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In the art of war, a moment of hesitation can be either life or death.
Mydei self-preservation can be lacking at times, but he is rarely careless enough to allow an enemy to strike a fatal wound on him. The last thing he needed is to be caught fighting his way up the River Styx while his comrades are fighting not to join the souls of the dead. Wasting valuable time better spent on killing more Titankin is worse if his temporary death incurs losses that Okhema still needs in this dying world. Hence, Mydei is careful to not let himself take a hard hit unless it’s absolutely necessary and keep a close eye on the other soldiers engaging against their enemies.
It’s not the first time Mydei thinks he’s better fit fighting alone at the frontlines as a mere soldier than a leader.
The prince takes a blow meant for someone else, a soldier from his detachment struggling to move his feet. He grunts feeling arrows sink into his flesh, but the pain is miniscule compared to everything else he’s been through. It doesn’t take long for Mydei to recover, swinging a fist upwards to unleash a devastating wave of blood crystals. The jagged edges piercing the enemy archers armor and silencing them for good.
“Your Highness, look out…!” The soldier he rescued warns him.
An elite Titankin looms behind the prince swinging their greatsword at him.
A moment of hesitation can be either life or death, Mydei recalls his teacher's words. A lesson he learned long ago before he can read or write amidst the chaos of the River of Souls. Battling his life against the giant sea creatures and Thanatos touch with his scrawny body.
He didn’t hesitate to grab the soldier by his collar and yanked him forward to avoid the incoming blow. The heavy blade slams into the spot where they stood seconds ago, shattering the ground upon impact. Dust and dirt scatters into a smoke-like screen impairing Mydei vision temporarily. He hears the shuffling of movement, glancing in the direction to find more comrades gathering.
“Take him and fall back!” Mydei orders sharply, barely acknowledging their response.
The muffled voices of “sorry” and “come on” informs him the soldiers have done as he ordered. Soon, their footsteps grow distant and their figures hide amidst the smokescreen. He keeps his senses open for any movements from the enemy side. His fingers curling into fists and body taut like a bowstring ready to be released.
Because the elite Titankin sprints forward, twisting their armored body to drag their greatsword for a second attack at Mydei.
This time, the prince was prepared to catch the blade at the last second and shove it back forcing the Titankin to stagger. Blood crystals form in his hand, shaping into a sturdy javelin for Mydei to hurl at the exposed abdomen of his enemy. It pierces armor and synthetic skin, but not enough to deal a fatal blow.
At least that’s what the Titankin seems to believe as it straightened up and picked up its greatsword again.
“A fool who doesn’t realize they have lost already.” Mydei turns his back on it and walks away, ignoring the heavy footsteps coming closer to him. He counts down the seconds before he hears the crack of the crystals propagating and breaking the Titankin body into pieces.
There’s no need for Mydei to look back, but the soldiers under his command watched in awe.
Earlier, they had witnessed the Titankin ready to strike the prince who foolishly left himself exposed. Mydeimos may come back from the dead, but there is no reason to waste one of his lives away for something so insignificant. The soldiers who fought alongside him were ready to charge in, warn him, and defend him.
Until they witnessed the Titankin, moments away from taking his head, exploded by jagged blood crystals blooming on the spot where it died instantly.
“Are you alright, Prince Mydeimos?” The soldier he saved earlier asked.
“I’m fine.” Mydei answers with a shrug and surveys the state of his detachment. Nodding, he gives his next orders, “We deal with the stragglers, clean up, and prepare for the return trip to Okhema.”
“Yes, Your Highness!”
Within the next hour or so, Mydei and his detachment cleaned up the aftermath of their battle. The first group led by Mydei handled the remaining Titankin, escaping or fighting, swiftly. The other group stayed behind the frontlines to help pack up, tend to the injured, body counts, and checking inventory. By the time their prince and his group returned, they were ready to march back to Okhema after giving their report.
However, there was a Titankin who successfully escaped from the extermination. By sheer luck or fate, they readied their bow and pulled the metal string all the way back. A golden arrow forms with its aim directed at the most dangerous person on the field.
Mydeimos the Undying
Unfortunately, their target instinct is like a beast sensing danger almost immediately.
The archer Titankin releases their arrow, a golden light streaks across the dark skies as if blessed by Janus' speed. By the time the soldiers realized it, they were too late to shout any warnings to their prince. They witnessed once again another feat of Mydei dodging the arrow at the very last minute. His sunset eyes wide as if he too was surprised by the ambush only to be saved by his own body acting on its own.
But Mydei did not leave the attack entirely unscratched.
He was not injured- there was not even a scratch on him!
However, the golden arrow flying through the air radiates a fiery glow destroying everything it touches. It ghosts over the back of his neck, burning the ends of his red-tipped blond locks. When the arrow passes to pierce a nearby rock, it takes a chunk of the prince's hair with it.
Silence hangs heavy over the battlefield, but Mydei remains unfazed by the impromptu haircut and shouts, “Stop gawking and move!”
The order forces his men out of their stupor and acts accordingly. Clearly, they had missed a cunning foe waiting for the perfect timing to assassinate their prince. Now, they move to deal with them swiftly before they can think about heading back.
Another thought crosses their mind watching their prince rub the back of his neck.
“How would Okhema Champion, the Deliverer, react to seeing Mydeimos the Undying?”
To the surprise of no one, Phainon's reaction is predictable the second his eyes land on Mydei.
“We had not seen each other for weeks- weeks, I say! And you told me over the telestate you were fine! This is not fine!” Phainon chides, gesturing to his hair.
Annoyed, the prince swats away the offending finger and crosses his arms, “I spoke the truth, Deliverer. No one was seriously injured including me. I am fine.”
“But…But your hair...Your beautiful golden locks.” Phainon's stern expression becomes distraught.
After finishing his mission earlier than planned, Aglaea put him on standby until further notice. The days he spent idling away in the comforts of the holy city left him restless. A strange burning sensation underneath his skin that wouldn’t go away after sparring the other warriors or patrolling the borders. Even during his break, one of his legs begins to twitch and shake the table. He couldn’t even focus on his readings either! Always turning his neck constantly as if searching for a familiar figure in red amongst the crowds of people.
The weeks without his beloved was nothing short of torture for him.
When news of Mydei detachment returning at the gates spread fast, Phainon was one of the first few people to sprint over there almost immediately. Scanning the crowd of people from soldiers disembarking on Dromas to others reuniting with friends and families before spotting the prince. A shout of his name has Mydei turning around to face him, but his greeting doesn’t reach Phainon ears. He feels his world coming to a stop at the sight of his beloved long hair cut short enough to leave his bare for the world to see.
Hence, in the privacy of their home, they’re having this conversation.
“You’re being ridiculous. It’s just hair, not a fatal wound.” Mydei scolds, running his hand through the messy short locks.
Phainon brain almost short-circuits seeing a curve of his crimson tattoos going up his nape.
“But…” The deliverer tries again, gaze flickering between his beloved hair and his face. “...Didn’t you treasure your hair?”
Most people wouldn’t believe it, but Mydei spends the early mornings taking care of his hair. Phainon, being a witness to his morning routine, watched him diligently tame the unruly blonde locks into his unique style. It wasn’t out of vanity that he did it, because Mydei didn’t care if he got his hands dirty or not.
No, Mydeimos actions are carried out of sentimentality.
To remember his deceased friends, who took care of him like he was their little brother. One of them in particular, Peucesta, took great lengths in teaching Mydei how to maintain his appearance alongside his musical talents. Over time, Mydei slowly but surely builds a routine to keep up with even after Peucesta and his friends are long gone.
Not only to remember his friends, the prince confessed fiddling with a strand of hair, but to feel closer to his mother despite never having seen her face. Krateros often comments he takes after his mother more than his father, especially the little braid hanging off of his shoulder.
The said braid is still intact like a fragile thread grounding the prince and his memories.
“If anyone saw this, they would think you’re the one who had their hair cut instead of me.” Mydei said blandly. With a faint smirk, he asks playfully, “Do I look so hideous without my hair?”
“Never! Even if you decide to go bald, you would still be the most beautiful and handsome man I know!” Phainon gasps, appalled by the question.
“Then there is no reason to be saddened on my behalf, Deliverer.”
Whatever expression he had, it conveyed his beloved attempts of reassurance weren't working. Mydei sighs, uncrossing his arms to reach out to him. The cold gauntlet curls around the back of his neck, tugging him until their foreheads meet.
“Tell me, Phainon. What haunts you to make such a face? What are you thinking about right now?” Mydei asks quietly yet firmly.
“I…” Phainon trails off, seeing his pitiful visage reflected in the prince's golden eyes.
The mind wanders to memories of their first meeting far away from the safety of the holy city. A land once lush and full of life turned into a barren wasteland. It was not wars and fire that burned it all down, but the Black Tide taint corrupting everything it touches.
With his back facing the direction of Okhema, Phainon stood there like its guardian. He was ready to meet the Kremnoan detachment on the opposite side. At the very front, as they approached, was none other than their Crown Prince, Mydeimos.
The thought of a violent brute never crossed his mind upon seeing Mydeimos. Instead, Phainon's breath was taken away by the prince's appearance.
“...When I first saw you, I was reminded of my village. A wheat field as far as the eye can see shining gold under the sun. Unyielding like the earth but swaying gently to greet the breeze passing by them.”
Taking the princes’ other hand, Phainon kisses his ring finger. He smiles feeling him quiver, lifting his head up to gaze at his beloved with boundless adoration.
“At my lowest, you remind me why I continue to fight to save a dying world. You, with your golden mane and fiery eyes, help me remember my little village. You are the hearth of my home, Mydeimos.” Phainon moves closer to whisper his devotion against the prince's lips.
“With your permission, I wish to come home to you everyday until death takes us.”
Underneath such a powerful confession, Mydei mouth parted to a silent gasp. The dust of pink on his cheek darkens to a bright scarlet and spreads to the tip of his ears. He squints at Phainon, trying to discern his intentions; if there’s any falsehood in his words. Then, the prince relaxes before he laughs softly.
“Mydei?” The deliverer calls out.
Mydei takes a deep breath and sighs, amusement thick in his voice, “HKS. You ask for my permission yet you’ve already carved your own existence in my home already. How shameless are you?”
“So…Is that a yes?”
“What do you think?” He asks blandly.
A gasp escapes Mydei's throat when he’s suddenly spun by strong hands. He’s forced to dip low, his back supported by the same pair of hands keeping him safe. His gauntlet-covered ones reach out blindly and wrap around broad shoulders. Speechless, he meets the deliverer's blue eyes brimming with mischief and affection. The boyish smile he sports is enough to have his heart skip a beat.
“I think…” Phainon pauses to think and grins, “It’s a yes! What do you think, Mydei?”
“I think…” Mydei pauses to think and his hand curls around his nape again. He lifts his head up to whisper teasingly into Phainon ear, “...It’s a yes.”
Pulling away, he enjoys the sight of the deliverer's fair skin turning crimson almost immediately. The grin he wore on his face hasn’t disappeared one bit. If he had a dog tail, it would be wagging furiously in excitement.
One of his hands moves, fingers touching the short blond locks at his nape. The same forlorn expression returns, but Mydei has no desire to repeat this topic. He grabs Phainon hand and places it on his cheek, nuzzling into his palm with a content sound.
“What has happened is out of my control, but it’ll grow back.” The prince swears the metaphorical dog ears became flat on his head. In fond exasperation, he suggests playfully, “When it grows back to a proper length, we can schedule a day to have our wedding ceremony.”
Ah, Phainon metaphorical dog ears perked up and the tail started wagging again.
“Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos- I love you.”
The blush on Mydei face, having receded earlier, returns to full force at the deliverer forwardness.
“You…Hahaha!” Shaking his head, the prince shoots up and pushes Phainon's head for their lips to meet.
Not a clash or a fight, but a sweet kiss to express their affection for each other. Words alone cannot convey the depths of their devotion. The joy bursting in their hearts every time their paths cross.
For now, the simple words were enough to get their points across.
“I love you too, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”
END
Extra 1: Flame Reaver Reaction
Not long after Mydei returned to Castrum Kremnos to fight the Black Tide, a familiar adversary appeared.
“Hmph. I figured that wasn't enough to deal with you.” Mydei greets, crossing his arms to glower at the floating apparition.
In the aftermath of dealing with the abominations, the Flame Reaver descends silently. He stands there, surrounded by blood-red crystals and carcasses of defeated foes. The broken sword in his hand points to the prince; his intentions are anything but friendly.
A feral grin breaks Mydei's face. He uncrosses his arms and lifts up his fists.
“Fine by me. Let's see who will win this time.” Mydei said confidently, but deep down he is curious to how strong the Flame Reaver is.
Stronger than him? Stronger than Phainon?
If he falls here, then he has done so fighting for Amphoreus' future.
There will be no regrets choosing to fight an enemy stronger than himself.
However, the minutes pass by yet the Flame Reaver doesn't move. Instead, he tilts his head in confusion. Mydei follows the action, also confused why this…thing that was hell-bent on fighting them earlier is doing nothing.
“If you're not moving, then I will.” Mydei states, growing antsy of the tension between them.
But the Flame Reaver voice, raspy and broken, speaks, “You…cut it?”
“Huh? Cut what?” Was this thing capable of reason after all?
“Your hair…It was long…and beautiful…”
“...”
This is turning into a weird direction now. Mydei recalls his hair was stained heavily by the Black Tide. One of their creatures exploded on him, covering him in grime and taint. While he was able to clean most of it off, his hair unfortunately had to be chopped off leaving messy blonde strands tickling the back of his neck.
Mydei didn't think much of it after since he had far more important things to do.
Unfortunately, his opponent thought otherwise. The Flame Reaver sounded almost dazed, nostalgic even, as he continued to talk.
“Like the blazing flames catching the last rays of sunset…”
Flustered by the sudden poetics, Mydei decided to end it now. The lion does not concern himself by how loud he roared to hide his embarrassment. It was a war cry, jumping forward to land a clean punch on the Flame Reaver face.
“HKS!”
END
Bonus 2: Khaslana Reaction
In one of many cycles of Amphoreus, Mydei learns of Khaslana's existence. A mysterious but powerful warrior with striking resemblance to Phainon. Their Phainon who disappeared at some point in the journey. The question of his fate remains unanswered. Yet for the surviving Chrysos Heirs, a traitorous thought comes to mind.
Either Khaslana fought Phainon and won, or Phainon became Khaslana after fighting him.
No one, except Anaxagorous, dares to voice it outloud.
As the flames of the Chrysos Heirs are plucked one after another, Mydei remains in Castrum Kremnos. Before he is the Titan of Strife, he is their people king and the guardian of Amphoreus.
If Khaslana wishes to take his coreflame, then Mydei will give him a battle to remember.
When the man of the hour appears, it is not subtle like a silent shadow.
Khaslana is divinity bathing the city in his divine light. Unfurling like a butterfly escaping its cocoon and spreading his wings wide. He descends to the coliseum, empty except for Mydei who waits for him. They make eye contact, neither backing down in this unspoken contest.
The others have recounted their encounter with Khaslana, but meeting him personally is different. To see his face stirs the yearning in his heart, missing his beloved who stood by his side as his equal. It hurts knowing this being may be Phainon yet not his Phainon.
Briefly, Mydei wonders if it’s the same for Khaslana and his Mydeimos.
Such foolish thoughts have no place for the battlefields. Because the second he sees Khaslana's eyes narrow, his divine light becomes brighter to the point it's almost blinding. Mydei squints, covering his eyes with his hand to shield himself.
A mistake on his part, because Khaslana closes the distance to lift up the braid hanging over his shoulder. The light slowly dims giving the king a clear view of the other sorrowful face.
“This is the first time I've seen you with short hair.” Khaslana observes, thumb stroking the braid.
Scowling, Mydei had no desire to tell him the truth behind his haircut. No thanks to Phainon clumsy hands with the scissors, he ended up cutting a larger portion of his hair than necessary. This was right before he disappeared, his fate unknown, and Mydei didn't have the heart to grow his hair out. Not when the last memory of his beloved was attempting to do something nice for him.
He may be God-King, Titan of Strife, the Undying, but he is a sentimental fool first and foremost.
“And I am nothing but surprises. What? Do I look hideous?” Mydei retorts unkindly.
Khaslana smiles, if not strained, but the affection in his sunlit eyes is genuine. He brings the braid closer to press a kiss.
The action, however infuriating, makes his heart beat a little faster.
“You're radiant as ever, Mydeimos. Like a red star burning the last of its life so brightly…”
Flustered Mydei may be, it doesn't last long before Khaslana pulls away. His face, now unreadable, meets him with an unspoken burden in his eyes. A determination he must see through no matter who gets in his way.
“Then burn it shall. Let's see who's the victor of this fight.” Mydei declares, summoning his lance.
At the same time, Khaslana summons Dawnmaker in his hand. Behind his mask, his heart breaks again knowing he will end his beloved life with these blood-stained hands.
END