Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was almost Parting Hour when the meeting with Aglaea ended. Phainon tried to stifle a yawn by rolling his shoulders, feeling a little stiff from sitting in one place for so long.

He knew those meetings were important, he knew that the black tide creatures were a real danger to all people of Amphoreus, but the Council of Elders dragged the meeting on and on, testing the patience of the Aglaea, Phainon, Mydei, Hyacine and Tribbie.

Phainon was surprised that Mydei attended the meeting for once. The crown prince of Castrum Kremnos usually excused himself with being "too busy" to attend, and Phainon couldn't say he blamed him, as the meetings never really led anywhere. The council members disliked the demigods and didn't care about the Flame Chase journey, even though they knew of its importance.

Luckily, after Mydei confronted the council members, the meeting was quickly over. They adjourned the meeting to another day and hurriedly left the building, followed by the Chrysos Heirs. Everyone let out a sigh of relief once they were outside except for Phainon, who couldn't help but yawn again. He tried and failed to hide it, catching the attention of the crown prince.

"How shameless, you look like you're falling asleep. Did you pay attention to what was discussed at all?" Mydei asked, crossing his arms as he stood next to Phainon and glared at him.

"Of course I did!" Phainon protested, turning around to face Mydei. "I listen to them every time I attend the meetings, but if the busy crown prince wouldn't skirt out on them so much, you would know that council members are mostly complaining about the same things every time."

Mydei narrowed his eyes and scoffed, causing Phainon to grin at him with a glint in his eyes.

"Snowy, you should cut De some slack! I'm sure he has other important things to do, maybe that's why he can't attend the meetings so often," Tribbie told Phainon, but the silver-haired man wasn't backing down so easily.

"Take care of what? That conspicuous body of his? Running around half-naked like that sure can be distracting, don't you think?" He asked Tribbie teasingly.

It had the effect he was looking for, Mydei called him a "Haikas" and turned his face away in a futile attempt to hide his blush. Hyacine and Tribbie giggled, causing Phainon to smile even more at that. And even though Aglaea gave him a pointed look, his smile didn't fade.

Instead of backing down, he elbowed the Kremnoan's side until those leonine eyes looked at him with an expression Phainon couldn't quite read. He was sure that it wasn't hostility but something more unguarded, a crack that allowed the silver-haired to take a glimpse underneath that hardened shell.

But the expression vanished quickly, and Phainon wasn't quite sure if he saw correctly or if he had just imagined it.

"Well, if there is nothing else then we will retreat for the night," Tribbie stated, looking just as worn out as Phainon felt. Aglaea and Hyacine excused themselves as well, leaving him alone with the crown prince.

The meeting had been grueling, especially for Mydei. The council's disdain for the Chrysos Heirs was clear, but he also knew that they used the Kremnoans for their own goal. He realized one of the reasons Mydei didn't attend the meetings was because the council used it to attack him and the detachment directly.

"Hey, Mydei, let's go take a bath before going to bed," Phainon suggested, hoping it was enough to cheer up the blond a little. Since it was almost Curtain-Fall Hour, he knew the baths should be empty by now, and neither of them had their daily bath they usually took together.

Mydei didn't respond right away, lowering his arms before turning to face Phainon. He studied him once again with an unreadable expression and stayed silent for so long, the swordsman thought he had said something wrong.

"… All right. Let's go," he finally agreed. Despite his seeming unwillingness to join Phainon, he still entertained his whims now and then. He smiled softly, feeling warmth spread in his chest.

"What? Have I said something wrong?" Mydei asked when Phainon smiled. The silver haired quickly shook his head and took Mydei's hand.

"Of course not!" He responded and started humming a tune. Mydei followed him quietly, not letting go of his hand.

If Phainon had looked back, he would have seen the unguarded from before on Mydei's face again.

Just as the swordsman had anticipated, the baths were completely deserted by the time they arrived.

"Just our luck," Phainon said with a grin, letting go of Mydei's hand once they arrived at the shallow pools and started to strip.

He remembered the first time he dragged Mydei to the baths, which was after the battle that lasted ten days and nights. The blond hadn't said anything, but it was clear that he was uncomfortable with submerging his body in the deeper pools. Mydei didn't express his feelings through words, but over the years of getting to know the Kremnoan some more, Phainon learned how to read his expressions instead.

Something must have traumatized Mydei pretty badly to the point he was averse to water, but the silver-haired wasn't sure if he should ask about it, or if he even could.

"Are you done spacing out?" Mydei grumbled and flicked the swordsman's head. "Come on, you were the one to suggest we bathe together."

"I'm fine, I'm coming!" Phainon squeaked with a blush covering his face.

Mydei looked at him sceptically, one eyebrow raised, before he huffed and stepped into the water, sitting down against a wall. The swordsman followed him quickly and sat down next to him, letting out a comfortable sigh. The water had just the right temperature, and he found himself relaxing easily.

They sat in silence for a while, both of them feeling content to soak in the water. At some point however, Phainon moved even closer and grabbed Mydei's wrist under the water, giving it a gentle squeeze.

The blond looked at him quizzically, but Phainon just gave him a small smile instead.

"You all right? You seemed to be quite tense during the meeting."

Mydei's brows let out another deep sigh, brows furrowing. The meeting from before was still weighing heavily on him, especially because the council had insulted Mydei and the Kremnoan detachment in general. Phainon and the others tried to move the conversation back to pressing matters, which did work for a while, before someone blamed something on the Kremnoans again.

Phainon also knew that the detachment never truly felt at home in Okhema. The council had put restrictions on what they could and couldn't do in the city, so he couldn't really blame them. After all, he too had lost his home to the black tide creatures. Although he befriended the other Chrysos Heirs, and even though the citizens were mostly nice to him, he didn't feel like the city was where he wanted to stay.

"I'm fine. Their words can't hurt me, Deliverer," Mydei responded, but Phainon only shook his head.

"You're allowed to feel upset! They never have anything nice to say, never appreciate our hard work. And this even more so when it comes to your work, Mydei, you go on dangerous solo missions quite often!" Phainon pointed out, raising his voice in the progress.

"Deliverer," Mydei warned, and Phainon calmed down, letting go of Mydei's wrist. He hid his face in his hands, but didn't move away from the blond. He was usually better at controlling his emotions, but he found that his control slipped more often when it involved Mydei.

If the Kremnoan went on solo missions, Phainon would secretly hope that he returned as quickly as possible. If they were assigned to missions together, he would cover the prince's blind spots during their battle and watch out for him outside of them as well.

He didn't know why he felt so strongly, or when it all started, but he cared for Mydei and his well-being more than he cared for his own. Phainon tried to brush it off as simple friendship, but the way his heart clenched whenever Mydei was late returning from a mission told him otherwise. He had always been reckless with his own life, a hero's duty was to protect after all, but lately, the thought of Mydei getting hurt made his hands shake.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to raise my voice," Phainon quietly apologized. He knew his friend was right, but he still hoped that the blond would let him take some of his burden, to help take off some load from his shoulders. "I just worry about you, Mydei."

The prince was quiet for a moment before he spoke again. "I appreciate your concern, but I'm really fine. I'm not fragile."

The words stung more than Phainon expected. He looked away, forcing a chuckle that tasted like rust.

"Never said you were." He flexed his fingers, remembering how Mydei's wrist felt in his hand. The prince's pulse had been steady, annoyingly calm, while his own hammered like Chartonus' hammer.

Phainon couldn't help but feel embarrassed. Mydei was right of course, he certainly wasn’t made out of glass. The prince was just someone he cared about a lot, if not the most. Still, he felt compelled to watch over him, to ensure he came back safe and sound.

Now that he was thinking about it, he had different feelings for Mydei than for the rest of his friends. It was natural, he supposed, Mydei was so special and unique after all, but it was more than that. Whenever Mydei smiled at him, no matter how small or fleeting, Phainon's chest felt tight in a way that had nothing to do with fear or exhaustion. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

Just the thought of losing the others made his heart twinge with sorrow, but if he were to lose Mydei, he didn't think he could move on from that. Despite the rough start of their relationship, the Kremnoan had become someone irreplaceable to him, someone he would put above all else, even if it meant losing his own life in the process.

Perhaps if they finally reached Era Nova, he could chase after those feelings he had for the prince. But the Flame Chase duty was too important to ignore, so his dreams were nothing more than a fantasy he could never hope to achieve.

All of a sudden Mydei placed a hand onto Phainon's, who hadn't realized that he had balled them into fists. The swordsman raised his head, blue eyes meeting golden ones. Even though Mydei didn't utter a single word, this simple gesture alone was enough to soothe his aching heart.

Phainon gave the blond a small but reassuring smile and decided to talk about happier things to lift the mood, which ended up in them having a heated discussion about how many battles their personal chimeras would win, and who would end up victorious in a battle against each other's companions.

The tension in Mydei's shoulders eased almost unnoticeably as their debate escalated—just a subtle release of pressure along his collarbones, a slight tilt of his head that made stray droplets slide from his damp hair.

Phainon noticed.

He always noticed.

The way Mydei's fingers uncurled against the bath's edge when their argument turned ridiculous, how his exhales came quicker between retorts, how his mouth twitched when Phainon dramatically claimed his chimera, Vigethos, could outmaneuver Mydei's Fig Stew. It was a fragile thing, this shift, like watching frost melt.

"You're delusional," Mydei said flatly when Phainon insisted his horned companion could outmaneuver the Kremnoan's orange-hued mascot in the Chimera World Tournament. "Yours has the tactical awareness of a drunk Dromas."

Phainon laughed, elbowing Mydei playfully. "Says the man whose chimera trips over its own tail!" He flicked water at Mydei's face, grinning when the prince blinked in offended surprise. Mydei retaliated by shoving him sideways, just enough to make Phainon slip deeper into the water with a yelp. The warmth swallowed him whole for a second before he resurfaced, coughing.

"Cheap shot," Phainon gasped, shaking droplets from his hair. Mydei smirked, that rare, unguarded curl of his lips that made Phainon's chest tighten. He wanted to memorize it, the way the steam softened Mydei's sharp features, the way his lashes clung together in damp clumps. The moment hung between them, too long and too heavy, before Phainon turned away with an awkward laugh, rubbing his neck like he'd been scalded.

The swordsman cleared his throat and stretched his arms above his head, the water sluicing off his skin as he stood. "We should head back before someone comes looking for us," Phainon said, forcing lightness into his voice. The bath had gone lukewarm anyway, the steam thinning into ghostly tendrils around them.

Mydei didn't protest, just rose with unexpected fluidity, water cascading down the planes of his chest in rivulets that caught the dim lamplight. Phainon looked away before his eyes would trace their paths over Mydei's red marks that covered his body.

They dressed in silence, the only sound the drip of water from their hair onto the tiled floor. Phainon fumbled with getting an arm through his coat, fingers clumsy with residual warmth and something else he refused to name. When he glanced up, Mydei was already lacing his bracers, his expression shuttered once more, donning a familiar mask of detached poise.

"Sleep well, Mydei," Phainon murmured as they reached the fork in the corridor where their ways diverged. The words came out softer than intended, far too intimate for the space between them and too telling in the way his fingers lingered against the wall, feeling reluctant to let the night end.

Mydei paused mid-step, shoulders noticeably stiff. For three heartbeats, Phainon thought he wouldn’t respond at all.

Then, barely audible over the soft murmur of Okhema's Bath Sprites, Phaoinon heard it : "You as well."

Mydei didn't turn around, but he didn't need to. Phainon could hear the hesitation in those four syllables, an unusual crack in his usual composure, like a sliver of lamplight beneath a door.

Phainon watched Mydei's retreating back until the prince vanished around the corner, swallowed by the dim corridor shadows. His fingers twitched at his sides, fighting the half formed impulse to call him back.

The silver-haired wanted to say something more, but he curled them into his palms instead. He felt like he already crossed enough unspoken boundaries tonight. The echo of Mydei's reluctant "You as well" clung to him like the bath's residual dampness beneath his clothes.

He exhaled through his nose and turned toward his own quarters. Sleep wouldn't come easy tonight; he could feel it in the restless energy humming beneath his skin. The bath had done little to ease the coiled tension in his shoulders, if anything, those fleeting moments of lightness with Mydei had only tangled the knot tighter.

The clang of metal striking metal rang out across the training grounds; sharp, rhythmic and almost musical in its precision. Phainon pivoted on his heel, sword flashing as it caught the Dawn Device's light, only for Mydei's gauntlet to intercept the strike with a reverberating clang. The impact sent a tremor up Phainon's arm, but he grinned through it, twisting his wrist to disengage before Mydei could lock him in place.

"You're getting predictable," Mydei muttered, though the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

He lunged forward, a fist arcing toward Phainon's ribs, but he pulled the punch at the last second when Phainon feinted left. The air between them hummed with exertion, sweat glistening on Mydei's brow as he changed his stance, his breathing barely uneven despite the relentless pace they'd kept up for the past hour.

Their sparring sessions had always been this way, matched strike for strike, neither yielding ground without earning it. Phainon's swordplay was fluid where Mydei's strikes were deliberate, his footwork a dance of evasion against the Kremnoan's relentless advances.

They knew each other's rhythms like the pulse of their own blood, could anticipate a feint or counterstrike before muscle fully committed. Today was no exception, Phainon's blade collided with Mydei's gauntlets once again and parted in a rhythm that bordered on intimate, each clash sending sparks skittering across the earth beneath them.

Phainon's blade trembled against Mydei's gauntlet, both of them locked in that suspended moment where exertion and exhilaration blurred. He could see his own reflection, wild-eyed and grinning, in the polished metal of the prince's vambrace. Then Mydei shifted his weight, and Phainon stumbled back a step, laughing as he caught himself.

"Almost had me that time," he admitted, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

"Almost implies I didn't," Mydei said as he flexed his fingers, the joints of his gauntlets creaking softly. Kephale's light caught the dust swirling between them, turning each particle into a fleeting spark. "Your footwork's sloppy when you're tired."

The hilt of Phainon's sword slipped in his grip just for a fraction and barely enough to matter, but Mydei's eyes snapped to the movement like a predator sensing weakness. His stance shifted, muscles noticeably coiling for a strike, and Phainon realized his mistake too late. The prince's next move came faster than expected, the flat of his gauntlet catching Phainon square in the chest with enough force to knock the breath from his lungs. He staggered back, coughing, and Mydei froze mid-step.

"You're distracted," Mydei said, voice low. He wasn't accusing his sparring partner, he stated a fact.

Phainon rubbed the part of his chest where Mydei had struck him, grinning through the ache. "Just admiring the view." He gestured vaguely at Mydei's sweat-slicked shoulders, the way his hair clung to his neck in damp strands. But the joke fell flat, too forced, too transparent, and Mydei's expression darkened.

The prince turned away with a harrumph, the sound echoing across the deserted training grounds. Entry Hour had barely begun; they were alone save for the occasional passerby on the way to the Marmoreal Market. Mydei dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply through his nose before turning to face Phainon fully. "Spit it out."

The swordsman's fingers tightened around his sword. He'd been noticing it for days, the way Mydei lingered after meetings, the clipped responses whenever Phainon asked about his schedule. Something was wrong.

"You've been avoiding me," he said finally, sheathing his blade with deliberate slowness. "Not just today. Since the council meeting."

Mydei's shoulders tensed visibly, his fingers curling into loose fists before releasing again. He turned his face away, the sharp lines of his profile catching the dawn light like a blade's edge. "I'm assigned to scout the ruins of Janusopolis for survivors," he said, voice stripped of its usual bite. "Alone."

Phainon felt the words land like a physical blow. Janusopolis had been swallowed by the black tide many years ago. The ruins lay to the west of the Eternal Holy City, and although the Sanctum of Prophecy wasn't far away, it had been crawling with the tide's army, dangerous monsters that caused the disappearance of several scouts already.

The silver-haired gulped down a lump in his throat before he spoke again.

"When were you going to tell me?" The question came out quieter than he intended, frayed at the edge

Mydei's silence was answer enough. The blond slowly walked away, refusing to meet Phainon's gaze. The light radiating from Kephale's Dawn Device painted the courtyard in pale golds and long shadows, long enough to swallow the tension between them whole.

"I wasn't going to," Mydei said at last, clipped and final. The words hung in the air like the echo of a blade being sheathed.

"Oh for Titan's sake!" Phainon snapped, stepping forward until they stood toe-to-toe, close enough to feel the heat radiating off Mydei's skin. The prince smelled of sweat and faint herbal tang of the oil from last night's bath still clinging to his hair.

"You don't get to make that call alone!" Phainon protested, but it died halfway up his throat as he watched Mydei's retreating form, that deliberate pivot of his shoulders cutting off any further argument. "We always—"

"Not this time." Mydei didn't stop walking, didn't glance back. His boots scuffed against the path leading away from the training grounds.

Phainon's lungs seized. The black tide's presence had turned the air in the ruined city thick with decay, and Mydei was going alone. His fingers dug into his own palms hard enough to leave crescents.

Was Mydei strong? Undeniably. Capable? More than anyone Phainon knew. But the image of the blond vanishing into the ruins, swallowed by the same unnatural dark that had taken the others, sent a tremor through him.

He was moving before rational thought caught up, his boots pounding the gravel path after Mydei's retreating figure.

"Wait—" The word scraped raw against his throat, but Mydei didn't stop. Phainon caught his wrist just as the prince reached the Path of Parting, spinning him around with enough force to make Mydei's braid whip against his shoulder. "Take me with you."

Mydei tensed beneath Phainon’s grip, his golden eyes flashing with something sharp, frustration, exasperation, or a flicker of something darker.

"This," he bit out, voice low enough that the passersby wouldn’t overhear, "is precisely why I didn’t tell you." He jerked his arm free, the motion deliberate but not harsh. "You’re reckless with yourself when it comes to me."

Phainon’s breath hitched. The accusation landed like a blade between his ribs, not because it was unfair, but because it was true. He’d charged into tide-infested ruins for Mydei before, had taken blows meant for his friend without hesitation. But admitting that felt like peeling back his own skin.

"Then let me be reckless," he said, quieter now, fingers curling into empty air. "You don’t have to go alone."

Mydei shook his head, the movement sharp enough to send droplets of sweat flying from the damp strands clinging to his temples.

"Deliverer, this mission is mine alone to take," he said and the words landed like a stone dropped into still water, final and unyielding. But then his expression softened, just for a breath, as he reached out and gripped Phainon's shoulder, fingers pressing hard enough to bruise. "I'll come back."

Phainon's pulse stuttered at the contact, at the way Mydei's thumb brushed unconsciously against the hollow of his collarbone. The gesture was too tender for Mydei's usual stoicism, but before Phainon could fully lean into it, the moment was over. Mydei had stepped back, already turning away.

"You'd better," Phainon called after him, forcing a smirk even as his chest tightened. "Or I'll drag you back myself!"

He heard the prince's scoff and watched him wave, his form retreating, before eventually forcing his feet to turn the other way.

The Marmoreal Market smelled of sun-warmed stone. Phainon traced his fingers along a vendor's table, which was offering a myriad selection of antiques, in an attempt to keep himself busy and his mind from wandering.

He usually loved appraising antiques, though he often ended up buying counterfeits.

Today however, no matter what he attempted to do, he just couldn't focus. A gnawing feeling of unease settled deep in his gut, and he couldn't help but think about Mydei.

"He'll be all right, you should stop worrying," Phainon muttered quietly, trying to convince himself that he had nothing to worry about.

The Kremnoan had gone to his solo mission three days ago. Although three days weren't a long time, to Phainon, they felt like an eternity. And to make things worse, this feeling of wrongness had been present ever since their last sparring session, and no matter what he did or who he talked to, nothing and no one could ease his worries.

Aglaea had already rebuffed him sternly when he asked if he could leave to find Mydei, reminding him that he had his own duties as the Deliverer. He knew and understood the importance of the Flame Chase and his role in it, but he still wished to gain some sort of reassurance or a sign that his friend was fine, that he was worried over nothing.

But when the antiques merchant asked him if he was all right, Phainon gave up trying to make sense of it all and tossed a coin at him without bothering to haggle, striding past the market's cacophony with his fists clenched.

The city's usual rhythms grated against his nerves like sand in an open wound. Without Mydei by his side, he just couldn't take it.

Phainon found himself retracing their last argument in the training yard, the way the Kremnoan's fingers had lingered just a heartbeat too long on his shoulder. Had his words been a promise, or a farewell?

He didn't know the answer. He knew Mydei had often been sent on missions alone. Phainon had no other choice but to believe in him.

Soon however, the days bled into one another and soon became seven, then ten, then fourteen.

Mydei still hadn't returned.

No one else seemed to worry or to understand how he felt. He tried, he really tried to ignore the feeling of unease that grew stronger with every day Mydei continued to be absent.

Phainon decided to head to the Garden of Life to play with the chimeras, hoping this at least would calm his nerves. Thanks to Kephale's ever-glowing light, the Garden was a far cry from the city's gray stones, with lush greens and colorful flowers decorating the lush green meadow, making it a perfect spot to relax and wind down.

Still, he couldn't help but look around in case he spotted that familiar strawberry-blonde hair as he often did, but he deflated when he didn't see it anywhere. Only Castorice and Tribbie were present at the Garden. Tribbie was playing with her chimeras, while Castorice was sitting on a bench underneath a large tree, reading a book.

"Lord Phainon," Castorice greeted him softly when she spotted him. Phainon gave her a tired smile, approaching the Maiden of War and sitting down next to her. He put a little space between them so she wouldn't touch him accidentally.

"Hello, Castorice. Have you seen Mydei?" Phainon asked, but the purple-haired girl quietly shook her head. She looked at him with concern when he sighed deeply, his form deflating.

Castorice observed him quietly, her lips pursing. She looked like she wanted to touch his shoulder and comfort him, but because she was cursed with the touch of death, she couldn't go near him.

"Are you worried about him?" Castorice asked and Phainon nodded, burying his head in his hands.

"I don't know what's wrong with me, Castorice. Perhaps he hit a road block and is unable to return for now, and I know he's certainly capable and won't die so easily, but I just can't stop worrying. Ever since he left, this feeling that there is something terribly wrong won't leave me," Phainon confessed, frustration lacing his voice.

The ruins of Janusopolis weren't so far away. He felt powerless because he was unable to do anything but wait here in the city, under the protection of Kephale's radiant light, while Mydei was out there, battling the black tide creatures all by himself.

"Well, he has been gone for a rather unusually long time. Perhaps I can convince Lady Aglaea to send a search team to look for him tomorrow," Castorice suggested. Phainon perked up at that, his eyes widening as he looked at her with a hopeful expression.

"Really? Thanks, Castorice! I had no luck convincing her, and I really tried everything. I even tried my famous puppy eyes! Tribbie's words, not mine," Phainon chuckled, infecting Castorice with his positive energy, and she couldn't help but laugh softly as well.

"What was that about me, Snowy?" the mentioned redhead asked curiously as she approached the two. "Are you telling Cassie about the day you went on your hands and knees like a puppy and begged Aggy to let you leave?"

"You don't have to mention that part!" Phainon groaned, burying his head in his hands again in mortification while Tribbie laughed loudly.

Even though he was a little embarrassed, talking to the girls made him feel a little better. Surely Aglaea would listen to Castorice, especially because Mydei had been gone longer than anticipated.

And if he was really lucky, perhaps she would assign him to lead a search team as well.

Phainon spent the remainder of the day with the girls, but decided to retreat early to rest. He skipped his usual bath routine because it didn't feel the same without Mydei, and returned to his quarters. He also felt strangely drained, as if he had run a marathon. Perhaps he was just tired since he hadn't been sleeping well because he was worried.

With a yawn he stripped out of his clothes and climbed into his bed. It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, his body finally, hopefully, allowing him some rest.

The scent of decay and rust filled Phainon's lungs, thick and cloying. He didn't remember leaving his bed, but his body moved on autopilot to the sound of battle nearby, a sense of urgency filling him as he stumbled through the ruins of Janusopolis. The sky above was an angry red, clouds swirling unnaturally like they were bleeding. Broken pillars and shattered statues loomed like jagged teeth, shadows stretching long and hungry across the fractured streets.

He heard the familiar clash of metal against metal, the wet snarls of monsters, and then—Mydei’s voice, ragged with exertion. Phainon’s heart lurched. He sprinted toward the sound, boots skidding on broken cobblestones, only to freeze at the sight before him.

The blond stood silhouetted against the bleeding sky, his robe half-torn, one gauntlet missing entirely. Golden blood streaked his arms, the tide’s monstrosities circled around him dangerously. One lunged for him and Mydei pivoted, his remaining gauntlet crushing its skull with a loud crack, but another was already leaping for his exposed back.

Phainon moved before thought could catch up, his lungs burning in protest, but his limbs felt leaden and sluggish. The distance between them stretched impossibly far, and he could only watch in horror as the creature’s claws raked across Mydei’s side, the prince’s choked gasp cutting through the air.

"Mydei!" Phainon yelled as he bolted upright with a strangled gasp, sheets tangled around his legs like grasping hands.

His friend's name had torn from his throat raw and desperate, his pulse hammering against his ribs hard enough to ache. The nightmare clung to him, the scent of rust, the crunch of Mydei’s gauntlets hitting his enemies, his blood shimmered golden under that bleeding sky.

Phainon threw off the sweat-soaked sheets. He pressed a hand to his chest, as if he could physically push the image of Mydei’s bloodied form, the way his knees had buckled away, but it clung like the stench of decay from the dream.

The room was too quiet. The air too still.

His bare feet hit the cold floor before he had fully decided to move. The Worldbearing Altar wasn’t far, he just had to go to the Dawncloud Council. He had been there before, though never like this, never with his pulse ragged and his hands trembling. Despite knowing that Kephale had fallen silent many decades ago, Phainon hoped that his voice would still reach THEM.

Phainon didn't bother grabbing his coat as he made his way to his destination. The Dawncloud Council was empty at this hour, the silence pressing against Phainon’s eardrums like the weight of the ocean. His footsteps echoed too loudly as he approached the Worldbearing Altar, the steps leading to it shimmering in the city's eternal light.

He knelt in front of the giant Titan until his palms touched the cool marble stone underneath. Phainon exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to steady his still ragged breathing.

"Kephale," he whispered, the name raw in his throat. "If you're listening—".

Phainon's voice cracked. He hadn't planned what to say, hadn't even known he'd speak until the plea tore loose.

"I need —" He began, fingers curled against the marble floor, nails scraping the ground as the nightmare's horror still pulsed behind his eyelids whenever he blinked.

"I — I had a dream, or a nightmare. No, I'm sure it wasn't a dream at all but a premontition. Please, if you're listening, if your light is able to pierce the dark clouds, may it reach and protect Mydei. He's —" Phainon gasped suddenly, his breath hitching as something sharp bloomed beneath his ribs. His fingers twitched against the altar's edge. "He's in danger, I'm sure of it."

Silence answered him, and Phainon clenched his teeth, frustration bubbling hot in his chest. He should have known better than to think —

Then, suddenly, warmth bloomed beneath his palms. The ground shimmered gold where his hands pressed, light spreading outward in intricate, unfamiliar patterns. Phainon jumped to his feet, but the glow followed, winding up his wrists like threads.

The golden light coiled around Phainon's forearms, binding them tightly but not painfully. He gasped as a voice resonated in his head, its sound soft and delicate like a butterfly:

"You pray to one who sleeps, yet your desperation has reached another."

The threads pulsed brighter, their glow seeping into Phainon's skin like liquid sunlight. He shuddered, not from pain, but from the sheer intimacy of the sensation, as though something ancient and vast had slipped beneath his ribs to examine his frantic heartbeat.

Phainon saw the image of a small, golden butterfly in his head again and realized which Titan had answered his call: The Titan of Romance and Beauty, Mnestia.

The text he read and paintings he had seen all associated the Titan with golden threads and butterflies, but he hadn't heard of Mnestia answering prayers in a long time. His breath caught as the light intensified, threading through his veins in pulses, as though it had its own heart.

"You weep for the safety of another," Mnestia's voice hummed inside his skull, "yet your soul trembles with more than concern."

Phainon let out a shaky exhale, thinking about what to say carefully."Mydei is a cherished friend of mine and I don't want to lose him," he eventually settled on saying, but it felt like he didn't say the entire truth.

The silver haired heard the Titan laughing in his head in response, the threads around his arms rising higher.

"Is that really it? Is Mydei just a cherished friend?"

Phainon didn't respond immediately, closing his eyes. Mnestia was right, he wouldn't have worried so much over Mydei's safety, and wouldn't have bolted out of bed in the middle of Curtain-Fall Hour just to pray to the Worldbearing Titan.

So what exactly was Mydei to him?

Phainon knew he had different feelings for Mydei than for the rest of his friends.

If he were to lose the blond, he didn't think he could move on from that.

He also knew that Mydei had become someone irreplaceable, someone he would put above all and everyone else, even if it meant loosing his own life in the process.

Phainon knew the answer deep down in his heart all the time, he had just been afraid to name it what was.

"I cherish Mydei, but in ways that go beyond just mere friendship. He's my equal in every sense of the word", Phainon told the Titan, slowly opening his eyes.

"We battled for ten days and nights. His strength equals mine. I know his likes and dislikes, I even know his only weakness. He has become a part of my life, and I just cannot bear the thought of losing him. Or simply said: I love him."

This was the true extent of his feelings, spoken aloud for the first time. The words tasted unfamiliar in his mouth, neither bitter or sweet, but something raw and fragile.

But as soon as the confession left his lips, Phainon's eyes stung and welled up with tears as the fear of losing Mydei consumed him. He clutched his chest as his heart thundered so loudly in his ears that he couldn't hear himself think anymore.

Phainon thought he was going to lose himself as his emotions overwhelmed him.

"There is no need to fear, child," Mnestia's voice whispered in his head. The light around his arms had traveled higher, the golden threads now curling around his chest. But instead of feeling restrictive, the threads spread a comforting warmth through his body, almost as if the Titan was embracing Phainon.

Even though he couldn't actually feel the Titan, THEIR attempt at calming him down helped and he was slowly able to ground himself and calm down.

"My threads have found the person your heart sings for. He has not started the journey to the river of souls, yet."

Hearing that Mydei hadn't fallen in battle yet was all that Phainon needed to hear. Even though Aglaea had told him to stay here, he could not sit idly by and lose the only chance he had of saving the man he would selflessly put himself in danger for.

But before he could go anywhere, another thought popped into his head.

If Phainon disobeyed his orders and went to save Mydei, and if something happened that would leave the city defenseless without his presence, would his equal really want to see him?

No, he would call him a reckless fool. Phainon could practically envision his anger, and he didn't want to betray his friends. But what about Mydei?

Torn between his sense of duty and the want to save the person most important to him, Phainon was at a loss as to what to do. He hated this feeling of helplessness and he balled his hands to fists in frustration. Why was fate so cruel to him?

Phainon had lost his village, his family, and now he was about to lose his love.

It was then that he noticed how the golden threads had traveled back to his arms, winding around his fists until he slowly unclenched them.

"I can sense your conflict. You want to help him, but you cannot. If it is your wish, however, I may be able to help," The Titan whispered, and Phainon didn't hesitate.

"Please! I'll do anything, just bring Mydei back to me!"

It was as if the Titan had waited for him to say those words. THEIR golden threads suddenly expanded and covered his entire body, leaving almost no part of his skin untouched.

"You have my word that he will return to you unscathed. But love untested is love unproven. Should your heart's desire not return your affection, the proof will bloom within you."

Phainon gasped awake, his fingers clawing at his own chest as if trying to dig out the phantom threads still burning beneath his skin. Light from the Dawn Device seeped into his room, similarly yellow, yet unlike the molten gold that had wrapped around him at the Dawncloud Council. His sheets were soaked with sweat and twisted around his legs.

His body trembled as he searched for proof, like the lingering heat of Mnestia’s touch, but his skin was unmarked. Had it been a dream? The ground had felt real beneath his feet, the Titan’s voice vivid as a blade between his ribs. Yet here he was, sprawled in his own bed, light pooling on the rumpled sheets like spilled honey.

Was his mind playing tricks on him in his desperation? Was this just another cruel trick of fate? He didn't know the answer to these questions, but what he did know was that he felt strangely worn out, as if he hadn't slept at all.

Phainon pressed the heel of his palm against his chest, feeling the dry, ragged pull of his own breathing. There was no use staying in his room, so he staggered to his feet, knees buckling momentarily before he caught himself on the bed's frame. The phantom sensation of golden threads still prickled beneath his skin — too precise and lingering to be just a dream.

The mirror above his washbasin showed a hollow-eyed version of himself. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his lashes, and his hair was stuck to his temples in sweat-damp clumps. He splashed water on his face three times before daring to look again. Still the same exhausted face, still the same blue eyes staring back at him.

Phainon's emotions, fear, frustration, were about to drown him again when his telestale buzzed from somewhere, its quiet vibrations pulling him from his thoughts. He turned around and looked for it, until he remembered that he had left it in his coat.

He noticed that his coat was lying on the ground next to his bed and fished the device from the coat's pocket, looking at three messages from Aglaea glowing across the screen:

Council adjourned until tomorrow. Rest.

Kephale’s light won’t dim if you take one day.

And for Titan’s sake, eat something.

The telestale slipped from Phainon's fingers, clattering onto the bed. He exhaled sharply, half-laughing, half-sobbing at Aglaea's messages. She always knew. Even when she pretended otherwise.

Phainon's stomach twisted at the thought of food. The idea of chewing, swallowing, pretending normalcy while Mydei was still absent was impossible. He shoved the telestale back into his coat's pocket and mechanically put it on, fingers fumbling with the clasps. The training grounds—that's where he needed to be. At least there, exhaustion could drown out the gnawing dread.

Normally, Phainon would weave through the market stalls, stealing grapes from Tribbie's favorite vendor or pausing to admire some ridiculous trinket Castorice would inevitably scold him for buying. But today, he listlessly dragged his boots towards his destination, his gaze lowered halfway to the ground.

The training sword felt wrong in Phainon's grip, too light and unbalanced, like the hilt kept trying to twist out of his palm. He adjusted his stance for the twelfth time, rolling his shoulders back, but he just couldn't get it right. Across the empty yard, the wooden practice dummy stood unscathed, its painted-on sneer eerily reminiscent of Mydei's usual sparring smirk.

Phainon lunged. His blade struck true, but the dummy didn't counterattack, didn't pivot to exploit the slight over-extension of his elbow the way Mydei always did. There was no sharp bark of laughter when he corrected his stance, no gauntleted fist knocking his ribs in playful reprimand. Just silence. Just absence.

The sword clattered against the ground with a clang, skidding away as Phainon pressed the heels of his hands against his eyelids. The exhaustion wasn't just in his limbs anymore, it had seeped into his bones, thick as the air before a storm.

"Tired already, Deliverer?"

That familiar voice, which was honeyed with mockery and roughened by exhaustion, sent a jolt through Phainon's spine. He whirled around so fast his vision blurred at the edges. There, leaning against one of the training ground's pillars with one shoulder, stood Mydei. His robe was torn at the hem, his left gauntlet conspicuously absent, and a fresh cut bisected his right eyebrow, but he was whole. He was here.

Phainon's breath caught. The resemblance to his nightmare was uncanny, the missing gauntlet, the way Mydei's hair stuck to his temples with sweat, but no golden blood streaked his jaw. No monsters circled him. Just Kephale's light catching on the dust clinging to his calves, proof he'd come straight here without stopping at the baths.

Phainon crossed the training grounds in three strides, his body moving before thought could catch up, before fear could whisper that Mydei might vanish like smoke if touched. The blond barely had time to straighten from his casual lean before Phainon collided with him, arms locking around his shoulders with enough force to stagger them both backward into the pillar Mydei had been leaning against.

Mydei's breath punched out in a startled "oof," his remaining gauntlet hovering awkwardly near Phainon's ribs. Close like this, Phainon could smell the battlefield still clinging to him, iron and sweat. The scent made his throat tighten. This was real. The nightmare hadn't won.

Mydei's gauntleted hand finally settled between Phainon's shoulder blades, awkward and hesitant, before he cleared his throat. "You're crushing my ribs, Haikas."

Phainon didn't loosen his grip. "Good." He pressed his forehead against Mydei's collarbone, inhaling the stale battlefield stench clinging to his skin. "You smell like a corpse left in the sea of souls."

A sharp exhale against his hair might've been a laugh. "How flattering."

Mydei's fingers twitched against his back. "Let me go before someone sees the mighty Deliverer clinging like a child."

"Let them." Phainon finally pulled back just enough to glare at him. His vision blurred again, from exhaustion or something wetter, he wasn't sure. "You reek. We're going to the baths."

Mydei raised his damaged eyebrow, that infuriating smirk tugging at his lips. "Bossy today, aren't we?"

But his feet moved anyway, falling into step beside Phainon. The familiar rhythm of their strides syncing almost made Phainon forget the nightmare's grip still lingering in his ribs—almost.

The steam hit them in a thick wave as they entered the Hero's Baths, curling around Mydei's bare torso. Phainon's fingers twitched at his side, as he watched Mydei wade into the heated pool without hesitation, hissing as the water hit fresh scrapes that hadn't healed yet.

Phainon's hands shook as he untied his own coat and took his shirt off, the fabric slipping from his shoulders like water. The steam curled around his bare skin, thick and suffocating, or perhaps that was just the way his lungs seized when Mydei submerged up to his shoulders, golden hair fanning out in the water like Kephale's light through honey.

"You're staring," Mydei said without turning, his voice sounding strange in the open room.

Phainon's fingers curled against his thighs, the bathwater rippling with his sharp exhale. "I thought—" His voice cracked, raw as the fresh cut above Mydei's brow. He forced himself to look away, focusing on the way steam coiled around his wrists like the Titan's phantom threads. "You were gone for so long."

Mydei tilted his head back against the pool's edge, exposing the hollow of his throat. "You know that Aglaea's threads don't reach outside of Okhema." His tone was light, but his fingers traced the faint line of a scar on his arm that had almost fully healed.

"It wasn't exactly a stroll through the Garden of Life," Mydei muttered.

The steam curled around his wrist like a spectral hand trying to pull him under. "The ruins are worse than what was reported. Whole sections collapsed inward, and I had to fight through three separate ambushes just to reach the ruined city center. But I wasn't able to find survivors."

Phainon's knuckles whitened against the pool's edge. He could see it too clearly—Mydei silhouetted against crumbling archways, golden hair matted with dust as black-clad figures emerged from the shadows. The image made something hot and sharp coil behind his ribs. "Three ambushes alone? That's—"

"Reckless? Suicidal?" Mydei's chuckle sent ripples across the water. "Tell me something I haven't heard from Aglaea's scowl." He sank a little deeper into the water, but never too much, the steam blurring his features into something ghostly.

Phainon’s fingers twitched underwater as Mnestia’s words slithered back into his mind like steam condensing on his skin.

Should your heart's desire not return your affection, the proof will bloom within you.

The bath’s heat pressed against his lungs, but nothing bloomed there yet, no petals or thorns, just the familiar ache of withheld confessions. Mydei’s knee brushed his under the water, casual as always, and Phainon nearly choked on the ordinary contact.

"You look worse than I do," Mydei remarked, flicking water at him. A droplet caught on Phainon’s lower lip, salt-bitter. "When’s the last time you slept?"

Phainon watched a droplet slide from Mydei's fingertip, tracing the curve of his fingertip dissolving into the steam. The question lingered between them, heavier than the humid air. He could lie. He should lie. But the ghost of golden threads tightened around his ribs, pulling the truth from him like a splinter from flesh.

"Every time I close my eyes, you die a hundred different ways. Crushed beneath Janusopolis' rubble. Killed by the black tide creatures. Sometimes just—" His throat closed around the image of Mydei coughing blood onto stone, golden hair matted with it. "Just gone before I can reach you."

Mydei's hand stilled midair, droplets falling from his fingertips like shattered glass. For a heartbeat, the bath was silent save for the distant drip of droplets falling into the water. Then he exhaled sharply through his nose, and sank deeper into the water.

"You worry too much," he muttered, the steam distorting his voice into something softer than intended.

Phainon's fingers clenched around the pool's edge. A cough built in his chest, sharp petals scraping his throat, but he swallowed it down.

"Someone has to," he said, watching the way Mydei's shoulders tensed.

The bathwater rippled as Mydei abruptly straightened, sending droplets arcing through the steam. His eyes, unnervingly bright, locked onto Phainon with uncharacteristic intensity. "You're coughing." Not a question. A statement edged in blade-sharp suspicion.

Phainon's pulse stuttered. He forced a laugh, rough as gravel. "Steam." He gestured vaguely at the humid air. "It's thick enough to choke on."

Mydei didn't believe him, that much was obvious from the way his gaze lingered on Phainon's throat, but for once, he didn't press. Instead, he leaned back to the edges of the pool, the steam blurring the sharpness of his scrutiny.

"Fine," he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "But I'm not going anywhere. Not anymore."

The words settled in Phainon's heart like a warm stone. He exhaled slowly, watching the steam curl between them. Mydei wasn't one for reassurances, not unless they were couched in sarcasm or delivered with the pointed edge of a blade. That he'd said it at all meant more than any oath sworn on Kephale's light.

Phainon tilted his head back, letting the heat seep into his shoulders. A petal threatened at the back of his throat, soft and insistent, but he swallowed it down before it could betray him. Mydei's knee bumped against his underwater, an accidental touch that sent ripples across the surface. Neither moved away.

The steam thickened between them, curling around Mydei's bare shoulders like an indecisive lover. Phainon watched the condensation bead along the slope of his collarbone, tracking its slow descent towards Mydei's chest.

He should look away. He always looked away. But right now, he let his gaze linger, just this once.

Mydei’s fingers skimmed the surface absently, creating tiny whirlpools that dissolved almost instantly. "You’re quiet," he observed, voice low enough that the words barely rippled the water.

Phainon thought about telling Mydei how he really felt, how his chest ached when they were apart, how every sparring match left him breathless for more than just exertion, how Mnestia's golden threads still burned beneath his skin with every glance Mydei seemingly didn't return.

The confession swelled in his throat like a bud straining toward light. But he swallowed it down, bitter as unripe fruit. He couldn't. Not when Mydei's gaze skimmed over him with the same detached amusement he'd give a particularly stubborn training dummy.

"I'm thinking about you," Phainon answered instead, watching the way steam curled between them like a living thing. "Wondering how you managed to survive three ambushes without your favorite sparring partner to watch your back."

Mydei's snort sent ripples across the water. "Luck. Stubbornness. The usual. Would've been easier with you there."

Phainon's ribs loosened at Mydei's words. It wasn't quite an admission, but close enough. The tension that had knotted between his shoulders since Mydei disappeared eased just slightly, replaced by the familiar rhythm of their banter. He flicked water back at Mydei's face, grinning when the blond sputtered. "Admit it. You missed my impeccable footwork."

"I certainly did not miss your ego, more like," Mydei retorted, but the corner of his mouth twitched. He used his hands to scoop the bathwater up and dropped it onto his head to wash his hair, water droplets clinging to his lashes like liquid gold. "Though I suppose your sword arm isn't completely useless."

Phainon's chest warmed at the backhanded compliment. He let the heat of the water seep into his muscles as the conversation lulled into comfortable silence. For a moment, it was almost like before, just two friends sharing the aftermath of battle, the steam between them thick with unspoken understanding rather than unsaid words.

Mydei stretched his arms along the pool's edge, fingers brushing Phainon's shoulder in a casual, fleeting touch.

"You're still staring," he murmured, but there was no bite to it. Just an observation, softened by exhaustion and the water's haze.

Phainon's fingers twitched beneath the water.

"You have a conspicuous lack of insults today," he mused, nudging Mydei's foot with his own. "Did Janusopolis knock the sarcasm out of you? Should I be concerned?"

Mydei's answering glare lacked its usual venom, softened by the steam and exhaustion. He flicked water at Phainon's face again, this time with deliberate sluggishness. "Conserve energy, Haikas. Waste not on undeserving targets."

Phainon exhaled sharply through his nose and let his shoulders slump against the bath's edge. It pressed cool against his heated skin as he tilted his head back. "Fine," he conceded, voice roughened by steam and exhaustion. "You win. We're both walking corpses at this point."

Mydei looked at him as if he was expecting Phainon to say what he really felt, not the teasing deflection, not the half-truth wrapped in banter. His gaze lingered too long, unblinking, the steam between them thinning just enough for Phainon to see the unfamiliar intensity there. Like Mydei was waiting for him to slip, to let the words spill out the way sweat beaded along his collarbone.

But Phainon only smiled, a soft, tired thing that barely curved his lips before dissolving into the steam between them. It wasn’t the sharp grin he wore in the training yard or the practiced smirk he reserved for Aglaea's lectures. This was something quieter, something that didn’t reach his eyes but lingered in the way his fingers curled against the edge of the pool, knuckles whitening as if to anchor himself.

The water rippled as Mydei pushed himself upright, droplets cascading from his shoulders like shattered glass.

"Enough," he declared, raking wet hair back with both hands. Steam curled around his wrists as he reached for a drying cloth. "You're turning into a shriveled date."

Phainon watched a bead of water trace the dip of Mydei's spine before disappearing beneath the cloth. "And whose fault is that?" he muttered, though he hauled himself from the pool anyway.

The ground was cold underneath his foot as he reached for his own cloth, the linen rough against skin oversensitive from prolonged soaking.

The Hero's Bath always had a faintly floral smell, the scent clinging to the spare tunics folded neatly in their respective alcoves. Phainon's fingers brushed the familiar fabric as he pulled it over his damp skin. Mydei's tunic hung slightly askew on his shoulder, the hem frayed from hasty dressing after too many rushed missions.

"Still can't fold properly, I see," Phainon remarked, which earned him a golden-eyed glare.

He reached over to straighten Mydei's tunic, not because it mattered, but because touching the fabric Mydei had worn felt like the closest he could get to touching Mydei himself as m. The linen was still warm from the bath's residual heat.

Mydei watched his hands, uncharacteristically silent. When Phainon glanced up, their gazes caught just for a breath, before Mydei turned away sharply, scrubbing a towel through his hair with unnecessary force.

"You're fussier than Aglaea," he muttered, but there was no bite to it. The words hung between them, softened by steam and something else Phainon couldn't name.

The silence between them stretched, thick with steam and unspoken words, until Phainon cleared his throat. "You look like you haven't eaten in days. I'll treat you to Golden Honeycakes if you stop pretending you're not starving."

Mydei's fingers paused where they'd been tightening his belt. "I'm not—"

His stomach growled loudly enough that it made Phainon raise an eyebrow, grinning slightly as he noticed Mydei's ears turning pink, visible even through the steam. The blond looked down sharply at his own traitorous stomach as if it had personally betrayed him, fingers tightening around his belt with unnecessary force.

"Fine," he muttered, the word barely audible over the drip of water dropping into the pool. "But only because you're paying."

Phainon grinned, the expression loosening something tight in his chest. He tossed his damp towel over one shoulder and nudged Mydei’s arm with his elbow.

"Admit it," he teased, stepping into his boots. "You missed my generosity almost as much as my footwork."

Mydei's mouth curled into that sharp, familiar smirk that usually meant trouble.

"Generosity?" He flicked a stray droplet from his hair directly into Phainon's eye. "You mean the same generosity that made you forget your coin purse last time we went to the market? Or the kind that left me paying for your drink after you accidentally spilled yours?"

Phainon wiped his face with exaggerated indignation, though his lips twitched. "That was a tactical spillage. You fight dirtier when you're annoyed."

After their meal, they ended up staying at Phainon's chambers. The swordsman offered the blond his spare bed, and they decided to call it a night for now.

But it didn't take long when the petals came—soft, crimson things that bloomed in his lungs like bruises. Phainon woke up choking, fingers clawing at his throat as he rolled onto his knees. The cough tore through him with jagged edges, leaving his mouth filled with the taste of copper. He spat into his palm, watching in horror as three perfect petals, veined with delicate gold, already wilted against his skin.

Across the room, Mydei's breathing remained steady and deep, undisturbed by Phainon's silent struggle. Kephale's dim light striped the floor between their beds, illuminating the scattered petals like drops of blood. Phainon curled his fingers around them, the fragile weight of Mnestia's curse pressing against his ribs with each shallow breath.

Phainon clenched his fist, crushing the delicate petals into nothingness before they could betray him. Across the room, Mydei rolled onto his side with a quiet grunt, one arm flung over his eyes, the other curled protectively around his ribs.

Time was ticking, he knew that. He also knew that they couldn't afford any distractions, not when the Flame Chase was still underway. The black tide creatures were coming closer and closer, and it would only be a matter of time before it was going to surround Okhema, with Kephale's light mostly being the city's only defense.

Okhema had their fair share of strong warriors, but only the Chrysos Heirs were truly capable of dealing with the black tide. But how was he supposed to fight when his lungs were filling up with petals?

Phainon pressed his forehead against the mattress, willing his breathing to steady. The petals curled in his palm, proof of Mnestia's curse that he willingly accepted.

He couldn't tell Mydei.

Not now, not when every heir was needed at their strongest. And who would watch Mydei's back when he charged headfirst into danger like the reckless idiot he was?

Light painted the training yard in stripes of gold and shadow as Phainon parried Mydei's fist, the impact reverberating up his arms like a tolling bell.

Three weeks had passed since Mydei returned from Janusopolis, and Phainon was doing worse each day. He frequently woke up to petals in his pillowcase, gold-veined and fragile as old promises. He tried to hide it at first, but eventually the other Heirs and Mydei started to notice a change in him.

Maybe that was the reason Mydei had dragged him out as soon as Entry Hour began, tossing a practice sword at his chest with a scoff about "letting skills rust."

Phainon ducked under Mydei's next swing, pivoting to tap the blunted edge against the back of Mydei's armored knee.

"Distracted?" he taunted, but his breath hitched halfway through the word. A petal lodged sideways in his throat, sharp as a dagger's edge.

Mydei's answering grin was all teeth.

"You wish." He twisted, his gauntlet flashing upward to catch Phainon's next strike with a clang that echoed across the empty yard. But his golden eyes flickered just for a heartbeat to where Phainon's fingers trembled against the hilt.

A cough clawed its way up Phainon's throat. He turned the sound into a grunt, feigning a lunge that forced Mydei back two steps. Pebbles skittered beneath their boots, louder than the rustle of petals in Phainon's chest.

The petals tasted like rust and regret. Phainon spat them into his palm mid-spar, quick enough that Mydei wouldn't notice.

Or so he thought.

Mydei's fist froze mid-swing, his golden eyes narrowing at the way Phainon's shoulders hunched defensively. "You're hiding something," he accused, lowering his arms.

Phainon wiped his hand on his thigh, the fabric absorbing the evidence before Mydei could see.

"Just dust from the yard," he lied, forcing a grin that pulled too tight at the corners. His lungs burned with the next breath, petals scraping like tiny knives against his throat.

But Mydei only glared at him.

"You're seeing Hyacine," Mydei decided and strode towards Phainon, grabbing the back of his coat and dragging him unrelentingly across the training yard. Kephale's light burned too bright and too sharp just like the petals still lodged sideways in Phainon's throat.

Phainon dug his heels into the dirt to stop Mydei from dragging him away. But it was no use, he had lost his strength.

"It's really just dust!" He protested, but Mydei didn't listen. He made sure that Phainon couldn't escape as he dragged him through the market all the way to Hyacine's office, uncaring about other people's stares.

When they finally arrived, the blond immediately dragged Phainon inside, who had just enough time to say "hi" to a surprised Hyacine. She immediately rose from the chair she was sitting on, stepping in front of the two warriors.

"Lord Mydei and Lord Phainon! What can I do for you?" She asked, her tone laced with concern as she noticed Phainon's frail-looking state. Little Ica trilled behind her, the little Pegasus that was always by her side.

Mydei shoved Phainon forward with uncharacteristic roughness. Phainon protested loudly with an "ow", trying to break free of the Kremnoan's tight hold.

"I need you to look over him," the blond told her, golden eyes blazing brighter than Kephale's light shining through the infirmary windows.

Hyacine took one look at Phainon's face before she turned to Mydei again, smiling gently at him.

"Please give us some privacy, Lord Mydei," she said firmly. Mydei's fingers tightened around Phainon's wrist in a silent protest, but Hyacine merely raised an eyebrow until he released his grip with a frustrated exhale.

"Fine," he muttered and turned around so quickly that it made Little Ica's wings flare in alarm. The little Pegasus chirped indignantly at Mydei's retreating back before nestling against Hyacine's shoulder.

The moment the door clicked shut, Hyacine's demeanor shifted. She pressed two fingers to Phainon's throat without prior warning, her touch clinical but lingering too long over the erratic flutter beneath his skin.

Her brows furrowed as she felt Phainon's fluttering pulse underneath her fingers, and she gently guided him to sit down on one of the beds.

Phainon did as he was told, letting out a tired sigh. He wanted to avoid any confrontation with Hyacine because he knew she would see right through him, but he was too exhausted to protest further.

Hyacine's fingers traced the hollow beneath Phainon's collarbone, her touch featherlight but clinical.

"You've lost weight," she noticed quietly, mumbling more to herself than to him. The infirmary smelled of crushed herbs and old parchment. Nothing like the rust-and-floral scent clinging to Phainon's breath.

Behind the door, he could imagine Mydei pacing around like a caged beast. Phainon could picture him perfectly, his shoulders taut, golden eyes flickering toward the door every third step. He'd seen that restlessness before battles, when Mydei's patience thinned to a razor's edge.

Hyacine turned around and went to her table, fingers danced over tattering scrolls and vials with uncharacteristic haste. Her hand closed around an ancient tome bound in cracked leather, and with a spine so worn the title had almost faded. Dust puffed from its pages as she flipped it open, her eyes scanning the cramped script with alarming speed.

She tapped an illustration of a heart entwined with vines, petals spilling from its chambers like blood. Her thumbnail scraped against the gold-leaf margins, tracing the artist's rendition of Mnestia's Coreflame.

"You offered your life in exchange for something," she whispered in horrified realization.

Phainon lowered his gaze.

"Mnestia answered me," he admitted, his voice strained with emotion. "When Mydei was missing, she offered to bring him back if—"

Hyacine's scroll hit the table with a thud that made Little Ica startle.

"You made a pact with a Titan?" She exclaimed in horror, fingers trembling against the page's illustration. "Do you have any idea what happens when mortals—"

Phainon caught Hyacine's wrist before she could flip another page, his fingers trembling against her skin.

"I know!" He rasped. A tear slipped down his cheek, hot and shameful, as he pressed her palm flat against the illustration. He knew she was concerned about his life, but this was his choice and he didn't regret it. "But it was the only thing I could do."

Hyacine's breath hitched. Behind her, Little Ica trilled softly, nuzzling against her shoulder as if sensing the shift in the air. "I'm sorry, Lord Phainon. As much as I want to help, my hands are tied in this case. I don't know how much longer you have either."

She touched his hand on her wrist, and Phainon sat slowly back down on the bed, burying his head in his hands. The bed dipped when Hyacine sat down next to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Tell him," she said, not unkindly, but with the firmness of a healer who had watched too many soldiers bleed out from hidden wounds.

Phainon's throat tightened and shook his head slowly.

"I can't." The words came out cracked, like split wood under too much weight. Outside everything was quiet, leading Phainon to wonder if Mydei had heard anything.

Hyacine sighed softly. "I promise to keep what you just said a secret, but you can't keep Mydei in the dark forever. If you accepted a deal with a Titan for his sake, he should know what you feel for him, to understand what you've done and sacrificed."

Phainon smiled at her tiredly, the expression pulling at his lips like a frayed thread.

"I'll try," he lied, already getting up and turning toward the door before Hyacine could press further. The hinges groaned as he pushed through, revealing Mydei leaning against the opposite wall with his arms crossed, golden eyes watching him intently. His fingers tapped against his elbow, but he didn't move otherwise.

"So, what did Hyacine say?" Mydei inquired. He moved away from the wall when Phainon walked past him, uncharacteristically quiet.

Phainon kept his gaze downward and quickened his pace, his hands clenching into fists. As much as he loved Mydei, he couldn't talk to him right now.

He didn't have much time left. The realization that his time was limited, that he was going to leave Mydei had rattled him more than it should have. Phainon knew when he struck the deal that this was how his life was going to end, but having it confirmed by another friend he cherished was unexpectedly frightening to him.

"Deliverer?" Mydei asked, trying to pull him out of his thoughts. He stopped Phainon in his tracks by roughly pulling on his arm. "Hey, say something!"

Phainon turned his face to Mydei, trying his best to school his emotions carefully. A small, sad smile spread across his face, his usually bright expression dimming. He slowly pulled Mydei's hand away from him, but didn't let go yet.

"Mydeimos," he began, his voice grave. "I appreciate everything you've done for me. However I — I'm sorry, but, I think I need to leave Okhema. Forever."

He couldn't tell him those three simple words because he couldn't burden Mydei with the truth, with his feelings. The blond had enough on his plate, the Flame Chase still hadn't concluded, the black tide was still a problem — simply put, he thought that he would jeopardize everything by confessing.

The silence between them was charged and heavy. Mydei's eyes narrowed as he let go of Phainon's wrist to grab his collar instead, shoving him roughly against a nearby wall.

"What did you just say?" He snarled, gritting his teeth. Phainon tried to push Mydei away from him, but the blond wouldn't move. "I know you're hiding something from me, don't think I'm stupid. Either you tell me what it is that's plaguing you, or I will find out myself."

"I can't tell you!" Phainon yelled, finally pushing Mydei away from him. "I just, I — I can't, it's impossible! Not when so much is at risk, I —"

"But what about you, Deliverer? Don't pretend none of us have noticed how weak you've become, and now you're running away? The person I know, who I thought was my equal, would never run like a coward!" Mydei spat, visibly upset.

His arms were trembling with anger, and he looked like he was ready to strike Phainon. Not that he would blame Mydei if he did, he deserved it. There was one thing he disagreed with Mydei though: he acted out of selflessness.

Phainon didn't want Mydei to know that he was dying because of the deal he had struck with Mnestia.

Before Phainon could say anything however, the alarm horns sounded all over Okhema. Almost immediately after, both Mydei's and Phainon's telestales buzzed with urgent messages. When Phainon pulled his telestale out, he saw two urgent messages from Aglaea.

Black tide spawns were seen close to the city
All of you, please hurry to the Demigod Council

But Aglaea had also sent him another message directed at him and Mydei only, and his heart stopped when he read its content:

Mydei will lead the battle on the west side of the city. Phainon, you will remain in the city.

His heart thundered loudly in his ears as he read the message again and again, thinking that he misread it. But Aglaea's words didn't change, her orders were clear and he had a feeling she knew the reason why. Nothing escaped her golden threads, after all.

"We will continue this discussion as soon as I return," Mydei hissed as he pocketed his own telestale, looking unnaturally calm. He turned on his heels and ran quickly towards the city center, ignoring Phainon's outstretched arm and his quiet, pitiful call to wait.

The city was in absolute chaos when Phainon finally reached the city center. He saw Hyacine leading the citizens away from the center and up to the Dawncloud Council where they would be safer in case the monsters were actually going to breach the city's defense.

Phainon knew that the chance was low as Kephale's light protected the city, but it was best not to take any chances.

"Snowy, there you are!" A familiar voice reached out to him. Tribbie came sprinting towards him and when she stopped in front of him, she was completely out of breath.

"Tribbie," Phainon greeted her quietly, bending down to meet her on her level. He let her catch her breath, before the redhead tugged on his sleeve.

"You have to take shelter! Aggy told you to stay, didn't she?"

Phainon forced a smile. He was touched by everyone's concern, but he knew he couldn't stay, not when Mydei was battling tide-spawn alone again. This time however, he would not beg for any Titan's powers.

"I have to go," he said, taking her hand from his sleeve and squeezing it gently. "I'm sorry, Tribbie."

"Wait, Snowy!" Phainon heard Tribbie call out, but he quickly turned around and ran as fast as his lungs allowed it to the city gates. He attempted to summon Dawnbreaker, but the blade refused to appear, possibly because he was too weak to even wield it properly now.

"Are you, too, forsaking me?" Phainon laughed bitterly to himself. Luckily, he found another soldier's discarded sword and took it with him, quickly leaving the city behind him.

The sky outside of Okhema had turned into the same shade of that angry, dangerous red he had seen in his dream on that fateful night. The city was still protected by the Dawn Device's light, but it didn't reach the outer perimeters anymore.

And just like Aglaea had described in her message, a staggering amount of monsters were gathering in the distance, slowly moving closer. He could see Castorice's purple flames and flowers in the east, hear Anaxa's gunshots sounding in the north, and see explosions of red crystals in the west.

"Mydei," Phainon breathed heavily, staggering towards the enemies that surrounded the blond. As he got closer, he realized that the creatures were practically overwhelming Mydei, who barely managed to keep himself out of harm's way.

He didn't hesitate. Phainon jumped straight into the fray, swiftly decapitating a Decrepit Bow with a loud battle cry. Even though he carried a simple sword, it took all of his power to swing it. The curse had spread so far that even breathing was difficult, but he willed himself to fight for Mydei.

For the one he cherished and loved.

It took him a while to reach the center of the ongoing chaos, but when he finally caught up to Mydei, the blond scowled.

"What are you doing here? I thought you wanted to leave," Mydei grunted sarcastically, punching a Tide-Eroded Blade straight into its face. As soon as the creature hit the ground, Mydei stomped it to dust with his foot, looking at Phainon with narrowed eyes.

"I changed my mind when I noticed you needed a little help," Phainon grinned, helping Mydei to kill a particularly annoying Gryphon.

"Hah, as if I need help from a weakling!" Mydei grumbled, though there was a hint of his usual friendly rivalry in his voice that he used around Phainon only. "Are we turning this into a competition again? I don't believe you can kill more enemies than me!"

"Only one way to find out!" Phainon laughed and practically danced around Mydei to kill another enemy.

Fighting the black tide became a little easier then. Phainon hacked and slashed down everything that came across him, his lungs burning in protest. He didn't know how much time had passed, but he noticed that the horde around them was diminishing.

But Phainon knew he was reaching his limit. A particularly violent cough forced him to stop mid strike, hacking golden blood and red petals out of his lungs. Mydei swiftly intervened and killed the creature before it could hurt Phainon.

"Deliverer—" Mydei began, but he couldn't tell Phainon what he wanted to say when the last group of enemies came towards them. He pushed Phainon away from him, sparing him one last glance before he forced the creatures to follow him, away from Phainon.

"Mydei!" The swordsman shouted, but before he could run after Mydei, another cough racked his body. He realized then that he was out of time, the curse would kill him here on the battlefield.

"No, please, Mydei!" Phainon croaked, trying to catch his breath. He staggered towards where Mydei was fighting, his legs wobbling with every step.

Then, all of a sudden, time seemed to slow down.

He noticed a Corroded Axe approaching Mydei from behind, who hadn't noticed the creature, as he was too busy fighting the others. It lifted its massive axe, ready to strike down on its target.

Phainon's thoughts raced —he knew he had to act fast. If Mydei fell in battle, he would probably resurrect unless the enemy hit his back, his only weakness. But that would leave the city defenseless until his return, and Phainon wasn't strong enough to kill it on his own.

A rush of adrenaline pulsed through Phainon's body, causing goosebumps to form on his arms. He already knew what to do as he sprinted towards Mydei, his only thought was to reach him, to protect him. He had sworn to himself that he would give up his life for Mydei, and Phainon was running out of time anyway.

Mydei managed to kill the last enemy he was facing and turned around — but he noticed the creature too late, its axe already swinging down towards Mydei.

"Watch out!" Phainon cried as he jumped in between them. He raised his sword to deflect the massive weapon, but his sword wasn't meant to hold against such strong forces.

The blade shattered upon impact, the creature's axe slicing the blade across Phainon's chest without resistance.

Golden blood splattered all around him and he gasped as the pain spread through his body, falling backwards right into Mydei's arms.

"Deliverer!" He heard the blond cry out as he was lowered quickly to the ground. He watched as Mydei killed the Corroded Axe almost instantly before rushing back to his side, pressing a gauntleted hand against his bleeding wound.

"My… dei…" Phainon gasped, finding it difficult to breathe. Strangely enough, he was feeling calm despite the pain and the fact that he knew he was dying. But at least Mydei was safe, Mydei survived and wasn't killed.

"You're such a reckless Haikas!" Mydei's voice sounded anguished and terrified, his lips trembling. He looked like he was about to break down in tears, which was something Phainon had never seen before in the many years he had known Mydei.

He could feel his consciousness slipping, so with the last bit of his strength, he reached out and cupped Mydei's face with one hand, who looked at him with wide eyes, a small smile forming on the swordsman's lips. He wanted to apologize, wanted to say that he didn't need to worry, but the words didn't leave his throat.

"Thank… you…" Phainon managed to choke out instead before his vision completely faded. He tried to keep his eyes open, tried to grasp on the last line of life and strength he had, but he was so tired, letting himself be pulled into darkness' embrace instead.

The last thing he heard was the sound of someone tearfully howling out his name.

A sweet but not overpowering scent reached his nostrils when Phainon came to. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking a few times, and realized that he stood on a path next to a sea of red flowers swaying in the wind.

Spider lilies, his mind provided, because its spindly stamens looked like spider legs. Phainon then noticed that there wasn't just wind but also the natural sound of birds, insects and —

Sunlight.

Real sunlight, not the artificial light that came from the Dawn Device in Okhema.

Phainon decided to continue following the path, looking around. He didn't recognize his surroundings at all, but he felt no sense of danger or urgency, only peaceful calmness.

He still tried to remember how he ended up here, wherever this place was, but the memories just wouldn't come to him. Phainon didn't know for how long he walked, but eventually, he ended up at a fork in the road.

To the right stood the city of Okhema, the giant statue of Kephale statue towering high. But when he looked to the left, he couldn't believe his eyes.

There, in the distance, was the village he formerly called his home before the black tide destroyed it: Aedes Elysiae. He noticed that the lilies were only following the left path to his home, but Phainon paid it no mind.

He smiled and decided to head left, quickening his pace without hesitation. This must be a dream then, a pleasant one that he didn't want to wake up from. He had missed his home, he had missed the golden wheat fields, the sound of gentle waves breaking against the shore, the scent of freshly baked bread, and mostly, his mother's warm embrace.

He continued like this for a while, decreasing the distance to the village, when he was stopped by a sudden pull on his right arm.

Phainon looked down and saw a man's tattooed hand holding his wrist tightly, and when he looked up, he met a pair of familiar golden eyes.

"Mydei!" The name easily spilled from Phainon's lips with a smile as he turned around to face his friend. He wondered briefly how he could have forgotten someone so important than the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos — but his thoughts were interrupted when Phainon took a closer look at him.

In the warm sunlight, Mydei looked strikingly beautiful. He was wearing a chiton instead of his usual robe, and his golden eyes burned brighter than Phainon had ever seen, his hair moving freely in the gentle wind. He also didn't wear his gauntlets like usual, allowing Phainon to feel the warmth of his skin, his fingers digging into his skin, as if Mydei was afraid he would disappear.

"Are you sure you want to go that way?" Mydei asked, his voice more tender, or sorrowful, than usual.

Phainon blinked at Mydei's question, his gaze flickering between the Kremnoan's desperate grip, and the path to Aedes Elysiae. The spider lilies trembled, as if they whispered warnings.

"But… it's my home," Phainon mumbled, but the words felt strangely wrong on his tongue. He felt Mydei's thumb traced the pulse point beneath Phainon's wrist — warm, alive and anchoring.

"Do you really not recall anything? You protected me from meeting my end on the battlefield," Mydei told him, and Phainon's world titled.

He suddenly remembered — the moment the axe cut his flesh, Mydei's anguished cry on the battlefield. His free hand flew to his chest to inspect it for any wounds, but he couldn't find any.

Phainon's fingers trembled against unblemished skin where a deep cut should have been.

"I died," he whispered in realization, but he strangely didn't feel any panic rise in his heart. He felt calm, at peace even. Instead he wondered what this place they were standing in was, a realm between life and death perhaps?

Mydei's grip tightened.

"I cannot confirm that. But if you had the chance to come back to the city, to me, would you?" Mydei asked, his voice sounding strained and vulnerable.

Phainon's throat tightened as the question settled between them, heavy with unspoken implications. He studied Mydei's face, noticed the slight tremble of his lower lip and the desperation in his gaze he tried to hide, but Phainon could see it clearly.

That's when he realized that the blond had followed him here. Whatever this place was, Mydei had crossed into it willingly, chasing after him.

Mydei's grip loosened when Phainon didn't answer immediately. The blond's expression faltered, his golden eyes dimming.

"I see," he murmured, releasing Phainon's wrist with a quiet finality. He stepped back, putting deliberate distance between them and walking towards the gates of Okhema.

Phainon's breath caught as the path leading to Aedes Elysiae shimmered like heat haze. The spider lilies curled inward, their petals dissolving into crimson mist. Aedes Elysiae's windmills slowed, their sails turning translucent.

But then he spotted a familiar figure beyond vanishing wheat fields: his mother. Her smile was bittersweet, her hand lifted in farewell as her outline blurred at the edges.

His father stood beside her, giving him a small nod. Then there was his teacher, and his childhood friends Livia and Piso he'd lost forever, flickering like candle flames in a draft.

They were shouting something and waving happily. At first, he didn't understand what it was that they were saying, until he realized with a heavy heart that they weren't welcoming him — they were waving goodbye, to let go.

His family, his friends, they were all gone. But there still was someone here who was alive, walking away from him.

Phainon didn't hesitate. The moment Mydei turned his back, something primal tore through his chest, something that was akin to pure, undiluted terror.

"Wait!" The word ripped from his throat as he sprinted after him, feet kicking up small pebbles as he ran.

Mydei turned around just in time to catch Phainon, who decided to jump into his arms, staggering back a step under the impact. Phainon clung to him, fingers digging into the unfamiliar softness of the chiton's fabric. He could feel the rapid-fire pulse beneath Mydei's skin where their chests pressed together, the uneven hitch of breath against his temple.

Mydei's arms tensed around him, not to push him away, but to hold him tighter, as he exhaled sharply against Phainon's temple.

"Changed your mind already, Phainon?" The snark in his voice cracked halfway through, raw at the edges like broken pottery hastily glued back together.

Phainon laughed into the hollow of Mydei's throat, the sound wet and uneven. He could feel the petals lodged in his lungs dissolving, their poison thinning to honey. "Only if you admit you missed me."

The first thing Phainon noticed was the absence of pain. Not just the sharp, tearing agony from the axe wound, but the deeper, persistent ache of petals shredding his lungs from within. He drew in a slow breath, expecting the familiar catch of thorns, but only clean air filled his chest.

Kephale's light filtered through the curtains of his bedroom window. He flexed his fingers against crisp sheets, half-convinced he'd find spider lily petals tangled in the linen.

Nothing.

Only the calluses on his palms and the lingering ghost of Mydei's grip around his wrist.

The voices drifted through the half-open door like fragments of a dream—Hyacine's measured tones punctuated by Mydei's sharper cadence. Phainon strained to listen, his fingers curling into the sheets.

"—should make a full recovery," Hyacine was saying, her voice low, but he could hear the exhaustion in it. "The flowers are gone, he just needs to rest."

Silence followed soon after, or perhaps they went to talk somewhere else and Phainon couldn’t hear them anymore.

Then he heard the front door clicking shut, signaling Hyacine's departure, leaving behind the faint scent of medicinal herbs. Phainon exhaled through his nose, letting his eyelids flutter shut. Every muscle in his body felt heavy, warm and impossibly relaxed. He could still taste the ghost of petals at the back of his throat, but when he swallowed, there was only the clean sting of water Hyacine had forced him to drink earlier.

A chair creaked beside the bed. Phainon didn't open his eyes, but the shift in the air, that particular tension Mydei carried like a second skin, told him everything. He smiled into the pillow.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words. Phainon kept his breathing deliberately even, lashes fluttering slightly against his cheeks as he pretended to sleep. Mydei hadn’t moved from the chair beside the bed, his gaze feeling like the weight of a physical touch, warm and insistent.

"You reckless idiot," Mydei muttered at last, voice rough with exhaustion. The chair creaked as he shifted forward, elbows braced on his knees.

Phainon imagined him running a hand through his tangled blond hair, the way he always did when agitated. "Do you have any idea what you did? What you almost—" The sentence fractured, swallowed by a sharp inhale.

A calloused hand brushed against Phainon's bandaged wrist. Hesitant, then firm fingers slotted between his own with sudden urgency.

Mydei's palm was damp and trembling.

"You were told not to come," Mydei continued, quieter now.

The words pressed into the space between their clasped hands like a confession. "But you never listen. Always running ahead." A shaky exhale, his grip tightened. "And then you were just—gone. Your heart stopped. Your blood—" Another break, raw and jagged. "I thought I'd lost you before I could even..."

Mydei's fingers twitched against Phainon's wrist, as if caught between holding on and pulling away. When he spoke again, his voice was raw, stripped of its usual precision.

"When you fell... the petals came out. Not from your mouth. From everywhere." His thumb pressed against Phainon's pulse point, grounding himself. "They poured from your wound like golden thread, stitching you back together. Hyacine told me later that you struck a deal with Mnestia for my sake, the flower curse undid itself right there on the battlefield."

Phainon's breath hitched. He remembered none of it, only the axe's impact, the warmth of Mydei's arms, and then the lilies. But he could picture it too clearly: spider-lily petals transmuting to molten gold, weaving through torn flesh like the Titan's own hands mending him.

He let his fingers twitch against Mydei's palm, a deliberate and calculated movement, before slowly curling them tighter. He opened his eyes just enough to see the way Mydei's breath stuttered at the contact, his golden eyes widening slightly.

"I'd do it again," Phainon murmured, voice rough from disuse but steady. His thumb brushed the inside of Mydei's wrist, mapping the frantic pulse beneath his skin. "Every time."

He meant every word, and now, he wasn’t afraid to say it.

The word "Haikas" was still hovering in the air between them when Mydei moved. Phainon barely had time to register the blur of motion before calloused fingers tangled in his hair, dragging him forward with none of Mydei's usual precision, none of that infuriating control. The kiss was as brutal as their sparring matches: all teeth and desperation, the kind of collision that left bruises blooming beneath skin.

Phainon gasped against Mydei's mouth, his hands flying up to grip the front of his robe, only to freeze when his fingers brushed something wet.

Tears.

Mydei was crying.

The realization sent a jolt through him sharper than any blade. The Crown Prince of Castrum Kremnos, who'd faced down entire black tide legions without flinching, was trembling against him like a storm-tossed sapling.

Phainon softened his grip, letting his palms slide up to cradle Mydei's jaw instead. He traced the damp tracks with his thumbs, slowing the kiss until their lips merely brushed with each ragged breath. When he finally pulled back, Mydei chased him instinctively, a wounded noise catching in his throat before he caught himself. Mydei's lashes clumped together with moisture, his usual golden glare reduced to something unbearably young and vulnerable.

"Say it again," Phaeton whispered, pressing their foreheads together.

"You're a Titans-damned Haikas!" Mydei cursed with a chuckle, his fingers, still tangled in Phainon's hair, trembling slightly against his scalp. Phainon blinked up at him, watching the way the artificial light caught the gold flecks in Mydei's eyes, turning them molten.

He'd heard the term a thousand times, usually snarled across training grounds or muttered in exasperation when he'd done something particularly reckless. But this time, the weight of it settled differently in his chest. It wasn't the sharp bite of a curse or the dry snap of sarcasm. It curled around his ribs like steam from the baths, warm and familiar, carrying the unspoken shape of something else entirely.

Phainon's fingers stilled against Mydei's damp cheeks. The prince's breath hitched when Phainon brushed his thumbs beneath those golden eyes, still wet and furious, smearing the evidence of his distress like war paint.

"I love you too," Phainon murmured against Mydei's trembling lips, the words unfurled between them like petals finally freed from his throat. "Thank you for pulling me back."

Mydei inhaled sharply before he pressed their foreheads together harder, fingers tightening in Phainon's hair like he wanted to anchor them both to this moment.

"Don't," he muttered, voice cracking. "Don't thank me for—" His thumb brushed the edge of Phainon's bandages, tracing the phantom outline of petals that weren't there anymore. "You were dying. Because of me."

Phainon caught Mydei's wrist before he could pull away, pressing the prince's palm flat against his own chest where his heartbeat thudded steadily beneath warm skin.

"I'm alive," he whispered. "Because of you."

The words came easier now, lighter, unfurling like new leaves after a long winter. He watched the way Mydei's throat worked, the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed hard.

Phainon knew then that he should have never feared—the Flame Chase duty had room for love too. The realization settled into his bones, warm and inevitable.

He'd spent years convinced that devotion to Okhema meant sacrifice, that every flicker of affection for Mydei was a betrayal of his vows. But here they were, Mydei's fingers tangled in his hair like roots seeking water, their shared breaths mingling in the honeyed space between them, and the city still stood. Love hadn't weakened him; it had anchored him.

Phainon knew then that together, they could overcome anything. Even now, with Mydei’s fingers trembling against his jaw, that belief held firm. It wasn’t the blind faith of youth or the desperate hope of a man staring down death. It was simpler, quieter.

Like the way dawn always followed the darkest hour, inevitable as breath.