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Phainon had a dream--a mundane one, where after all that was said and done, the uneventfulness of the mornings, afternoons, and evenings would become their new norm.
A dream in which he would wake up with his breath stolen away every morning with the flutter of long lashes and to the visage of his beloved who mumbled a “good morning”. In which they basked in the glow of the rising sun, and shared a meal feeling the breeze in their hair. In which they would hold hands to walk side by side until the sunset kissed the skies in multicolored rays of yellow, gold, and orange. In which they leaned against one another in front of a crackling fire until one would bid the other good night.
He had a simple dream of the simple minutes of daily life, savored oh so preciously.
“What are you spacing out for?” A singsong voice called out to him, echoing with the distant wind chimes of Aedes Elysiae.
A hand held his own firmly, and tugged him forward. He had a view of a small back--tall and firm--touched by strands of seafoam green which flowed like a river in the wind. From where Phainon stood and walked, the hand which held him was a gentle touch which soothed his very being and tethered him to reality.
Those hands who held tomes of the ole, who with a wave as though life could be created from the magic of soft palms and the genius of a fathomless mind. Lithe fingers were entangled with his own, inseparable in this moment, at this very second.
In the sea of sparkling yellows and gold, the wheat which lazily swayed in the cooling breeze bowed to the side as Phainon let himself be guided towards a tree with leaves of molten gold. Under the shades, a blanket was carefully set down and a picnic basket sat by its side.
Phainon could only hear the rush of blood in his ears and the heartbeat which threatened to explode from his chest, thundering so loudly he wondered if Anaxa could feel his thrashing pulse. His breath hitched, when Anaxa turned around to bestow upon him the softest, most breathtaking smile which crinkled the edge of a lovely dual-toned eye. His existence swam in that precious gaze, so clear Phainon could see himself reflected in the hues of pastel blues and pinks.
Anaxa’s very being seemed to glow, an ethereal image of his precious other half standing amidst the scintillating gold of Aedes Elysiae. The mint suffused through the air danced around them, shyly enveloping both in the scent of home.
I love you.
A smile he would promise to protect forever, sworn on the blade he no longer needed to carry. Gone were the days of incessant strife of life and death--sharpened blades to slice the flesh of monsters from the deep carefully wrapped in cloth and stowed away. The fury of steel was quenched, now tools to carve peace and tranquility into sticks and stones.
A gift for his most beloved--a comb etched with words whispered in the peaceful silence after one had fallen asleep.
“I wrote a song for you,” Phainon blurted out.
He watched Anaxa’s eye widen--and from his lips, the softest of laughs slipped through. So melodious was the harmony, Phainon swore the birds stopped their songs to listen to the sweet voice fill the air.
“Is that why you insisted on bringing your guitar?” Anaxa helped to unclasp the case strapped to Phainon’s back.
Phainon nodded, speechless in the way he held his guitar case in his hands while he watched Anaxa lower himself to take a seat on the blanket laid out. With a tilt of his head, he looked expectantly up at Phainon.
He floundered--his stomach in his throat--for just a moment, until he clumsily slid into the spot next to Anaxa.The clasp of his guitar case was an unsolvable puzzle, pried open with trembling hands and a shaky breath. The instrument was as heavy as a boulder, his fingers sliding from the taut strings from the sweat of his nervousness.
A breath.
In.
And out.
In--and he immediately choked, his mind finding itself blank despite the countless hours he had poured into writing a song for his reason of being.
But Anaxa--he simply waited, a bottomless patience Phainon feared he would too easily take advantage of. Cold fingers touched his arm--once again tethering him to reality. A soothing balm to the raging turmoil of anxiety.
Phainon took another deep breath. This time, he held it.
“Here goes.”
Anaxa nodded.
Phainon exhaled, and as he did, he strummed the first chord of his guitar.
The first lyrics had to be forced through his quivering lips--his voice threatened to break with the heat that rose to his face and the tears that threatened to fall. His gaze was locked on Anaxa, who looked so lovely together bathed in white and gold--a ribbon tied his hair that matched the light in his eyes.
He almost forgot to breathe--and with a choking gasp, he wheezed out the first line of the chorus.
Ever so slightly, the corners of Anaxa’s lips twitched upward.
That was so silly, wasn’t it? To cry while singing the song he wrote for his beloved.
Just like he had cried when he first tenderly held and took Anaxa, he would cry more in the future. When he would lower himself to one knee to slide a humble ring to a fragile finger. When he would kiss those lips after he would recite his oaths. When he would kiss those sweet lips the next day, and every day after.
Phainon had a dream--mundane and uneventful, but fulfilling and meaningful. In which the days were peaceful and serene, spent with the one he loved the most in the world. In which, every day, he would learn something new about Anaxa and fall a little bit more in love.
Just a little bit more.
Just a little bit.
His love was the surging tide of the vast oceans, indescribable was the way he held Anaxa dear to his heart.
He dreamed of a garden, rows of fragrant flowers a backdrop to Anaxa’s beautiful form. In the distance would be vegetables, homegrown and with a dash of Anaxa’s ingenuity.
He dreamed of a family.
He dreamed of a little one, held tender in their arms where the both of them would press a kiss to each of the little one’s plump cheeks. They would spend their nights reading story books and doodling multicolored dromases in the printed margins, with a dozing chimera curled by the fireplace.
If their little one wanted to wear dresses, he would ask Aglaea to stitch the finest of garments. He would ask Cifera for designs from far and wide--an overabundance of choices. They would dance in the gardens grown by Cyrene, their fluttering dresses blooming softly as they twirled. If their little one wanted to become an adventurer, he would ask Hysilens for tales of the deep oceans and Cerydra for anecdotes of the diverse cities. All for their little one to pick the first adventure into the open world. And Tribios would bestow upon their little one a path of wonder, the best sights to inspire an impressionable mind.
Mydeimos would teach their little one how to fight with body and fists, and Phainon would teach their little one the way of the sword and shield. The both of them would lose to his dearest Anaxa, for a firearm would trump the soft flesh of the fist and bend the steel of the sword.
They would nurture their little one, healthy and strong. Days spent with Anaxa in his research lab, a little mind would certainly be inspired to learn and write. And Castorice--words stitched together into a prose that tugged at the very heartstrings of the people lucky enough to read her works--perhaps the student would like to become the teacher. Hyacinthia--a bleeding heart who wished for the people’s health--maybe their little one would chase after her, and learn the way of healing and magicks which rejuvenated weary bones.
He dreamed of waving goodbye to their little one, little no more in the eyes of society. But to them, their little one would always be their little one.
He dreamed of growing old with his beloved Anaxa, where even with the wrinkles of age and the seafoam green yielding to white, he would find Anaxa the most beautiful of all.
Because with every new wrinkle and every strand of white, Phainon would always fall in love a little bit more.
Just a little bit more.
With his precious Anaxa by his side, he would sing the words from the bottom of his heart.
Until the last note of the song echoed in the golden wheat of Aedes Elysiae, he dreamed of Anaxa’s smile. And he promised, to his very last breath, he would protect that precious smile such that not a day would be spent without happiness.