Chapter Text
The Era Nova has come to pass.
Thirty-three million cycles of suffering and torment, a never-ending lifetime of being both the executioner and the deliverer broken at last. Khaslana finally witnessed the miracle he and Cyrene had waited for so, so long.
Prayers hushed into the empty pages finally deciding to write their new fates, with one going forward and one returning to the past.
Khaslana hoped both of them would reach the very ending they prayed for together.
So when he didn't see his precious friend stepping forward with him into the dawn they both prayed for, it shattered his heart into pieces.
...
"Why are they looking at me like that?"
Of course, with Era Nova achieved, the Chrysos Heirs, naturally followed his footsteps into the light. The heroes of Amphoreus, members of the Flame Chase-- his family. All of them, alive and well and-
Haunted by the very sight of him.
Aglaea was the first one to react, with her eyesight now restored. Recognition, the slow realization, seeing the woman he considered as his second mother look at him with such conflicted frown tore him from the inside. She was mostly, if not always, the one who guided him to become the hero that Amphoreus needed. To see her flinch away from him felt like a dagger aimed to his chest and stroked clean. Was this what it felt like to drown in the bath of gold? To be surrounded by warmth, only to melt away from scorn?
The second to refuse his hand was Castorice. His trusted and loyal friend, whose hand no longer brought death to all she touches. The gentle and warm smile that used to be directed to him now turned into a frown of fear. She used to wish to be freed from her curse, yet why did he feel like he needed that touch of death now more than ever? Was he no longer worthy of hearing her wonderful ideas? Was he no longer worthy of receiving her touch now that they reached Era Nova?
And Hyacine. Poor, poor Hyacine. The healer, who only wanted to bring joy and help people in need, who melted with the skies in hopes of giving the world a brighter tomorrow. He couldn't even bring himself to explain the animosity he brought towards her in every cycle. That fear in her eyes were the very same sight he witnessed in every cycle, the very same eyes that cried when he tore her wings and the skies apart. It felt as if he was standing underneath those very same skies again, when he wished those tears of anguish would melt him on the ground instead to end his suffering.
Tribios gasped in fear when he tried to move to her direction. Was he no longer the same child she used to fuss with? All that knowledge she imparted to him, and wisdom of a person of the past that no longer existed passed onto him, did they no longer hold true? Did the hope she lovingly nurtured no longer extended to him now that she saw everything? It hurt to see her come to one, no longer fragmented into thousands, only for those pair of eyes be filled with so much fear instead of fulfilled hope. Was he no longer the prophesized hero in her eyes?
At least Anaxa didn't leave so quickly. His only working eye, still rendered blind in the Era Nova, looked at him with so much curiosity. He was no longer a student in his teacher's eye, but a monster who tore time and space over and over and over again. So what if he pushed all of them into the Era Nova? He still killed them, drove his blade into them countless times, and turned the tides against them. Was he still worthy of standing next to them? When he went against the very thing he called family in hopes of a better tomorrow?
Cipher didn't even bother with him. The feline woman was rightfully angry at him. The words he spoke in those cycles, the hurt he brought to her whenever they met, there was no way Cipher would forgive him. Now that everyone had a glimpse of all the cycles, could he still lie his way out of their judgment? Could he still smile freely, knowing that there were so many secrets he withheld from them that he couldn't even be true to them anymore?
And Mydeimos. His one and only Mydeimos. The Kremnoan crown prince was his last straw. He didn't wait for the warrior to react. Seeing the others' reaction was too much for him already. Was this how it felt like for Mydeimos whenever Khaslana drove the Dawnmaker into his tenth thoracic vertebrae? To see the very person he trusted the most stab him like it hadn't meant anything? Oh how he wished someone would stab him straight into his heart right now. He wished he held the crown prince a little bit longer, so that he could still cling to the fading warmth of a dying affection.
Run, Khaslana. Run.
Did he still have a heart, when all the coreflames he had taken had burned and left nothing but a husk of a person?
Run, Khaslana. Run.
Could he finally cry now, with the current world no longer needing for him to burn bright until he turned nothing but a wick in need of snuffing out?
Run, Khaslana. Run.
There was no longer anyone to ask now. No Cyrene to reassure him. No promises of a better tomorrow. If he had taken the path his friend chose instead, would everything hurt less?
He didn't bother returning to his home back in Okhema. Now that everyone knew the truth and saw him as a monster, there was no place for him. The never-ending light of the Dawn Device had long gotten extinguished, allowing all of those who resided in the Holy City to see the true skies filled with stars. He once wished he could see and watch them alongside with his family, but with their eyes a witness of the horrors he brought, he no longer had that opportunity.
Without the suffering of Kephale, would Okhemans fare properly with the night present in the Holy City? He once wondered to himself.
With the Chrysos Heirs all present there now, without a doubt, the night wouldn't be a threat to them.
He no longer counted as one, right?
Staying in here felt like torture.
Not everything was restored when Era Nova came to pass. Aedes Elysiae, which was once a never-ending field of golden wheats, was now a barren wasteland full of charred stalks and burnt homes. The warmth that once surrounded the village was now extinguished, never to be brought back aflame again. Khaslana hoped he would die here too, to be buried in the same land he once held dear to his heart.
Was he not the same person who brought it into flames?
So he set himself on fire. Over and over and over. Lit the coreflames inside him in hopes that his very being be turned into nothing but a charred corpse like the rest of his kin did. If the Black Tide still existed, he would've willingly surrendered to it. But it no longer existed, no longer conquered lands now that there was no need for it.
Despite the great effort, he still lived. Despite all that suffering, he still lived.
Screw this life he was promised. Why was Cyrene denied of the tomorrow they wished for? Why was he left to deal with the bitterness of yesterday, and the billions of days that came before that?
No longer able to take the damage, his wings sprouted from his back in an attempt to comfort him. Useless appendages, could they not see that the hurt was coming from the inside? So, in a fit of rage, he tried to tear them apart too.
He no longer dreamed. Dreams were a better fit for Cyrene. He let days and nights pass. What difference would it make if he waited for those to pass? He no longer held the hope that was once passed onto him for a better tomorrow.
...
And yet why? Why could he feel so much warmth on his face?
Was it rain? Surely it wasn't. Rain was always cold in Aedes Elysiae, and the skies still felt like they were burning his retinas even with his eyes closed.
And that faint noise. Was someone crying? Was it him? Surely it wasn't him. He stopped crying by the tenth night. He gave up trying. The coreflames he lit up evaporated his tears immediately. It was a futile effort to vent out his frustrations through tears.
...so why? Why did those droplets feel so warm on his face?
"Deliverer."
Oh, he must be dreaming then. He knew that voice everywhere. The lion might look fierce and strong, but whenever it came to his family, he always held such gentleness for them.
It felt nice. This felt nice. What a cruel, comforting dream. Did the universe take pity on him that it finally decided to grant him such a dream as mercy?
"This... You're hurt. There is so much blood, Phainon."
What a very nice dream. The gentle warmth that wrapped around him was a million times better than the warmth of the coreflames inside him. Was he still burning? He could only hope he wasn't burning this gentle dream Mydeimos. It would be so cruel, and he no longer desired to hurt anyone but himself anymore.
"Come back to us, Phainon. The others have been looking for you. Why did you hurt yourself, HKS?"
Oh, how cruel. To hear that kremnoan word once more, it tugged his heart too much. A word meant for disdain, spoken with such fondness only for him. He didn't want this dream to end. If it ended, if---
"Phainon, let's go home."
Khaslana couldn't take it anymore.
The coreflames finally died out, and his torn wings tried to lift themselves to comfort him. Tears fell immediately when he opened his eyes. In his mind, he had prayed a countless times already for the universe not to end this dream yet. He wished to see Mydeimos, even if he wasn't the real deal.
To hear him plead, to be able to take him home where the others were. He longed for home. He longed to be with them again.
Khaslana was always alone. He had enough of isolation, of being denied of home.
"Mydeimos," he spoke, voice hoarse from anguish. "As sweet as this is for a dream, I cannot go back with you."
Mydeimos' arms and chest were burnt. He wondered if it was because of him. But since this was a dream, it didn't matter, right?
The Kremnoan warrior took a moment to respond, a strange look dawning on his face. When he finally decided to speak, it held such carefulness and uncertainty.
"Why?"
Why, indeed.
Khaslana just cried. He cried his heart out until he couldn't anymore, should the opportunity fade away again. Cyrene used to call him a crybaby, and he could definitely see why now.
And Mydeimos, his dear Mydei, only held him close with so much gentleness and love.
"Just cry, Phainon," he whispered. "And when you 'wake up', I will still be here."