Archive of Our Own

The village of Vathy was located in the extreme east of Amphoreus, nestled between a mountain range and wheat fields that glowed under the eternal light of the sun. It was a small community of fishermen and artisans, known for its fine fabrics and warm hospitality. When the distress calls reached Okhema, Phainon — who had just returned from another mission — set out immediately, alone.

He was the Deliverer, the one who carried the hope of an entire world on his blade. There was no time for hesitation or to wait for another companion to return. Going immediately was his choice.

Monsters provoked by the black tide had been spotted in the vicinity three days ago. Messengers reported unusual movement, creatures of the shadows gathering in the rifts to the north. Phainon moved without rest, his heart hammering against his ribs thinking of damage control and how he could escort another village to reside in the safe surroundings of Okhema.

He arrived two days later.

The sky over Vathy seemed to have been dyed a sickly red, as if the firmament itself had been wounded. The smell of sulfur and death hit him even before he crossed the village gates.

"Please..." he whispered, his voice raspy from exhaustion. "Please, let me arrive in time."

The gates were open. Hanging on broken hinges, like dislocated arms. Phainon took a deep breath, his hand resting firmly on the hilt of his sword, his footsteps echoing in the absolute silence. The central square was an open-air cemetery.

Bodies. Bodies everywhere. Men, women, the elderly, children. Some had tried to flee, frozen in poses of eternal terror. Others had fought, with work tools still clutched in rigid, bloody hands. The black ichor of the tide dripped down the walls of the houses and over the stone floor like the tears of a cruel god.

"No..." Phainon approached, his vision blurring. "No, no, no..."

He ran. Searched for any sign of life, any breath, any heartbeat, any minimal plea for help. He searched destroyed houses, called out names he didn't know, begged a deity that did not respond. His hands grew filthy with blood and ashes, his light garments stained by the grief of an entire village.

Nothing.

No one.

The black tide had taken everyone. Absolutely everyone.

Phainon returned to the center of the square and fell to his knees. His sword slipped from his fingers, clinking against the ash-and-blood-stained ground. For the first time since taking up his post alongside Aglaea and the other heirs in the hunt for the flames, he felt himself falter. For the first time, he was not fast enough, and now there was no one left to be saved.

The memory came like a wave, uncontrollable, devastating, and inevitable.

Aedes Elysiae. His home. His native village.

The flames rising into the sky. The smell of burning wood. His house, the wheat fields, the swing where he used to play, everything reduced to dust. The screams. The damned screams. His parents, his friends, his family. "Run, Phainon! Don't look back!". He looked. He always looked.

And he saw everything collapse, flames consuming everything he loved.

The past and the present merged into a single image of horror. That village was no longer just the Village of Vathy. It was his home, burning once more before his eyes. The bodies were not strangers. They were his family, his friends, his neighbors, all dead because he wasn't fast enough, strong enough, good enough.

His breathing became erratic. His chest ached as if the flames were consuming him, burning him from the inside out, as if his heart had transformed into an unbearable weight. The world spun, and he felt small, so small, a frightened child in a hero's body. Just a child playing pretend, thinking he could be more than just a scared boy who had lost everything. That he could raise his shining sword and smile. That everyone would be fine and happy with the arrival of a new era.

"I can't..." he whispered, tears finally winning. "I can't save anyone..."

He didn't know how long he stayed there. Minutes turned into hours, hours into a blur of pain and shock. It was only when his legs seemed to have given up on supporting his weight that Phainon managed to move. His body ached as if it had been crushed by rocks. His mind was empty, a desert of ashes where determination had once been.

He rose slowly, gathered his sword, and began the long walk back to Okhema.

Aglaea's hall was silent when Phainon entered. The semideity of romance raised her eyes from her scrolls and her serene expression transformed into poorly disguised concern upon seeing the warrior's state.

"Phainon." Her voice was soft as always, but there was a note of alarm. "Are you hurt?"

"No." The answer came out mechanical, empty.

Aglaea studied him for a long moment. She was one of the few people in Amphoreus who knew Phainon's complete story — the tragedy of the small village of Aedes Elysiae, the invisible scars he carried under his hero's armor. She stood up, walking around the table, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Tell me."

Phainon reported the facts. Only the facts. The village, the black tide, the total destruction. No survivors. No battle. Just... nothing.

"I arrived too late," he concluded, his eyes fixed on a distant point. Shame consumed him, preventing his gaze from fixing on Aglaea. "If I had left earlier, if I hadn't insisted on going alone, if I had..."

"Phainon." Aglaea interrupted him gently. "The black tide attacked suddenly, and the distance between Okhema and Vathy is three whole days. You did the best you could."

"My best wasn't enough."

"It won't always be." She sighed, withdrawing her hand. "That is the nature of this war. We lose battles, we lose lives, but we cannot lose hope. We continue because there is no alternative. Because giving up would mean that all those who died did so in vain."

Phainon nodded slowly, but his eyes remained empty. "I need to go. I am... tired."

Aglaea watched him for a long moment, as if wanting to say more. But something in his posture stopped her. "Rest, Phainon. You deserve it. Let me know if you need anything."

He turned to leave, passing through the long corridor with his thoughts completely scattered, and nearly collided with Mydei at the hall's entrance.

The crown prince of Kremnos stood there, arms crossed, his expression serious. His amber eyes scanned Phainon's face with an uncomfortable intensity.

"You returned," Mydei said, his voice neutral.

"I returned."

The silence between them was heavy with unsaid things. Mydei knew that look. He had seen it in the mirror countless times. The emptiness that followed pain, the numbness that protected the mind from itself.

"Deliverer..." Mydei began, but Phainon cut him off with a gesture.

"Later. Please."

And he left, leaving Mydei staring at his slumped shoulders with a worried look.

The days that followed were a slow descent into the abyss.

Phainon isolated himself in his residence, refusing visitors, ignoring messages. He claimed to be recovering, resting, but the truth was much darker.

The nightmares began on the first night.

Flames. Screams. His mother's face, melting like wax. His father's hands, extended toward him, being consumed by darkness. And behind it all, the black tide, laughing with a thousand voices, whispering: "You saved no one. You are a failure. A fake hero.". The same darkness slowly rising up his body like a black slime, restricting his movements and gradually obstructing his breathing. Suffocating him to death.

He woke up drenched in sweat, his heart racing, his head pounding as if he had been struck. He tried to calm himself, to breathe deeply, but the images wouldn't leave him. They were etched into his eyelids, waiting only for him to close his eyes to return.

The physical symptoms came next.

The loss of appetite was immediate. Insomnia was accompanied by fear. A constant tremor in his hands and weakness in his body that made it impossible to hold his sword and caused him to give up training in his yard on the second day. He avoided mirrors, avoided bright lights, avoided anything that reminded him of battle. Loud sounds made him jump, waves of panic flooded him without warning.

Guilt and pain consumed him like a parasite, draining his energy, his willpower, his identity.

On the fourth day, his body finally gave way.

The fever began as an uncomfortable heat, evolving into waves of cold and heat that left him trembling and disoriented. His throat burned, his head throbbed, his muscles ached as if they had been beaten. The continuous emotional stress seemed to have finally won and compromised his immune system, and now he was paying the price.

Phainon collapsed onto the bed and couldn't get up again.

Mydei was growing increasingly restless.

He wasn't the type to worry openly. His nature as a warrior and crown prince had taught him to hide emotions, to maintain a facade of unshakeable strength. But something about Phainon's absence from his routine bothered him deeply.

"He isn't answering messages," Mydei said, entering Aglaea's hall without ceremony. "It's been five days."

Aglaea raised her eyes from her documents, her expression tired. "I know. I sent servants to check, but he doesn't answer the door."

"And you just accepted that?" Mydei's voice came out harsher than he intended. "He could be dead in there."

"Phainon is resilient. He just needs time to process."

"Time?" Mydei scoffed and crossed his arms, one foot tapping on the marble floor in a restless rhythm. "You saw his face when he returned. That wasn't the face of someone who just needs time."

Aglaea sighed, massaging her temples. "What do you suggest?"

"I'm going there. I'll break down the door if necessary. We need to find out what's happening."

"And if he doesn't want to be found?"

"To hell with what he wants."

Mydei knocked on the door. Once, twice, three times.

No answer.

"Deliverer!" He called, his voice echoing through the silence. "Open the door!"

Nothing.

Mydei tried the handle. Locked. He considered his options for half a second before taking a step back and kicking the door with all his strength. The wood gave way with a snap, and Mydei entered. The interior was dark, the curtains drawn, the air heavy with the smell of illness and despair.

"Deliverer?"

A faint groan came from the bedroom. Mydei crossed the room in three long strides and opened the door.

The sight made him stop.

Phainon was lying in bed, the sheets tangled, his hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. His skin was pale, and his breathing was shallow and irregular.

"What in the..." Mydei muttered, approaching quickly. He touched Phainon's forehead and pulled his hand back as if he had been burned. "Phainon! You're burning up."

Phainon opened his eyes slowly, his pupils dilated and unfocused. He looked at Mydei without recognizing him for a long moment.

"My... dei?" His voice was a raspy whisper, barely audible.

"Yes, it's me. You stubborn fool." Mydei was already assessing the situation, his battle training helping him stay calm. "How long have you been like this?"

"A few days... I don't know..." Phainon tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness knocked him back down. "Shouldn't... be here..."

"Shut up." Mydei's harshness hid his concern. "I'm going to get water and medicine. Stay still."

Phainon muttered something incomprehensible, but didn't protest when Mydei left the room. The warrior from Kremnos searched the house quickly, finding a basin, clean cloths, and some basic medicinal herbs. He cursed under his breath for not having more extensive medical knowledge.

"Typical," he grumbled, filling the basin with fresh water. "The hero of Amphoreus, strong enough to face the black tide, but too proud to ask for help when he needs it."

He returned to the bedroom and went to work. He removed the excess blankets, dampened cloths, and placed them on Phainon's forehead. He prepared an infusion with the herbs and, with difficulty, made the other man drink a few sips.

"Don't want to..." Phainon tried to refuse, turning his face away.

"I didn't ask if you want to." Mydei held his nape firmly, forcing him to drink. "You are going to hydrate, you are going to rest, and you are going to recover. Understand?"

Phainon stared at him with feverish eyes, and for a moment, Mydei saw something gleam there — resistance, shame, exhaustion. But also gratitude, hidden beneath layers of pain.

"Why... do you care?" The question came out weak, vulnerable.

Mydei hesitated. What to say in a moment like this?

"Because you are my companion," he answered finally. "Because I've seen men lose themselves in that darkness. And because no one should face it alone."

The days that followed were a silent battle against illness.

Mydei remained by Phainon's side, caring for him with a dedication that surprised even himself. He set up a makeshift bed near Phainon. He changed the cold cloths, prepared broths and infusions, wiped the sweat from the other's forehead. When the nightmares came — and they came frequently — Mydei was there to wake him, hold him, anchor him back to reality.

"Breathe," he would say, his voice firm yet gentle. "You're safe. I'm here."

And Phainon breathed. Slowly, reluctantly, he learned to trust the other's presence.

The fever began to subside on the third day. Phainon was still weak, but his eyes had recovered some clarity. He observed Mydei in silence, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions in his chest.

"You don't have to do this," he said one night when Mydei brought another bowl of soup.

"I know." Mydei sat in the chair beside the bed. "But I'm going to do it anyway."

"Why?"

"I already answered that question."

"Not enough." Phainon looked away. "I don't deserve... your kindness or anyone else's. I failed. I arrived too late. I let people die."

Mydei sighed, setting the bowl aside. He approached where Phainon was, leaned his body forward, resting his hands on the bed, and stared at Phainon with intensity.

"How many people have you saved since you enlisted in Okhema?" he asked.

Phainon frowned. "What?"

"Just answer. How many villages, cities, entire families owe their lives to you?"

"I... don't know. Hundreds, maybe thousands. But that doesn't erase what happened."

"No, it doesn't erase it." Mydei's voice was hard, but not cruel. "But do you think those people you saved curse your name for not arriving sooner?"

Phainon remained silent.

"This journey will inevitably have losses. That is common knowledge." Mydei continued, his voice low and heavy. "I've lost companions. Friends I considered part of my family. People I trained with since childhood, with whom I shared meals and dreams. I saw their torn bodies, heard their last breaths. I had to bear the blood on my hands and press on with my journey."

"How did you... move on?"

"I didn't." Mydei shook his head. "Not in the way you think. The pain never disappears, Deliverer. It becomes part of you, a scar that never fully closes. But you learn to carry it. To use it as fuel instead of an anchor."

He paused, choosing his words carefully.

"I keep fighting to honor their memory. Every blow I strike, every battle I win, is for those who are no longer here. So that their deaths have meaning. So that they didn't die in vain."

Phainon felt tears well up in his eyes. He tried to contain them, but it was useless. They ran down his face, hot and salty, and for the first time since his return, he allowed them to flow freely. His fingers gripped the sheets tightly, and his body trembled with every sob. Everything felt so intense, as if he was finally allowing himself to feel.

"I feel so... helpless," he confessed, his voice broken. "Like no matter what I do, it will never be enough. There will always be someone I can't save, there will always be a village in flames, there will always be..."

"Yes." Mydei interrupted him. "There always will be. That is the truth no one wants to say out loud. You are only human, Phainon. Humans fail, die, and feel pain."

He reached out, hesitant, and placed his hand on Phainon's face, wiping away the tears that were still falling and brushing hair away from his face.

"But humans also stand back up, keep fighting, even when all seems lost. That is what makes us who we are."

Phainon allowed himself to rest against Mydei's hand and fixed his gaze on his face. There was something in those golden eyes — a deep understanding, a silent solidarity, an affection hitherto unknown — that made him feel less alone.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Don't thank me yet." Mydei withdrew his hand and picked up the soup bowl again. "First, you are going to eat. Then, you are going to sleep. And tomorrow, you are going to get up and start training again. You neglected more than a week of training and I am eager to beat you again."

Phainon let out a weak laugh, the first in a long time. "You are terrible as a nurse."

"And you as a patient. Now eat."

Recovery was slow, but steady.

With Mydei by his side, Phainon gradually regained his strength. The fever disappeared completely, the nightmares became less frequent, and his body seemed to have enough strength to return to routine little by little. He still carried the weight of Vathy, still felt the guilt and the pain, but now he had something else to counterbalance it: the certainty that he was not alone.

They trained together in the mornings, the sounds of their weapons echoing through the yard. Mydei was a formidable opponent and each session left Phainon exhausted, but invigorated. Slowly, he rediscovered the pleasure of battle, the satisfaction of pushing limits.

"You're still slow," Mydei commented, blocking a strike with ease.

"And you're still arrogant," Phainon retorted, attacking again.

"Arrogance is being right with style."

"That makes no sense whatsoever."

"It doesn't need to make sense. It needs to distract you enough for me to do this."

Mydei swept his legs and Phainon fell to the ground with a thud. He lay there for a moment, breathless, before starting to laugh.

"You are impossible," he said through laughter.

"And you are better." Mydei offered a hand to help him up. "Not completely, but better."

Phainon accepted the help, rising with a tired smile. "I still have a lot to work on."

"We all do." Mydei let go of his hand, but his eyes remained fixed on Phainon's. "The difference is that now you have someone to work together with, you stubborn fool."

Phainon nodded, feeling a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun forming a beautiful halo in Mydei's golden hair. "Yes. Now I do."

The sun of Amphoreus would still burn. But now, he knew he didn't need to shine alone.