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Phainon is not lonely.
He has friends, plenty of them! Admirers who adore him and his work, and fans who follow him to each and every one of his showcasings. And, of course, he always has his sculptures.
From a young age, Phainon had been drawn to sculpting, his hands always itching to shape stone into something more. Yet it wasn’t until he turned twenty that he chose to pursue it as a career.
Now, Phainon stands among the most renowned sculptors in all of Amphoreus, celebrated for the breathtaking detail and life woven into every piece he creates. So no, he is not lonely. And anyone who thinks otherwise should think again!
“Lord Phainon,” Castorice greeted Phainon, offering him a gentle smile.
“Cass,” Phainon returned it easily. “You know I don’t mind if you just call me Phainon. Or Snowy. I wouldn’t mind that either.”
No matter how many times he reminded her that they were friends, that she could speak to him casually, she never quite let go of the title. “Maybe next time.” Castorice slipped a folded piece of paper into his hand. “Here, a gift from me and my sister.”
Phainon took the paper, curiosity flickering across his face, “A gift? What did I do to deserve this?”
“Nothing,” Castorice said calmly. “It’s just… try taking a look.”
Phainon raised an eyebrow as he opened the slip and read its contents. “A house in Okhelma?” He glanced back up at her, bewildered. “That’s not far from here, so… thanks? I mean, you really didn’t have to, I’m doing fine here in and-”
“Lord Phainon,” Castorice hummed softly. “We’re worried about you. Not just my sister and I- Lady Aglaea and Miss Hyacine, too.”
“Worried?” Phainon turned on his heel, sweeping an arm toward the room, toward his beautiful creations. “I’ve been living a wonderful life. What is there to worry about?” “I have more than enough money to last me a lifetime, I’m famous, and I get to spend every day doing what I love-”
“We think you’re lonely,” Castorice blurted out.
The two of them stood there, staring at one another in the silence. Phainon didn’t move. The words echoed in his mind, sharp and intrusive, refusing to settle. Lonely.
For a moment, he was certain he had misheard her. His lips parted as if to respond, to laugh it off or brush it aside, but no sound came. Castorice shifted uneasily under his gaze, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Still, she didn’t look away. Her expression held something gentler than accusation, worry, unmistakable and earnest.
“Lonely…?” Phainon laughed, a little too loudly, the sound brittle around the edges. “I’m not lonely! I mean-” He lifted the slip of paper as if it could help his case, though it trembled slightly in his grip. “I have you, and Hyacine, and Lady Tribios, and Professor Anaxa!”
He added, “When I have all of you, how could I possibly be lonely?”
Castorice didn’t answer right away. Instead, she stepped closer and signed carefully, deliberately, as if choosing each word with care. “Lord Phainon, two of the people you just named were your classmates,” she said gently, her hands slowing. “And the other two were your teachers.” She paused, “When was the last time you made a new friend that wasn’t someone who is from our school?”
“…Does Cipher count?”
Castorice stared at him. The silence stretched on, long and merciless. Her hands fell still at her sides, her expression unreadable, somewhere between disbelief and quiet concern.
“….”
Phainon’s smile faltered under her gaze. He shifted his weight, suddenly very aware of how tight his grip was on the paper, how cold the room felt despite the warmth of the stone and light around them.
“….”
“No, she doesn’t count, Phainon,” Castorice signed, finally dropping the title. “Please. Go to Okhelma and take a break. Try making new friends.” She gestured faintly, as if pointing toward somewhere far beyond the building’s walls. “Lady Aglaea is staying there for her most recent commission. She offered to introduce you to some new people.”
Phainon shook his head at once. “I don’t need a break,” he said, a strained laugh slipping out as he turned away from her. “I’m perfectly fine. Really.” He paced a few steps, motioning to the sculptures crowding the room. “I’m busy. I have commissions lined up for months, inspiration pouring out of me, more work than I can handle. Lonely people don’t live like this.”
Castorice watched him quietly, unmoving.
“I like being alone,” Phainon continued, insistant. “It’s peaceful. It’s productive. I don’t need anyone hovering over me.” He stopped, finally turning back to her, a smile forced into place. “Besides, I already have friends. You said it yourself! I have all of you, does whether or not we learned at the same school truly matter? You guys are enough. More than enough for me.”
“Please, Phainon…”
He faltered. The fight drained from him the moment he saw her expression, Castorice looked genuinely distressed and sad, her hands hovering uncertainly at her sides as if she didn’t know what else to do but ask. Phainon swallowed hard. He hated this. Hated that she looked at him like this. More than that, he hated that he was the reason for her looking so sad.
“I didn’t mean to-” he started, then stopped, the words catching in his throat. The paper crumpled slightly in his grasp as his fingers tightened. “I’m fine,” he said again, softer this time, less certain. “I just…Fine, since you insist i’ll give it a try.”
Castorice smiled, the sad look wiped off of her face so fast, “Thank you, Lord Phainon.”
-
Okhelma was a vast place.
Well known for its lively festivals and constant hum of creativity, it was a city where artists gathered at the Memorial Market to sell their wares, their voices and music blending into a colorful, ever-shifting tapestry.
Phainon had been there many times before, oftenly alongside Hyacine or Lady Aglaea. He’d watched the Goldweaver stand proudly at her stall, her dresses drawing crowds as effortlessly as breathing. He had seen strangers become devotees in moments, fashions born beneath her hands and ripple through the city, trends taking hold for months at a time.
So yes, Phainon was familiar with Okhelma. And yet, standing there now, the city felt different. Larger. Louder. More alive than he remembered. The streets stretched endlessly ahead, filled with laughter, music, and people who all seemed to know exactly where they belonged.
Phainon had been to Okhelma before. He had just never been there alone. (That doesn’t mean he’s lonely! He just doesn’t have anyone to be there with him right now…)
Phainon wandered through the Memorial Market at an unhurried pace, letting the noise and color wash over him. Stalls crowded the stone pathways, each one overflowing with handmade goods, textiles dyed in vivid hues, delicate jewelry catching the sunlight, sculptures carved from stone, wood, and clay.
He paused by a table displaying vases of all shapes and sizes. Some leaned ever so slightly, their rims uneven, their patterns mismatched in a way that felt intentional rather than careless. One bore a hairline crack glazed over with gold, another curved asymmetrically, as if it had resisted the sculptor’s original plan.
Phainon found himself smiling. They weren’t perfect but they were interesting. Alive, even. He lingered longer than he meant to, studying the craftsmanship, wondering what kind of hands had shaped them and what mistakes had been embraced rather than erased.
A loud, confident voice carried over the crowd, pulling his attention away. “Step closer, step closer!” a vendor called out proudly. “Feast your eyes upon the most perfect being in existence!”
Phainon turned toward the sound. A small gathering had formed around a stall displaying a towering ivory statue, polished to a near-blinding sheen. It was a figure of a beautiful woman who stood tall and was almost completely flawless, every proportion precise, every feature symmetrical to an almost unsettling degree.
“This masterpiece embodies everything a person should strive to be,” the vendor continued, sweeping an arm toward it. “Unmatched beauty. Brilliant intelligence. Strength. Grace. Not a single flaw to be found!” The crowd murmured in admiration.
Phainon studied the statue in silence. It was undeniably impressive, technically immaculate, carved with painstaking care. And yet, as his gaze traced its perfect lines, he felt something twist uncomfortably in his chest. It was beautiful, yes. But it felt… hollow.
His eyes drifted back to the crooked vases behind him, to the uneven curves and quiet imperfections he’d admired moments earlier. For reasons he couldn’t quite name, they felt far more human than the flawless ivory figure ever could.
Phainon hesitated only a moment before stepping closer to the stall to get a better look. The crowd parted slightly as he approached, allowing him to get a better look at what was occuring. He stopped beside the ivory statue and studied it again, this time from only a few feet away.
“It’s certainly impressive,” he said thoughtfully. “But… perfect?”
The vendor stiffened, clearly not expecting anyone to doubt his creation. “Of course it’s perfect,” he snapped, bristling. “Look at it. Flawless form, flawless proportions. It represents the highest ideals a person can have.”
Phainon tilted his head. “Does it now?” His gaze lingered on the statue’s immaculate face. “You say it embodies beauty and intelligence. But those are things that change, aren’t they? What one person finds beautiful, another may not. And intelligence, is something that takes many forms. Who’s to say this one represents it accurately?”
A few murmurs rippled through the listeners. The vendor crossed his arms, “Perfection is about excellence. About having no weaknesses-”
“But humans have weaknesses,” Phainon replied. “We grow through them. We learn. We fail, and then we try again.” He gestured subtly toward the statue. “This figure cannot change. It cannot struggle. It cannot grow.”
The vendor scoffed, “Struggle isn’t admirable. People want something to aspire to, something untouchable.”
“Do they aspire to be untouchable,” Phainon asked quietly, “or to be understood?”
The question hung in the air. He stepped back slightly, allowing the crowd to see the statue anew. “Perfection without imperfection isn’t human. It’s static. Cold.” His eyes flicked briefly toward the crowd. “What gives us value is not that we are flawless, but that we are unfinished.” The vendor opened his mouth to retort, then stopped. His glare faltered, uncertainty flickering beneath the offense.
Phainon offered a small, polite smile. “It’s a beautiful statue,” he said honestly. “Just… not perfect.”
Silence followed, thick, contemplative, as the crowd slowly began to disperse, some glancing back at the ivory figure with newfound doubt.
The vendor’s face tightened, suspicion flashing in his eyes, “And who are you, boy, to speak of perfection as if you understand it?”
Phainon gave a faint, playful shrug, a teasing glint in his gaze. “Just someone who appreciates imperfection,” he said lightly. Then, with a dramatic sweep of his hand toward the ivory statue, he added, “Although… I think even the most perfect being can use a little… revision.”
The vendor’s eyes narrowed. “Revision?” he echoed.
Phainon leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Yes. See there?” He pointed subtly at the statue’s face. “The right eye, it’s too far to the right. Setting the rest of the face off balance.”
For a moment, silence fell, and then the vendor froze. “What? No- impossible!” His gaze snapped to the statue, scanning every line, every curve, panic creeping into his movements. “Check… check the proportions… the eye! It’s… it can’t be!”
While the vendor was entirely distracted, muttering and pacing back and forth, Phainon gave a soft chuckle and melted quietly into the crowd. The market’s noise swallowed him, the colors and movement masking his escape as he slipped between stalls and out of the Memorial Market entirely.
Once he was a safe distance away, Phainon slowed to a gentle walk, letting himself lean against a cool stone wall. He exhaled, shoulders loosening for the first time in what felt like hours.
Tired but undeniably proud of himself. Had Professor Anaxa saw it, Phainon would bet he’d be proud as well.
“Unmatched beauty. Brilliant intelligence. Strength. Grace. Not a single flaw to be found!”
Phainon frowned, the statue was beautiful. But what had rubbed him the wrong way was that it was so perfect that it felt unreal. But even then, nothing in particular stood out to him about it either. So he wondered, in his eyes, what would be ‘true perfection?’
He pondered the thought as he walked, letting it roll around in his mind. The streets of Okhelma blurred together, as his feet carried him forward. Before he realized it, the noise of the market had faded, replaced by quieter roads and familiar turns.
Phainon stopped in front of the house Castorice had arranged for him. It wasn’t anything fancy but it wasn’t half bad, either. The structure was sturdy and welcoming, a perfect middle ground between grandeur and simplicity. The windows let in plenty of light, and the door creaked softly as he pushed it open.
Inside, he found neatly stacked supplies, fresh linens, and small housewarming gifts placed carefully around the rooms. Likely gifts left behind by Lady Tribios and her sisters.
Phainon hummed softly as he sat down at the table. He picked up a scrap of paper and began to doodle on it, lines looping and crossing without purpose, half-formed shapes, figures that didn’t quite become anything.
His hand moved on its own while his thoughts drifted elsewhere. The house was quiet, and It felt a little too big for just him.
But that was fine! Really. He could live with it. Still…
Phainon paused, the pencil hovering, as the tip just barely kissed the paper. He wondered, what it would be like to wake every morning to the smell of coffee already brewing? To sit down to a plate of scrambled eggs made for him, not out of obligation, but care.
The soft putter-patter of tiny footsteps racing down the halls. High, breathless giggles echoing off the walls. A house filled not with silence, but with life, warm and loud enough to chase away the empty void.
Phainon swallowed and lowered his pencil back to the page, the doodles growing a little less meaningless as the longing settled quietly in his chest.
He wasn’t lonely.
It was just nothing more than a stray thought, a passing indulgence. After all, Phainon had grown up in a village overflowing with poets and musicians, people who romanticized the world around them.
They spun love into something intoxicating with their words, something irresistible. They made it sound sweet. Like ambrosia blessed by Mnestia herself, a divine nectar capable of turning even the wisest of men into utter fools. Of course he would think like this. Anyone raised on verses whispered at twilight and melodies heavy with longing would.
It didn’t mean he wanted anything. It didn’t mean there was a hollow space inside his chest aching to be filled. Because he was fine! And not lonely at all!
“We think you’re lonely.”
Phainon took a deep, sharp breath, forcing the thoughts down before they could spiral any further. Perfection. Right, that was what he’d been thinking about earlier. He should return to that.
He set the pencil aside and pushed himself up from his seat, the chair scraping softly against the floor. His steps carried him into a larger room at the back of the house where he worked. He reached for his tools, their familiar weight grounding him, before pulling back the cloth draped over a massive block of marble.
It stood just barely taller than him, pristine and unmarked, its pale surface catching the light. Phainon smiled faintly. He liked working with marble. It was smooth beneath his palms, beautiful even before it was shaped, unyielding, yet willing to be transformed. It demanded patience. Respect.
Without overthinking it, he lifted his chisel and let his hands move on their own. The first careful strikes rang out, sharp and clear, echoing through the empty room. Stone chipped away, little by little, as he began with a face, guiding the marble into gentle curves, carving out the suggestion of features yet unnamed.
Slowly, a face began to emerge from the marble, soft in its contours, yet firm in its structure. The lines carried authority, a presence that demanded respect without ever needing to ask for it. And yet, beneath that strength lay something gentler. The curve of the mouth was relaxed, almost kind. The eyes, though still rough and unfinished, were set in a way that suggested understanding rather than judgment.
Strong, but not cruel. Refined, but not cold.
Sharp eyes soon took shape beneath his hands, angled and intense, reminiscent of a lion’s steady, commanding gaze. They were eyes that looked forward, unflinching, paired with a nose held high in pride. Once he was satisfied, Phainon let his focus drift downward.
He started with the pectorals, chiseling broad, firm muscles that rose with a natural curve, suggesting both strength and suppleness. The definition was precise, not exaggerated, but detailed enough to catch the light in shifting shadows, highlighting the subtle ridges and valleys of muscle.
He sculpted the upper chest to arch outward, giving the figure a commanding presence, while the hollow beneath the collarbones added realism and delicacy. Leaving the upper chest to become something that would make even the purest of maidens blush.
The shoulders were wide and structured, tapering into powerful arms, each contour flowing naturally from the chest. He worked the sternum carefully, smoothing the ridge so it connected the two halves with a perfect balance.
Phainon wasn’t sure when the sun had risen again, but before he realized it, warm golden light spilled through the tall windows, illuminating the room and casting soft shadows across the marble floor.
The sunlight glinted off the stone dust clinging to his hair and sleeves, making him feel both tired and strangely alive. He set down his chisel and hammer, rubbing his palms briefly before reaching for a cup of water.
The cool liquid ran down his throat, refreshing him. Once he had quenched his thirst, Phainon stepped back from the marble block, wiping the sweat from his brow. His eyes traced over the figure he had coaxed from the stone, the subtle hollows and curves that gave it a life of its own.
He let out a low, appreciative hum. The figure was far from finished, but even in this moment, he could tell that this would easily become one of his best creations. He sank back into a nearby chair, letting his hands rest on his knees.
The room was silent except for the faint sound of his own breathing, the occasional drip of sunlight through the window, and the soft gleam of marble that seemed almost alive under his gaze.
For a brief moment, Phainon allowed himself to simply look, to marvel, at what his hands had wrought, and to feel the satisfaction mingled with the quiet thrill of potential still waiting to be realized.
Sure, he wasn’t going out to meet new people like Castorice had intended, but he couldn’t ignore the sudden spark of inspiration that had struck him! It was sweet, exciting, and impossible to resist.
Phainon leaned forward, water forgotten, his hands itching to return to the marble. He felt alive in a way. Here, with a chisel in hand and stone beneath his fingers, he could create perfection, or at least, his version of it.
-
Phainon walked home, the last rays of the setting sun spilling across the streets and painting everything in warm, golden hues. The ache in his muscles from the day’s work was there, but it was a good ache, a reminder of hours spent coaxing and bringing life into stone.
He hummed softly to himself, a tune without words, letting the rhythm carry him along the familiar path to his house. When he reached the front door, he fumbled briefly with the keys, too eager to contain his anticipation.
The door swung open with a familiar creak, as he stepped inside. There it stood in the center of the main room, was the project he worked so hard on. Bathed in the soft glow of the late afternoon sun, every detail catching the light in a way that made the marble seem almost alive.
The figure was magnificent, every curve, every line, every angle sculpted with painstaking care. The face carried that same sharp intensity he had imagined, yet tempered with a gentleness that made it approachable. The chest and shoulders, sculpted with precision, radiated strength and elegance in equal measure.
Phainon felt a thrill run through him. It was the kind of work that could make Cerces envious of it’s sheer beauty. And it was so handsome that he knew that even Kephale couldn’t hope to compete.
He stepped closer, circling the statue to examine it from every angle. The muscles caught the light just so, the eyes seemed to follow him with a quiet awareness, and the faint shadows in the hollows of the marble gave it a depth that felt almost human.
Dust still clung to his sleeves from the day’s labor, but he hardly noticed. For a moment, Phainon simply stood there, drinking in the sight of his creation. Pride swelled in his chest, mingling with exhaustion and the quiet joy of accomplishment.
He ran his hand lightly along the rough edges, imagining how much further he could refine it, how much more life he could breathe into the stone. This was more than just a statue. It was a culmination of thought, skill, and inspiration, a living testament carved in marble, a piece of perfection shaped by his own hands.
And as the sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the floor, Phainon stepped back from the statue, eyes tracing every line, every curve, letting his imagination run wild. Had this marble ever awoke to life and became a god, he’s be the first to worship it.
Phainon leaned over slightly, bringing his face closer to the statue’s. “I’ve heard,” he murmured, “that princes and kings in Kremnos bear royal markings on their bodies as a sign of their connection to Nikador… I think you deserve something just as magnificent.”
From a small box tucked beside the worktable, he retrieved a bucket of red paint, thick and vivid. A ruby color that shined like an apple. His hands, still aching from hours of sculpting, moved with careful purpose.
He began to paint sweeping, intricate patterns across the statue’s shoulders and chest, tracing lines that accentuated the broad muscles and the proud arch of the torso. Spirals and sigils flowed over the marble, intertwining with the veins of strength he had carved, each stroke adding an air of majesty and authority to the statue.
Phainon stepped back periodically, wiping his hands on a rag and examining his work from different angles. The red markings glowed against the pale stone, transforming the figure from impressive to awe-inspiring.
“Now you have your own kind of royal blood… one even Nikador himself might envy,” satisfied, Phainon leaned against the table, with a quiet laugh escaping him. The statue stood tall and commanding, majestic beyond anything he had imagined.
Once the paint had dried, Phainon reached for a small bunch of flowers he had recently bought. Carefully, he placed them at the feet of the statue, arranging them with a kind of gentle reverence. “A gift,” he murmured, as if the statue could truly understand him, “for your highness.”
Then he turned his attention to a small pile of seashells he had collected from the shore during a rare break. Working with patience, he strung them together, fashioning a delicate bracelet. One by one, he slipped it onto the statue’s wrists, the shells clinking softly as they rested against the cool marble.
A personal touch to complement the grandeur of his creation. Phainon stepped back again, tilting his head and observing the figure from all angles. Something sparked in his mind. He could feel the beginnings of a plan forming, an idea that had been lingering at the edge of his thoughts while he worked. A small grin tugged at Phainon’s lips.
The next time he went out, he knew exactly what he would do. The spark of inspiration made his chest tighten with excitement; the world outside suddenly seemed full of possibilities, waiting for him to seize them.
-
“And here I was thinking you had forgotten me,” Lady Aglaea murmured, her voice soft but edged with amusement as she carefully wove tiny blossoms onto her latest gown. Her fingers moved with practiced grace, threading and twisting the delicate flowers into intricate patterns, each stitch precise and deliberate.
Phainon watched quietly from the doorway, the faint scent of perfume and petals surrounding her. She didn’t look up as she spoke to him. “Pray tell,” she continued, not pausing in her work, “what could have kept you so busy that you forgot the very purpose of your stay here?”
Her words were gentle yet pointed, laced with curiosity and a hint of reproach. Phainon felt the familiar feeling of admiration, and subtle fear, as he already knew he would have to answer carefully, lest he earn her subtle scolding.
“I’ve started a new project,” Phainon said, forcing his most brightest, ‘innocent’ smile he could muster. “Lady Aglaea, surely I’ve told you how much I admire your work. Even back when I was a mere novice, I-”
“Cut the flattery,” she interrupted sharply, without looking up from her weaving. “What is it that you require?”
Phainon winced, he wasn’t even given a chance. “A request,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You know me, I’m not exactly skilled with clothing. So… I wish to request your help.”
Lady Aglaea finally lifted her gaze, narrowing her eyes with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. “Clothing?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. “Did someone perhaps catch your attention?”
“You could say that,” Phainon replied, trying to keep his tone casual, though a faint flush crept across his cheeks. Lady Aglaea’s sharp eyes flicked to the bag he held, then back to his face. “Is it for that new project of yours, then?” she asked, tilting her head as she studied him carefully.
Phainon nodded, shifting the bag slightly in his hands, “Yes… well, partly. I thought it might complement the work I’ve been doing. But I knew that, for this, I’d need someone with far more skill than I possess.” He tried flattering her again, despite the fact that he knew it would likely get him nowhere, not with Okhelma’s legendary Goldweaver.
Lady Aglaea hummed thoughtfully, her hands never pausing in their delicate weaving. “I see,” she murmured, her gaze lingering on him. “And here I thought your projects were always of stone and chisel. Seems you’ve found some interest in fabric as well.”
Phainon chuckled softly, a mix of embarrassment and excitement bubbling beneath the surface, “Inspiration doesn’t limit itself, Lady Aglaea. Sometimes it finds me where I least expect it.”
She raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “Very well, then. Show me what you have in mind, and perhaps I’ll lend you my expertise.”
-
As they walked through the busy streets, Phainon did his best to ignore the stares and whispers that followed them. People paused mid-step, captivated not just by Lady Aglaea’s striking beauty but also by the quiet authority she carried as the Goldweaver. Her robes flowed gracefully, every movement precise and commanding yet effortless, leaving an air of admiration and awe in her wake.
Phainon kept his gaze forward, shoulders slightly tense with all the attention on them. “Teacher,” he said, the words slightly strained, “how are you doing these days?”
Lady Aglaea glanced at him, her eyes bright with amusement. “I’ve been doing well,” she replied, “but there’s been an unsightly gnat in my garden that seems to just refuse to leave.”
“Will you need help with getting rid of it?”
“Don’t worry. I’ll deal with it on my own terms.”
Phainon nodded and opened the door, gesturing for Lady Aglaea to step inside. “Sorry about the mess,” he said, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “I’ve been… focused on my project, and tidying up kind of slipped my mind.”
Lady Aglaea stepped over the scattered tools and marble dust, her eyes widening as she took in the full scope of his work. The statue stood tall and magnificent in the center of the room, every detail sharp and precise, yet alive with a sense of presence that made it almost breathe.
“Mydeimos,” Phainon said with a proud smile, gesturing toward the figure. “But I call him Mydei for short.”
Lady Aglaea approached slowly, fingers hovering just above the cool marble before brushing lightly against it. “You gave it a name,” she murmured, her tone a mix of curiosity and something else he couldn't identify. “How fascinating…”
“Here, let me add some final touches,” Phainon said, moving closer to Mydei with a small, focused smile. He reached into his bag and carefully pulled out three items.
First, he draped a delicate golden necklace around the statue’s neck. It was adorned with deep blue gems, each one catching the light like a fragment of the sea itself, gleaming against the smooth marble. The necklace settled perfectly, accentuating the proud lines of the chest and the elegance of the shoulders.
Next, he lifted a small blue crystal earring, hanging it carefully from Mydei’s ear. The gem caught the sunlight streaming through the window, scattering tiny prisms of light across the room. Phainon’s fingers lingered for a moment, adjusting it just so, ensuring it complemented the gaze of the statue.
Finally, he took a ring, holding it delicately between his fingers. He pressed a gentle kiss to the top of the ring before sliding it onto the statue’s finger, letting it rest against the smooth marble with grace. His hands trembled slightly, whether from excitement or something else, he wasn’t entirely sure.
He stepped back, eyes sweeping over the completed adornments. Mydei now seemed not only alive in form but in presence, regal and refined yet strikingly personal, as if every detail carried a story and a hint of Phainon’s own heart with it.
Lady Aglaea stepped back, her eyes tracing every curve, every detail on Mydei. Her fingers lingered in the air as if touching the marble itself, though she didn’t dare disturb it. A quiet hum of admiration escaped her lips.
“You’ve devoted yourself to this… truly,” she murmured, her voice filled with genuine awe. “I can see how much effort you’ve poured into him.” Phainon shifted slightly, a faint blush rising to his cheeks, but his smile remained proud and satisfied. Lady Aglaea’s gaze softened, and she nodded thoughtfully. “Very well,” she said. “If he is to be worthy of all this care, I will create something for him, something deserving of the effort you’ve put into this work.”
Phainon’s chest swelled slightly at her words. Even without knowing exactly what she would craft, he could tell already that it would be extraordinary. And for Mydei, his creation brought to life, nothing less would suffice.
Lady Aglaea straightened, brushing a few stray threads from her gown. “Go make something for yourself to eat,” she instructed. “I’ll need to take some measurements, and it will take time. Do not worry about me.”
Phainon nodded, a faint grin tugging at his lips, “Of course, teacher.”
-
He busied himself in the kitchen, chopping fresh vegetables and tossing them into a crisp salad. Bread was sliced and stacked, fillings layered to make simple yet satisfying sandwiches, enough for both him and Lady Aglaea.
The smell of fresh herbs and toasted bread filled the air, a comforting aroma amidst the quiet of his workspace. When he returned, tray in hand, he expected to see her carefully taking notes or examining Mydei. But the room was empty. Only the statue remained, standing as majestic and still as ever.
His eyes fell to Mydeimos’ hand, and his breath caught slightly. A small golden string that was tied delicately around the pinky finger.
She must have been in a rush, Phainon thought, a small, understanding smile forming despite the faint flutter in his chest. Shrugging lightly, he set the tray down beside Mydei and sat on the floor, leaning against the marble base.
He began to eat, the crisp salad and hearty sandwiches tasting comforting in the quiet of the room, the statue beside him a silent, steadfast companion as he enjoyed his meal.
Phainon chewed slowly, the taste of the food oddly dull without someone to share it with. He glanced at Mydei, the golden string catching the light, and a sense of melancholy tightened in his chest.
I can’t even share this with you… he thought, the quiet loneliness pressing in more than ever. On impulse, he leaned closer to the statue, the marble cool beneath his fingertips. Before he could stop himself, he pressed a quick, fleeting peck to Mydei’s lips.
Immediately, he froze. Heat rushed to his cheeks as the reality of what he’d just done hit him. His hands trembled slightly, hovering near the statue’s shoulders, as dread and embarrassment mingled together.
Castorice had been right. He was lonely. And now, the weight of that loneliness felt heavier than ever, because the first kiss he had ever have, had been with a statue.
Phainon buried his face in his hands, the sound of his own quiet groan filling the room. How… how did it come to this? he thought miserably. How in the world had he become so desperate for love that his kissed a statue?!
The marble figure stood silently beside him, oblivious to the turmoil in the sculptor’s heart, and Phainon couldn’t help but feel the full, biting edge of his own solitude.
But still… it felt surprisingly warm.
Phainon exhaled slowly. He was already in too deep, wasn’t he? And at this stage in his life, he doubted he would ever find an actual lover, someone to share a home with, someone who would choose him the way he quietly longed to be chosen.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he leaned in again and kissed the statue once more. It felt soft somehow. Warm. Entirely wrong in the way it defied logic and expectation. Marble was supposed to be cold, unyielding, lifeless, yet this felt like the complete opposite, and that realization made his chest ache.
“How ironic,” Phainon let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “I made you so humane that you actually feel human.”
He pressed one final kiss to the statue’s lips, his third kiss, lingering just a heartbeat longer than the last. Then he pulled away, shame and longing twisting together in his chest. He quickly gathered his tools, setting everything back in its place as if order might help him forget what he’d done.
Without looking back, Phainon turned and headed to his room.
He needed to sleep and hope that tomorrow, he would feel much better.
-
Phainon was having a lazy day.
He wasn’t sure whether it was was because of some form of depression he’s got, or if it was simply the toll of having pushed his body too hard, but he slept well past midday, stubbornly refusing to leave the warmth of his bed.
It wasn’t until his stomach began to growl that he finally surrendered. With a low groan, Phainon sat up and stretched, joints protesting as the lingering chill of the morning air crept across his skin. He rubbed at his face, blinking away the remnants of sleep, and forced himself to stand.
He treated it like any other day. He got washed and dressed before leaving his room to go say hi to Mydei and then head to the market place again.
Phainon froze mid-step.
The air was thick with a familiar scent, sweet and nutty, of freshly brewed coffee.
His brows knit together in confusion. Maybe he’d left grounds out the night before? Maybe exhaustion had made him forget and he left out some coffee earlier...
As he approached the kitchen, he could hear the faint, rhythmic sizzle of something cooking in a pan, and soon followed was the smell of eggs. Phainon’s heart skipped. Slowly, he moved closer to the kitchen.
The scent grew stronger with each step, undeniably fresh, undeniably present. This wasn’t leftover. Someone was actively cooking. In his house. Using his eggs.
His pulse quickened, a strange mix of alarm and disbelief coursing through him. His mind raced through possibilities, a break-in? Some thief bold enough to make breakfast in HIS house? Some absurd misunderstanding?!
Phainon’s fingers curled reflexively at his side, nails biting into his palm as he reached the edge of the doorway. The sounds were too calm. The pan shifted and something within it was stirred. The soft clink of porcelain followed by the low hiss of steam rising from a mug.
He swallowed hard. Whoever it was certainly wasn’t in a rush. Nor were they hiding. Phainon took a deep breath and peeked inside.
The sight that greeted him made his mind stutter. What greeted him was marble, moving. It moved as smoothly as living flesh, pale stone shifting with effortless grace as it tended to the pan.
Strong hands, hands Phainon knew down to every curve and callous, tilted the skillet, guiding the eggs with practiced ease. The sound of sizzling oil filled the room. It resembled a person. No, it was a person. One Phainon was intimately, painfully acquainted with.
Striking gold eyes lifted from the pan and met his. Then the marble figure turned fully toward him, movements fluid, natural, as though it had always known how to walk, how to exist.
Sunlight caught along sculpted muscle and smooth stone alike, tracing familiar lines Phainon himself had carved with devotion and care. Blood rushed so violently to through his body that spots danced in his vision. His ears rang, and for a second, he was certain his nose must be bleeding.
Standing there, moving, was Mydei. His perfect creation. Alive. And as if that alone weren’t enough to shatter reality, Mydei was well dressed. Draped in a finely made himation of exquisite quality, but the fabric was hanging loosely over his broad shoulders and hips, leaving far too much marble exposed. It clung and fell in ways that accentuated every deliberate line Phainon had sculpted, teasing the imagination rather than hiding anything at all.
Phainon’s breath hitched painfully in his chest. Every instinct screamed at him to wake up, to laugh it off, to run, but his feet refused to move. Mydei stood in Phainon’s kitchen, cooking breakfast with his eggs, staring at him with golden eyes that rivaled the sun.
Mydei crossed the space between them with unhurried ease, bare feet moving smoothly against the floor. Before Phainon could speak, before he could even think, Mydei leaned in. The peck was brief, gentle, unmistakably real. Warm, soft. Phainon’s entire body locked up as if struck by lightning, every thought scattering at once.
His lips still tingled when Mydei pulled back, golden eyes soft, amused. “Good morning,” Mydei murmured, voice low and smooth, like a river that rushed through every crevice of his mind.
Phainon swayed slightly, one hand flying up to cover his mouth. His face burned, heart hammering so loudly he was certain Mydei could hear it. “I-” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard and tried again. “You- you’re-” Alive. In his house. Kissing him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Mydei tilted his head, studying him with quiet curiosity, the corner of his mouth lifting just a little. “You look overwhelmed,” he observed. Phainon let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh. “That’s… one way to put it,” he breathed. Eggs sizzled forgotten in the pan behind Mydei.
The morning light spilled through the window, illuminating marble statue that had just wished him good morning like a lover he’s never had.
Mydei stepped back and handed Phainon a steaming cup of coffee, the rich aroma mingling with the lingering scent of eggs. “Here,” he murmured softly, his golden eyes flicking to Phainon for a brief moment before he returned to the pan.
Phainon glanced around the place, surprised. Where yesterday there had been scattered tools, marble dust, and remnants of his own chaos, now everything was cleaned and orderly. The counters were wiped clean, the floor spotless, and even his scattered about tools were gone.
He lifted the cup, bringing it to his lips. The coffee was sweet, too sweet, almost indulgent, but comforting in a way that made him pause and savor the warmth. He took a slow sip, letting it fill him with a brief sense of normalcy amidst the impossible situation that had unfolded.
When Mydei returned, he came carefully carrying a small plate of scrambled eggs. Steam curled lazily into the air, and the rich, buttery smell made Phainon’s stomach rumble again despite the coffee. The statue-turned-alive placed the plate gently in front of him.
“Breakfast,” Mydei said simply, almost casually. Phainon nodded as his hands shook slightly as he picked up his fork. The absurdity of it all was making his heart race. Yet, despite everything, he couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth settle into his chest.
It was like a dream come true…
Phainon took a careful bite of the scrambled eggs and immediately his eyes widening in astonishment. The flavor was richer than anything he had expected, perfectly cooked, and seasoned just right. The butter and herbs danced on his tongue, the eggs were light and satisfying. He let out a low, involuntary hum of delight, cheeks flushing. “These… are incredible,” he said, nearly in awe. “Will you be making yourself a plate as well?”
Mydei turned toward him, golden eyes narrowing slightly in a strange, unreadable expression. Phainon’s ears burned as realization hit him. He waved his fork awkwardly. “Oh… right. Sorry, I forgot…you’re still made of marble.”
Mydei’s gaze softened, but he said nothing, simply just sitting at the table watching Phainon eat.. Phainon shifted slightly, curiosity bubbling despite his lingering embarrassment. “Wait… how did you get those clothes? They’re exquisite.”
Mydei’s lips curved in the faintest smile, “They were left at the front door by a lady in gold.”
A lady in gold… That has to be Aglaea. Phainon smiled with a mix of gratitude and mild awe. Of course it was her who made something like this, he just didn’t think he’d be able to finish it so soon.
Phainon set down his fork, the taste of the eggs suddenly forgotten as a knot of curiosity tightened in his chest. “…Mydei,” he began cautiously, “how… how are you alive?”
Mydei’s golden eyes met his calmly. “I don’t know,” he said simply, as if the question was unimportant. Phainon blinked, swallowing hard. “You… you don’t know?” “Not really,” Mydei replied, tilting his head. “But I do know my name.”
Phainon shifted awkwardly, glancing around the room for something, anything, to focus on. His eyes landed on a stone chicken perched precariously on a shelf, one of his older, more whimsical sculptures. It stared at him with its blank, marble eyes, perfectly still. And yet, his mind refused to stay calm.
If Mydei came to life… what if all of his others creations did too? he thought frantically, hands tugging at his hair. Everything would become a mess with how much art he’s made over the years. And what about the art he’s sold to customers?!
Before Phainon could tug at his hair any harder in frustration and worry, Mydei’s hand was suddenly on his, firm but gentle, stopping him. The unexpected touch made Phainon freeze, heart racing, before he let out a long, shaky breath. He lowered his hands, leaning back slightly, and picked up his fork once more.
With a deep inhale, he forced himself to focus on the simple act of eating, letting the familiar rhythm of chewing and swallowing ground him. The eggs were still warm, if not a tiny bit cooler now, and slowly, bit by bit, he drew his attention away from his spiraling thoughts.
Mydei stayed quiet, golden eyes calm and attentive, watching him patiently. There was no judgment in his gaze as he held Phainon’s other hand. Bit by bit, the tension in Phainon’s shoulders eased. The tight, panicked knots in his chest loosened as he finished his plate, fork clinking softly against the plate’s edge.
He set it down, exhaling slowly, allowed himself to start winding down. Mydei still held his hand lightly, a quiet anchor that helped him greatly.
-
“Well,” Phainon said, scrubbing at a stubborn spot on a plate, ignoring Mydei’s soft protests to let him help. “I insisted on doing the dishes. Someone has to, right?” He set the plate aside with a small clink and paused, turning to glance at Mydei. “Have you… been around the whole place yet?”
“I have,” Mydei hummed, a low, thoughtful sound, his golden eyes scanning the kitchen casually. “It was a mess.”
Phainon winced, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah… sorry about that,” he admitted, cheeks warming. “I’ve been… a little too focused on other things lately. I didn’t… really keep the place tidy.”
Mydei said nothing, tilting his head slightly as if filing away the information.
Phainon set down the last dish with a satisfied clink and turned toward Mydei, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “For all of your help… and for everything you did this morning. I really appreciate it.” He paused, a small frown crossing his features as a thought struck him.
“Wait… I should give something to Lady Aglaea, too,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair. “She did go out of her way to make those for you after all...”
Almost instinctively, he motioned toward the larger room. “Come on,” he said. “I want to show you my workspace.” Mydei followed silently, golden eyes scanning the room with quiet curiosity as Phainon guided him among the tools and materials. Marble blocks of varying sizes lined the walls, sketches pinned carefully above each workstation, chisels and hammers neatly arranged.
Dust motes floated in the sunlight streaming through the tall windows, catching the light like tiny sparks of life. “I’m a sculptor,” Phainon explained, his hands gesturing to the various works in progress. “I shape things into what I imagine. Faces, animals… sometimes things people never knew they wanted until they saw them. It takes hours, days, even weeks to bring one piece to life, and every little detail matters.”
He ran a hand over the edge of a half-finished statue of a dog, Snowy is what he called it, tracing the curves he had carved with careful attention. “Everything you see here was made by me. It’s what I do for a living after all.”
Mydei stepped closer, observing his work, and for the first time, Phainon felt the strange mix of pride and vulnerability that came with showing someone his work. (Especially someone who had been, in a way, born from it.)
Phainon set out a blank canvas on the table, carefully arranging a palette of paints beside it. “Here,” he said, gesturing toward it. “Is you need something to help pass the time, you can try painting. Don’t worry about it being perfect, I kept some of Castorice and her sister’s supplies from the last time they were over. They paint all the time, so it should be easy enough to use.”
Mydei hesitated, tilting his head slightly as he considered the tools. His golden eyes lingered on the brush in Phainon’s hand, then back at the canvas. “I… don’t know if I can,” he admitted softly. Phainon smiled reassuringly. “That’s fine. Start small and give is a try.” He pushed the brush gently toward Mydei, who reached out with slow, cautious movements, as though touching something foreign to him.
“Who is Castorice?”
Phainon paused, lowering his hands. “Oh… Castorice and her sister? They were my classmates, a long time ago. Now we’re… good friends. But with the way life works, we don’t get to see each other much anymore.”
“Then she must be a good person… if my husband likes them.”
Phainon froze, heat rushing to his face. “Husband? Wait- what? Husband?!”
Mydei held up his hand, golden eyes serious as he revealed the ring Phainon had given him. The small band glinted faintly in the light. “This,” Mydei said simply, “makes you my husband.”
Phainon blinked, caught completely off guard. His mind scrambled, heart racing in a jumble of shock, embarrassment, and disbelief. “I-I didn’t-! That’s not… how-what-!”
Mydei tilted his head, watching him patiently, the brush still resting in his marble fingers. Phainon’s blush deepened, and he coughed nervously, fumbling for words. Somehow, explaining the connection between a friend, a gift, and a ring now felt infinitely more complicated than it needed to be.
“Are we not?” Mydei asked, tilting his head as though the answer should be obvious. Phainon’s face went pale, and his hands fumbled with the brush as panic surged through him. “N-no, no! That’s not-well, it’s complicated!” he stammered, flustered beyond reason. His thoughts raced in every direction at once, a chaotic mess of embarrassment, logic, and worry.
After a long, shaky inhale, he tried to calm himself and chose a safer explanation. “Engaged,” he said finally, his voice stronger than he felt. “We can be engaged. That’s it. But nothing more complicated than that.” He ran a hand through his hair, heart still hammering, before his mind took another leap into reason. “Because… We should get to know each other better first. And, if-if-we were ever to be wed, then, of course, a proper wedding ceremony would have to be planned. Everything would need to be organized, formalized… all the traditions, the flowers, the seating-”
Mydei tilted his head again, expression thoughtful but calm, as though absorbing the information with careful consideration. Phainon’s words tumbled over themselves, growing more frantic as he realized how elaborate he was making the explanation.
“Yes, yes,” Phainon added quickly, hands gesturing wildly. “Before anything like that, we’d need to truly know one another! There’s no point in rushing into… anything!”
Mydei’s gaze softened, golden eyes unblinking, and for a moment, Phainon couldn’t tell if the statue-or the living being before him found the explanation absurd or had simply accepted it.
Either way, the sculptor’s panic slowly began to settle, leaving behind a lingering flush in his cheeks and a racing heartbeat he couldn’t quite control.
“I understand,” Mydei murmured softly. Phainon exhaled, the tension in his shoulders finally easing. He allowed himself a small, relieved smile before turning back to his workbench. Carefully, he selected a fresh block of marble, letting his fingers trace its smooth surface.
Today’s project would be something delicate, a small rose, since it’s meant as a gift for Lady Aglaea. He imagined her placing it on display in her home, like she often did with her own creations.
He lifted his chisel and began to work, the rhythmic tapping filling the otherwise quiet room. Mydei stayed nearby, observing silently, occasionally tilting his head as he watched Phainon’s hands move with practiced precision before he picked up the brush and started experimenting with the paint.
Time stretched lazily around them, marked only by the soft scrape of chisel against marble and the faint shifting of Mydei’s stance. Outside, sunlight filtered through the windows, casting golden highlights across the workshop, illuminating both of them.
“We’re worried that you’re lonely.”
Phainon hummed as he looked back at Mydei. It would be a bit difficult to explain to his friends on how this happened, but he’s glad that it did. Especially since it meant he wouldn’t be the only one in this workspace now.
“Husband,” the name tasted sweet on his tongue. Mydei perked up, sharp eyes looking back at him. Phainon smiled, “It’s nothing, just wanted your attention.”
He wasn’t lonely anymore, and doubted that he would be for the foreseeable future.