good idea?” he called out. “Last time Phainon tried a joint array, the ceiling tiles caught fire.”

Phainon flashed a disarming grin over his shoulder. “Correction, the tiles glowed. There’s a difference.”

“Not to the people who had to replace them,” Mydeimos shot back.

Castorice sighed softly beside him, her pale sleeves folded neatly. “Let them be, Lord Mydei. If they blow up the pavilion, perhaps it’ll teach them moderation.”

“Or humility,” Mydeimos murmured.

“Unlikely,” she replied serenely.

On the platform, Stelle inhaled through her nose, sharp and steady. “Ignore them,” she muttered. “We can make this work if you’d just–”

“Stop teasing you?” Phainon suggested.

“Focus,” she hissed.

He smiled that easy, infuriating smile, all sunlight and mischief, and raised his hand. “On your mark, then.”

They began in unison, their palms hovering over the glowing talismans as they whispered their incantations. Spirit threads shimmered from their fingertips, weaving together in the air, gold meeting blue, sunlight and sky twining like breath.

For a moment, it was perfect.

Then Phainon’s control wavered only slightly, a hair’s breadth, but Stelle caught it instantly.

“Too much chi,” she snapped. “You’ll overload the anchor.”

“Am I?” he asked lightly, eyes glinting. “Maybe your energy’s just pulling harder than mine.”

“Phainon–”

A spark flared between them, brighter, louder. The air grew sharp, crackling with unstable force.

Mydeimos straightened. “Uh-oh.”

“Step back!” Castorice called but it was too late.

The formation burst into light.

A sound like a thunderclap shook the pavilion. Wind whipped outward, scattering petals from the lotus trees and sending scrolls flying. A few disciples screamed.

When the brightness faded, smoke curled lazily from the scorched floor. Stelle coughed once, waving a hand in front of her face.

“I swear,” she rasped, “if you–”

She stopped.

Her voice wasn’t her voice. It was…lower, hoarser.

Across from her, Phainon blinked at her, then down at himself; or rather, at her. His borrowed face broke into a delighted grin.

“Well,” he said cheerfully, in her voice. “That’s new.”

Stelle’s borrowed face – his – twisted in dawning horror. “You…you idiot! We swapped bodies!”

A stunned silence swept over the pavilion before Mydeimos choked out, “By the Titans, Phainon, you look terrifyingly calm in her body.”

“I’m curious,” Phainon corrected, inspecting one of Stelle’s slender hands. “Her control is much finer than mine. I could actually work with this.”

“Put my hand down before I break it!” she snapped, the sound of her own furious voice coming from him.

“Ah, so that’s what I sound like when I’m angry. No wonder the juniors scatter.”

Mydeimos had to turn away, shoulders shaking with laughter. “You’re doomed, both of you.”

“Fix it,” Stelle demanded. “Now.”

Phainon tilted his – her – head thoughtfully. “I could…but where’s the fun in that?”

“Phainon.”

“Fine, fine.” He sighed dramatically. “But we’ll need Castorice’s help to reverse it. Unless, of course, she decides to let us suffer a little first.”

Castorice’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “Oh, I’ll help,” she said mildly. “But perhaps not before you’ve learned something about cooperation.”

“Which means she’s going to make us stew for an hour,” Stelle muttered, glaring daggers.

“And you,” Castorice added sweetly to Phainon-in-Stelle, “will learn precisely what it feels like to be scolded by the elders for once.”

Phainon groaned. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

The disciples began to disperse, still whispering. Mydeimos clapped Phainon’s – Stelle’s – shoulder as he passed. “On the bright side, at least you two can finally understand each other’s perspectives.”

“Ha,” Stelle bit out.

Phainon grinned. “You know, this might actually be fun.”

“Try me,” she warned.

“Oh, I intend to.”

XxxOxOxOxxX

By the time Castorice finished her “diagnosis,” the courtyard was empty save for Mydeimos, who lounged against a column, dressed in fin crimson silks an openly enjoying the show.

“The qi inversion should resolve itself once the celestial currents realign,” Castorice said serenely, ignoring the smoke-stained floor. “A few hours, perhaps a day. Until then, refrain from agitating the flow with strong emotions.”

Stelle, currently in Phainon’s body, crossed her arms. “Meaning?”

“Don’t argue,” Castorice translated, smiling.

Phainon arched Stelle’s delicate brow. “Then we’re doomed.”

Mydeimos snorted. “This is the best day I’ve had all month.”

Castorice gathered her herb satchel. “Try to…learn something from this, perhaps. And remember, no fighting.”

“Define fighting,” Phainon murmured.

“Phainon.”

He held up his hands. “Fine, fine! We’ll behave. Mostly.”

When their friends left, the two of them stood in the ruined pavilion, silence stretching awkwardly.

“So,” Phainon said, glancing down at his borrowed form. “What now?”

“We wait,” Stelle muttered. “Quietly.”

“That doesn’t sound like us.”

She gave him a look, one that, on his face, was downright menacing. “If you so much as–”

“–compliment how good I look in your body?” he finished, eyes sparkling.

Her jaw dropped. “Phainon!”

He smirked, tilting his head as if inspecting her from a new angle. “You know, your expression looks entirely different from this side. Softer. The way your brow furrows when you’re annoyed–”

“Stop narrating my face!”

“I can’t help it. It’s fascinating.” He leaned closer, and for one reckless heartbeat, her pulse – his pulse – stuttered. Their borrowed bodies were close enough to feel each other’s breath. “You’re even red when you’re angry,” he teased.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, stepping back. “Let’s go before I set you on fire.”

“Wouldn’t work,” he said cheerfully. “You’d just be burning yourself.”

They made it halfway to the courtyard before the next disaster.

Two junior disciples bowed deeply as they passed. “Elder Phainon! Elder Stelle!”

Stelle stiffened while Phainon grinned.

“Good afternoon,” he said sweetly, still in her body. “How’s your formation practice coming along?”

The juniors stammered, “V-very well, Elder Stelle!”

“Excellent,” he said with Stelle’s voice, radiant, melodic, and completely wrong coming from his smirking mouth. “Remember, discipline and grace are key. Just like–” He paused, caught her glare, and grinned wider. “–just like your Senior’s example.”

The disciples beamed and bowed again before scurrying off.

“You are not using my body to give lectures,” she hissed. “That was so unlike me!”

“Relax, I was flattering you,” he said. “You’d be surprised how easy it is to command respect when you’re this terrifying.”

“You are–!”

“–charming?”

“–unbearable!”

He chuckled. “Ah, so no change there.”

Hours later, they ended up by the lotus pond at the edge of the sect grounds. The chaos had dulled into quiet tension, and the air shimmered with the faint hum of spiritual energy.

Stelle, regrettably still trapped in his body, crouched by the water’s edge, studying their reflections. “It’s strange,” she murmured. “Being in someone else’s form. I can feel how different your energy is. It’s…steady. Grounded.”

Phainon blinked, caught off guard. “You’re surprised?”

“I thought you were all warmth and chaos,” she said softly. “But there’s control beneath it. Like fire contained in glass.”

He watched her for a long moment, the usual teasing gone from his eyes. “And you,” he said quietly, “are stronger than you let on. You think you’re reckless, but your energy…it’s precise. Beautiful, even.”

Silence fell between them, gentle and charged.

Then, of course, the universe refused to let it linger.

A startled shout broke the peace. Mydeimos, balancing a tower of herb baskets, almost slipped on a mossy rock.

“Phainon! Stelle! A little help?”

Phainon groaned. “And there goes the moment.”

Stelle’s lips twitched. “You call that a moment?”

“I was building one,” he said mournfully, before sighing and offering a hand. “Come on, let’s save the fool before Castorice drowns us both for letting him ruin her herbs.”

As they helped Mydei carry his fiancé’s baskets, Stelle glanced sidelong at him, her body, his smile, their eyes meeting briefly through borrowed faces.

For just an instant, she wondered if she preferred the chaos to peace after all.

XxxOxOxOxxX

The sun was sliding toward the horizon, spilling liquid gold across Okhema’s rooftops. Evening mist curled up from the lotus ponds, softening the edges of the world until the whole sect seemed to float somewhere between dream and reality.

By the time Castorice finished preparing the reversal ritual, the courtyard had emptied again, just the four of them left beneath the deepening twilight. Mydeimos sat off to the side, tying his hair up in a ponytail with a sigh, while Castorice carefully arranged talismans in a ring.

Phainon and Stelle stood within the circle, still in each other’s bodies. Both looked…quieter now. Less bickering, more something else.

“The spell will realign your spiritual threads,” Castorice said gently. “When it completes, you’ll return to your rightful forms. But you must remain still.”

Phainon gave her a mock salute. “Still as stone.”

Stelle shot him a look. “Don’t jinx it.”

But even as they settled across from one another, sitting cross-legged in the grass, there was a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Castorice’s voice rose in incantation. The talismans ignited one by one, gentle purple flame flickering in the dusk. Between them, the air shimmered, threads of light winding around their hands, their chests, their joined energy pulsing in time with their heartbeats.

At first, the ritual was silent. Then came the pulse, soft, steady, and then stronger, until it felt like a second heartbeat between them. Stelle’s eyes fluttered open, and she met Phainon’s gaze.

His expression had changed. Gone was the easy grin and what looked back at her was open, earnest, and impossibly gentle.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice low, carrying that lazy warmth she’d come to know, “I didn’t hate being you.”

She blinked, startled by the honesty in his tone. “You didn’t?”

He shook his head slightly. “It’s strange. Being you felt like holding lightning. Bright, quick, impossible to contain. But it wasn’t just power, it was…purpose.” His smile softened. “No wonder you drive yourself so hard.”

Her throat tightened. “Phainon…”

“Don’t worry,” he added quickly, teasing instinct creeping back in to soften the mood. “I’ll only steal some of your discipline, not your temper.”

Her lips curved despite herself. “You could use a little of both.”

“Touché.”

They shared a small laugh and in that instant, the last barrier between them seemed to dissolve.

The ritual’s glow flared, bright enough to paint their faces in the purple of Castorice’s energy. The world shivered, threads of energy snapped back into place with a sound like distant bells, and then there was silence.

When the light faded, Phainon blinked and realized the voice in his throat was his own again. He flexed his fingers, grinning. “Finally.”

Stelle exhaled shakily, running a hand through her hair. “Thank the Titans.”

But when they turned toward each other, it hit both of them at once, how strange it felt to look at the other and see again. Their own faces returned, but the connection from before still hummed in the air between them.

Castorice and Mydeimos exchanged a glance and wisely excused themselves. “We’ll…give you two a moment,” Castorice said, her tone suspiciously light.

When they were alone, the silence thickened. The sky had darkened to deep indigo, the stars beginning to blink awake. Fireflies drifted lazily over the pond.

Phainon scratched the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. “So…that was a day.”

Stelle huffed a laugh. “You could say that.”

“I didn’t mean for it to get that out of hand,” he admitted. “I just wanted to–”

“Show off?” she finished for him.

His smile returned, faint but sincere. “Maybe a little. You make it too easy to want to impress you.”

Stunned into momentary silence, Stelle turned her head slightly, the lantern light catching in her golden eyes. “You’re serious?”

He took a slow step closer. “I don’t joke about things like that.”

For a long moment, neither spoke. The night hummed around them, filled with cicadas and the rustle of lotus leaves.

“Earlier,” she said softly, “when we were swapped…I felt how steady you were. Even when everything went wrong.”

He tilted his head. “Did that surprise you?”

“A little.” Her lips curved. “You hide it well.”

“Guilty,” he said with a grin, but his voice was gentler now. He stepped closer again, until there was barely a breath between them. “And you,” he added, “hide your heart behind all that fire.”

Her breath hitched. “And what would you know about my heart?”

“Enough,” he murmured. “Enough to know it beats fast when I’m this close.”

The words hung there, fragile like glass. His hand lifted carefully to brush a stray strand of hair from her face. She didn’t pull away.

Instead, she looked up at him, defiant to the last, though her voice was a whisper. “You talk too much.”

He smiled, soft and certain. “Then stop me.”

For once, she didn’t argue.

The world narrowed to the warmth between them, the scent of lotus in the evening air, the quiet rush of something sparking to life. His breath brushed her lips, hers caught and for a moment, the whole of Okhema held still.

“STELLE! PHAINON!”

Mydeimos’ shout shattered the spell. Both jolted apart like guilty disciples.

Phainon groaned into his hands. “Why does he always have the worst timing?”

From across the courtyard, Mydeimos waved a scroll. “You might want to see this. Castorice found a side effect in the ritual notes! Something about…residual spiritual attunement?”

“Residual what?” Stelle asked, her cheeks still burning.

Castorice’s voice drifted faintly from behind him. “In simpler terms, you two might still sense each other’s emotions for a few days.”

Phainon blinked. “Oh no.”

Stelle groaned. “Oh no.”

And as they turned toward each other, faces still flushed, hearts very much in sync, Phainon’s grin returned, slow and knowing.

“Well,” he said, voice low, “guess you’ll know exactly how much I’m enjoying this.”

Her glare should’ve been lethal. Instead, she just muttered, “You’re impossible.”

He chuckled softly, stepping past her, close enough that his sleeve brushed hers. “And yet,” he murmured, “you’re smiling.”

…

She was.

XxxOxOxOxxX

Stelle woke to the soft rustle of paper screens and the smell of sandalwood.

For a moment she didn’t know where she was. The ceiling above her wasn’t the one she was used to; the light slanted in at the wrong angle.

Then came the quiet sound of breathing behind her. steady, and familiar.

She froze.

A warm weight shifted at her back and a voice, rough with sleep, murmured, “You’re awake.”

Phainon.

Her heartbeat stumbled. “Where…?”

“You passed out after the ritual backlash,” he said, still half-asleep. “My room was closer.”

She turned slowly. His hair was tousled, his expression annoyingly handsome. “You couldn’t have taken me to my quarters?”

He smiled without opening his eyes. “I tried. You refused to let go of my sleeve. You were surprisingly fierce for someone unconscious.”

She pressed a hand to her temple. “I’m going to deny every part of this conversation.”

“That’s fair.” He finally opened his eyes, their bottomless blue bright in the morning dim. “Though I’m keeping the story of how you lectured me in your sleep. Something about ‘reckless formations.’”

She groaned. “I did not.”

“You did. Very passionately.”

Despite herself, her mouth twitched. “You’re impossible.”

He sat up, stretching lazily and she had to look away from his rippling muscles. “You keep saying that like it’s an insult.”

“It is.”

“And yet you’re smiling again,” he said, tone full of amusement.

She looked away, the faintest color touching her cheeks. “You should thank Castorice. She’s the reason I’m not strangling you.”

“I’ll send her a gift,” he promised. “Maybe lotus cakes. And tea. We can share.”

Stelle shot him a look that should have scorched the floor, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. “Breakfast first,” she said. “Then you’re fixing every tile we burned yesterday.”

“Yes, Senior,” he said, mock-solemn, and followed her out into the morning light.

The air was cool, the world quiet except for the temple bells. Their steps fell in time on the stone path, laughter echoing softly between them.

As they reached the edge of the courtyard, Phainon’s hand brushed hers and for a moment, they both froze. Then, almost without thought, Stelle slipped her fingers between his.

He glanced down, surprise melting into a slow, unguarded smile. Neither said a word. They didn’t need to.

For once, the silence between them was perfectly content.

Chapter Text

The kitchen smelled of fresh bread and roasting vegetables, sunlight slanting through the window, turning the dust motes in the air to gold. Hieronymus burst in a whirlwind of light gray curls and untamed energy, little feet thumping against the stone floor.

“Mom! Auntie!” he called, voice urgent. “Do you know where Grandpa is? I want to see him!”

Danae glanced up from the chopping board, flour dusting her hands like morning frost. Electra, kneading dough beside her, paused mid-motion. Both women let their eyes drift naturally toward the fields beyond the window, the golden sea of wheat rolling in the breeze.

“He’s out there,” Danae said, her lips tugging into a fond smile. “Grandma and Grandpa are having a little quiet time together. It’s their special time, so let’s give it to them, yeah? They’ll come back when they’re ready.”

Hieronymus’s brow furrowed. “But I want to see Grandpa now! Can’t you just call him?”

Danae chuckled softly and scooped him up, his small body warm against her. “Patience, little star,” she said, holding him with the easy authority of someone who had learned love was best savored, not rushed. “Your grandparents will return when the moment is right. Trust me, waiting a bit won’t hurt you. And look, I’ll give you this,” she added, pressing a small piece of sweet bread into his hands. “Snack first, then maybe the fields will be ready for your visit.”

Electra smiled, brushing flour from her hands. “Think of it like this,” she told her nephew, “you’re giving them a few minutes of peace to enjoy each other, like they’ve always done. One day, you’ll understand why we all watch them like they’re stars in the sky.”

Hieronymus huffed in the kind of innocent frustration only a young child his age could manage, but the sweetness in his mother’s voice melted it away. He munched on the bread, casting glances toward the window, imagining the golden waves of wheat rolling over two figures as familiar as the sun itself.

XxxOxOxOxxX

Outside, the fields stretched endlessly, rippling under the gentle late summer breeze.

Phainon and Stelle sat together on a well-worn blanket, leaning back against one another, their bodies curved like puzzle pieces, familiar and perfect after decades. Age had lined their faces, silvered their hair, and softened their hands, but their connection, unshakable, and tender, remained untouched.

Phainon traced idle patterns along the back of Stelle’s hand. “Do you remember,” he said softly, a teasing light in his blue eyes, “how I once tried to lift you over the wheat when we were little, and you kicked me in the stomach for being clumsy?”

Stelle chuckled, head resting on his shoulder. “I was protecting my dignity,” she replied, a smile playing on her lips. “And your dignity…well, it has always been questionable.”

He laughed, a rich, warm sound that seemed to settle in the very air. “Some things never change.”

“Nor should they,” she murmured, tilting her head to brush her lips against his temple. “Except now,” she added, with a sly gleam, “I don’t have to kick you anymore. You come willingly.”

Phainon nudged her gently with his nose. “Oh, I come willingly,” he said. “Every single time. Even after all these years, I’d follow you anywhere. And you’d still tease me.”

They fell into a soft, companionable silence for a moment, listening to the wind ripple through the wheat. Then Phainon shifted, turning slightly so his arm could wrap around her shoulders. She leaned against him with ease, feeling the steady warmth of his body, the comfort that had only grown richer over decades.

“You’ve been the best of everything,” he murmured. “My partner, my home, my heart…my life. I can’t imagine one day without you.”

Stelle’s fingers threaded through his hair, tracing gentle lines along the white tresses. “I know,” she said. “And I feel the same. We’ve seen storms, and laughter, and heartbreak. Yet here we are, still us. Still…perfectly messy and wonderful.”

He lowered his head, brushing her hair aside, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, then her temple, lingering along the soft line of her jaw. She tilted her face to him, closing her eyes, savoring the simple, intimate rhythm of decades-long love.

“And you still make me blush,” she said softly, opening her eyes to find his warm gaze. “Even now.”

“I told you,” he whispered, lips brushing hers, “some things never change.”

They laughed quietly, the sound mingling with the rustle of wheat and the distant calls of birds. Time itself seemed to pause, folding all the years of love, joy, and shared life into this golden, sun-soaked afternoon.

“I sometimes think,” Stelle said after a pause, “about the little lives we’ve created…Danae and Electra, our grandchildren…it’s almost like the fields themselves remember us, in their rhythm, their waves. Every year, every harvest…they hold us too.”

Phainon kissed her hand, tilting his head to watch the sun glitter across the stalks. “Then we’ll never really be gone,” he said. “Because they’ll carry us in the laughter, in the wheat, in every summer like this one.”

Stelle rested her head against him once more, the comfort between them effortless. “And I wouldn’t trade a single moment,” she whispered.

He laughed softly. “Nor I. Even the moments when you scolded me for being a fool.”

“I still do that,” she said slyly. “And you still deserve it.”

He took her hand in both of his, holding it against his chest, the pulse steady beneath his fingers. “Always,” he said, voice low, certain, unwavering. “Always, Stelle.”

They sat in the golden sea of wheat, the breeze tangling with their laughter and whispers. Hieronymus’s distant giggle carried faintly across the fields, a reminder of a life well-lived, of love threaded through generations, and Phainon pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. “Do you hear him?” he said. “Our little star, playing far away. Reminds me of someone I used to chase.”

Stelle laughed softly. “Some things never change,” she echoed.

XxxOxOxOxxX

Back in the kitchen, Danae and Electra exchanged a glance, both eyes shimmering with emotion. Hieronymus munched his bread, distracted.

“They really are remarkable,” Danae said softly, turning away from the window to pour some juice into a small cup for him.

Electra nodded, smiling. “And they always will be. They’ve taught us everything about love, haven’t they?”

Hieronymus, now satisfied with his snack, giggled as he tumbled onto the floor, scattering a few crumbs. Danae leaned down and ruffled his curls. “Come on, little star. Let’s give them some time. They’ll come back to us soon enough.”

As the boy played at her feet, Danae and Electra exchanged one last look at the fields, golden in the evening sun, and smiled. In those waves of wheat, in that quiet, endless love, their parents’ hearts would always find each other through every year, every lifetime, every whisper of wind across Aedes Elysiae.

Chapter Text

The air in Marmoreal Palace’s grand baths shimmered with heat, the scent of sandalwood and lotus petals curling lazily through the steam. Water trickled in soft cascades from marble lionheads, pooling in glimmering basins where the people of Amphoreus came to unwind and socialize.

Phainon was not unwinding.

He was pacing along the edge of the bath, hair damp, towel hanging precariously low around his hips, muttering to himself in a way that made the palace attendants exchange looks and quietly retreat.

“Relax, I said. It’ll be fine, I said,” he grumbled under his breath, raking a hand through his already-mussed white hair. “It’s just a date. With Stelle. Stelle who can outfight Titans, and looks like she stepped out of a dream when she–” He groaned and dragged both hands down his face. “Why did I even open my mouth and asked to court her?”

From the pool, Mydeimos’ voice floated lazily through the steam. “Because you’ve been staring at her like a lovesick pup for the past three months, that’s why.”

Phainon froze, blinking through the mist. Mydei reclined in the water like some marble sculpture come to life, red-tipped blond hair slicked back, an amused smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I have not been staring,” Phainon shot back automatically.

Mydei’s brow lifted. “You walked into a door last week because she smiled at you, Deliverer.”

Phainon sputtered. “That door came out of nowhere!”

“It’s been there since the founding of the palace.”

Phainon groaned again, sinking down onto a nearby bench and burying his face in his hands. “I’m doomed. I’m going to make a fool of myself. She’s going to take one look at me, realize I’m a disaster, and–”

“–and still like you anyway,” Mydei interrupted smoothly. “Castorice says it’s part of your charm.”

Phainon peeked through his fingers. “Your partner says I’m charming?”

“She says you’re like a particularly energetic puppy who thinks he’s suave.”

“...I don’t know whether to be insulted or flattered.”

“Flattered,” Mydei said without hesitation, suppressing a chuckle. “Trust me, Deliverer, Stelle isn’t the type who wants you to act perfect. She said yes because you’re you. Just…maybe dial down the nervous pacing before you wear a groove into the marble.”

Phainon slumped, exhaling hard, then looked at him with the weary desperation of a man facing certain doom. “You’ve been in a romantic union for minute now, Mydei. Tell me what to do. How do I not mess this up?”

Mydei smirked. “Rule one, don’t talk about the weather.”

“That’s it?”

“And rule two, try not to challenge her to a duel halfway through dinner.”

Phainon looked genuinely wounded. “You act like I’d do that.”

“You did do that by snatching up her bat the first time you met. And breaking her companion’s spear while you were at it.”

“I didn’t know them then! And also, they started it by dropping from the sky out of nowhere.”

“I rest my case.”

Phainon dropped his head into his hands again with a groan that echoed off the marble.

“Come now,” Mydei said, voice softening as he stood and clapped a hand on Phainon’s shoulder. “You’ve fought Titans and braved a myriad of storms. Surely you can handle a single evening with the woman you adore.”

Phainon gave a pitiful noise that might have been a laugh, or a sob. “You make it sound easy.”

Mydei smirked. “It is. Until you realize halfway through that you can’t stop staring at her lips.”

Phainon choked on air. “Mydei!”

The other man chuckled, striding toward the changing alcoves. “Relax, Deliverer. Breathe. Maybe bring her a gift. Stelle seems the type to appreciate something sincere. And for the love of all the Titans, fix your hair before you go.”

Phainon glared after him, half-grateful, half-exasperated.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “Easy for you to say, you’ve already found your happy ending.”

Mydei paused at the door, glancing back with a knowing smile. “Then go earn yours.”

Phainon watched him go, sighed deeply, and promptly dunked his head into the bath with a splash that sent steam and water flying.

“Okay,” he muttered, water dripping down his face. “How hard can one date be?”

Somewhere far away, fate snickered.

XxxOxOxOxxX

When Phainon arrived outside Stelle’s quarters, he was prepared for a lot of things but not for the sight that greeted him when the door opened.

She wasn’t in her usual attire. Instead, she wore something simpler: a soft, light-blue dress that brushed her knees, cinched with a sash, her hair loosely tied up with a silver clasp that let a few strands frame her face. She looked…different, almost shy.

Phainon’s brain promptly stopped functioning.

“Uh,” he managed, eloquent as ever. “Wow.”

Stelle blinked, eyes darting down to her own outfit as if she’d made a mistake. “Is it weird? March said this is what you wear for…dates.” She frowned slightly. “I’m not sure why she insisted on braiding my hair three times and then undoing it again.”

Phainon blinked at her, utterly helpless. “No, no, it’s perfect. You’re perfect. I mean, uh, you look beautiful. Really.”

A faint flush bloomed across Stelle’s cheeks, though she quickly masked it with a smirk. “Careful, Phainon. You’re starting to sound like you rehearsed that.”

“I did,” he admitted under his breath. “In front of a mirror. Twice.”

Her smirk widened. “And here I thought the great Phainon of Aedes Elysiae was fearless.”

“Fearless?” He offered his arm, recovering just enough to grin. “I’m terrified. But I’m also very punctual, so…shall we?”

Stelle took his arm, laughing softly. “Lead the way, hero.”

They hadn’t even made it past the first marketplace before the trouble began.

“Lord Phainon!” A merchant waved him down from behind a fruit stand, eyes wide. “The pulley system in my stall broke again–”

“Oh, right, the one I fixed last week,” Phainon said, wincing. “Sure, just give me a moment–”

“Go ahead,” Stelle said dryly, folding her arms. “I’ll just…browse the pomegranates for twenty minutes.”

“I’ll be quick!” he promised.

He was not quick.

By the time he jogged back to her, slightly out of breath, she was sitting on a crate eating one of the pomegranates.

“Done,” he said, grinning sheepishly.

“Good timing,” she said, offering him a seed. “I was just starting to think you’d moved in with them.”

He chuckled nervously and they resumed their walk. It took two streets for things to go downhill.

“Lord Phainon! The irrigation channels–!”

“Lord Phainon! My grandmother’s cane just broke–!”

“Lord Phainon! There’s a pigeon stuck in my window!”

Each time, Phainon’s expression was the same; mortified, apologetic, and somehow still incapable of refusing.

“I swear this is the last one,” he said for the third time, holding up both hands in surrender as Stelle waited with her arms crossed. “I can’t just ignore them, they need help!”

“You also said that two stops ago,” Stelle pointed out, though there was amusement glinting in her eyes. “Do you help everyone personally?”

He shrugged, sheepish but sincere. “If I can. They trust me.”

“That’s because you never say no.”

“Exactly!”

She sighed, shaking her head but unable to hide her smile. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“Frequently told so,” he said with a grin, reaching for her hand without thinking. “But I promise, the place I’m taking you is worth it.”

They finally made it past the city gates, somehow without Phainon being roped into fixing the sprinkling system of a garden or officiating a wedding, and followed a narrow trail leading up into the hills. The path was quiet, lined with wildflowers and the distant hum of cicadas.

Stelle breathed in, glancing up at the sky where streaks of gold were melting into violet. “It’s beautiful.”

Phainon smiled, though there was a flicker of frustration in his eyes. “It was supposed to be sunset. The light hits the ruins just right, and the whole place glows.”

He ran a hand through his hair, laughing softly. “Guess I got…carried away.”

Stelle turned to look at him, the soft dusk light catching the warmth in her golden eyes. “You stopped to help a dozen people on our way here, Phainon. I’d say that’s a good reason to be late.”

He blinked, surprised at her tone.

“I don’t mind,” she added simply, lips curling in a faint smile. “I like seeing you like that. The people really love you.”

His grin returned, boyish and genuine. “You noticed, huh?”

“I’d have to be blind not to.” She glanced away, muttering, “...And maybe that’s part of why I said yes.”

Phainon blinked. “Wait, what was that?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly, walking ahead before he could press further.

He chuckled under his breath and followed, the tension easing from his shoulders as the ruins came into view: a forgotten amphitheater half-swallowed by vines and moonflowers, ancient marble gleaming in the growing dusk.

By the time they reached the overgrown ruins, the last traces of daylight had slipped away.
Moonlight poured through the gaps in the crumbling stone, silvering the vines and scattering across the mossy floor. A faint breeze stirred the air, carrying the scent of blooming nightflowers.

Stelle crouched by one of the fallen pillars, running her hand along the intricate carvings half-swallowed by ivy. “I didn’t think there were places like this still standing,” she murmured. “Okhema hides its beauty well.”

Phainon smiled faintly as he set down a small parcel of snacks; fried lotus flowers filled with spiced ground meat, candied chestnuts, and a wrapped rice ball or two that looked slightly squashed. “Most people pass by without noticing,” he said. “But I used to come here a lot when I first arrived in Okhema, it was quiet. A place to think.”

He sat beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. Stelle didn’t move away.

“You don’t strike me as the ‘quiet reflection’ type,” she teased softly.

He laughed under his breath. “That’s fair. Back then, I used to imagine being a hero like the ones in the murals. Saving the city, protecting everyone. Funny thing is, when it actually happened, it didn’t feel anything like I expected.”

Her gaze softened. “Because it was hard?”

He nodded. “Because it was real. Because there were people depending on us. Because sometimes I was scared out of my mind.” He glanced down at his hands, then smiled crookedly. “And because every time I thought I was done for, you were there.”

Stelle blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in his voice. “Phainon…”

He looked at her, and it wasn’t his usual teasing grin or warm chuckle; it was something gentler. “You know, everyone calls me a hero. The Deliverer, the herald of dawn…” He shook his head. “But you’re the one who carried us through, Stelle. You’re the one who refused to give up…refused to give up on me…even when the world was burning. You’re my hero.”

For a moment, she couldn’t speak. The night sounds faded away – the chirping insects, the distant city noise – until there was only the sound of the wind brushing through the vines.

“…You’re ridiculous,” she finally said, voice soft. “You fought beside me through all of it. You fought for countless cycles, endured hardship I could never even begin to comprehend, you did everything for a tomorrow that wasn’t promised. You carried Amphoreus to dawn. You did all of that and more.”

“Maybe,” Phainon admitted, blue eyes twinkling, “but you’re the one who made me believe that I could do it.”

That earned him a quiet laugh, one that made his chest warm pleasantly. “You always say things like that,” she said, shaking her head. “Does it ever stop being so…you?”

“I could try,” he offered, “but I think you’d miss it.”

“Maybe,” she said, smiling despite herself.

They fell into a comfortable silence, sharing the snacks under the open sky. Occasionally, their fingers brushed as they reached for something, and neither of them drew back right away.

After a while, Phainon tilted his head toward her. “You know, this wasn’t exactly how I pictured our date going.”

“Oh?” she asked, eyebrow raised. “Was it the part where you fixed a pulley system or the pigeon rescue that ruined it for you?”

He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “All of it. I wanted it to be perfect. But I guess I should’ve known better than to think anything would go as planned when it comes to us.”

Stelle leaned back on her hands, looking up at the moonlight filtering through the ruins. “Maybe it didn’t need to be perfect,” she said quietly. “You were there. That’s enough.”

He looked at her, and something in his chest ached. Her face was turned up toward the moon, silver light softening her features, and for the first time that night, he stopped trying to find the right thing to say.

He just…observed her.

“Hey, Stelle?” he said softly.

She turned to him. “Yeah?”

He smiled, a little crooked, a little vulnerable. “Thanks for saying yes.”

Her lips curved upward. “Thank you for asking, Phainon.”

XxxOxOxOxxX

The streets of Okhema were quiet when they made their way back, the night air cool and perfumed with the faint scent of lotus and jasmine drifting from the canals. Lanterns swayed above them, scattering gold and pink light across the marble paths, while the city, for once, seemed to hold its breath.

Stelle walked a half-step ahead, arms folded loosely behind her back, her hair catching the lamplight like spun silver. Phainon, hands tucked behind his head, looked about as subtle as a man trying very hard not to skip.

“I still can’t believe you helped that old woman fix her roof on our way back,” she said, half amused, half exasperated.

“She said it’d only take a minute!” he protested, grinning. “And besides, I couldn’t just leave it. What if it rained?”

She shot him a sideways look, though her lips were twitching. “You’re hopeless.”

“It’s part of my charm,” he corrected, glancing her way with a glint in his eye.

That earned him a laugh. “I’ll give you half a point for persistence.”

“Half?” he said, feigning offense. “After all my heroic labors today?”

“Fixing pulleys and chasing pigeons?” she teased. “Truly, the tales of your valor will echo through generations.”

Phainon clutched at his chest dramatically. “Mocked on my first date. Tragic.”

“Deserved,” she said lightly, though the smile that lingered on her face softened the jab.

They reached her door too soon for his liking. The light spilling from the lantern above framed her in gold, and for a moment, all Phainon could think was that he’d never seen anything so breathtaking.

“Well,” she said after a pause, tilting her head. “You survived your first date.”

“Barely,” he said with mock solemnity. “There were moments I thought I wouldn’t make it, pigeon incidents, snack casualties, but somehow, I prevailed.”

“Truly heroic,” she said, deadpan, though there was warmth in her tone.

He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly less sure of his voice. “So, uh…I was thinking…maybe we could…do this again sometime? You know, when I’m not accidentally rebuilding half the city?”

Her lips quirked. “You mean a second date?”

He coughed. “Technically, yes.”

She looked thoughtful, clearly enjoying his nervousness far too much. “Hmm. I don’t know…”

Phainon groaned dramatically. “You’re cruel, Stelle.”

She let him squirm for a few seconds longer, then smiled a smile so disarming that Phainon almost fell to his knees. “Alright. I’ll let you try again.”

“Really?” His grin lit up his whole face.

“On one condition.”

“Anything.”

“You’re not allowed to fix anything on the way there.”

He placed a hand over his heart. “I solemnly swear to let Okhema crumble for the sake of romance.”

“Good,” she said, laughing.

For a moment, neither moved. The night stretched quiet and gentle between them, their laughter fading into something softer. She turned toward the door, and then paused, glancing up at him.

“Goodnight, Phainon,” she said.

He hesitated. “Goodnight, Stelle.”

And before his mind could catch up, she leaned in and kissed him; just a brief brush of her lips against his cheek, warm and feather-light.

He blinked, startled, as she stepped back with that same teasing glimmer in her eyes.

“Consider it…motivation for the next one,” she murmured.

Then she slipped inside, the door closing quietly behind her.

Phainon stood there for a long heartbeat, staring at the spot where she’d stood. Then his hand slowly rose to his cheek, as if to confirm it had really happened.

And when he was sure no one was watching, the great Deliverer of Okhema – savior, hero, and newly smitten fool – grinned wide enough to light the street, pumped his fist in the air, and did a very undignified little victory dance right there on the marble steps.

Somewhere above, the lanterns swayed gently, as if laughing along with him.

Chapter Text

Late morning sunlight spilled across the streets of Okhema, washing everything in a lazy golden glow. The city was already alive with the sounds of vendors calling, scooters zipping by, and the faint rhythm of someone playing guitar down the block.

“I’m telling you, Cyrene,” Stelle said, tugging her hoodie sleeve down as she matched her friend’s brisk pace, “if this café of yours is another influencer trap with overpriced latte art, I’m turning around.”

Cyrene just laughed, her pink hair catching the light as she turned, walking backward so she could grin at Stelle properly. “Relax! Café Dromas isn’t like that. It’s cozy, family-run. Amazing pastries. And…” she paused dramatically, eyes glittering, “the barista’s not bad to look at either.”

Stelle gave her a deadpan look. “So it’s definitely a setup.”

“No, no!” Cyrene said quickly, waving her hands, though her grin only widened. “Okay, maybe a little. But he’s a friend, not a date. Yet.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Stelle sighed, though the corners of her mouth betrayed her with a faint smile.

They crossed the street to a quiet corner café with warm wood panels, hanging ferns in the windows, and a handwritten chalkboard sign that read Today’s Special: Honey Cream Buns & Citrus Cold Brew.

The bell over the door chimed as they entered, and Stelle was immediately wrapped in the smell of roasted coffee and vanilla. Soft acoustic music drifted through the air.

And behind the counter stood the most unfairly beautiful man she had ever seen.

Rolled-up sleeves, neat black apron with a gold name tag that read Phainon. Snow white hair slightly tousled, a strand falling over his temple as he handed off a drink to a customer with a dazzling, easy smile. He was laughing about something, and it was the kind of laugh that felt warm, that filled the space around him effortlessly.

“Phainon!” Cyrene called, waving as she all but dragged Stelle to the counter. “Look who I brought!”

He turned, and for the briefest moment, the café’s soft chatter faded. His gaze caught on Stelle’s, curious, bright blue meeting amber-gold, and his practiced greeting faltered just slightly.

“Well,” he said, recovering with a grin that was half-charm, half-genuine surprise, “guess my morning just got better.”

Cyrene leaned an elbow on the counter with the self-satisfaction of someone watching her plan unfold flawlessly. “Phainon, this is my classmate, Stelle. She’s been running on gas station coffee and sheer willpower lately, so I figured I’d bring her somewhere with actual caffeine.”

“Cyrene.” Stelle’s tone was dry, but her cheeks were already pink.

Phainon laughed; an easy, genuine sound that immediately drew her attention back to him. “Well, I’m honored you’d bring her here to save her life. I’m Phainon.”

“I gathered,” Stelle said, nodding toward his name tag, which earned her the faintest smirk from him.

“Observant. Good. You’ll need that if you’re trusting Cyrene’s coffee recommendations.”

“Excuse me,” Cyrene said, mock-offended. “I have impeccable taste. Tell her, Phai.”

He tilted his head, pretending to think, then looked back at Stelle. “She has…bold taste. Like ‘recommending an espresso with four extra shots to a first-timer’ kind of bold.”

Cyrene gasped. “That was one time!”

Stelle laughed, the sound soft but bright, catching Phainon’s attention in a way that made him forget to finish the drink he’d started. There was something grounding about her, even in her casual hoodie and messy bun; she had the kind of presence that cut through the usual café rush.

“So,” Phainon said, leaning slightly on the counter, tone dropping into that teasing warmth he used effortlessly, “what’ll it be, Stelle-who-survived-Cyrene’s-taste-in-coffee?”

“Something strong,” she said after a beat, half-smiling. “But maybe not four shots strong.”

“Good call. I’d rather not have you seeing through dimensions before lunch.”

“Hey, that’s part of the experience!” Cyrene argued, earning another laugh from him.

“Right,” he said, already turning to work the espresso machine, movements practiced and smooth. “One honey-cinnamon cold brew for our caffeine warrior. On the house, first-time visitor discount.”

“I don’t think that’s a real thing,” Stelle said.

“Sure it is,” Phainon replied, flashing her a grin over his shoulder. “I just made it up.”

When he handed her the drink, condensation cool against her fingers, his smile softened just a little, the teasing replaced by something more genuine. “Hope you like it.”

Stelle blinked, caught off guard by the shift in tone. “Thanks. I’m sure I will.”

Behind her, Cyrene was practically vibrating with glee.

Phainon’s smirk returned. “You’re going to regret introducing her to this place,” he murmured to Cyrene once Stelle took her first sip and her eyes lit up.

Cyrene grinned. “No, I’m not. She’ll be back.”

Phainon arched a brow. “You sound pretty sure of that.”

“Trust me.” Cyrene leaned in conspiratorially. “She’s got a sweet tooth. And apparently, she likes honey-cinnamon.”

Phainon chuckled, glancing at Stelle, who was already taking a second, slower sip. “Guess I’ll have to make sure we don’t run out.”

XxxOxOxOxxX

A couple of days later

Café Dromas was in its lull between the lunch rush and the evening crowd, sunlight slanting through the windows in lazy stripes. The air smelled of espresso, caramel, and the faint citrus note of Phainon’s favorite cleaner, a habit Cyrene called “a little too obsessive,” though the regulars swore the place sparkled because of it.

Phainon leaned against the counter, scrolling absently through his phone, when the bell over the door chimed.

He looked up and immediately straightened.

Stelle stood there in the doorway, hoodie traded for a light denim jacket, messenger bag slung over one shoulder. Her hair caught the light just so, and for a second, Phainon forgot every clever line he’d ever used in his life.

“Hey,” she said, noticing his expression and smiling, a little unsure but trying to play it cool. “You’re not going to tell me this time it’s on the house, are you?”

Phainon laughed, setting his phone aside. “Depends. Are you here to rescue your caffeine levels again, or is this a social call?”

“I…” Stelle hesitated, then shrugged. “Both?”

The way she said it made his grin widen before he could stop himself. “Bold move. I respect that.”

She slid onto the stool by the counter, fingers tapping idly against the wood. “Cyrene told me you’d be here today.”

“Ah,” Phainon said, pretending to sigh. “So it wasn’t fate, then. Just a setup.”

“Fate’s unreliable,” Stelle said dryly, though the corner of her mouth tugged upward. “I go with the options that come with directions.”

He laughed again. “So,” he said, leaning an elbow on the counter, tone dipping just slightly, “same order as before? Or should I risk expanding your horizons?”

Stelle smirked. “Depends. You planning to give me something drinkable this time?”

“Ouch. You wound me.” He pressed a hand dramatically to his chest. “Here I was thinking we’d bonded over honey and cinnamon.”

“You bonded with my bloodstream,” she countered, “when it hit maximum caffeine concentration.”

“Then I’d say my plan worked.”

She rolled her eyes, but it was hard to hide her smile.

Phainon chuckled under his breath and started on her drink, moving with the same smooth confidence as before. The café was quiet around them, just the hum of the espresso machine and the faint buzz of low music.

“So…” Stelle began, her tone softer this time. “You really like working here, huh?”

Phainon glanced over his shoulder with that easy half-smile. “Yeah. It’s…nice, you know? You get to meet people. Learn what they like. Sometimes it feels like I’m part of a hundred little moments that make someone’s day.”

Stelle tilted her head, watching him. “That’s…actually kind of sweet.”

He shrugged lightly, sliding her drink across the counter. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Oh, I think it’s safe,” she said, smirking. “Wouldn’t want people to know the barista’s actually a decent human being.”

He grinned. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Their fingers brushed as she took the cup, a spark of warmth passing between them so quick it almost didn’t happen.

Stelle blinked, looking down at her cup as if it suddenly required her full attention. “So…what happens if I keep coming here?”

Phainon smiled. “Then I guess I’ll just have to keep your usual ready.”

Her lips curved, quiet but genuine. “Guess you will.”

XxxOxOxOxxX

It was Friday afternoon, and Café Dromas was its usual blend of warmth and noise; chatter from students hunched over laptops, the hiss of the espresso machine, soft jazz weaving through it all. Sunlight filtered through the big front window, spilling gold across the wooden counter where Phainon stood, wiping down a milk pitcher with his usual relaxed grace.

He’d always liked this hour. It was calm enough to breathe, busy enough not to think. But lately, he’d been doing a lot of thinking.

Specifically, about a girl with messy hair, a sharp tongue, and a caffeine dependency that rivaled his own.

The bell above the door chimed.

Stelle stood there, dressed casually in jeans, a cropped sweater under a loose jacket, hair pulled into a quick braid over her shoulder. She glanced around before her gaze found him, and her lips curved into a small, hesitant smile.

His heart did something unreasonably stupid in his chest.

“Well,” Phainon said, leaning against the counter as if he hadn’t just frozen like a malfunctioning coffee machine. “If it isn’t my favorite caffeine warrior.”

Stelle rolled her eyes, walking up to the counter. “Still calling me that?”

“Of course. It’s part of your brand now,” he said, grinning. “Besides, it makes you sound dangerous.”

She smirked. “Only when I haven’t had coffee yet.”

“Then I’d better fix that immediately,” he said, already reaching for her usual cup. “The usual?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. And maybe…one of those chocolate croissants, too.”

He blinked. “Going fancy today, huh?”

“I’m celebrating surviving midterms.”

Phainon placed a hand over his chest, mock-serious. “A noble cause. I’ll make it extra good, then.”

As he turned to the espresso machine, Stelle found herself watching him th;e way he moved, quick and practiced, every motion fluid. She’d noticed it before, but now that she was alone here, without Cyrene’s chatter filling the air, she could really see it.

Her fingers fiddled with her sleeve. Oh no, she thought. Cyrene’s right. I’m doomed.

“Here you go,” Phainon said, breaking her thoughts as he slid the drink and pastry toward her. The coffee was topped with delicate foam art in the shape of a little heart.

Stelle blinked. “…Is that…?”

“Artistic accident,” he said quickly, cheeks faintly pink.

“Uh-huh.” She took the cup, biting back a smile. “You’re getting really good at your accidents, then.”

Before he could reply, the bell jingled again and in walked Cyrene, sunglasses perched dramatically atop her head, pretending not to notice anything.

“Wow!” she said far too loudly. “What a coincidence! Fancy seeing you two here.”

Phainon groaned under his breath. Stelle facepalmed.

“Cyrene,” Stelle muttered, “you told me you were going to the library.”

“I did,” Cyrene said, breezily strolling toward the pastry case. “And then I thought, ‘hey, maybe I should grab a coffee…’” She gave Phainon a sly grin, “from my favorite barista.”

Phainon sighed. “You’re insufferable.”

“But lovable!” Cyrene chirped, then shot Stelle a wink behind his back.

Phainon leaned closer to Stelle, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “You know she’s absolutely doing this on purpose, right?”

“Oh, I know,” Stelle murmured, hiding her smile behind her cup. “She’s been relentless all week.”

Phainon grinned, a quiet laugh rumbling from his chest. “Guess that makes two of us.”

She looked up. “Two of us what?”

“Thinking about the other,” he said softly, eyes glinting with warmth.

For a second, the world went quiet; the music, the chatter, even Cyrene’s not-so-subtle humming in the background. It was just the two of them, the smell of roasted coffee, and a heartbeat too loud to belong in a café.

Then Phainon cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “I, uh, mean, thinking about how you probably think about coffee a lot. Because…you know, caffeine.”

Stelle snorted. “Smooth save.”

“Wasn’t it?”

They both laughed, the tension melting into something soft.

Cyrene, pretending to inspect a muffin, smiled to herself. Mission accomplished.

XxxOxOxOxxX

Later that day

The Café Dromas had long since emptied. Chairs were stacked, the hum of the espresso machine had quieted, and the city outside hummed softly under a hazy evening sky.

Phainon wiped down the last table, humming under his breath. “You know, I don’t usually keep customers after closing.”

Stelle, sitting on one of the bar stools, smirked over her cup. “Guess I’m special, then.”

He shot her a grin. “Oh, you have no idea.”

She laughed quietly, stirring what was left of her drink. The golden light from the hanging bulbs caught in her hair, soft and warm. She looked…comfortable, like she belonged here.

When he finished locking up, he turned to her, hands in his jacket pockets. “You heading home?”

“Yeah,” she said, standing and slipping on her coat. “It’s not far.”

“I’ll walk you,” he offered immediately.

She blinked. “You don’t have to–”

“I know,” he interrupted, smile crooked. “But I want to.”

Outside, the air was cool and gentle, carrying the faint scent of roasted beans and rain-slick pavement. Their footsteps echoed lightly as they fell into stride together.

For a few blocks, they walked in easy silence. The city lights painted the sidewalks gold.

“Thanks,” Stelle said finally. “For today. I had fun.”

Phainon chuckled. “Even with Cyrene’s…antics?”

“She’s impossible,” Stelle admitted, smiling despite herself. “But…she’s right about one thing.”

“Oh?”

Stelle hesitated, looking up at the stars just beginning to peek through the haze. “You’re…easy to be around. I didn’t expect that.”

He tilted his head. “You make it sound like I’m usually difficult.”

“Maybe just a little,” she teased.

He laughed, the sound soft and genuine. “I could say the same about you.”

Their eyes met for a moment too long. Stelle’s heart stuttered, and Phainon’s breath caught somewhere halfway to a smile.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “You know, when Cyrene first brought you in, I thought you were going to hate the place.”

“Why?”

“You looked like you were ready to fight someone if they messed up your coffee order.”

Stelle snorted, shoving his arm lightly. “That’s because I was running on three hours of sleep!”

“Still terrifying,” he said, grinning.

The teasing faded into something softer as they reached her apartment building. The glow from the streetlamp washed everything in warm amber light.

“Well,” she said, turning to him. “Guess this is me.”

“Guess so.” He smiled, hands shoved in his jacket pockets. “You sure you’re good?”

She nodded, but then hesitated. “Phainon?”

“Yeah?”

“I…had a really nice time today.”

His grin turned gentler, almost shy. “Me too.”

A quiet moment stretched, neither quite willing to end it.

Then, almost at the same time, they both leaned in.

It wasn’t perfect; she misjudged the angle, he laughed halfway through, and their noses bumped before their lips met in a short, clumsy brush. But it was warm and sweet and theirs, the kind of kiss that made both of them laugh quietly afterward, foreheads resting together.

“Well,” Phainon murmured, voice low and a little breathless, “I wasn’t expecting that kind of tip tonight.”

Stelle huffed a laugh. “You talk too much.”

“Only when I’m nervous.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes, smiling softly. “You shouldn’t be.”

He exhaled, grin widening just a little. “Then I’ll try not to be. Next time.”

“Next time?” she echoed.

Phainon’s hand brushed hers, and when she didn’t pull away, he gently laced their fingers together. “Yeah. I’m hoping there’s a next time.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she squeezed his hand back. “There might be.”

They lingered another heartbeat before she slipped toward the door, still smiling.

Phainon waited until she disappeared inside before he turned away, and when no one was watching, he pumped his fist quietly in the air, a goofy, triumphant grin breaking across his face.

“Let’s goooo,” he whispered to himself, giddy.

XxxOxOxOxxX

A couple of months later

Café Dromas was winding down for the night.

The soft hiss of the espresso machine had quieted, and the music had slowed to a lazy hum. Outside, the city shimmered with streetlight reflections on rain-damp pavement.

Phainon stood behind the counter, rolling up his sleeves as he cleaned the last few cups. March leaned against the pastry case, tapping absently on her phone.

“You’ve been smiling at nothing for the last five minutes,” she said, not looking up. “Either you’ve lost it, or she texted.”

“Maybe both,” Phainon said, not even denying it.

Before she could tease him further, the bell over the door chimed.

Stelle stepped in from the cool night, her hair a little tousled from the breeze, her jacket draped over one arm. The sight of her was enough to make Phainon forget whatever witty comeback he’d been planning.

“Well,” he said, leaning against the counter, “if it isn’t my favorite caffeine warrior.”

“Still not tired of that nickname?” she asked, smiling as she set her bag down.

“Of course not, it’s part of your legacy now.”

March groaned. “You two seriously need new material.”

“Don’t act like you’re not rooting for us,” Stelle said, smirking.

“I was,” March said, grabbing her things. “But now you’re so disgustingly cute it’s ruining my blood sugar. I’m clocking out before you start feeding each other croissants again.”

Phainon laughed. “Night, March.”

“Night, lovebirds,” she called, waving as she disappeared through the back door.

The café fell quiet again, leaving just the soft hum of the fridge, and the two of them.

“You didn’t have to come all the way here,” Phainon said, watching her with that familiar, fond smile.

“I know,” Stelle said, stepping closer. “But you make the best coffee in the city. And…” she paused, her voice softening, “I missed you.”

He grinned, brushing a lock of her hair back behind her ear. “You saw me this morning.”

“I know,” she said again, this time pouting up at him. “But that was hours ago.”

Phainon chuckled quietly, the sound full and warm. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” she teased, “you still make me coffee.”

“Guess I’m a glutton for punishment,” he murmured.

He turned to the machine, but her hand caught his before he could start it. When he looked back, she was already leaning over the counter.

“Don’t need coffee,” she said. “Just this.”

Before he could reply, she pressed her lips to his, slow and sweet. His hand came up to cup her cheek, the world narrowing to the warmth of her lips, the faint scent of honey and cinnamon between them.

When they finally broke apart, she was smiling, her forehead resting lightly against his.

“Well,” he whispered, breathless, “that beats my usual end-of-shift routine.”

“Good,” she murmured. “I’m not sharing it.”

Phainon chuckled, brushing his thumb across her jaw before stepping around the counter to join her. He took her hand, fingers fitting easily between hers, and together they walked to the door.

Outside, the city lights flickered like quiet stars. Inside, the café was dark now, save for the glow of the sign above the window: Café Dromas.

He locked up, turned to her, and smiled.

“See you tomorrow.”