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There were few good memories for Mydei to unearth from the ice and snow of Amphoreus’ northernmost region. Any long nights of companionship, huddled together as they sipping spiced honey brew around the fire and took the frigid air into their lungs so they could belt it out in song, were followed by the bitter taste of fellow warriors frozen in the unforgiving blizzard and its bogs.
It wasn’t a place Mydei was keen to step foot in again, but the Grove professor Phainon held in such high regard had asked if Phainon was willing to search out a rare plant within the region and, of course, Phainon had eagerly accepted. When he had approached Mydei for advice to navigate the perpetual winter, rather than let him venture alone to the ice-covered lands that buried men alongside cities, Mydei had offered to accompany him.
Tribbie’s helpful instructions had aided them in locating a temple to Janus; built to shelter travellers along their treacherous journey and, for now, still intact enough to serve its purpose. They left their travel packs inside before trekking through the forests laden in snow and frozen in a time devoid of all other people.
The snow crunched beneath his feet and grappled at his ankles in retaliation, attempting to drag him to an early grave. He was protected from the damp by the thick furs wrapped within his high leather boots but some of the cold seeped through to the skin regardless, undoubtedly flushed almost as stark as the marking upon his cheek.
He was better prepared for the cold now than in his youth. Aglaea had heard of their adventure and, despite her distaste for the man who assigned it, fashioned them warm garments. Meanwhile Tribbie dug through old records to map the area and Castorice offered aid from her memories.
He had many recollections of his own but… how young had he been back then? Nine winters in the sea of souls and five with the detachment, the fifth dragged long with Aidonia’s blizzard that prevented them from pressing ahead or retreating. So fourteen years of age.
He could recall the taste of spiced honey brew paired with smoked meat. The crackling of the fire that had been difficult to light on damp kindling. The bitter cold others had complained about at all hours and Mydei’s silent knowledge of a place free from winter yet even more frigid.
To the child that had spent years knowing nothing except the chilling grasp of Death and mournful regrets of lost souls trapped within it’s grasp, even Amphoreus’ lowest, longest winters could never reach as deep within him as the Sea of Souls. He had endured a place inhabitable to even the dead and emerged unscathed. In a test of endurance, the simple cold could hardly compare.
“Mydei!”
At the call of his name, he turned away from the memories swirling in the snow flurries. Just in time for snow to pelt him across the face. The burst of cold melted away almost as quick as it came, yet the sting lingered where his late dodge had left half his face to withstand the assault.
The snow slid from his face to slump by his feet and he mindlessly raised a hand to his face, as though he needed further proof of what just occurred. He couldn’t feel it through his gloves but he knew what he would find if he bared skin: cold and wet with the remains of snow flung at his face.
The culprit hunched over himself, near collapse from how hard he snickered into the ground between his feet where a conspicuous hole had been dug out from the snow.
“You…” Mydei growled out.
A deep breath shook with the trailing ends of laughter and Phainon heaved himself upright. In the dim sunlight made brilliant where it reflected off the snow, Phainon looked less human and more divine—while his eyes were carved from the purest depths of a frozen ice, his pale skin and hair appeared sculpted from snow, giving him the perfect form of the season transformed into a youthful man—if not for the red tinge to his nose and cheeks.
He always knew that Phainon belonged under the light of the Dawn Device, of a true dawn that he alone would welcome, but he never thought to imagine him emerging from the winter, or perhaps bringing it himself. Not the harsh ones that turned men to horrific statues but the one that delighted children and clustered families around the hearth.
Mydei’s harsh exhale through gritted teeth bloomed white in the air and dissipated just as quick as it came. “Did you find it?”
Phainon hummed. “Not yet.”
“And yet you choose to play childish games.”
“You were the one staring off into the snow. I was merely freeing you from your distraction.”
“You threw a snowball at me.”
“And look at you! No longer distracted.”
“Haikas,” Mydei bit out as the cold water trickled down his neck and beneath his himation.
Before he realised what exactly he was doing, he dropped into a crouch, swiped a hand through the snow and flung it through the air. The snowball wasn’t properly compacted and slowed as it began to collapse, giving Phainon time to yelp and dart away.
Only to laugh as he swept his hand across a rock to gather the snow. “Now you’re getting it! I thought of a fun contest—“
He reeled his arm back and whipped it forward so fast the motion would have been a blur to anyone except another seasoned warrior. Without the disadvantage inherent to his previous, dishonourable surprise attack, Mydei side-stepped with ease.
“—to help keep our minds and bodies limber between these slow searches. That’s important in the cold, no?” Phainon crooned without missing a beat as he began to walk.
Mydei mirrored his steps, plummeting headfirst into the familiar rhythm; not because he stumbled and fell but because he knowingly jumped into it. They circled one another, Mydei eyeing the lone snowball in Phainon’s hand while Phainon stalked him for openings.
“Since you’re proposing a contest, there must be stakes.”
An artful flick of Phainon’s wrist sent the snowball into the air, landing neatly in his palm once again. “Loser starts the fire tonight.“
He arched a brow. “Isn’t that a little basic for you?”
It was exactly what he wanted to hear because his smile crooked, pleased and far too smug about it. “If you insist, then the loser is also tonight’s blanket.”
That was the cause behind this grandiose challenge? Phainon was hunting, with a grace befitting a native to the ice-encrusted region, for an excuse to cuddle. Mydei almost rolled his eyes at the display of, at once, slyness in masking his intent and his shamelessness in presenting cuddling of all things as a glorious reward for a warrior’s prowess in evasion and offence.
The only reason his eyes remained level was that he didn’t dare take his gaze away from Phainon; not even for the brief moment it would take to make Mydei’s point. That would be enough of an opening for Phainon to attempt a good hit.
“What are the rules?” Mydei asked, which was as good as outright acceptance and Phainon knew it.
“Whoever lands more throws wins,” he declared simply and tossed the snowball.
Rather than speed towards Mydei, it arced high into the air and reached its pinnacle, grazing the underside of the canopy, before it tumbled back down. Without a word they both darted away and ducked behind the woodlands laden with ammunition.
Once the snowball broke across the ground, the contest began.
It was impossible to move without the snow shifting and compacting, betraying their position in the silence of a forest in stasis apart from themselves. Phainon struck first with a fusillade of swift throws but Mydei wove between cover and retaliated with his own attacks in between.
Staying hidden would have been safest, plunging them into a war of attrition until the other person fell bored enough to reveal themselves. That would be a competition in itself; although, Phainon could appear impatient, he sought the things he truly wanted with a frighteningly intense focus.
But hiding in wait, like a rabbit trapped in their den by a lurking fox, would be an admittance of cowardice and tantamount to surrender. Besides, that removed the fun.
For two warriors, their first few throws were poor. The only consolation was that they were equally bad. Mydei was accustomed to launching spears, even Titankin, across vast distances—always with the intent to kill. If either of them put anywhere near as much strength behind their throw then even the fragile snow, dispersing on impact and melting away, might leave real damage instead of skin reddened by the cold collision.
The longer the contest went on—Phainon never did declare a definitive end in the rules—the more precise their aim became. A snowball that would splatter across a tree trunk now skimmed shoulders ducking for cover or broke against arms preparing to throw.
A snowball whizzed past his face and he jerked a step back and dropped behind cover. Just as the last dozen throws, it wasn’t sloppy aim. Phainon launched his snowballs before Mydei took two steps onto the ground beginning to slope upwards. He never intended to hit Mydei.
Phainon’s head peeked around the pile of stones, white hair blending into their surroundings, but Mydei immediately hurled a snowball at him. He swiftly ducked away and the missed snowball slammed into the tree behind him, impact sloughing snow off the branches. The noise and plume of snow hid Phainon’s sudden advance through the trees and Mydei got a good hit to his leg before he lost sight of him.
Although Phainon had retreated, Mydei was in the more disadvantageous position. Phainon’s throws had zoned him out from the hilltop to claim for himself. If Mydei retreated, Phainon would always possess the superior range. If Mydei pursued Phainon up the hill, his fiery hair and dark clothes would betray his position instantly.
Shadows blotted across the snow marked by fleeting footsteps and broken mounds. A flurry of snowballs cascaded towards him like stones from a siege catapult.
One burst across his torso and he blocked another with a throw of his own, the two snowballs colliding and scattering to the wind. He ran and tucked himself behind the same pile of stones he had chased Phainon from earlier. Another snowball arced over top and landed dangerously close to his foot. A few more smashed against the stone and branches overhead, then the assault fell still.
Mydei whipped around and lobbed a few snowballs in quick succession. The poor angle was made worse by the distance and high trajectory slowing his throw. If it landed anywhere near Phainon then, with neither speed nor surprise, it would be exceptionally easy to dodge.
Phainon’s disbelieving laugh fell across the woodlands like pure snow to be marvelled at. “Is that the best you can do?”
His indignation fuelled the next throw and launched it too fast to be safe. Not that it mattered when the force sent it in a straight line cut right above Phainon’s head. It broke against the tree behind him, disturbing the snow that fell in a light dusting.
“Not all of us were born with the hair of an elder to disguise themselves!”
“Ha! You might have your own by the time you manage to land a decent throw.”
A snowball whipped towards his face, downward slope lending it such speed he would have struggled to dodge if he weren’t looking at Phainon the moment it left his hand. Mydei side-stepped and levelled another throw of his own.
The speed and strength lingered like an old ache in his arm as he sent it soaring through the air. If only it landed against Phainon’s forehead, it might rattle the jaunty pride right from his skull. As though sensing bloodlust, Phainon ducked and disappeared from sight. It made no difference—Mydei had another target.
Even if Phainon had stood tall and unmoving, the snowball would have sailed clean over his head as it aimed for the branch above him.
“I suppose that conspicuous body of yours has a weakness after all!” Phainon jeered, oblivious to the impact that bounced the heavy branch upwards.
When it bobbed back down, the thick layer of snow slid from the branch and collapsed atop his head.
The satisfaction curled warm through Mydei’s chest like rising steam, yet his fogged exhale dispersed into the surrounding winter and his eyes widened. It was cold enough to freeze rivers and force thick-furred mammals into hibernation, and Mydei had just buried Phainon in the snow.
He hurried up the hill, steep slope and slick snow slowing his ascent but he only allowed himself to drop low beside the freshly disturbed mound. He tore through it, mourning the gauntlets that would have been much more effective if only the metal didn’t threaten him with frostbite. Phainon had confiscated them before he could shrug off the future damage with a reminder it would heal before long.
He shovelled off two handfuls before a hand burst free and he grabbed it and yanked. The snow fell away and Phainon’s head came free with a short, sharp gasp. The heavy exhale rattled the air, bones quaking from the cold, before it rang clear with Phainon’s laughter.
Mydei pinched his chin, tilting his head to and fro in search of a head injury, perhaps from a chunk of ice hidden on the high branch. There was no blood nor bruise, both of which would be stark against his pale skin and hair, but he pulled on the fold of his eyelid to check his pupils.
All the while Phainon’s shoulders trembled with subdued laughter. The very same amusement dragged against Mydei’s thumb as he went from one eye to the other, creasing the edges of his lucid gaze.
This close, Mydei could see every one of Phainon’s fine eyelashes powdered with snow, glittering in the sunlight. The pale gleam was a sharp contrast against the warm flush of his cheeks, teetering between soft pink and bright red from the blood rush battling the cold. It was the only indication that he was truly human and not a nymph who revelled in tempting him to distraction and leading him to madness.
Mydei let him go and scowled. “What’s so funny, Deliverer?”
“Nothing.” His laughter had subsided but it lingered in the easy cadence of his voice. “Just some fond memories from my childhood is all.”
His smile dipped at the corners. The minuscule change was almost imperceptible; simple to dismiss as a trick of sunlight against the melted snow trickling past his bloodless lips and down his jaw.
Yet Mydei had seen this expression before, no matter how Phainon masked it behind his implacable smile and a swift change of subject once he noticed Mydei’s gaze. When Phainon brought a home-cooked meal to enjoy after their rooftops spars and tasted the first bite. When a child made a refugee by the black tide shed tears mourning their loss and Phainon comforted them. When they stood atop Okhema’s walls and Phainon gazed someplace faraway Mydei couldn’t follow.
As always, Phainon brushed aside the malaise and put more effort into the curl of his lips. Mirth, arrogance and provocation mixed into one, “Although, you were certainly more ruthless about it.”
“You proposed the contest. It would be an insult to us both to hold back.”
“And you were quite successful.”
Surprise pulled his brows. “Admitting defeat?”
Phainon hummed and swept his hand through the snow still burying his lower body. “How many snowballs would you say this is?”
“Enough to give you frostbite if you don’t stop dawdling and properly warm yourself,” Mydei warned flatly but offered a hand for Phainon to pull himself up.
While lost in the contest’s push and pull, they had wandered quite far from the temple to Janus. Thankfully the snow had ceased falling that morning so the evidence of their journey remained in loose mounds of snow, dredged holes, and hurried footsteps carelessly scattered along their path.
In the time it took to return, Phainon’s body became wracked with shivers he staved off by crossing his arms across his chest and vigorously rubbing his arms. All the colour had drained from his face as the blood left his extremities to circulate through his vital organs centred in his torso. His pale lips were tinged blue and pressed thin, jaw clenched, to prevent his teeth chattering.
The temple wasn’t in complete disrepair but it had seen better days: ones in which the priest and groundskeepers maintained the grey stones warmed by sconces lit everyday to guide travellers to its doorstep. It was the days prior to the arrival of the black tide’s arrival, enclosing upon Amphoreus’ northern fringes, before people fled to more temperate climates at Amphoreus’ centre or perished.
A draught followed them through the door and Mydei slammed it shut behind them. While Phainon shuffled deeper into the temple, Mydei grabbed their belongings left near the entrance. As he passed the altar and statue of Janus that dominated the dim main chamber, he silently promised they would leave proper offerings once the dire situation had passed.
Although Mydei swiftly located a small room with scarce frigid air passing through, the cold was determined to sneak inside, pressing itself into the thin gaps and cracks in the stone. The only quick solution at hand was to move a large tripod burner to the room’s centre and fill it with the logs and kindling pilfered from the temple’s storeroom.
Thankfully they had been dried and stored with the proper technique expected of people well acquainted with long, harsh winters, and the fire jumped to life with a spark from his flint striker.
Once Phainon had shed his himation and the clothes behind that had soaked through, exchanging them for dry garments, he huddled as near the fire as possible. Mydei unravelled the blankets from their travel packs, tossing both over Phainon’s shoulders, and spread out whatever other fabric he could find to pillow the hard ground. Then he warmed some of their wine over the fire.
“I’m not h-helpless,” Phainon protested but his brow pinched at the ill-timed stammer, even as he didn’t rescind his statement.
Mydei swirled the wine and brought it to his mouth, wetting his lips to feel the temperature: adequate. “I’m aware.”
“I-is this you ta-taking responsibility?” Phainon asked with all the teasing mockery he could scrape together from the ice settled in the hollow of his throat.
“Yes.”
It was only right when Mydei had been the one to get swept away in the competition’s fervour. Phainon had no need to know, even if it had been Phainon’s folly that reduced him to such a state, Mydei’s motions of warming him through would have been the same.
He didn’t yet trust Phainon’s stiffened fingers to grasp the chalice, so Mydei knelt down and raised the rim to his cracked lips. By now, they had lost the disconcerting blue tinge. Phainon arched a brow, point proven, but Mydei didn’t humour him. He tipped the chalice back, slow enough to avoid instant spillage until Phainon realised the dilemma. Unless he wished to wear the wine upon his fresh clothes, he had no choice but to drink.
They exchanged sips until the chalice was empty to be set aside and Phainon licked his lips as clean as he could manage against the wine stains stubbornly clinging on. From the sluggish swipe of his tongue and bob of his throat, head swaying and urging his body to follow, he was exhausted.
Mydei wetted his thumb. “Hold still.”
Phainon’s head jerked from its slump and his lashes fluttered, clumped wet with melted snow. The firelight flickered across his face, warmth and shadow, setting embers against the vast blue Mydei often had to stop himself from diving into sinking down to settle at the deepest depths.
Before he learned to speak, he had learned to swim against the Sea of Souls. He clawed against the frigid torrent and hallowed calls of the dead, beckoning him to give in and give up his life and let the cold relief of Death envelop him. Devour him.
Always, he refused. Back when he was a child and the closest thing he knew to warmth was a woman’s voice in his ear urging him onwards, and every time since then. Across the wilds of Amphoreus, within the blood and dust of the battlefield, stood vanguard at the gates of Okhema, he fought to resurface and throw himself into battle where he would inevitably return to the clutches of the dead and do it all over again.
But if it was Phainon—drowning him. Destroying him. Embracing him all the while in the light of the dawn flickering off freshly laid snow where only two sets of footprints laid side-by-side, illuminating it and melting it in time for the coming spring—then Mydei would find peace in letting go, and relish in the warmth of that final, true death.
One only Phainon could offer him. As an equal, who fearlessly clashed against a body honed from birth as a weapon for war. As a lover, who tenderly held those edges sharp enough to cut. As both, equal and lover, who knew he was more than a shield and spear.
He cupped the back of Phainon’s neck to keep him still and swiped his damp thumb across his lips, rubbing the stain out so he could glimpse the colour underneath. It had gradually returned to his lips and cheeks, and his fingers regained their dexterity enough to grasp Mydei’s wrist.
Compared to Mydei’s high body temperature, Phainon’s hand was still a cold shackle clamped around Mydei’s bare wrist. He didn’t push nor pull. He simply held Mydei in place.
Their breaths mingling together in the scant air. Mydei tasted the wine on his tongue, his teeth, saliva pooling at the back of his mouth. He had never been weak to wine when his body purged it like poison. But his mind fogged, narrowing the world down to Phainon’s half-lidded gaze as he kept Mydei’s thumb flat to his lip. The weight of his attention, of his affection, was heady: intoxicating in a way nothing else had ever managed and never would again.
“My…” Phainon murmured against Mydei’s thumb but his throat bobbed with a nervous swallow, the black of his eyes dilating as they fell away from Mydei’s eyes and downwards. “My lips are still cold. How are you going to take responsibility for that?”
Hopelessly fond, he smiled and left a final caress of his thumb before cupping the full curve of Phainon’s cheek. He whispered, “Apologies.”
Then he closed the distance and pressed their lips together. Phainon’s thin skin was cracked dry despite the wine but he moved them fiercely. His hands tightened around Mydei’s wrist and snagged onto his clothes, as though Mydei would pull away rather than offer all the air in his lungs and more.
Instead, he slid his hands down Phainon’s back, pushing the blankets off his shoulders, fingertips playing against the notches of his spine, and cupped the low dip. He lowered him onto the makeshift bedding and laid atop him, bodies pressed together, slotting into one another as their ribs and hearts aligned: sharing air, sharing blood, sharing life.
He took control of the rhythm before Phainon’s lips could bleed. Slower. Gentler. Less desperate when some things were better left to simmer than blaze.
Mydei pulled away and Phainon’s gasp broke between them as he panted for breath, lips swollen and red rising into his complexion from more than the fire’s heat chasing away the cold.
Phainon’s eyes flicked from Mydei’s face down to their bodies flattened together without space for anything, even cold air, to sneak between them; only his hand, edging its way up Mydei’s clothes. At the graze of his chilly fingertips, Mydei sucked in a sharp breath and shivered.
“You know,” Phainon said, low and sultry, “there’s another way to—“
“I’m not taking your clothes off after you almost contracted hypothermia.”
He chuckled and his shoulders rose in a small shrug. “Well, can’t fault a man for trying I suppose.”
“I can fault your lack of self-preservation,” Mydei retorted dryly.
“And how, pray tell, did I end up in this situation?”
“You were foolish enough to challenge me to a contest of a warrior’s strengths,” Mydei shamelessly contorted the truth.
Phainon let out a disbelieving noise. Pained, as though his hand weren’t still tugging up Mydei’s tunic and exposing his stomach. “Shirking your responsibilities now?”
“I could say the same to you,” he scoffed as he took Phainon’s hand from his shoulder.
Despite the performative squabble, Phainon didn’t struggle. He simply observed and the corner of his eyes creased as Mydei interlaced their fingers.
Then he slammed it to the ground beside Phainon’s head, looming over him with a harsh smirk. “Loser.”
Phainon’s eyes widened, then relaxed again with a self-deprecating laugh and his hand fell from beneath Mydei’s tunic to land limp beside his head. Surrender. “I suppose… I haven’t exactly honoured our agreement.”
After all, Mydei had been the victor of their little contest. The stakes? To light the fire and serve as the blanket for tonight.
Phainon weakly cleared his throat. “So shall we swap?”
Mydei huffed a laugh. “Since you’re so eager, I’ll hold you to our agreement tomorrow.”
“How generous.”
“I try.”
He plucked the blankets from the ground, rising onto his knees just enough to swing the fabric over his shoulders, cascading down his back. Yet Phainon pouted at the gap between them and snatched the blanket edges dangling over his shoulders, hauling him back down so fast they collided with a quiet grunt.
“So impatient,” Mydei grumbled into the bedding, head hanging over Phainon’s shoulder.
“I was cold without my blanket to keep me warm,” Phainon explained demurely.
He rolled his eyes but shuffled into a more comfortable position where his cheek rested on Phainon’s chest. “And now?”
“Perfect temperature,” Phainon practically purred back, hands squirming under Mydei’s tunic again. They looped over his lower back and hugged him closer as if there were any more space to eliminate. “I can feel my toes again.”
To prove his point, his leg shifted beneath Mydei’s weight and a curled toe dragged up his calf, raising the skin in its wake. Cold but not life, nor limb, threatening.
Mydei swatted his upper arm. “Then rest. We made such little progress today due to someone’s distraction. We’ll have to make up for it tomorrow.”
When Phainon hummed, it filled the quiet, alongside the crackling fire, without a proper answer. His fingers traced incomprehensible patterns across Mydei’s back, leaving the chill behind with every loop of skin contact as the heat emanated from Mydei’s body into him.
Finally, Phainon took a deep breath, Mydei rising with his chest. “Did you enjoy it?”
His brows furrowed but the position was too comfortable for the tense expression to last long before relaxing again. “Enjoy what?”
“The snowball fight.”
“Ah.”
It was a novel experience. While Phainon had spoken of childhood memories—equally wistful and pained. Precisely because of how much joy they held before they became tinged with sorrow—Mydei had no such carefree days in his youth. Not to say he wasn’t fond of his time wandering Amphoreus with the Kremnoan detachment. There he discovered the world and himself as he was nurtured by innumerable hands and faces who accompanied him to the end, and enjoyed true companionship amongst his comrades.
But not one had taught the crown prince to throw snow around and call it a game.
He smiled against Phainon’s collarbone, letting the thin skin and bone feel his lips curve. “I did.”
Phainon’s next hum was pleased. “Me too.”
The pocket of space reserved for the two of them kept them tucked away, hidden and warm, for the night. Phainon fell asleep first and Mydei traced the gold line cut across his chest as it rose and fell, deep and steady, beneath his cheek. When still, his hands were warm enough that Mydei could forget their presence until they next moved with sleepy, incoherent mumbles that revealed Phainon’s dreams of a warm sun and village by the sea, lulling Mydei to sleep.
In the morning, they tidied the small room they had camped in overnight and returned to the main hall where they burned some of their rations as an offering to Janus. The Titan of crossroads had fallen long ago, as evidenced by Tribios, Trianne and Trinon’s ascension as demigods, but neither of them were the type to disrespect the dead.
Once the offerings had burned to ash and smoke, they ate their morning meal and then departed so they could locate this plant and return to Okhema’s warm plains. At least, that was the plan.
“Deliverer,” Mydei said sternly, “anymore distractions and the northern winter will thaw before we find what we came for.”
“One moment.”
“You said that two moments ago.”
“Patience, Mydei.”
Mydei sighed and leaned back against the temple column, arms crossed as he waited for Phainon to finish playing in the snow. He had gathered it in his hands and rolled it across the ground, picking up long tracks of snow as the initial mound grew more and more round.
“You had better not plan to throw that at me.”
“I’m not a child, Mydei,” he argued wryly and Mydei bit back his disagreement, yesterday’s activities the proof, as Phainon stopped rolling and began to pat the ball down. “I accepted my defeat to you yesterday, as any warrior should.”
He had not a clue what Phainon was doing. But his thinned lips and creased brow were… oddly determined and charmingly earnest, so Mydei waited in silence for Phainon to complete his self-imposed task.
The big snowball became strangely oblong but he was satisfied enough to nod once before he rolled a second, smaller snowball so it could sit atop the first. Then he began to shape that one too, scooping up snow to compact onto it at the front and then the top, forming two triangles.
Phainon stepped back and a grin brightened the solemn shadows haunting his face. “Finished! Come look, Mydei.”
Mydei shrugged himself off the column, snagged Phainon’s travel pack from the base before he could forget the thing, and rounded Phainon’s creation to stand at his side. In the beginning, he had no idea what Phainon was doing and, now that Phainon had completed the process, Mydei could confidently say he still failed to fathom what he was looking at.
“Well? What do you think?” Phainon asked, proverbial tail wagging and that made the puzzle pieces slot into place.
It was a dog.
Mydei could see it now. If he squinted. Two ears, a snout, and sitting to attention with a silly smile. “It’s cute.”
Phainon’s chest puffed, preening. “Right? I learned to sculpt him as a kid because I wanted my dog to have a companion but—“ he laughed and rubbed the back of his neck,”—my parents said no whenever I asked to adopt another puppy.”
Mydei hadn’t know that Phainon had a dog. He never mentioned it before now.
Mydei smoothed his hand between the dog’s ears, petting him while he continued to gaze up at him with that silly grin befitting its creator. He never met the original but his heart swelled regardless. “Does he have a name?”
The smile Phainon bore was the pained one, the wistful one, that spoke of love beneath mourning. One buried beneath the winter and waiting to flower again in the next spring.
“Yeah,” he breathed. His hand joined Mydei’s atop the dog’s head and he whispered, like a secret between the three of them, that could only be spoken amidst the snowy solitude. “See you around, Snowy.”
Mydei waited until Phainon took it upon himself to meet Mydei’s eye and smile. A bright, clear one to hide the murkiness underneath: a night’s worth of snow fallen fresh over muddied earth. He was hiding, again.
Mydei lifted a hand. Not to tear that pretty, palatable smile from Phainon’s face but to ask, “Ready to set out?”
After all, Phainon had chosen of his own accord to give Mydei that glimpse of something hidden beneath fresh snow, pure ice, a blinding coronal radiance. It was Phainon’s right to sequester it away, to smother it out of sight, until the Deliverer was the only thing that remained.
“Are we holding hands now?” Phainon asked with a light chuckle, yet didn’t hesitate a moment to thread their gloved hands together.
“The last time I took my eye off you,” Mydei reminded him, “you threw snow at my face.”
A snowball fight. An animal statue sculpted from snow. Silly and childish but all the more vulnerable for it and Phainon had tossed that vulnerability directly at Mydei’s face when he least expected. Impossible to overlook because Phainon chose for Mydei to see.
Mydei had seen and would wait to see Phainon again—the blazing sun destined to rise across the cities of sun-bleached stone, grassy plains, and snowy woodlands. Alongside all the shadows that light was meant to chase away—as long as needed. Just as Phainon had witnessed the silent melancholy of Mydei mulling over old memories before shocking him back to the present with a burst of juvenile play. All of their winter memories were tainted bitter, so this would have to be the first of something warm and sweet.