Archive of Our Own ^beta

The aftermath of what had occurred over the span of thirty-three million cycles isn't something that can be swept under a rug. No, it’s not that simple. Having killed his friends, people he called his family, Phainon knew that something would be left in the wake of all those deaths.

When the other Chrysos Heirs made a mutual agreement to be given the memories of all their past lives by Madam Herta, Phainon knew that he still had one more thing to lose.

He watched with a knotted throat and a poorly hidden broken expression as the other Chrysos Heirs (no longer the people can call his family) stared at him with various emotions on their faces.

Betrayal. Anger. Disbelief. Disappointment. Fear.

The worst of it all came from Mydeimos. A blank stare with eyes that held raging storms as he turned on his heels to leave the group.

Something inside him, what’s left that’s untouched, broke as more and more of his old comrades followed suit. Not even his burning core could warm the cold seeping into his entire soul as his world comes crashing down on him.

He saved the planet but lost his home for a second time.

His vision tilts and Phainon swallows down the bile in his throat.

In a childlike, almost foolish, belief, Phainon tried to interact with the other Heirs. Tried to establish the connection they once had, to bridge what was burned and broken but it quickly turned out to be useless as he watches their reaction.

Hyacine stood steps away from him and nodded in a quick greeting, running away before he could return it. Cipher completely avoided him, casting his sharp glances and hissing when he tried to talk to her. Lady Tribbie calls him with a shaky ‘Snowy’ when they bump into each other in the market but Phainon stares at the distance she puts between them.

Castorice, who once shared her stories with him, fond as ever, didn’t dare to look at him. This time, she was the one who feared him. The edge that he tethered from is the line that both Anaxa and Aglaea drew between him and them.

Gone was the warm, thoughtful look he’d often received from Aglaea. In this new era, she stares at him with the same cold, calculating look she once held for the Council of Elders. He tries not to crack.

Opposedly, Professor Anaxa gazed at him with curiosity and questions for answers he felt sick to say. Perhaps, in his eyes, his student no longer stood in front of him but instead, he was a weapon of mere destruction who’d left debris and death in his footsteps.

And at the end of it all, as always, the one who’d break him in ways he couldn’t describe is Mydeimos. He refused to see Phainon. Days after the recovery of his memories, the Kremnoan disappeared to Titan-knows-where.

While he burned hotter than the sun itself, his soul remained hollow with the lack of love from his companions. Cyrene and the Trailblazer gave him pitiful looks but nothing can fix a house with a broken foundation.

Afterall, the sun scorches itself to become the dawn of a new day.

Another day passes and Phainon wakes at the outskirts of Okhema, somewhere in a lush field of green, just as the sun starts to set in the horizon. Since the whole ordeal… He’d opted to be as far as possible from everyone, to give them peace of mind. It’s not like he can easily die in the elements anyway.

The Elysian sits up, breathing in the scent of morning dew and smiling at the sound of grass crunching behind him, “You can’t sneak up on me anymore, Cyrene.”

A ‘harrumph!’ noise from behind him makes him snort as the new arrival comes closer to sit herself next to him in the field.

“That’s not fair, you’ve got some psychic sense ever since you’ve got new powers.”

“That’s not how that works and you know it.”

She waves off his words, pulling her knees to her chest, “Semantics, wheat boy.”

Silence fills their little space, both of their gazes locked onto the setting sun as the sky turns into night without the dangers of the black tide. Phainon stares up at the night sky, the vast stretch of stars twinkling back at him.

Soon, enough is enough and Phainon has given Cyrene enough time to confess why she sought him out. When she hasn’t said a single word, he knows it’s not something easy to bring into conversation.

“Why are you here, Cyrene?”

“You make it sound like I’m going to propose a crazy plan.”

Turning to face her, Phainon shoots her a look with a raised brow, “Isn’t that why you’re here? In a random grass field with a monster?”

“Don’t call yourself that.” She hisses at him in vehemence, “You’re not a monster. You’re a hero. We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

“I don't want to argue about this with you again.” The pinkette relents but he can see the pout of her lips, clearly upset at his words but choosing to leave it for his sake.

Phainon sighs.

This isn't the first time this has happened and it won't be the last. Times are peaceful now and he doesn't want to spend it arguing with her.

“Why are you here, Cyrene?” He asks again, pushing for an answer.

For a moment, his childhood friend doesn't say a word. Her eyes lock onto the horizon far beyond them. Even as the cold night wind blows around them, her eyes never leave the edge of their world.

“How can you deal with it?”

He blinks, “Pardon?”

“You know what I mean,” In an instant, she turns to look at him, eyes blazing with sadness and some sort of anger, “The cold looks, the scared shuffling and the very obvious disdain they have for you.”

Ah. So that's why she's here.

“Cyrene…” He starts but the words die on his tongue as he sighs, “It doesn't matter what happens to me as long as they're all alive and well.”

“But the looks, their behaviour, it's killing me to see them act that way around you. After all this time—”

“—After all this time, I understand why they're acting like that.”

“Still, Cyrene is right,” A new voice joins them and Phainon turns around to see the Trailblazer making their way to them through the grass, “I get the whole thirty three million deaths needing to be digested but doesn't it bother you?”

A frown marks his face. Not a day goes by where it doesn't bother him.

“Of course it does. What can I do about it though?”

“Actually, that's why I'm here.” His partner says sheepishly, rubbing the back of their head with a nervous smile.

To his side, Cyrene also adds, “It's why we're both here.”

With a raised brow, he gestures for them to continue. If they both came all this way just to tell him something, it's worth it to hear them out. Though, the nervous glances they send to each other's way isn't very convincing.

“Look,” Hoping to lighten the mood, he starts off, “I appreciate the help but maybe we should just—”

“Come join the Astral Express.”

“… Excuse me?”

Perhaps all thirty-three-something million cycles have caught up to him and messed with his hearing. Surely, his partner didn't just suggest for him to leave Amphoreus?

“Haha… That's funny, partner. I think I heard you wrong…”

“No. You didn't.” Just like before, Cyrene interjects but this time, she places a hand on his and squeezes once, “We're serious, Phainon. If things go on like this then maybe you should take a break from it all…”

“It could be for a short time.”

“Or it could be forever,” Phainon hisses, head snapping between his companions, “And that would leave Amphoreus open to any attacks from the other Lord Ravagers. They'll know if I leave.”

The Trailblazer pauses with a hum but their eyes trail upwards to the night sky.

“They will. But I don't think they're all too interested in Amphoreus. Not to be a downer but it created you,” The Elysian grimaces at the reminder, “And that's all that matters to them. More Lord Ravagers means more destruction for Nanook.”

Phainon hisses at the mention of that wretched god. The one who cursed them all with golden blood in the first place.

“Just… give it a thought. Please?” Even after growing up and leaving Aedes Elysiae, he could never truly deny Cyrene’s wishes, “It's hurting me inside to watch you be treated like this, Khaslana.”

The use of his real name pulls his shoulders down to deflate—all of the anger leaving him like vapour.

“Fine. Just… Just give me a few days to decide. Okay?”

Thankfully, neither of his friends had any objection to his response. Good. A few days should give him all the answers he needs. To wrap up any loose ends, he supposes. It's hard. To not think about the changes that happened recently after undergoing more than thirty-something million cycles of killing his closest comrades.

.

He inhales. The stars in the sky twinkle back at him.

“Could you give me some papers and a quill, at least? Before I make up my mind?”

Deep down, he thinks that he's already come to a decision long before his partner had even thought to ask him. ‘Selfishness’ comes in synonym with his name. He's given what he could but it won't stop him from taking what he can.

“Sure but what are you planning on using them for?”

Phainon's eyes never leave the sky, “I need to write something.”

Selfish, even to the very end.

Dear friends family companions Chrysos Heirs, I understand that this letter is out of place for me. But… considering my long voyage ahead, I knew it'd be the last thing you'll receive from me.

First and foremost, I’m sorry. I… have nothing to say that could begin to justify my actions. I understand if you never forgive me. I wouldn’t have either. Before I leave, I’d like to say my goodbyes; however little they matter.

In the coming days, Phainon puts his plan into motion. A preparation for the end he'd never thought he'd see. First, he visits a dollmaker. Thankfully, the general public of Amphoreus remain oblivious to what he is, prompting a warm and welcoming conversation.

“Lord Phainon! How may I help you?”

This particular dollmaker, Madam Eleni, is a woman in her late 70s, a kind grandmother-figure to many of the children (even adults) that litter Mamoreal Market. Her hands might seem wrinkled but her skills are unmatched.

“Hello Madam Eleni, apologies for the sudden visit and for not bringing any gifts.”

She clicks her tongue and reaches out to hold his hand—it takes all the willpower in him not to flinch back—and pulls him to a chair in her small shop, “None of that now. The children bring me plenty. Now,” Phainon isn’t sure when was the last time someone other than Cyrene and the Trailblazer had looked at him warmly, “How can I help?”

His throat bobs from the bile he swallows down, trying to keep a calm exterior, “I… I’d like to commission a few dolls from you. Would that be alright?”

“Oh dearie,” Her laughter reminds him of his mother’s, bright and airy, “I don’t call myself a dollmaker for nothing. Though I’m surprised you asked. Have you received the one I made ages ago?”

At this, he looks confused. With a tilt of his head, he just stares at her quizzically. Had he commissioned something from her and forgot? Was it that long ago?

But he doesn’t get much time to dwell on it when a look of understanding washes over her face as her mouth drops to an ‘O’ shape.

“From your expression, I’m guessing you haven’t. No matter, dear. I’d be honoured to fulfil the request of our Deliverer. What did you have in mind for the dolls?”

Again, he swallows down the bitter taste.

“Well… Here’s what I have in mind…”

The afternoon goes by and Phainon pointedly ignores the sharp stare into the back of his head as his conversation with Madam Eleni becomes more animated and less suffocating.

He’d talk to Cifera soon enough.

Lady Cifera, thank you for believing in me when you did. I regret… pulling you into this war when you never wanted to be in it. You’ve always been a silent protector of the less fortunate children (one of the kids tried to snatch my coin bag and confessed when I bought him lunch once) and I’ve always admired you for that.

‘Soon’ is apparently right after the time he spent at Madam Eleni’s shop, while he’s making his way out of Okhema. His room still exists within Okhema but it fell into a cold and desolate box shortly after the fall out; it isn’t worth his well-being to stay there.

But despite his best efforts to stay out of trouble, trouble finds him instead. After stopping a few steps at the border of Okhema, he calls out to his predator.

“Please come out, Lady Cifera. If there’s something you’d like to say, I’d rather hear it directly from you.”

Rustling can be heard from his right side before a figure of a woman reveals herself to him, walking towards him but coming to a halt just a few paces away. Blue eyes (are they still blue?) stay locked on the ground between them.

“Well, well, well… Looks like the cat is out of the bag.”

Phainon notes that she’s nervous, if the constant swishing of her tail is any sign of it, “Hello Lady Cifera. Can I help you?”

“Funny,” Her words are lined with blades, “That’s what the dollmaker asked you when you went to visit her. Tell me saviour, what favour did you ask of her?”

Ouch, that hurts.

“I didn’t—”

“And she touched you. You told us that you felt that you’re burning with the strength of a million suns, so how was she able to touch you?”

That… is a bit more complicated. Yes, he’s not really good to even touch but with enough willpower, he just… is?

“I can’t… begin to explain that.”

Cifera scoffs, arms crossing across her chest with a roll of her eyes, “Of course, you can’t.”

What follows after is an unbearably uncomfortable silence, stretching on for a minute or two before Phainon at least tries to mitigate it.

“...I hope you’re well, Lady Cifera. I’m… sorry. For what I asked, before we left for Aquila. You didn’t deserve that.”

The thief’s eyes remain suspicious of him.

“I did what I thought was right. Though, I suppose, none of that would’ve mattered in the end if this had become another one of your cycles.” The knife is twisted deeper and deeper into his lungs.

“Do you still collect treasures, Lady Cifera?” The words leave him before he could stop himself causing Cifera to squint her eyes at him with an ever growing suspicion.

“... What if I do? Are you going to tell me to stop?”

Immediately, he shakes his head and flails his arms, “No! No, that’s not…” With a sigh, Phainon calms himself down and uses whatever strength he has to meet her narrowed eyes, “Back at Okhema, I had a storage unit with Theodores. It has all the treasures I kept as personal trinkets after my appraisals. You’re… welcome to take them if you’d like.”

At this, Cifera’s eyes widen as her mouth drops, agape at the implication he’d just given her. Treasure? Authentic treasure, all for her to take?

“Just like that?” She asks, still suspicious.

He nods to her question, “Just like that.”

She lets her arms fall to her sides as she stalks closer and closer towards him, prompting him to take a few steps back to maintain their safe distance.

“You’re acting suspicious, brat. What are you hiding?”

“Nothing! Unless… you don’t want the treasures? Then I can arrange for them to be returned—”

Sensing that the opportunity given to her is about to be rescinded, Cifera takes her chance, “No way! You offered so there’s no way I’m backing out!”

Just like that, Phainon laughs for what seems to be like the first time in a while. His eyes shut close as he throws his head back in joyful laughter, clearly teasing the older Chrysos Heir from the looks of it.

“You truly are a free soul, Lady Cifera. Then here,” He tosses her key, “Just ask Theodoros. He’ll know where.”

And again, Cifera freezes once she catches the key, eyes training on Phainon once again as she tries to read his body language.

“Why won’t you show me, Deliverer?”

Because I won’t be here for very long.

“It’s best if it’s not me, Lady Cifera.”

A broken smile stretches his lips and he begins to walk past her, back to his grassfield where he can hide and truly let himself unravel under the weight of it all.

“Now hold on a minute—” Cifera tries to stop him but his steps don't falter.

“Goodbye, Lady Cifera. I do hope you enjoy the treasures.”

You will always be a hero in my eyes. Without you, we would’ve fell into ruins decades ago. Please take any of my belongings to sell for the children. You're much kinder than what others might think. May you be blessed with riches that rival kings’.

The next person he would encounter is by pure chance. He’s back in Okhema again, though this time he’d gone to look at fabric before a young boy, probably around five or six tugs on his pants with tear-filled eyes.

After some gentle coaxing, he finds out that the boy’s father is in a nearby clinic and he’d gotten separated after he was taken by one of the physicians.

So, now with a young boy in his arms, Phainon steps inside the clinic with a sheepish look.

He’d eventually find the boy’s father after a few minutes of walking and asking around. As the both waves him goodbye with a loud ‘thanks!’, he turns to make his way back to the market but unfortunately, he bumps into someone along the way which causes a whole array of medical supplies to fly everywhere.

“W-Woah! I’m so sorry!” Kneeling, he immediately starts to pick up the supplies that fell.

“No, no, I wasn’t looking where I was going!”

Phainon’s hand freezes over the roll of gauze that he’s about to pick up. A familiar, feminine voice that once giggled with him at the Grove.

Lady Hyacinthia, you are an incredible individual and so strong—stronger than most soldiers I’ve had the honour of knowing, and yet, you still have so much kindness in you. The epic that you’ve always dreamed of will always be one that I remember until my end days.

A familiar, pink outfit comes into view when he gazes up into the person he ran into. Lo and behold; it is Hyacinthia. Still scrambling to pick up her supplies, still oblivious that he’s crouching next to her.

“Please, don’t worry about it! Feel free to leave the supplies as they are.”

“Lady Hyacinthia…”

Then, it returns. That fear that he knows is coursing through her, every bone in her body begging her to run. Run away from him. The monster who scared her more than anything.

Who once killed her despite her desperate attempts to save him.

“L-Lord Phainon…”

At the back of his head, Phainon wants nothing more than to just… leave. Drop everything and give her the space she needs.

But for today, he wants to be selfish.

So he slowly picks up the fallen supplies and places them back into the woven basket that Little Ica had been carrying, “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry. I’ll help with these and be out of your way as soon as I can.”

She… watches him. Carefully. With each and every dropped supply being put in the basket, with the little trills that Ica does and the small smile that graces his lips.

“How… are you, Lord Phainon?”

The question makes him pause. How is he? After all that has happened, how is he truly?

“I'm okay, Lady Hyacinthia.”

He lies.

She slowly nods in approval, “That's good…”

“How about you, Lady Hyacinthia? Are you well?”

For a moment, her brows scrunches into a pinched expression as if she's processing something in her mind before she smoothes it out into an awkward smile, “I'm doing well… The Grove is still… being rebuilt. In the meantime, I've found myself keeping busy at this clinic.”

Phainon smiles at her, genuine and as easy as it always has been while his eyes soften at her words.

Hyacinthia has always had so much kindness to give. Even in previous cycles, she remained the same.

“You’ve never been the one to stand around while others are injured, Lady Hyacinthia.”

When the last gauze is placed back into the basket, Phainon stands and immediately puts some distance between them. It's instinct, he realises. It's painful, he mourns.

Hyacinthia follows his actions but she doesn't step back, instead she stays where she is and stares at him with that pinched expression again. Phainon begins to think if he had anything on his face, hands reaching up to try and swat whatever is there when her voice breaks through the silence.

“... Does it hurt?”

He looks cluelessly at her, “Excuse me?”

“Your… hand.” His fellow student gestures to the hand he raised, his eyes following her gaze until—Ah.

There's a crack on his hand with the slightest hint of gold shining through.

Blue (or maybe they’re gold now) eyes stare at the crack on his hand, unwavering and unyielding as more golden ichor drops down from the small fissure.

“...Lord Phainon?”

“It’s alright, it’ll heal.”

Hyacinthia isn’t too happy hearing this, stepping forward to close their distance and heal him but the Lord Ravager instantly steps away, further from her. The healer’s eyes widened in shock and, maybe even, hurt. Like she hadn’t expected for him to back away from her after all the time they’ve spent together.

“Doesn’t it hurt? I can help—”

Not wanting to bother her any more than he already has, Phainon shakes his head at her offer, “No, no! It’s okay. I’m used to it, please don’t concern yourself with me.”

Maybe, by saying those words, he'd give her some sort of comfort, that she didn't need to worry about him as much as she should with the others. Yet, as Phainon tucks his hand to his chest to meet her eyes, she looks so sad.

Eyes shining with tears that are about to pool in her eyeliner, mouth shaping into a wobbly line.

“You're used to it…?”

The sight of their resident healer looking so close to shedding tears makes him flinch, why was she crying? Was it something he said? But it was the truth?

“I—Yes…? The… uhm,” Phainon vaguely gestures to his body, “My body is… burning. With the amount of coreflames I have…” His words trail off, unwilling to finish his sentence, “So, please, don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

Little Ica sadly thrills next to him, nudging into his shoulder in an effort to comfort him. Phainon gives them a small smile in return.

“I… see.” Hyacinthia’s voice pulls his attention back to her. She doesn't meet his eyes, head drooping as her fists clench by her side, and he assumes that this is the end of their conversation. He's used to it. After all, who wants to look at a monster?

When the silence stretches for a few more seconds, Phainon begins to shuffle his way out of the clinic.

“... There's a book. In my storage. About healing salves and ointments from Aedes Elysiae. Maybe they'll help you in your line of work, Lady Hyacinthia.”

Without another word, Phainon leaves. Rushing out of the clinic with his cracked hand, blood running down his forehead while he leaves without waiting for a response.

If the world had more of you, we'd be in much better shape. Thank you for being one of my closest companions at the Grove. Please use this encyclopedia of healing techniques from Aedes Elysiae to your full potential. I have a box of snacks for little Ica in my pantry as well. I sincerely hope that they grow big and strong.

The third time he meets one of his old comrades is at the Droma stables. He'd figure that he should say his goodbyes to Kokopo as well before his departure. For the most part, the Droma is only ever affectionate when the Prince, himself, is here.

But perhaps, after sensing his sorrows, the Droma is quite fond of him right now.

Phainon remembers Mydei regaling him about Kokopo the III, about his bravery and strength during their time together. Recalling it now, he can't help the small giggle that leaves him.

Kokopo tilts his head in question, nudging into his cheek with a demand of rubs and food. He's Mydei's Droma, alright, Phainon thinks to himself with a smile.

“I'm sorry, I was reminiscing. Here, have some more soil, don't be shy now.”

As he feeds the Droma, his guard slowly dips down, trusting that nothing is going to happen in the stable of all places. His eyes wander around the area, taking note of the amount of caretaker and dromas today. Professor Anaxa would've probably loved to be him.

Turning back to Kokopo, Phainon allows himself to gently run his hand across its scales and laughs when it nudges back against his touch whilst still eating its snack.

“Relax. You’re going to choke, there’s more than enough for me to go around. I’m not going anywhere for a while…”

“Lord Phainon?”

Embarrassingly, he yelps in shock, head snapping back to look at the source of the voice. Eyes widening and mouth falling open in shock as he stares at the woman who said his name.

“Lady Castorice…?”

...

Lady Castroice… You once told me that your wish was to be a ‘normal person’. It made me angry, to think that you would have to wish for something that should’ve been granted to you from the very beginning. Your touch doesn’t bring death, my friend. It has created memories and helped the flame chase in indispensable ways.

...

The former demigod of death stares at him for a few moments, eyes locking onto his hand that’s still on Kokopo, before slowly nodding her head in a greeting, “Am I interrupting…?” She asks, trying to cover a poorly hidden smile behind her hand.

“No! No, I… was just feeding Mydeimos’s droma, Kokopo. As you can see, he’s quite—oof!” Said droma huffs and nuzzles into Phainon’s cheek mid-sentence, “—Quite persistent on what he wants.”

Nevertheless, Phainon keeps caressing his scales with a smile.

“...Kokopo reminds me of someone we know well.”

His hand stops.

The implication hangs in the air as Phainon stares into Kokopo’s purple scales, almost disassociating.

“Yes,” He agrees with Castorice’s comment, “Kokopo does remind me of him.”

No other words are spoken. It’s not like he doesn’t want to admit it but thinking about the Kremnoan; it weighs heavy on his heart. The last time he’d seen Mydei was when they all gathered around Madam Herta.

Since then, no other news came from him. Krateros only reassured him that he was fine, healthy and alive.

That was enough for Phainon.

Unwilling to continue this train of thought, he calls out to Castorice, “Is there something I can help you Lady Castorice? If not, I should be heading off now.” Pulling his hands back and away from Kokopo breaks his heart but he’s overstayed his welcome.

“Actually,” Castorice breaks through his self-depreciating thoughts, “I was… looking for you, Lord Phainon.”

He blinks, “Oh…” is the only reply he can give.

Calloused and warm hands find their way back to Kokopo’s nose, trembling ever-so-slightly. There’s the sound of rustling behind him and footsteps that approach him which causes him to freeze in place.

A figure draped in purple steps up next to him, “May I… hold your hand, Lord Phainon?”

That… catches him off guard. Blue eyes widen, staring right at the hand that Castorice is offering him but fear starts to pool at his stomach. Not from Castorice, never! But, what if he hurts her? She’s a normal human now, touching Phainon—a Lord Ravager—might kill her.

While losing himself in his thoughts, his temperature must’ve increased because Kokopo makes an uncomfortable noise, prompting him to flinch away from the giant and cradle his hands to his chest.

“Kokopo, shit, I’m sorry, are you okay? I—” Again, his gaze floats back to Castorice’s open hand.

Goodness he must be a mess, oh Titans, “Lord Phainon…?” In front of his former fellow student, no less.

Georios, swallow him now.

“I don’t think it’s w-wise to touch me now, Lady Castorice.”

“Please,” She pleads, “Entertain me just this once. Think of it as my first wish as a ‘normal’ human.”

Despite her words, Phainon is still reluctant to come close to her, eyes flickering nervously between her hand, her and Kokopo. However, when she makes no move to leave or step back, he knows that she’s serious about this wish of hers.

Slowly and fearfully, Phainon extends his hand towards Castorice’s open palm, stopping before their skin could make contact. His eyes flicker back at hers but when he sees a small smile on her face, it encourages him to take the plunge.

As their skin brushes against each other, a look of awe paints the Elysian’s face as he slides his palm against Castorice’s, laughing incredulously at the sight.

“Lady Castorice… Castorice! You’re—oh my Titans—we’re holding hands! Your curse is gone…!”

“Yes, Lord Phainon… It's gone.”

Then, Phainon blinks as his former comrade grabs onto his hands, intertwining their fingers and pulling their hands to her chest.

His mouth opens, ready to quickly advise Lady Castorice against being too close with him but nothing comes out.

As he lifts his head, the view of Castorice’s teary eyes kills any objection he has to say. How could he possibly take this away from her? This was her wish. The one he's heard so many times before, the one he vehemently screamed wasn't a ‘wish’.

How can it be a wish when Lady Castorice, lovely and kind as she is, deserves to be loved and touched just as any other?

“Lady Castorice…”

“I apologise, Lord Phainon… I know I seem unsightly but my wish… my dreams of being able to no longer cause death at a single touch has finally come true.”

After over thirty-three million cycles, he understands the relief she must be feeling. The freedom from the shackles that have long since kept her chained down.

In the next few minutes, he allows her to cry out her tears of joy as she holds his hand close to her chest; embracing it like a lifeline.

Once her tears are dry, Phainon merely smiles. A tired one but a smile nonetheless.

“Do you feel better now, Lady Castorice?”

“Yes,” They both share a look, “I'm sorry for my outburst.”

“Please, it's alright, I understand that this must all be quite a lot for you.”

“Though, not as much as you, Lord Phanon.”

Again, he has nothing to say in regards to her words, never the one to compare his suffering to others. Slowly, just like before, he pulls his hand back from Castorice’s hold; allowing it to fall limp at his side.

“My pain… It’s not worth thinking about. I’m happy that your wish is granted and that your curse is no more, Lady Castorice,” The sound of his beating heart, pumping golden blood in his broken body, ring heavy in his ears, “But please refrain from touching. I… don’t want to hurt anyone more than I have.”

“Aren’t you hurting?”

Phainon bites his tongue, willing himself to smile at his former comrade (not friend, they’re no longer friends) to hide his pain, “What do you mean?”

“Your cheek, there’s a crack and you’re bleeding—”

With a sharp gasp, he cups his cheek. Eyes wide open in horror at the wet feeling of golden blood sliding down his cheek from a new crack on his body.

He flinches back when Castorice tries to reach out. His breathing begins to become laboured, the familiar scorching feeling of fire starts to fill his body once more and Phainon can feel his knees going weak from the flames.

He needs to go. Now.

“Please excuse me, Lady Castorice, I have to take my leave now.”

“But, wait, Phainon—!”

...

Your wish should’ve never been a wish. You deserved to live a life as a normal human, as a living being, as well. I pray that this era treats you with the kindness you’ve treated others. Thank you. For being my friend at the Grove, for everything you’ve done. May the flower field be as ever radiant for you.

...

“Eat well, Kokopo, I hope to see you soon,” The droma whines at the pitiful blue eyes that glance at him, “Lady Castorice, I left a reel of film for you as a gift with the Trailblazer. I intended to give it myself before you underwent your trial but time was not on our side.”

Now, Castorice seems more alarmed, grasping at open air as she barely misses his sleeves to stop him from leaving.

“Phainon!”

“Goodbye, Castorice.”

Running away is his normal now, even as the tears that slide down his cheek evaporate away; leaving only the trail of golden blood to stain his skin.

Halfway through his letters and he’s exhausted. From the running, from having to hold back from his old comrades… As he collapses in the Garden of Life, days after his meeting with Castorice, Phainon sighs as fatigue seeps into his bones.

Normally, a hot bath could heal all of his muscle soreness but after his… transformation, he doesn't feel much heat aside from the constant fire inside him.

Though he’s gotten better at self-restraint, the looming knowledge of what he is now will never change it.

“W-Wait, Little White, come here!”

It’s why he flinches every time somebody or something brushes against him, like they burned him.

So when a little chimera comes running to him, finding a comfortable spot on his lap with a loud ‘Mao!’, he doesn’t even have time to blink before a woman with red hair comes up to them with urgency.

For the nth time, he goes as still as possible.

...

Teacher Tribbie… I’m sorry. It would seem that, despite the cycles I’ve endured, I was never a good student like you hoped I was. Though I can never remember the history of Janusopolis or the origins of the scholar factions, I can remember the words you’ve told me throughout every single cycle.

...

“Sno—Phainon?”

Oh, how his heart clenches painfully at the unused nickname she once called him.

“...Lady Tribios.”

Between her and the chimera on his lap, he sits there awkwardly as he’s physically incapable of moving anywhere lest he wants to deal with a grumpy little chimera.

“Oh goodness, Little White! What have I told you about barging your way into any lap within view?”

“No, please it’s alright, Lady Tribios. Uhm,” He looks around the garden is mostly empty, save for a few lounging occupants, “Would you… like to take a seat?” She stares at the empty spot next to him, where his hand is.

When she makes the choice to sit at the side where his hand isn’t touching the grass, he doesn’t say anything.

He understands he doesn’t want to, after all.

“How have you been, Lady Tribios?”

As awkward as it may be now, he tries to make small conversation with her to pass the time if he's going to stay stuck as a chimera’s nap pillow.

“I've been… fine, Phainon.”

After entering the new era, Lady Tribbie had gone back into her original form before the inevitable split of her souls. Truthfully, this is the first time he'd seen her form aside from the memory she once shared with him. She's… beautiful. Stunning as ever. Fitting for the Holy Maiden of Janus.

“That's good to hear, Lady Tribios. I'm… sorry? For the little one?” Phainon, still unsure of what to say or do, stares at the chimera on his lap with a questioning look.

“Oh, don't be,” His former teacher huffs, eyes softening at the creature in his lap, “Little White has an awful habit of just randomly running into stranger’s lap.”

The Elysian can't help the giggles that escape him, the imagery reminds him of his family’s puppy; Big Snowy.

“Reminds me of someone I know. An adventurous, rambunctious little one who'd always try to tackle anyone he could get his paws on.”

Lady Tribios hums, smiling as her eyes never leave the little one on his lap. Phainon watches as her hands reach over to pat the chimera, his body seizing and stays still while she brushes over the soft fur of the creature while humming a soft tune.

“You're still as stone, Phainon.”

A matter-of-fact. He's so afraid of potentially touching her, afraid of causing more harm than good.

To ruin one more thing in his life.

“...I just don't want to accidentally touch you, Lady Tribios.”

“But not the little one of your lap?”

He swallows the lump in his throat.

“Animals… tend not to have much reaction with me. I have yet to figure out why…”

“They must really like your warmth, Phainon.”

That name. His name. Not a nickname—his nickname. To her, he's just Phainon, no longer the Snowy she knew and loved. Tears prick his eyes but none would fall anyway, his body burns far too high to allow that.

“Maybe…” The word croaks out of him, hands trembling so minutely as he keeps them far away from Lady Tribios.

“... I remember when you slept as soundly as Little White.”

Slowly, he turns to look at her, taking note of the noticeable distance between them but ignores it in favour of listening to her. Lady Tribios had a soft look in her eyes and a forlorn smile on her lips.

Phainon held back from hugging her.

“I remember falling asleep in your classes and having to cram for your exams, Lady Tribios… Guess I wasn't the most attentive student you've had.” He jokes but the awkward smile on his face doesn't hide his feelings.

“... No, you weren't. But,” Slender fingers brush away his bangs as teacher and student connect their gazes, “You were one of the best students I've ever had the pleasure of teaching.”

A knot ties itself tighter in Phainon's chest, threatening to snap as he tries his damn hardest to keep the tears at bay.

It doesn't matter if they won't fall, he can't show them. Not to Tribios—to the woman who gave pieces of herself to save the world.

Instead he says, “You shouldn't touch me…” in a quiet voice, as if he feared her more than she did him, “I'll burn you.”

Leaning back and away from her fingers, Phainon gently places the chimera down on the grass beneath them, gripping his arms to make himself appear smaller. Weaker.

Human, he laughs humorlessly to himself.

“Don't speak to me as if I'm fragile, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae. I've lived lifetimes longer than you in this cycle.”

“You did.” He doesn't disagree. There's a lump in his throat and Phainon wants to claw it out.

She's lived lifetimes and died in just as many by his hands. Every class, every gate, every scream—it haunts him. Her smile haunts him.

“Phainon…”

He can't do this.

“I'm sorry Lady Tribios, there's something urgent I have to attend to.”

“But—Wait, Phainon, your thighs, they're—!”

The Lord Ravager snaps his attention down to his thighs and oh. Oh, he's bleeding, there's golden blood staining his trousers that even Little White’s paws had gold on it.

Oh god.

Oh god, he's breaking.

“I-I need to go. Now. I have to…!”

The Elysian turns and high tails out of the garden, breathing laboured and uneven as he pushes his way past the crowd while ignoring the loud cry of ‘Snowy!’ from behind him.

He runs and runs and runs.

That's all he knows how to do now.

...

I'm sorry for all the trouble I gave you. Lately, it has been…. hard—difficult—to live another day. But when it becomes too hard to survive; I remember those words you once told me. So Lady Tribios… I'll see you tomorrow, wherever and whenever that may be.

...

Images of a red-headed child-like figure with all the knowledge of an adult haunts him at every turn. The day he drove Dawnmaker through her, the day she fell, the day she perished.

For him. For a man who couldn't save her nor her mother.

He throws up just outside of Okhema, away from curious eyes.

Time is running out. As are his papers. There were so many things he wanted to do, to see and to experience here on his home planet. But he is a puppet on a grand stage and his final act is approaching.

Before the closing can come, he has two more people to see. Three, actually.

His hands shake as he stands in front of the familiar door of Lady Aglaea's office. A place he'd been to many times before. The books in his arms feel heavier than Dawnmaker.

As a student, as a Chrysos Heir, as a boy and as a… No, he doesn't think he's earned the last one.

Not anymore.

It's comical, a man monster who gained the power to destroy solar systems becoming scared of seeing his former mentors again.

Yes, mentors. Professor Anaxagoras has chosen to, unbelievably, stay quite close to Lady Aglaea. The masses talk, as they do, but a select few know the reason why. And Phainon? He's the reason. Lady Aglaea has never shied from her cold and calculating gaze and he has never stopped her.

She always knew what was best.

So he lifts his hands to knock on the door, the rasp of his knuckles on the material rings empty in the hallway.

“Come in.”

He doesn't stop shaking as the door opens, nothing stops even as he steps in and faces the people who gave him everything and more.

“Phainon.” Cold. Disconnected.

“Oh? What a surprise, the saviour is here.” Analytical. Calculating.

As expected, Professor Anaxagoras stands next to the window with his arms crossed but without a scowl on his face. Lady Aglaea is standing in front of the table, hiding the papers strewn across it as Garmentmaker hovers just a bit closer.

Ah.

“Lady Aglaea, Professor Anaxagoras,” He greets them with a nod, respectful as always, “Did I interrupt you? I apologise if I did.”

For a moment, Lady Aglaea’s gaze glints with something sharp; a gaze she'd only ever use against the Council of Elders.

Never once with him.

“No, Phainon. What brings you here? Is it urgent?”

“It's…” His hands feel clammy around the books, “Not really… I've come to pass something to you.”

“Unexpected. A student who took his time to graduate is giving us literature? You and I both know we're not ones for flowery language, Phainon.”

...

Professor Anaxagoras. For a small boy, born in the golden hues of wheat fields, being given the chance to be your student… It will remain as a priceless experience and memory in my mind. You took your chances with me and for that, I thank you. May your pursuit of knowledge be ever fruitful.

...

That… breaks the tension slightly causing him to laugh in a short breath, the Professor’s words slide off of him as usual.

“You could've had me fooled, Professor. But, no, this is… ah,” Blue eyes glance at Garmentmaker, who moved only with a nod from her partner and gently places the books in her hands, “These are my… recollections of the past cycles. Strategies, calculations and knowledge. Whatever it was that I could remember.”

“‘Could’ remember? Are you saying that your memories of the past are fragmented?”

He's startled at the change of tone in Lady Aglaea’s voice. A difference from the words she's said to him before this.

“Not fragmented, per say. Just hazy, cloudy in some parts. Others are… clear as day.”

‘Your deaths are clear as day, my time with you are clear as day, your words still haunt me’ are the words he refuses to tell them. They're alive in this Era, isn't that enough? Lady Aglaea can finally open her tailor shop and Professor Anaxagoras can go back to his research.

This world does not need him anymore. They don't need him anymore. Yet, he doesn't know why that fact settled uncomfortably in his stomach.

“How heavy is the weight of thirty million cycles on the mind? We never saw the Flame Reaver’s end and you've yet to tell us.”

Khaslana. The first of Phainons. The one who actually bore the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Who told him never to bow down to THEM; the accursed god.

“Flame Reaver… No, Khaslana was a shell of a human by the end of it. He had chosen to harbour millions of coreflames in his body. In the end,” Pale, blue skin and a cracked body hiding the stars of the universe comes to mind, “He traded his sanity for a chance at the future and found what he was hoping for.”

“A hero's death. Heralded to a man we once considered an obstacle to the flamechase.”

Phainon keeps his mouth shut.

...

… Mothe Aglaea. I… I can't repay all the kindness you've shown and given me. Without you, I'm sure I would've died long ago… Without you, this boy wouldn't have grown into a young man. I hope—begged to Titans, that I made you proud at some point in my accursed life. Have I told you before, Aglaea? You remind me of my mother's warm embrace after a long day.

...

“Tell me, Phainon,” Lady Aglaea crossed her arms, watching him with eyes that are no longer cloud but still as sharp as knives, “For what purpose are you giving these recollections to us? Shouldn't these be yours to keep?”

A wave of cold fear washes over him. They can't know. No one can. He's planned this for so long. He can't let it fall apart just in front of his mentors.

“Despite our disputes, I'd have to agree with the Goldweaver. Where are you going, Phainon?”

“Haa…,” Phainon hides his trembling hands behind his back and smiles as he usual does please don't see past him please don't look, “Always straight to the point, Professor. I'll be… away from Okhema. I figured that keeping myself at a distance from the public might be best considering what I am now…”

Fortunately, his answer seems to satisfy them but Phainon knows them.

They're not satisfied with the vagueness of his response.

If they must, they'll probably dig the answers out of him if he had been a normal, suspicious citizen. But he's not. He's an amalgamation of their teachings.

“And where will you go once you leave?”

“I don't know yet… Maybe somewhere small. Quiet.”

“What do you plan on doing once you are at ‘somewhere quiet’?”

His mouth opens to respond but the words don't come out. Half of him knows exactly what he wants to do and the other half feels embarrassed to say it.

But if this is the last time, shouldn't he be honest with them?

“Maybe… teach? I thought about becoming a teacher when I was back in Aedes Elysiae…”

Red colours his ears and cheeks as he tells them this, it was a plan that he had, yes, but saying it outloud sounds ridiculous.

“A teacher… You'd fit the role well, Phainon. The young ones have always adored you.”

“While you have some room to improve, I certainly think that you'll do well with a younger demographic.”

He blinks. Once. Twice.

Their tone has changed, a complete 180° from their previous behaviour towards him. He steels himself to meet their eyes and the knot in his chest almost unravels.

No contempt, no cold or calculating squinted looks. Just pride and soft fondness as they both look at him with a small, satisfied smile on their faces.

“If I could be half the teachers you were then maybe I would've done something good for this world.”

Their eyes widen and Phainon continues to talk, unable to stop himself.

“One of the reasons I'm still here is because of you two, it's not a secret. If it weren't for you, Lady Aglaea, I would've died in destitute at the hands of hunger of the black tide.” His eyes flicker down to the floor, missing the way her eyes widen and how her mouth falls in shock.

“Even at the Grove, I have to thank you Professor, for willingly teaching me. My time as a student may have passed but I won't forget what you've taught me. I'm lucky to be the product of both your teachings.” Professor Anaxagoras’ brow furrows at his words, a slight frown replacing his smile while words continue to leave his mouth.

“Sometimes I still remember the time you both once argued over what to have for dinner during one of our meetings, we ended up eating Honeycakes instead.”

He laughs, the knot in his chest unraveling further and further—

“Phainon… we never had dinner together with all the Chrysos Heirs.”

—Only for it to re-tie itself in a tighter knot.

The Elysian pauses, raising his head to look at Aglaea who said those words, “...What?” the words leave his lips as a whisper.

“We never had time to have dinner, Phainon. Nor was any of our relationship on good enough terms to do so.”

“No, that's not right… I remember that we all…”

“Phainon…” Aglaea now has a look of worry, her arms falling to her sides as she takes careful steps towards him but stopping when she sees his breathing becoming more laboured.

“Phainon, you need to breathe,” Professor Anaxagoras chimes in but his words come out as a hiss.

Both of them worry for their student who is losing himself more and more every day, it seems. Their student who has millions upon millions of memories piling on his mind. Like a ringing that won't go away.

“I remember, though… You're right here with me, why can't you…?” His mind starts to fracture, breaking into pieces he can't glue down while he curls into himself and grips his shoulders in a self-hug, trying to remain grounded.

Cycles of death, of golden blood dripping down his sword, of watching his teachers (his second parents) die over and over and over again why won't it stop please stop stop stop STOP—

“Phainon, stop!”

Thin fingers grab hold on his face, forcing him to look into green eyes, his erratic breathing hitching before it slows to heavy breathing as Aglaea has panic in her eyes.

“Aglaea…?”

“Titans, gods, your shoulders—Garmentmaker, please, I need some spare cloth!”

“...Shoulders?” He glances down to his body and just like before, he's bleeding gold.

Breaking and buckling under the weight of the world.

“Goodness, child, what are you doing to yourself?” Professor Anaxagoras shuffles closer and it’s enough to snap Phainon out of his trance, fear striking him as he takes a step back from both of his mentors.

It shocks Lady Aglaea, he knows because she stares wide-eyed at him, agape at the sudden distance between them. Professor Anaxagoras stops in his tracks, eyes squinting in thought.

“Don't…” Blue flickers nervously between the cloth in Lady Aglaea’s hand and the worry in Professor Anaxagoras’s eyes, “Please don't touch me… I'll hurt you, it'll burn…”

A faint sensation of something wet escapes his eyes but, much like his body, it sizzles away from the heat.

“You're injured, we will not let you—!”

“It'll heal!” He screams, shocking every living being in that room, “So please, don't come any closer, please. I-I don't want to hurt you… Not again, please.”

Trembling hands take his blue cloak and wrap it around his shoulders in an attempt to hide his wounds.

He needs to leave. Leave before he continues to break, leave before he might hurt them again. Leave this life behind and allow them to live their wishes to their fullest.

He'd left home once, he can do it again.

“I have to go, I'm sorry.” Without waiting for a response, he turns to hightail it out of that office but as his hand touches the soft metal handle of the door, he hesitates.

Deep down, he will always be the boy Aglaea took into her care and he will always be one of Professor Anaxa's star students.

“... Thank you. For everything. For saving me and for giving me another home.”

The door opens and he leaves, running out and away from Okhema, collapsing into his field of grassland. Only then, did he scream his sorrows out for the world to hear.

...

I hope the books I leave to you will be beneficial in the growth of both Okhema and the Grove. You… Ha, forgive me for being selfish but may I ask? If the future is kinder and I am given the chance to die; to be reborn, will you take me in once more? Will you teach me the secrets of this world and the inner workings of social parties again? I hope you do.

...

Back in the sullen office, the Goldweaver clutches a gold-stained cloth with her hands laying still by her sides. At her side, a scholar gently pulls her away, wiping any blood left on her hands.

In the quiet lull of the room, their minds drift back to a bright young man.

At the cusp of his final days, Phainon finds himself standing at the gates of Castrum Kremnos. The last of his goodbyes. The first of their kind to steal his heart. The last king of the Kremnoan dynasty. The hiding place of the undying Mydeimos.

He'd gotten an inkling but not enough courage to visit the first time.

It wasn't until Krateros told him the truth of where he was with a pleading request.

“Please bring him home, Lord Phainon.” Easier said than done, he wanted to say to Krateros but the older man looked at him as if he was the only one who could do such a feat.

Part of him wants to deny him but in the end, everyone knows that out of all the Chrysos Heirs, both he and Mydei had a… complex relationship.

What else can he say?

That he was irrevocably in love with a man whose blood stained the very stretch of his soul for over thirty million cycles?

That the very same man chose to turn away from him and hasn't returned since?

Phainon laughs humourlessly, what a joke. In the end, neither of them kept the promise of the next life.

Stepping past the main gates of the floating fortress, Phainon knows that Mydei has already sensed him. This structure belongs to him, how could he not? Or maybe, the Elysian wants to delude himself, he recognises Phainon by the sound of his footsteps?

No, after learning what he's done, Mydeimos isn't one to think of him fondly. If Phainon was him, he'd never speak to him again.

Maybe that's why he hid. Why he’s never spoken to him since.

Footsteps echo throughout the empty and crumbling walls of the arena as a familiar sight of a red throne greets him and on it sits the man who is, in many ways, his equal.

Before Mydeimos left for Castrum Kremnos, in kinder times, Phainon would've ran towards him with a demand for a duel.

But now, the distance between them is far too great and Phainon stops at a considerable distance away from his King.

“Mydeimos.”

“Deliverer.”

With just one word, the Kremnoan already tears him down.

“...You’re still calling me that.”

A loud scoff from the royal answers him, watching him closely as he stands from the throne with eyes that never leave his. Their gazes only breaking when Mydeimos turns to bare his back to him.

It's such a small movement and yet, Phainon feels his heart clench. Is he a fool?

“Are you not the Deliverer? Or are you an impostor standing in front of me?”

...

Mydeimos. Mydei. My rival, my partner, my Prince, my equal—you have made all my days in Okhema brighter as they pass by. You are destined for great things, wherever your heart may lead you. I've never met a man as foolish, as brash, as rough, as loving and as kind as you. I don't think I ever will again. You, who remind me of my birth place, who remind me of the wheat that grew tall and strong against all odds.

...

The words further rattle him with the beating of his heart pounding in his ears.

“No,” He says, “I'm not the Deliverer anymore, Mydeimos… You saw the memories.”

At this, the Kremnoan turns to pin him with a raised brow and a quip, “Was it not me who gave you that title so long ago? Or are you that cowardly to admit it?”

Phainon gapes at him, affronted, “I am not cowardly. That's just not who I am, you know that—”

“I asked; Was it not me who gave you that title?”

Bristling at the interruption, the blue-eyed male sighs harshly before responding to the question, “Yes. You were the one who gave me that title, are you happy now?”

Like a proud lion, Mydeimos nods with a faint hint of a smirk on his lips.

Asshole.

“You're insufferable.”

“Have you looked into a mirror?”

“Ha! Bold words coming from a man who’s hiding away from the world.”

The Kremnoan prince growls at his words, “There is no word for ‘hide’ in the Kremnoan language. Perhaps you’re thinking of yourself, Deliverer?”

“Me?” Phainon gasps, affronted at the words being thrown at him, “I’m here looking for you!”

“Had you given me two more days, I would’ve returned to Okhema hale and whole.”

“You are so—!” The Elysian huffs, glaring at his counterpart, forgetting where they are and why he is here. But reality comes back to him when Mydeimos’s smirk melts away into a faint visage of a smile.

It's so easy to fall into routine, to click back into place what has always been his normal because Mydeimos makes it easy.

Or is it easy because it's him?

Horrifyingly, instead of joy, the possible sentiment fills him with dread. How could he ever have that luxury of thinking so, when it was him who killed his prince over and over again like a cattle in a slaughterhouse? The colour drains from his face and it must’ve been obvious from the way Mydeimos squints his eyes at him.

“Deliv—”

“Krateros has asked me to bring you home, Mydeimos,” Phainon cuts him off, going straight to the point as he ignores all the alarm bells ringing in his head, “At least reassure him that you’re okay. Show your face, go home.”

Who would’ve thought that he’d one day plead for the undying Mydeimos to return back into the arms of his people? To his rightful place?

Though, maybe Mydeimos doesn’t think of it that way. Clearly not, if the confusion in his eyes and the frown on his lips says so.

“Is that all?”

Was there supposed to be more?

Phainon wants to say yes, that Krateros’s request is why he is here, why he’s standing in front of Mydeimos.

But his mouth remains shut and the dread feels like waves pulling him under, trying to drown him. Even amidst the ruins of his birthright, Mydeimos looks divine; like a god in his domain, powerful and strong.

He wants to follow wherever the Kremnoan chooses to go, wherever they may find themselves next.

Alas, longing and yearning aren’t a fit for a monster.

“Kokopo misses you. He keeps trying to walk out of Okhema trying to look for you. He won't eat much unless I'm there watching him.”

Mydeimos’s expression goes from disappointed to quizzical but Phainon continues talking.

“I… I understand if you're angry with me for deceiving you. For the millions of cycles where you died—” That word almost chokes him, millions of memories flooding his head non-consensually, “by my hands. But please, don't shut yourself away because of me. Your people, the Kremnoans, still need you.”

Surely, his words would've gotten through to Mydeimos. That, if not for him, he'd return for his people who stayed loyal to him until the end. Phainon had no home to return to but Mydeimos could still rebuild Castrum Kremnos, could live out the rest of his life here if he wanted to.

Titans know how Phainon wanted it.

“Will you go home, Mydeimos?”

“Why are you speaking as if you won't return with me?”

His mouth shuts with a click, avoiding the king’s gaze with a stubbornness that only he could have against the man.

Mnestia, have mercy on his heart. Professor Anaxagoras was right. He is cursed by the Romance Titan.

“Because… I'm not, Mydeimos. I won't be returning back to Okhema.”

“And why not? You claimed you aren't hiding away like I am, yet here you are.”

Titans, does his words make him bristle, so he denies it loudly, “I'm not hiding!” But Mydeimos sees right through him, scoffing and crossing his arms at his words.

“Once again, you're lying, Deliverer. I know you, so cut the act and—”

“I'M A DANGER TO EVERYONE AROUND ME!”

Unable to take anymore of the Kremnoan's word, Phainon screams the thought that's been plaguing him for cycles; for billions of years. His head hangs low, eyes closed shut as he faces the rubble on the ground because he's too cowardly to look at the Prince.

The air immediately shifts, barely noticeable but Phainon knows when Mydeimos has had enough of him.

Footsteps echo through the empty arena, with each thump, Phainon becomes more stiff, closing his eyes and braces himself for an inevitable punch.

Closer and closer, the sound of rocks and debris scraping on the ground only heightens his senses, up until the footsteps stop in front of him.

But when nothing comes, he opens his eyes—expecting anger and fury but instead he's greeted with a stare. A thoughtful look with confusion behind them in those beautiful gold eyes.

“Mydeimos…?”

“I'll return.”

He nearly slumps in relief, finally. After all the time spent together, he's actually listening to him now—

“If you spar with me.”

.

“What?”

“Spar with me, in your new form, then I’ll return to Okhema as you requested.”

Fear fills his lungs, stepping away from Mydeimos to place as much distance as possible between them. Horror and disbelief spread across his face at his words. After all these cycles, the years, how could Mydeimos ask this of him?

“How could you… Don’t you know how dangerous I am now? I could kill you!”

The Kremnoan gives him a look, tilting his head, “Do you want to kill me?”

“Of course not!”

“Then spar with me,” Still, Mydeimos challenges him, falling easily into a familiar stance he’d seen thousands of times before on the training field back in Okhema, “I know you won’t kill me, Deliverer and I’m not asking you to. So, come.”

Phainon wants to scream at how stupid he’s being, the risk that he’s taking just for a simple spar. But when his eyes meet gold from across the distance, the Elysian’s vehement hesitance melts away.

Oh, how weak must he be for this man?

...

When I think of home, you often come to mind, Mydei. I wanted to bring you to Aedes Elysiae, however fleeting that dream is, and when you invited me to your library, it felt like a hope that I could hold onto. Meeting you changed my life. For better or for worse. Throughout the millions of cycles, there was never one without finding ‘myself’ standing by your side.

...

“... Once,” He mutters, breathing in sharply as he feels that unbearable heat scorching him and his form changing with wings unfurling from his back, “I’m only doing this once, Mydei.”

“Once is enough, Deliverer.”

Mydeimos throws himself at Phainon with his clenched fists as they move to strike him. Taking pity on him, he ground himself and moves his wings away from his view as he dodges every punch thrown his way. In return, Phainon swings Dawnmaker, weaker than his usual attacks as to not hurt him, eyes drinking in the sight of how the Kremnoan easily blocks and deflects them.

Every spar they’ve shared together feels more like a dance of swords and armour. A rush for each time it happens, bringing a smile on Phainon’s lips when it comes. But that was then, in a time where he was oblivious to the horrors that plagued their planet.

Before he became a monster. Now, he’s afraid of hurting the one man who’d seen past his persona and saw him for who he is instead of who he tries to be.

Millions of cycles, of countless copies of his comrades, every Phainon finds himself by Mydei's side.

Just like now.

The Lord Ravager takes great care not to overdo it with his strength but he could tell that Mydeimos was growing tired of being treated as something fragile.

“Enough holding back, Deliverer! Have you forgotten who you’re sparring with?”

Never, Phainon mourns in his mind, I could never forget you.

“I’ll hurt you.”

“Bullshit!”

He barely avoids the fist flying to his face. eyes widening at the faint feeling of a scratch breaking his skin and causing golden blood to drip down his cheek.

Using his wings, he flies off into the sky with a hand cupping his cut cheek, “Are you scared of a little wound?” Mydeimos taunts him from the ground but his rigid stance doesn’t fool Phainon.

“Why won’t you give up, Mydeimos? We sparred. You’ve seen me in this ugly form, isn’t that enough?”

Haven't I done enough, Mydei?

“Calling this a spar is an insult on my name, you're avoiding my attacks and continue to treat this like the last time we'll ever talk,” Phainon nearly breaks at the sheer rage dripping from Mydei's voice, “What are you hiding from me, Deliverer?”

Something in him snaps. The constant weight on his shoulders, the burden of the memories in his mind, his unwillingness to leave…

“Why do you care, Mydeimos?”

Slowly, he lowers himself to the ground whilst still in his winged form while his eyes stay glued on the Kremnoan who seems shocked at his sudden words.

“Why be so concerned about me? Wasn't it you who left me the second you could? You never even bothered to stay and talk, then.”

Each question brings him closer to his once-friend, each quip raises the temperature. All while his feet leave a trail of ash and soot behind him. Mydeimos isn't answering him, only watching him with wide eyes as he comes closer.

“I didn't have the chance to speak with you before you turned your back on me. Admit it, Mydeimos. You've never cared then and you'll never care now.”

Those words sound unbelievable. Because Mydeimos does care, in his own ways of course but he’s always cared.

But caring for someone means to be there for one another and he wasn't there when Phainon needed him. Not then and definitely not now. Phainon barely registers being so close to Mydei that they're nearly chest-to-chest, too busy trying to cool down his temper when he feels a sudden crack on his left cheek.

A trembling hand lifts to touch his cheek, tensing as he feels the familiar wet and hot sensation of blood. He isn't the only one, Mydeimos also froze at the sight, their spar being forgotten as he reaches out towards Phainon in worry.

“Phai—”

“No!”

With a shout, Phainon flinches back while his hand cradles his cheek as he tries to regulate his breathing; a fruitless effort to stop himself from panicking.

The Kremnoan growls at his defiance, taking another step forward with each step Phainon takes back, “What do you mean ‘no’? You're injured. We need to get that bandaged.”

Vehemence radiates off of Phainon as he just shakes his head and flies back up to ensure that Mydeimos can't catch him.

“It'll be fine.” It's not fine, oh Titans, he's breaking again.

“Phainon,” Hearing his name from Mydeimos feels more and more like a fever dream, “Come down. We can see Hyacine and get your wounds checked.” He tries to coax him down, tries to reassure him but Phainon's made up his mind.

This is the end. The final goodbye.

“... No. I already told her my goodbyes. I'm here for yours now, Mydei,” He says, voice barely above a whisper but carries clearly across the ruins around them.

The Kremnoan’s brows furrow with confusion, “Goodbyes? What are you talking about, Deliverer? Where are you going?”

“Away from Okhema. From everyone. A place where I won't hurt the people I love ever again.”

Little sounds of sizzling and evaporation can be heard as he realises that he's crying. Goodbyes are painful, it hurts to say them to his friends—his family—but saying it to Mydei feels like a ghost of a sword being thrust into his heart. A phantom feeling of death.

“What nonsense are you talking about now? Do you really think I'll let you go that easily?”

Oh, Mydei, Phainon smiles sadly.

“I'm sorry, Mydeimos. This is our last spar,” Turning around, Phainon steadies his voice as tears continue to evaporate on his skin, “You mean a great deal to me, more than what I could've ever expected. In the millions of cycles I've seen, there was never one where I didn't find myself by your side. Goodbye Mydei.”

...

Professor Anaxa once said that I was cursed by Mnestia. He never said what it was but I think I know now. Mydeimos, my beloved equal, Mnestia has cursed me to love you. To love a man I can't have, even throughout millions of cycles. But I will carry this love wherever I go and when I look at the sun, I will always remember you. If fate is kind and we're no longer cursed with duty, I'll see you in the next life at your library, Mydei.

...

A lone man watches as his companion flies off, leaving wisps of ash to fall from the sky. He wonders why his heart clenches painfully at the retreating figure.

He'll return to Okhema but he prays that his loved ones are all there. He prays that he'll see a man cloaked in blue and white, smiling at him like the brightest sun.

Mydeimos never breaks his promises, he returns to Okhema as promised and relishes in the crowds of his people welcoming him back. All while discomfort gnaws at his bone at the absence of blue and white amongst the public.

But he isn't one to give up, no. He searches up and down, high and low for a single clue or a glimpse of that man. Along the way, he bumps into the other Chrysos Heirs and every time he asks them about their missing companion.

And every time, they'd tell him that they've also yet to see him since their last encounter with him. One by one, they'd join him in his search.

Together, they'd look in all the places they know he frequents.

Marmoreal Market. “Oh? Lady Cipher and Lady Hyacine, what brings you here? Could I interest you in some antiques?”

The dromas’ pens. “Who would've thought that our professor would be such a fan for these creatures, huh, Castorice?”

Okhema’s public and large library. “Lady Aglaea, I've borrowed some books for our next lesson.”

The Hero’s baths. “The water feels fantastic Lady Tribbie, please come join me! You've worked tirelessly.”

And his quarters. “What brings the undying Mydeimos to my quarters at such a time? Is there something wrong, Mydei?”

None of them had a trace of their beloved Deliverer. Not a glimpse of white nor was there a wisp of blue—all proof of him had simply disappeared along with him.

“Where could he possibly be? We've searched everywhere…” Tribios frowns, eyes scanning Phainon’s long-abandoned quarters. It's clean. But dusty as if no one had stayed there for so long that dust had started to settle.

Castorice finds herself being pulled to a bookshelf at the corner of his room, tracing the spines of the books, “It's like he just… left. Leaving everything behind without looking back,” Some of the books are hers.

Near the door, Aglaea tries to use her threads but to no avail, if Phainon is no longer in Okhema then she would have no luck in finding him.

Seeing the pinched expression on her face, Anaxa and Cipher share a look as each takes one of her sides.

“I can no longer sense him… He has left Okhema.”

“He'd told us that he was leaving, wasn't he? I wouldn't be surprised.”

“Yeah, I'm sure the delivery boy is fine, Aglaea! You trained him, didn't you? He's a tough cookie, I’m confident of that.”

While they all looked around for anything, a clue that could hint to where their companion might be, Hyacine simply stands over his kline. Still as stone as Ica coos next to her, curiously tilting its’ head and watching as she reaches down towards a single piece of paper.

“I think… I think I found something.” She says with a soft voice but loud enough to get everyone's attention. A single paper sits on top of the kline, as if calling out to them.

When Hyacine picks it up, surrounded by the others, she begins to read the words written on it, “‘If you're reading this, then I assume you're in my room. I'm not here but I left something in the Garden of Life for you all.’”

Something in Mydei's stomach twists uncomfortably, so much so that he turns to rush over to the garden in a haze.

“W-Wait, Lord Mydei!”

“De!”

He doesn't stop. He won't stop unless he's seen Phainon with his own eyes.

Where had his Deliverer gone without him? Hadn't he lost enough? Hadn't they lost enough to last lifetimes?

'Why be so concerned about me? Wasn't it you who left me the second you could?' Phainon’s vindicated voice rings hollow in his head and not without reason—he was right. Mydei left as soon as he could and never gave him a chance to explain himself.

‘I’ll make it up to you. I'll spar with you everyday if it means to have you by my side.’ Mydeimos thinks, almost laughing at the absurdity of it.

When had he fallen so far for the Deliverer?

When he steps onto the Garden of Life, the first thing to catch his eyes is the table set neatly near the edge of the garden. Today, oddly enough, no soul is present in the garden as a disturbing quiet fills the air. He takes one step after another towards the table and stops just a few paces away.

Nothing is in his way but his spine shivers when he sees what sits on top of the table. As he hears the others come running behind him, his gaze doesn't move.

“Jeez kid, for a big guy you sure run fast!” Cipher catches up to him, not that all tried. She opens her mouth to say something else when her eyes, too, move to stare at the table, “What the…?”

A loud gasp from Tribios pulls their attention to her, wide eyes watching as she rushes past them to kneel in front of what is on the table.

Hyacine stands behind her, eyes shimmering with an unreadable emotion, “Lady Tribios, are those…”

“Dolls,” She whispers, hands trembling as their hands hover over them. Dolls with uncanny expressions to every single one of them sewn onto the softest fabric with an expert’s precision, clearly made with love and attention to detail, “They’re dolls of us…”

Soon, everyone begins to crowd around the table and Tribios, every single one of them looking back at the dolls that mirror their faces. All of them forming two rows with one single spot left empty in the middle.

Hyacine and Castorice share a smile, giggling amongst themselves at the image of their dolls.

“She even has my pigtails and hat. How cute!”

“Mine also has my headpiece, that couldn’t have been easy to make.”

Aglaea, on the other hand, is laughing at the uncanniness of her own doll. Her shoulders shaking with mirth as she leans onto Anaxa with a smile stretching across her lips in amusement. “Look, yours look quite similar to your usual grumpy expression,” She teases him.

He glances at her with his usual bored expression, “And yours looks just as annoyed as ever.” Smirking as she frowns in the exact same expression as the doll.

Meanwhile, Cipher had moved closer to the dolls, bending at her waist to take a better look at her smaller lookalike. She studies the careful stitches, the meticulously chosen fabric and then breaks into laughter.

“Well, would you look at that… A near carbon copy of me. And you, little prince,” She purrs her words, poking the little Mydei doll with her finger as it stares back blankly at her.

“I don't look that grumpy,” Mydei denies with a soft grumble but he doesn't deny the way his eyes soften at the little caricature of himself.

But the joyful atmosphere is smothered when he sees a single envelope in the middle of the dolls, right in front of Tribios. That familiar sense of dread sends shivers up his spine.

“Lady Tribios, may I see the letter in front of you?”

With his simple request, everyone’s attention snaps back into place as their gazes fall on the very same envelope. The mood sinks back into a somber one as the eldest Chrysos Heirs carefully picks up the envelope to pass it back to him.

The letter has no address, nor was it sealed; it's just a simple letter with the words ‘To: the Chrysos Heirs, From: Phainon’ written on the front in a familiar handwriting. Mydei recognises the elegant swirl of consonants—the curves of the vowels, anywhere.

He opens the letter with gentle urgency, trying his best not to rip the contents. Pulling out the letter, he reads each line aloud and with every passing paragraph, they gasp as the realisation of where Phainon is begins to set in.

He's leaving Amphoreus.

...

This is the end of my letter. I'm sure you're all tired of my ramblings, I've always been quite the talker, haven't I? I don't know what else there is to say. Now that Amphoreus is no longer mere data, travellers from throughout the galaxy will surely come and flock to it. When that time comes, I sincerely hope that you will prosper.

On one last note, the Flame Reaver passed millions of cycles’ worth of memories onto me—for one last time I’d like to selfishly confess something. The Phainon Khaslana of every single cycle loved you all dearly and every death he took killed him inside.

He doesn't regret what he did and neither will I. But I swear on my mother's name that my affections for you all never stopped nor faded because when I lost everything, it was you all who gave me the world. Even if you would continue to hate me, to curse my name, I will sing praises of your bravery, compassion and kindness.

I'll end this here, for real this time, or else I'd never stop. Thank you. For the love and guidance that you've given me. I hope we'll see each other again ‘tomorrow’ and that you will never be chained to a soldier's death. May we meet again where the west winds end.

With all my love,

Khaslana

...

The letter ends and the silence is thick, Phainon’s last words looping endlessly in their minds. Soft sobs and sniffles begin to replace the quiet as Hyacine’s trembling hands cover her mouth.

“Did he truly… Is it because of how I've acted…?” Another sob rings out and she starts to cry as Ica tries its best to comfort her. Soon enough the mood dampens as the knowledge that their Deliverer is leaving fills them.

Cipher squirms uncomfortably with her tail drooping, eyes never leaving the dolls that she misunderstood, “Why didn't you say something… Even after all this time, you're still acting tough.”

“Phainon…” Castorice mumbles, hands clenching and unclenching as she thinks back to a few days prior where she'd just held his hands. Now, she'd never have that chance.

In front of them and still kneeling, Tribios stays silent but her lips tremble as memories of a young, white haired child run through her mind. She remembers it clearly; the day he came, the start of his training, his studies and when he had to leave for the Grove.

She remembers his bright, blue eyes that grew up to look onto the world with hope and joy, “Oh, Snowy… What have I done…?” Her fingers brush over the empty spot in the middle of the dolls, feeling the absence of someone dear. All while Aglaea stares at the spot with despondency, her surroundings drowned away by the crashing realisation of her actions and the pain she's caused.

“...These very same hands that raised him have caused irreparable damage,” Anaxa rushes over to her when she begins to sway from the overwhelming heartbreak.

“Aglaea—!” He hisses, mostly in fright, as he allows her to lean on him, “You’ll hurt yourself.” They both know it's a half hearted scolding; neither can deny the dull ache that throbs painfully in their chests. Aglaea hides her face in her hands, Anaxa doesn't mention the way her shoulders tremble.

Time doesn't stop for their grief.

And yet, one man refuses to accept this end. Reading the letter over and over, hands creasing the paper under the force of his closed palms.

The words from their last conversation replaying over and over in his mind—‘I didn't have the chance to speak with you before you turned your back on me’—haunting him like a ghost. The last words of a man who'd given his entire being to save the world, only to be rejected by the very same ones he'd save.

Mydeimos feels like a fool.

For his actions, his words and the hurt he'd inevitable caused the Deliverer.

Phainon would leave Amphoreus with betrayal tasting sour on his tongue from their actions; from his actions and, Titans, he hasn't felt this stupid in seasons. But, just as fast as the shame settles in him, so did the rage.

No. He won't allow their epic to end like this; to be given an ending that gives them no satisfaction.

So, after folding the letter and tucking it away in the folds of his clothes, he addresses the others, “You can cry and you can blame yourselves for eternity if you want but I am not going to stand here and do nothing while Phainon goes off to Titan's-knows-where,” He declares to them, eyes focusing on the dolls that stare back at him.

There is one space in the middle for one more doll and he's damned if he doesn't win his model back.

Turning around, he pauses in his steps before calling out to his fellow Chrysos Heirs once again.

“Are you coming with me to bring back our saviour or are you going to stay here and watch as this cycle passes by without its hero?” There's no need to turn around and loiter any further, not when he hears the rustling of grass and rocks follow him as he starts to make his way to the Trailblazer’s last known location of their train. To his right, Hyacine wipes away the remnants of her tears and strides forward with a fierce look on her face.

A smile stretches across his lips. They'd fix this mess, no matter the cost.

Lady Tribios takes her place at his left side, her hands cradling something that makes his eyes go wide, “Lady Tribios where did you—?”

“I had this made months ago. A sort of gift… I need him to understand that I-I was wrong,” Her grip on the item tightens slightly, “He needs to know that I still love him, that I still care and I won't let him leave until he understands.”

‘You don't know how loved you are, Phainon,’ Mydei thinks with a sad smile, picking up the pace until they all break into a run towards their white haired companion. ‘Wait for us, please’ he prays, ‘At least let us try, just once more before you go.’

“Bag?”

“Check.”

“Clothes?”

“Checked too.”

“Well… this is it.”

Phainon stares at his childhood friend, the one who stood by his side in defiance as they both tried and sacrificed their all to save Amphoreus. Now that it was saved, he didn't have much reason to stay. Hence the packed bags as he stands next to the Trailblazer at the side of the train coach where they had crashed in the first place.

He suddenly feels like choking.

“Yeah… This is it, Cyrene. I'm off to see the vast galaxy,” His eyes start to burn and he's thankful that Cyrene doesn't comment on it, especially when her eyes cloud to match his.

“Our little farm boy is all grown up and ready to explore the universe. I guess our dreams weren’t just confined to our small village, was it, Khaslana?” They both share a laugh, giving each other one last once over before Cyrene barrels into him for a hug.

Phainon burrows his head in her shoulder, almost sagging in relief when he realises he’s not burning her, “I’ll miss you, Cyrene… I just got you back and now it’s my turn to leave.”

The irony doesn’t escape them but all they can do in the moment is to relish each other’s presence.

“Don’t be too sad. We can still see each other again, Amphoreus will always have its arms open for you, Khas.”

“I know it will, you’ve always accepted me for who I am,” As he pulls away, with a downcast gaze; Cyrene knows where his thoughts are, “Maybe if things were different, it wouldn’t have led to this.”

The Trailblazer joins their tearful goodbyes, placing a hand on Phainon’s shoulder with their own sorrowful look.

“Without you Amphoreus would’ve been destroyed a long time ago. You may not love yourself but you loved this world to some extent to live through those cycles. Even a hero could only dream of doing what you did.” Their words cause the Emanator to laugh in disbelief, doubt still stirring in his stomach as he brushes off the compliments.

“You’re too kind to me, partner.”

“I don’t give out empty compliments, ya know!”

“Of course you don’t.”

Their banter goes back and forth, feeling so natural that Phainon nearly forgets where they are and why they’re here. Reality comes to pull them back to the ground when the Trailblazer turns back towards the coach at Dan Heng’s call about ‘last minute maintenance’. They grab Phainon’s bags with them, slinking away onboard the coach.

When his partner leaves Cyrene and himself alone, the looming sense of separation and loneliness comes back to shroud him.

“This is it, huh. I’ll miss this place,” As if sensing his words, a soft breeze comes by to kiss his cheeks and nose. He looks onwards to the far horizon, taking in every detail close to his heart. Cyrene joins his gaze, bumping his shoulder into his arm with a soft smile that he returns.

A few seconds pass of them simply leaning on each other, watching as birds fly by into the far beyond and basking in the soft breeze that greets them. It’s almost nostalgic, Phainon muses to himself, memories of when they were kids, sitting by the docks to watch the sun dip in the distance with proclamations of becoming heroes and saviours falling off of their tongue.

But, just like before, reality comes to pull them back. This time, in the form of the Trailblazer confirming that the coach is ready to take flight once more.

Phainon yells back a response and turns back to Cyrene with a small grin, “Any last words, my lady?” He snorts when she rolls her eyes at the title.

“None at all, my hero,” One last time, she takes his hands into hers and gives him the biggest grin she can muster, “Experience a long and epic journey, Khaslana. May it be a romantic story worth regalling.”

They share one last tight hug. Phainon peels himself away with great effort, turning to take one step towards his partner before a loud voice freezes him in his tracks.

“DELIVERER!”

He never snaps his neck towards the voice as fast as he did just then. But it’s a familiar voice, one he’s heard a million times before—on the battlefield, the sparring grounds, the baths and even in the ruins of a kingdom. A voice he loves to the very core of his soul.

“Don’t you dare get on that train!”

Mydeimos.

“Mydei,” His name leaves his lips as a wisp of breath, in pure disbelief that the Crown Prince of Kremnos is running towards him after he said his goodbyes.

Then, panic kicks in when his eyes catch the sight of the other Chrysos Heirs running behind him. With various expressions ranging from worry to sadness painting their faces. Phainon opens his mouth to ask Cyrene if she had anything to do with this but her wide eyes says as much.

So instead, he asks the newcomers, “What are you all doing here?”

They all stop a few paces away; Hyacine, Castorice and Cipher flank Mydei’s right side while Tribios, Anaxa and Aglaea stand at his left. Unsurprisingly, Aglaea takes the first step forward to answer, “To do something we should’ve done ages ago, Phainon,” Her words fill him with confusion, what else did he forget to do? Surely it was all said and done?

His thoughts come to a halt the second he sees her hands reaching towards him. A multitude of possible scenarios run through his mind but before he could settle on any of them, his world comes to a screeching stop from what happens next.

No words of goodbyes or of any kind leave his lips before Aglaea pulls him forward into a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck and tucking his head into her shoulder without a care in the word for the people around them. The first thing that comes to mind is of how warm and safe she feels and the second thing that comes to mind is, what the fuck, why is she hugging him?

Naturally, he panics, again.

“W-Wait, Aglaea, you can’t touch me or I’ll hurt you—!”

“No.” She’s quick to cut him off.

“W… What? What do you mean ‘no’? P-Please, Aglaea, I’ll…”

Struggle as he might to escape her hold, his former mentor refuses to let go of him and even tightens the grip she has on him. Eventually she breathes a shaky sigh of relief by his ear, which stops his squirming entirely.

Blue eyes flicker helplessly to his former Chrysos Heirs who watch on with amusement and smiles, “... Aglaea?” He tries again.

“I was so scared… That I lost my chance to ever apologise to you, Phainon.”

Hearing her words, he blinks owlishly.

“What are you talking about? Apologise? For what?”

Perhaps his response angers her because she immediately pushes him away with a fierce look in her eyes, her hands still holding onto his shoulders as if she’s scared that he’ll slip away from her grasp once more. The look in her eyes remind him of his mother, of the times she’d scold him for doing something dangerous and for giving her a fright.

Surely, she isn’t…?

“Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, I did not raise you to think so lowly of yourself and I certainly did not raise you to let others walk all over you,” Then, her eyes soften like leaves falling graciously to the ground, “We’re here to apologise, Phainon. For our actions, for all the cruelty we’ve shown you.”

This feels like a dream, a long and wishful dream because why would Aglaea ever need to apologise to him? He should be the one apologising to her for all the things he’s done.

“But I… I hurt you. For millions of cycles, billions of years, Aglaea. I don’t deserve…”

Just like how he remembers from his childhood, Aglaea gives him a soft, motherly smile and he feels her hands leaving his shoulder to cup both of his cheeks. Her eyes are no longer clouded and from their close proximity, he could see all the emotions pooling in them.

Above all, he could see the love she has in them. For him.

“If you truly didn’t deserve all the forgiveness we could only hope to give, then why are you crying, my child?”

It takes him a few seconds to register her words but when he does, it hits him like a lightning bolt through his spine.

He’s crying? And his tears aren’t evaporating away? Has the heat of the coreflames within him been tempered just like that? Through the words of his former mentor, a woman he’d proudly call his mother in another life?

“I…”

He’s speechless.

More and more tears start to slide down his cheeks, overcoming Aglaea’s valiant effort of wiping them away as he laughs incredulously. Soon, more and more of the Chrysos Heirs join to crowd him.

Hyacine grabs his forearm and squeezes it; once, twice. One would mistake her for a brave warrior if they could see the fire in her eyes right now. Bright and blazing, staring right at him as she refuses to move an inch from his side.

“I’m sorry, Little Snowy. For my reaction, for how I acted…,” True to her words, even her eyes begin to water as she continues, “How could I have treated you like that…? You’re our Snowy and you would never hurt us on purpose. I’ll heal every crack you have if it means that you’ll stay with us.” Ica thrills from behind her, flying closer to nuzzle his tear-stained cheek.

Cheekily, another hand joins to place itself in the between his shoulder blades on his back. He turns a little bit more to see Cipher’s teasing eyes and wry smile as she gives his back a little pat.

“It was wrong of me to assume the worst out of you, delivery boy. I wanted to do something good for the world but in the end, you were the one who gave me that choice.” Her tail circles itself around his wrist, “I’m sorry, Phainon. You deserve the benefit of the doubt and I should’ve given it to you.”

With each apology, he feels his carefully curated walls crumble in front of his former friends. Maybe by the end of this, they wouldn’t be just ‘former’ friends anymore.

Again, he isn’t given the chance of a rebuttal to their apologies when Castorice slides herself to his other side and grabs hold of his hand in a tight squeeze. They take a second to take solace in each other’s warmth, ever grateful that the other is well and alive.

“Phainon,” She starts, “Everyday spent at the Grove with you has never been boring. You might not know it but you lit up my life and the life of many others. So let me become your flame this time. Let us be the joy that you’ve waited for across thirty million cycles.” As expected, Castorice’s words are as beautiful as her writing, pushing him to a near emotional mess when she leans on his arm.

“Castorice, you…” By her turn, his voice starts to waver from its usual strength.

“Before you become a mess of tears and words, allow me to say my piece,” Much like the others before him, Anaxa takes his place near Phainon, this time he slots himself next to Aglaea, “What calculations did you make that led you to this hypothesis?”

Ack! “Professor, wait—”

“Tell me, Phainon, did you really believe that all of us would abandon you like trash on the street? Was it not a version of myself and Cipher who asked you to cease your procurement of the coreflames?”

“Well, yes but—”

Anaxa didn’t give him a moment to object, continuing his lecture, “Was it not a past Castorice who used her powers to welcome you into the realm of death for a peace of mind? Or wasn’t it a previous Hyacine who attempted to heal you of your ailments?”

“... It was.”

Finally, Anaxa breaks into a look of exasperation, one of his hands reaching over to land on Phainon’s shoulder, “Then why would you ever think that we’d ever leave you to wallow in your self-destructive tendencies? Perhaps I am not the best teacher you could have and for that, I apologise.”

Throughout their exchange and apologies, more and more tears slide down his cheeks as Phainon tries his best to process their words in the moment. His lips tremble, his throat chokes on his emotions and he hopes—begs—that none of this is a dream.

He can't take another heartbreak if this all falls away to reveal nothing but lies and fantasy.

But nothing falls away even as Tribios walks up towards their little group of tearful apologies. Tears already gathered at her eyes, some had already fallen if the tear tracks on her cheeks are of any indication.

Phainon bows his head slightly and she pokes his forehead, stopping him instantly. When he gives her a quizzical look, all she does is shake her head in response.

“No, I'm not here as your Teacher or your superior, Phainon. I'm here as a friend who's come to pay her dues.”

“Lady Tribios…”

“I… have lived a long life. Seen all that there is to see and experience all that our planet could offer. But above all, I've seen the destruction that scorched its way across it all,” Tribios pauses, taking in a deep breath, “And I thought, after all that, I knew a thing or two about compassion and kindness in times of tragedies and tribulations. But I was wrong.”

Six pairs of eyes watch her as she pulls out something from the folds of her clothes, only for gasps and ‘oh’s to echo back when they could finally see what it is.

A little, handsewn doll that mirrored the image of their beloved Deliverer. Down to his clothes and eyes.

In the same style he'd commission for their dolls.

All of a sudden, Phainon remembers Madam Eleni’s words—

‘Though I’m surprised you asked. Have you received the one I made ages ago?’

His eyes snap up to look at her as she cradles the doll in her hands as if it were made of glass, “Lady Tribios, you… when did you…?” Though an excellent debater, he fails to find the words to ask her about the doll. Nonetheless, Tribios laughs (breathy and tearful but he is wise not to mention it) and nods at his lingering thoughts.

“We had this made after you entered the trial of Strife. Trianne always wanted you to know how loved and cherished you are, no matter what the outcome of the trial was. Trinnon thought it could cheer you up, give you a bit of light during your darker days and Tribbie… Well,” She takes Phainon’s free hand and places the doll in it. Her fingers gliding over his calloused palms and the little scars that littered the skin of his fingers, “We were going to commission all of the dolls in due time but you beat us to it. However, you forgot one of us, Snowy.”

Hearing this, fresh tears begin to fall down his cheeks as he quietly sobs, “After all I've done, how could you still consider me one of you?”

“Isn't it obvious, Snowy? Because you saved us in the end. You do things out of love, never did you ever do it out of hatred and for that, we love you too!”

Phainon is so close to crying, to breaking down in front of the people he loves but he still has a shred of pride left not to.

At least, until Tribios steps away to reveal one last man who've yet to greet him.

A name teethers on the tip of his tongue, one he'd pray to before every battle, one he'd spoken with all the love he could carry, “Mydei…”

Everyone steps back, giving them space as the Kremnoan approaches until they stand in front of one another, face-to-face. From this distance, Phainon can see the worry that creases the corner of his lips and the underlying anger in his furrowed brow. But above all, he could see the fear in the prettiest golden eyes he loves so much.

“You are such a fool. An idiot who thinks so lowly of himself, deluding himself into the idea that we'd throw him away like used goods,” His words are sharp but his tone wavers and Phainon, oh Phainon, almost kneels.

“I killed you, Mydeimos. Stabbed you in the back where your weakness was, a secret you guarded so closely until I took advantage of it.”

“And yet, you told me you have no regrets doing so.” Mydei’s words shut him up.

When a few seconds of tense silence pass by, his Prince’s shoulders sag in a rare display of defeat. In any other situation, Phainon would've teased him over it. But not right now, not while Mydei is staring at him like he's going to run off and disappear again.

“You’re right. I did turn my back on you and that was the most foolish thing I could've ever done to my equal. I've never called you that, have I? The Kremnoans believe that strength is favoured above all—do you remember our first meeting; our 10-day long battle? When you left after I agreed to the terms laid out to us, Krateros had asked me a simple question.”

A different hand takes hold of his left hand, fingers gently rubbing the callouses on his palms and fingers as they linger on his ring finger. He's teasing, Phainon only manages to think before a soft smile on the Kremnoan's features breaks his train of thought.

“‘Now that you've found your equal, what will you do?’ and do you know what that means, HKS?”

The Elysian shakes his head.

“It means that I will never find another soul who fits me as well as you. Okhemans would call it ‘marriage’ but it weighs differently to us. To call you my equal is to confess that for as long as I live, I will love no other and I will accept none aside from you.”

With each and every word that the Kremnoan speaks, Phainon feels his walls cracking and breaking while his tears renew with vigor. Mydei is not affectionate, rarely is he even soft around those who weren't kids or the elderly.

Yet, here he is, speaking to him with love and reverence dripping off of every word as he holds the hand of the man he loves.

“And I've realised now that I hurt you with my actions and my words, Phainon. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry… I'll spend our lifetime atoning for it. I'll speak praises into your skin and hold you together when you feel the weight is too heavy so please—” Mydei finally lifts his head to lock beautiful golden eyes with the most beautiful shade of blue.

“—Please don't go, don't leave us. Let us love you, let me love you, Khaslana.”

Phai—No, Khaslana—shakes his head, still in disbelief at the words being said to him, "You'd love me, even with how broken I am? Even when I directly caused all of your deaths? You ran from me, Mydei," Cycles upon cycles of death and betrayal shackles him, making him believe that he deserves none of this. Why would Mydeimos ever choose to love him of all people?

Why would this beautiful, wonderful Kremnoan man love him?

His mouth opens, ready to ask him the very same question but it dies on his tongue when the Prince lifts their intertwined hands to press kisses into his palm with tears sliding down his cheeks, non-stop.

"I know I ran, I left you when you needed me and I will do anything you want me to but Khaslana," Their eyes meet once more, matching each other's tearful look, "Haven't we lost enough? Haven't we sacrificed enough? Please, don't make me live another cycle without."

The strong facade he wears is broken into dust and debris with the Kremnoan’s final plea. Khaslana couldn't stop the tears that start to run like rivers, again, down his cheeks.

"You'll love me?"

Mydei nods.

"Even if I fall apart and become too much?"

Again, he nods but with a huff, "You're never too much to me."

Bit by bit, his walls starts to crumble from the sweetness of the Crown Prince. There's not one hint of insincerity or lies in his eyes, all of the words he said are nothing less than the truth.

"... I'm rotten work..." Khaslana tries one more time, the last line of his defense to show him that he is more trouble than what he's worth. Everyone shouldn't have to bear with him, they didn't need to play pretend with him.

And yet again, Mydei just laughs at his words, breathy and soft, "Not if it's you, Khaslana. I'd spoil you in all the riches Amphoreus has to offer if it brings you joy," He hesitates, eyes flickering to the ground and back at him, "... Will you let me try, at least? To make you happy? To love you until we reunite at the west wind?"

For the first time in millions of cycles, Khaslana does the one thing he never did.

He gives up. He relents and nods his heads, slowly until he starts to beg for Mydei to come to him.

“Okay, o-okay, I'll stay, I'll let you try but please just—just come here, please—”

Not a second later, Mydei surges forward to envelop him in a hug, kissing the crown of his head while they both fall into a mess of tears and sobs. Arrays of ‘I love you’s spoken from both parties to the other.

Soon, the other Chrysos Heirs join their hug and it evolves into a pile of crying adults as they embrace and reassure their beloved saviour that no, they weren't going to leave him alone anymore.

Off to the side, Cyrene and the Trailblazer share a tearful look as they smile at the cuddle pile forming before them.

It's a beautiful sight, a testament that bonds will never break when built upon love.

“I guess you're not going to have an extra passenger after all, huh?”

“No,” The Trailblazer grins as loud laughter rings from the group as they all watch as Aglaea places kiss after kiss on Phainon’s cheeks, “But it's probably for the best.”

Just then, Khaslana yelps as Mydei lifts him up by the back of his thighs, “Mydei?! Put me down!” He finds balance by putting his hands on the Kremnoan’s shoulders.

“Aglaea,” Mydei ignores the yelps of his lover, “You’re a licensed officiant in Okhema, yes?”

The woman in question laughs but nods at his question, “That I am, Mydeimos. How may I assist you?”

“Wed us. Right now. Everyone here can be the witness.”

“What?! Mydei, this is crazy!”

“Oh my! Little Dei is more cunning than expected…”

“As expected from the little prince~!”

“This might be great material for my next work…”

“Utterly shameless.”

“A first Chrysos Heir wedding!”

Mydei ignores the holler and puts Khaslana back on the ground, taking out a familiar signet ring that he slides onto the Elysian’s ring finger. Khaslana, of course, knows what this is and nearly rejects the gift but he's stopped with a single sentence.

“My mother would've loved for you to have it.”

So, surrounded by their closest friends and family, Aglaea weds them. No objections, of course, only screams of joy and congratulations as Mydei pulls Khaslana into a kiss.

“Kokopo is going to throw a tantrum because he missed our wedding,” Khaslana teases when they pull apart, though their hands remain on one another.

“I'll make it up to him. Less talking, more kissing.”

That day, the Trailblazer leaves Amphoreus without an extra passenger and the Chrysos Heirs return to the Garden of Life for one more thing before they'd spend the rest of the day together. Walking up to the group of dolls that still sits neatly on top of the table, Khaslana places another addition in the middle and tucks his letter in its arms.

“Now, he's home. Where he belongs.”

“Just as you are, Khaslana.”

Cyrene nudges him with her shoulder and they share a smile. The cycles were over, no more bloodshed, no more deaths. Time could flow as it is and he, after years of suffering, is given the chance to live the life he deserves..

“Yeah. I'm home, Cyrene.”