Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Why do birds fly?"

He asked.

"Because they yearn to soar through the skies. And so, birds grew wings and took flight."

That was the answer given by the wise sage.

"Impossible."

The man with snow-white hair stood with his arms crossed, shaking his head in disagreement.

"They do not fly simply because they wish to. They must fly—because their survival depends on it."

The sage merely smiled, his gaze burning like the sun itself—an unrelenting, almost overwhelming hope. The scorching sun is something the man himself could never reached, yet there is a part of him desperately, hopelessly yearns for someone to change his mindset.

"Some birds take flight only to fall."

What did he mean by that?

Suddenly, the image of the sage blurred, twisting into itself like a raging cyclone. The white-haired young man did not react to the strange phenomenon. He stood there, unshaken, allowing the world behind him to collapse, allowing the suffocating sensation to engulf him.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Ha—

[Phainon] awoke. He did not move, merely staring at the ceiling in silence. The first second, he registered the sight of a pristine, well-furnished room. The next, he became aware of his body temperature, already plummeting below freezing—and still dropping at an alarming rate. By the third, he realized something he should have found shocking: he was still alive.

[Kevin Kaslana] was alive.

Rebirth? Reincarnation?

It seemed that he had failed to dig his own grave. Or perhaps the realm of the dead had simply turned its back on a sinner like him.

The Kaslana wasn’t surprised. He had lived too long to still "feel" anything. Everything was distant, muddled, clouded.

The white-haired man sat up slowly, his first instinct leading his gaze to the mirror fixed atop the dresser in the corner of the room. He was shirtless. The body he now inhabited or whoever this man had been...was eerily similar to his own from his previous life. The only difference was the proportions; this physique was almost unnaturally well-balanced, as if sculpted after the idealized figures of ancient Greek statues.

Kevin Kaslana raised a hand to his neck, fingers brushing against something tight. A collar? No—a choker. A black band fastened snugly around his throat. His reflection held his stare, blue eyes flickering from the choker to the strikingly familiar face framed by a mane of pure white hair.

"How similar."

Kevin knew this was someone else’s body, yet the resemblance was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

A doppelgänger?

No. He concluded that he was in another world.

The room around him was lavish. Warmer than any place he had chosen to reside in before. He rarely used beds, seldom slept. Most of his time had been spent wandering, sitting upon the cold throne of World Serpent’s headquarters, or dwelling alone on the moon amidst the remnants of the End.

Kevin Kaslana stepped off the bed, his movements heavy. His fingers idly combed through his snow-colored locks, grazing against an oddly shaped antenna that split into three distinct points. He opened the wardrobe in the room, only to be met with an assortment of peculiar clothing.

"Does this guy have a thing for yellow tops and purple pants?"

Ignoring the bizarre fashion choices, Kaslana picked the most "normal" outfit he could find. Compared to the others, this one was quite comfortable with black inner garments, a long white coat, fingerless gloves, and various golden accessories adorned with sun motifs. The overall design of the outfit reminded him of the attire he had worn since emerging from the Sea of Quanta.

Something was missing.

A strange sensation coursed through him. Instinctively, he flicked his wrist, and in an instant, a massive greatsword materialized in his grasp.

So, he uses a greatsword too.

It was roughly the same size as his Divine Key, Judgement of Shamash when it wasn’t fully activated, just the right fit for him. With another motion, the weapon disintegrated into golden dust.

No knowledge, no information about this new world.

Kevin Kaslana made his decision.

He stepped outside.

-

Overwhelming.

That might be the best word to describe moments like this.

Yet, Kevin rarely reacted to bizarre occurrences, he merely acknowledged them. If they were harmless, he left them be. If they posed a problem, he would handle them himself.

"Lord Phainon! How are you today?"

A fruit vendor in the bustling Marmoreal market called out cheerfully as he passed by. Lord Phainon was a regular customer of hers; he often purchased pomegranates on behalf of the prince of Kremnos. But today, he did not reply.

Perplexed, the vendor frowned.

"Lord Phainon...?"

No response. The white-haired young man merely strode past, offering no greeting, no inquiry about the day's produce, no discussion of prices. As he walked by her stall, an inexplicable chill crept over her, seeping into her bones. She shuddered involuntarily, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth.

Then, he was gone.

"Maybe he's not in a good mood today."

The same thing happened repeatedly as Kevin navigated the market streets.

"Lord Phainon, we have fresh stock today—"

"Lord Phainon!"

"Lord Phainon—"

Who the hell is Phainon?

It seemed this 'Phainon' was quite famous. No matter where he turned, people called out to him. Kevin's expression remained unreadable as he wandered into the alleys of this unfamiliar city. He surmised that this must be a marketplace nestled within a larger metropolis. To be fair, the city was beautiful. Peaceful, even.

…A stark contrast to the cities he had once sought refuge in.

Those were nothing more than ruins, obliterated by Herrschers who knew no mercy. The failure of the Fire Moth to combat the Honkai had left the world in shambles. When the Eleventh Herrscher descended, seventy percent of the population was wiped out in an instant. The survivors endured a wretched existence in the last three remaining human cities.

Kevin Kaslana closed his eyes once.

When he opened them again, the desolation was gone, replaced by an endless expanse of clear blue sky.

This place was truly peaceful.

But peace never lasted long.

A group of three children came rushing towards him, their faces alight with excitement. One brandished a wooden sword, another wielded a small shield, while the last waved a makeshift staff made from a mere tree branch around with theatrical enthusiasm.

"Brother Phainon! You're here! You promised you'd play with us today!"

Oh. So I'm Phainon.

That was Kevin Kaslana’s immediate reaction to this unexpected revelation. So many people had been calling out to him, and he had ignored every single one. He wondered if suspicions had already begun to arise.

Phainon. A man who seemed well-known, lively, engaging. It was a stark contrast to himself. Or perhaps, upon further reflection, not so different.

Phainon reminded him of the person he had been before joining the Fire Moth.

Kevin looked down at the children, his face devoid of emotion.

"...Play?"

Before he could say anything further, the child leading the group had already grabbed hold of his long cloak, clinging to his leg.

"Yes, yes! You promised—Ah!"

The Kaslana let it happen.

The child recoiled almost immediately, clutching their hand as their skin turned deathly pale. Kevin instinctively moved to reach out, but his gaze fell upon his own gloved hands—fingerless, exposing the frost-kissed tips of his fingers. He let his hands fall to his sides instead.

Cold. Far too cold.

The other two children rushed to their injured friend, their eyes wide with concern. When they looked up again, they found themselves staring into those familiar ice-blue eyes, the symbol of Kephale emblazoned upon him. But something had changed.

The once-vivid blue of his gaze had dulled, the blazing light within it dimmed.

Fear seized them. All three children turned and fled.

Kevin Kaslana remained standing where he was, unmoving.

"...Hmph."

He had never been good with children. The proof was evident, his idea of 'mentoring' his successors had been to beat them senseless until they grew strong enough to overthrow him. To be fair, it was him who gave them a chance, he was never meant for victory after all.

Whatever.

He needed information.

-

Prince Mydeimos of Kremnos was currently waiting in line to buy Golden Honey Cakes. It was amusing, really. Despite being a Chrysos Heir, he was just like everyone else, patiently queuing for his turn.

Normally, this would be Phainon's task. His ever-dutiful lover would wake up early and get in line for him. Yet today, Mydeimos had not seen him. Phainon, a creature of habit, always sought him out first thing in the morning. But today, he was nowhere to be found. No word, no message.

"Tch."

That bastard was going to get an earful later.

As Mydeimos waited, his thoughts drifted. Phainon had never done this before. He was like a large, devoted hound, always clinging to Mydeimos as if he were his favorite bone. Soft and affectionate in the morning. And at night? Gods, someone needed to leash that wild beast.

A flicker of blue caught the corner of Mydei’s eye. He frowned.

"Phainon...?"

Their eyes met. But Phainon merely glanced at him before walking past the bakery without so much as a nod. As though he did not recognize the prince at all.

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Suddenly, Golden Honey Cakes didn’t seem important anymore.

Mydeimos stepped out of line, taking long strides after the white-haired man. Catching up to him was easy; he was strolling at a leisurely pace, completely unguarded.

Stopping five steps behind him, Mydei crossed his arms.

"Deliverer."

No reaction.

"Deliverer?"

This time, the man paused briefly before turning around.

And Mydei—Mydei felt something was terribly off.

"Were you calling me?"

Not-Phainon looked at him. His voice was as cold as the night winds of the Arboreal Hall. Those once-familiar blue eyes held no warmth, no recognition- nothing-

Mydeimos was caught off guard.

There were days when Phainon became… like this. Even without asking, Mydei knew his lover was thinking of his homeland—a place long erased from the maps of Amphoreus. On those days, Phainon needed comfort, but Mydei was not the type to provide it.

All he could do was wait for Phainon to shine again. He had always watched him the way a sunflower followed the sun. At night, the sun would disappear. But by morning, it would return, radiant as ever.

And so, he waited for dawn.

But this time, something was different.

A chill crept over Mydeimos. Not a shiver, not fear. It was just physical, inexplicable cold. And that was absurd. Okhema was hot this time of year, oppressively so. Yet, why did he feel frozen?

Mydei scowled. This man was giving him a headache. He reached out, intending to grab Phainon by the collar and pull him closer.

But before he could, the white-haired man stepped back.

"What?"

No reaction.

"What’s your problem? Deliverer? What the hell did you eat this morning?"

-

Kevin Kaslana merely stared at the man before him. He decided he should say something—come up with some excuses.

"Nothing. I’m not feeling well today. I’ll see you later."

And just like that, ‘Phainon’ walked away, not sparing Mydei another glance.

As he moved, he pressed a hand to his neck. The warmth that had lingered from that brief moment of contact was still there, faint but noticeable.

Kevin Kaslana—who now seemed slightly bewildered—was not confused by Mydei, nor by the prince’s unexpected attempt to grab him.

‘Phainon’ was confused by his own actions.

A moment ago, he had stepped back. It was not to avoid confrontation, but to prevent Mydeimos from getting hurt. His body had reacted on its own, as if driven by instinct.

This man was important to ‘Phainon.’

Kevin lowered his gaze. Perhaps he should find a way to return this body to its rightful owner. It wouldn’t be fair to either ‘Phainon’ or the man who he had stumbled into earlier if he continued to claim it as his own.

But first, he needed to understand a few things.

Chapter Text

Kephale Plaza.

A plaza constructed to honor the miracles of Kephale. Many followers can be seen praying here... As well as numerous citizens wandering around with nothing better to do.

Kevin was doing exactly that—wandering aimlessly. From an outsider’s perspective, it might seem as if he were merely a Chrysos Heir patrolling the city and carrying out his duties. In reality, he was grappling with a far more perplexing issue: How exactly was he supposed to approach a random citizen and ask about the most fundamental things that everyone should already know?

For instance, do other sentient species exist in this world besides humans? Are there any looming catastrophes? Or perhaps a group of deranged deities hell-bent on wiping out human civilization had made an appearance recently?

Kevin Kaslana dismissed that last thought.

Maybe he should start with something more… normal. Asking for directions to the nearest library would be a reasonable approach. While it might not yield the most efficient results in gathering information, it would at least prevent any undue suspicion from arising.

The Chrysos heir scanned his surroundings, searching for someone who appeared as ordinary as possible. Just before ‘Phainon’ could act on his plan, a calm, steady voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Good afternoon, Lord Phainon.”

The woman before him wore a faint smile—not one of mockery or scorn, but simply a polite, neutral expression. She had shoulder-length hair, soft lilac in hue, with a few strands dyed in a deeper shade of indigo. Her dress was layered, cascading in elegant folds, fitted snugly at the torso before blooming outward like a fully blossomed flower at the center of her chest.

Yet, the most striking thing about her was the scent of death lingering around her.

She stood a respectful distance away, hands delicately folded in front of her, maintaining an impeccable sense of propriety.

Kevin had noticed her from the moment he entered the square. While people milled about in small groups, chatting and socializing, she remained alone—detached, separate from the crowd.

“Lord Phainon?”

Her head tilted slightly in confusion, sensing that his reaction was slower and… more melancholic than usual.

“Good afternoon,” he responded at last.

He had deliberately avoided using her name.

Like a true Savior, fate intervened at that precise moment. A passing citizen rushed by, offering a hasty yet courteous greeting: “Lord Phainon, Lady Castorice! A pleasant day to you both!”

Then, just as quickly as he had appeared, the man vanished, seemingly preoccupied with something urgent.

Kevin silently thanked the passing stranger and inked the name ‘Castorice’ to his memory.

The Kaslana took a step closer to Castorice—close enough for a private conversation, yet far enough to avoid any unintentional contact. However, he was unaware that Castorice had already taken note of the exact distance between them: four steps. That meant he was standing within her "Death Zone."

Strangely enough, Kevin Kaslana displayed no signs of discomfort, nor did he react in any peculiar way.

‘How odd…’ Castorice thought before Phainon’s voice broke the silence once more.

“Lady Castorice, do you happen to know where the nearest library is?”

Momentarily taken aback by the abrupt change in topic, Castorice did not answer directly. Instead, she responded with a question of her own.

“Lord Phainon, I would have thought you’d know. You’re quite familiar with Okhema, after all.”

The man before her did not reveal any obvious reaction, maintaining an air of careful composure. Castorice felt her suspicions solidifying. If this were truly Phainon, by now he would have cracked at least seven thousand seven hundred and forty-nine terrible jokes—none of which would have been remotely funny.

Instead, the man simply reached up and ruffled his snowy-white hair in a gesture of apparent confusion—one that, to Castorice, seemed entirely unconvincing.

“My memory has been… acting up lately. I can’t seem to recall certain things.”

Oh.

Castorice’s eyes widened slightly.

This was a serious problem.

All her prior doubts were swept away, replaced by a growing concern that gnawed at her insides.

“Lord Phainon, would you like to come with me to see Hyacine? Perhaps she can help you.”

The man with the white hair and those once-brilliant, now slightly clouded blue eyes seemed to consider her offer for a moment before answering.

“Very well. Thank you for your help. If I happen to ask anything strange along the way… please pay it no mind.”

Castorice nodded, and together, they began walking toward their destination.

“Of course. I will do my best to answer any questions you may have.”

“Once again, thank you.”

-

Castorice was worried.

No, Castorice was extremely worried.

At first, she had expected Phainon to ask about something trivial—perhaps a discussion about the Chrysos Heirs or even a comment on yesterday’s meal. But when the words “Where is this place?” reached her ears, she realized just how severe the issue was.

“This is the city of Okhema—one of the last remaining strongholds standing against the Black Tide. It is governed by the Council of Elders...”

The Chrysos Heir exhaled heavily, steadying herself. She had also needed to explain a bit about the Titans and the Black Tide. Throughout her entire recounting of these fundamental facts—things that everyone ought to know—‘Phainon’ remained silent, listening intently.

“I understand the current situation now. Thank you for telling me,” he finally responded.

To Castorice, Phainon felt strangely... ‘mature’ at this moment. In truth, he had always been someone the Chrysos Heirs could rely on. However, he usually carried himself as if he were still living in the youth he had long lost—engaging in friendly duels, laughing wholeheartedly, and playing harmless pranks.

Now, all of that was gone, leaving only a dark canvas, painted over with too many conflicting colors.

Eventually, they arrived at a medical facility known as the Twilight Courtyard. Due to the large number of patients, Castorice and Phainon had to wait until sundown—until the head nurse was about to have her dinner—before daring to approach her. After all, the Chrysos Heirs rarely got injured, and even if they did, the lives of civilians always took priority.

“Pardon me, Miss Hyacine, but could you examine Lord Phainon for a moment?” Castorice gently requested.

The petite nurse, with pastel pink hair tied into two neat buns at the sides of her head, turned her emerald-green eyes toward the incoming patient.

“Lord Phainon, are you injured again?”

Kevin Kaslana maintained eye contact even as he wove his lie.

“No, I simply… can’t seem to recall certain things.”

Hyacine frowned, motioning for Kevin to sit across from her as she began her examination.

“In that case… what do you still remember?”

“...”

“...”

A long silence stretched between them before a flurry of questions followed. She asked about any remaining memories, inquired whether he had suffered a blow to the head, and examined every possible cause of his condition. At some point, the examination had shifted into what felt like an interrogation.

Throughout the entire conversation, the Kaslana remained meticulous in maintaining his distance from both women. They, too, noticed the strangely cold air around him, but dismissed it as nothing more than the clinic’s air conditioning.

At last…

“So, you’re telling me that one morning, you simply woke up and couldn’t remember anything?”

Kevin nodded.

“Ah, I’ve never heard of such a condition before,” Hyacine murmured, her expression troubled. “I’ll take some time to research it and also report it to Lady Aglaea.”

Her voice remained gentle, but she couldn’t shake the growing unease in her chest. At this moment, ‘Phainon’ seemed as 'docile' as could be, stirring in her an unexpected urge to comfort him.

“I’m sure you’ll remember soon! Oh, and tonight, we’re all having dinner at Lord Mydei’s place! Why don’t you both join me, Castorice, Phainon?”

-

The long dining table in the room brought a wave of nostalgia over Kevin Kaslana. It reminded him of his past life—specifically, that one time when the leader of the Thirteen Flame-Chasers forced everyone to sit down and eat instant noodles with him.

By some twist of fate, ‘Phainon’ had found himself seated in the exact same spot.

At the head of the table—the position usually reserved for leaders, for pioneers.

To his left sat Castorice, while Mydeimos occupied the seat to his right. However, the seemingly gruff Chrysos Heir was currently absent, busying himself in the kitchen. After all, Mydeimos was the one in charge of preparing meals for the group.

Near the doorway, Hyacine was deep in conversation with a stunning woman adorned in hues of gold, accompanied by three red-haired children (?). Their discussion, as far as Kevin could tell, revolved around ‘Phainon.’

To Mydeimos’s right, there was one more person seated at the table. When Kevin’s gaze landed on him, he nearly lost the composure he had worked so hard to maintain.

“Su?”

The sharp-eyed man—who bore an uncanny resemblance to ‘Su’—narrowed his gaze, regarding ‘Phainon’ with a puzzled expression.

“What did you just say?”

“…Nothing.”

Just a coincidence. People could resemble one another. The Su that Kevin knew was long gone—or rather, his physical body had perished.

Anaxagoras held Kevin’s gaze for a moment longer before lowering his eyes, returning his attention to the book in his hands. The absence of a ‘Phainon’ in the room created an unusual silence at the table.

It was unsettling.

The Chrysos descendants felt something was…off. Even Aglaea and Hyacine, now back in their seats after their discussion, sensed it.

Anaxa, despite never lifting his eyes from his book, instinctively reached out to help Miss Tribbie, Trinnon, and Trianne into their chairs. Every so often, the three red-haired children would sneak glances at the white-haired man at the head of the table—the one who seemed to revel in the quiet.

The eerie silence lingered until Mydeimos finally emerged from the kitchen.

The prince of Kremnos was an exceptional cook—perhaps the best among the Chrysos Heirs. ‘Phainon’ and Kevin, on the other hand, were utterly hopeless in the kitchen—

Please, for everyone’s sake, keep them far away from it.

It seemed Mydeimos had been cooking for the heroes long enough to understand their eating habits well. The meals prepared for the others were all visually appealing and undoubtedly delicious.

However, there was an exception.

Kevin blinked, staring down at the plain bowl of porridge before him. Not a single grain of seasoning had been added.

Ah.

This was what happened when ‘someone’ had upset Mydeimos.

No one at the table dared to comment. In moments like these, Phainon would typically throw a fit about Mydei’s cooking (which, to be fair, he completely deserved it for annoying him). He’d then proceed to cling to Mydeimos, pleading and whining until the latter begrudgingly made him something else.

Right now, everyone was waiting for Phainon to disrupt the entire meal.

But nothing happened.

Kevin Kaslana did not react.

He did not care.

Silently, he picked up his spoon, scooped up a bite of the bland porridge, and placed it into his mouth.

All eyes fixated on him—including Mydeimos’s.

What. The. Hell.

“…What…”

Mydeimos whispered under his breath.

No one spoke. No one moved. No one looked away from Kevin.

One spoonful.

Two spoonfuls.

Three.

To be fair, the meal wasn’t bad. Kevin had eaten far worse. Left to his own devices, his cooking was downright atrocious. On the battlefield, he had survived on nothing but ration bars. And later on, after everything… it had only ever been instant noodles.

So yes, the porridge was good—despite having no taste.

Besides, after the MANTIS surgery, Kevin could no longer properly taste food. He could still eat, but the need for sustenance had long since left him.

Feeling the weight of everyone’s stares, he looked up, his face unreadable.

Hyacine hesitated before rising from her seat.

“Lord Phainon, you really don’t seem well. Let me prepare something else for you.”

One of the red-haired children (?) chimed in next.

“She’s right! That's not nice, De. Let us help make you something else, Snowy.”

To their surprise, Kevin merely shook his head.

“It’s fine.”

His gaze shifted toward Mydeimos, who was still staring at him in disbelief.

“You’re a great cook.”

Then, without another word, ‘Phainon’ took another bite.

From the corner of his eye, he saw the golden-haired man abruptly rise to his feet, his chair scraping against the floor with a sharp ‘screech.’ While Kevin was still holding his spoon, Mydeimos—now visibly frustrated—snatched the bowl from the table and stormed back into the kitchen, leaving only a parting remark:

“Sit there. HKS. I’ll get you something else.”

If ‘Phainon’ had been trying to guilt-trip Mydeimos, he had certainly succeeded.

Setting his utensil down, Kevin Kaslana lowered his gaze to the empty tablecloth before him. Around him, the others resumed their meal. Looking at them, the feeling of detachment suddenly spiked. He did not know how to feel about this so-called group dinner.

How should he put it…

He felt out of place.

Alone.

Perhaps.

He knew no one here.

He hoped this would all be over soon. He just wanted to rest.

He was so…

Tired.

—

At last, Mydeimos returned, setting down a plate of herb-roasted chicken and mashed potatoes in front of him.

It was, without a doubt, one of the best meals Kevin had ever tasted.

Chapter Text

"Agy… What do you make of Snowy’s behavior? He’s been acting—unsettlingly different."

Miss Tribbie pressed a thoughtful finger to her lips, her footsteps in sync with Aglaea’s as they walked. Dinner had ended, and they were now making their way back to their chambers. Whether they acknowledged it or not, every Chrysos Heirs had been granted their own private quarters in the Marmoreal Palace. Some rarely lingered, treating the place as little more than a convenient lodging whenever they passed through Okhema. Others, however, had long since rooted themselves here, considering the palace their true home.

Trinnon’s voice came quiet, measured.

"That’s right… The air around him was glacial, like the very breath of winter. And I doubt that was simply the air conditioning in the room..."

The most extroverted of the three, Trianne, chimed in with an easy laugh, waving off Trinnon’s concern as if brushing away dust.

"Oh, come on, don’t fret. Last time, Snowy came back from a mission practically radiating heat—his body temperature spiked past 50 degrees Celsius! Apparently, he encountered a rather peculiar titankin, and instead of buffing itself, the enemy mistakenly enhanced him. Fortunately, it didn’t seem to have any lasting effects."

Aglaea’s fingers glided through the delicate golden threads suspended between them, her sightless eyes focusing on one in particular—an unnaturally frigid strand. What became of these threads when exposed to subzero temperatures? They dulled, lost their suppleness, became brittle enough to snap at the slightest touch. She did not know the full extent of Phainon’s condition, but whatever it was, it clouded her ability to read him.

In other words, for reasons yet unknown, Phainon had become elusive—veiled, like a figure lost in a snowstorm.

"The golden threads confirm it—without a doubt, the one we encountered was Phainon himself."

With a flick of her wrist, the glowing filaments unraveled, scattering into golden dust that shimmered before vanishing into the air.

"Even so, we’ll need to keep a vigilant eye on him in the days to come."

Lady Aglaea could only hope her golden threads had not deceived her.

-

“Do you need me to help clean up?”

Kevin Kaslana set his utensils neatly on his plate, aligning them with practiced precision. Mydei offered no response, but that hardly mattered—Kevin had already begun stacking the others’ dishes onto his own before carrying the pile toward the kitchen.

Between his fingers, he absently twirled a small note—a message from Lady Hyacine, detailing a few recommended procedures to "accelerate memory restoration."

Moments ago, the one called Anaxagoras had departed, leaving him with a pointed glare laden with meaning. Kevin only knew the name of the one-eyed man by chance—overheard from Castorice in passing.

With effortless grace, he deposited the dishes into the sink.

And that was when he felt it.

A stare—unwavering, burning like embers pressed against his back.

The prince of Kremnos was still here.

Now, only the two of them remained in the room.

He turned on the tap. Even at a body temperature of negative thirty degrees Celsius, the water did not freeze upon contact with his skin. Normally, a liquid requires hours in subzero conditions before solidifying. However, if he truly called upon the power embedded within his Honkai beast genes—those of Parvati—then that would be an entirely different story.

A mere battle could freeze entire oceans, entomb arid deserts in ice.

Once, back then, when he had been incapable of cooking, washing dishes had become his role by default. The one named Mydei, however, reminded him of someone else—a Flamechaser—Kalpas. His culinary skills were impeccable.

Mydei stepped closer, wordlessly taking the freshly washed plates and returning them to their proper place. They worked in silence, an easy rhythm settling between them—one that was almost… comfortable.

And then—

“Phainon. We need to talk.”

The Kaslana barely reacted. He continued running the sponge over the curve of a porcelain bowl—the same one that had held Hyacine’s soup earlier that evening.

His mind was quiet, eerily so. Empty, as if unwilling to process anything beyond the slow, methodical movements of cleaning.

He asked, flatly.

“About what?”

Something told him he would have no answers to offer the man before him.

Mydeimos and the true owner of this body had been… intimately entangled. That much had already been confirmed.
They had, in all likelihood, lived comfortably together—happily, even—until Kevin arrived in this world.
He needed to return this body.
Somehow.

“Who has angered you?”

The Deliverer's hands never faltered, the soapy water running down his fingertips like cold silk.

“No one.”

His voice carried no weight, no hesitation.

“Liar.”

The insufferable, white-haired bastard remained silent.

The only sounds left in the room were the steady trickle of water from the faucet and the quiet clink of dishes as ‘Phainon’ set them onto the counter, one by one.

Mydei’s lips twitched, his patience unraveling thread by thread. Irritation simmered beneath his skin, boiling over into something more volatile. Right now, at this very moment, he thought—perhaps an argument would be better than this suffocating, unnatural silence.
They were an explosive pair.

Not… this.

Dark thoughts coiled around his mind, intrusive and unwelcome—visions he had no desire to entertain, not even as a fleeting possibility.
Mydeimos could not endure this.

And so—
“I challenge you to a real fight.”

The last plate in his hand never made it to the counter.

Before he could set it down, Mydei had already moved—one hand tightening around ‘Phainon’s’ throat, the other shoving him down, slamming his back against the cold marble floor. The unnatural chill radiating from Kevin’s body did not faze him in the slightest. In truth, he had no space in his mind to even acknowledge it.

A sharp shatter rang through the air—the dish slipped from his grasp, smashing into jagged shards on impact. Yet not a single fragment so much as grazed Mydei.

Ha.

Mydei loomed over him, straddling his waist, breath shallow, heartbeat loud in his own ears. And then—his gaze flickered downward.

Kevin’s calloused hand rested on his left thigh, shielding it from the shattered porcelain beneath them. A silent, instinctual act of protection.

Even now…

A hollow laugh threatened to escape him.

He stared down into those frigid, unblinking ocean-blue eyes—the ones he had seen alight with amusement, darkened with fury, softened with something dangerously close to affection. Yet now, he could read nothing.

Normally, deciphering Phainon’s expressions was effortless. A language only Mydei knew how to speak. But now—
Nothing.

Not a flicker of irritation. Not the faintest glimmer of interest.

Not even in this—in combat, in conflict, in the only language they had ever known how to share.

Mydei’s fist hung in the air, poised, mere moments from striking. But in the end—he did nothing. He let it drop, settling beside him. His other hand, still gripping Kevin’s throat, lingered a beat longer before slowly releasing. No marks, no evidence left behind.

“You’re tired of me?”

The words left him barely above a whisper.

Are you tired of me?

Are you—
The thought struck him like a dagger between the ribs. Absurd. Mydeimos almost wanted to laugh at himself. It had not even been a full day since Phainon started acting strangely, and yet here he was, spiraling.

Their bond had been built upon unshakable trust.

Was he being too sensitive? Too paranoid?

No.

No, because the truth was stark and undeniable.

He did not recognize the man beneath him.

-

He frowned, feeling the sharp sting of ceramic shards digging into his palm. This body had reacted on its own again.

Kevin Kaslana didn’t know how he was supposed to respond.

He wanted—so badly—to tell Mydeimos the truth. That he was not the Phainon that Mydei knew. That the person he loved, the one he had shared a life with, was gone. But if he said it—if he admitted it out loud—then wouldn’t that mean there was no hope left?

That Phainon, the man these people were waiting for, was never coming back?

He had a bad habit.

A tendency to shoulder problems alone.

Just like when he had carried Project Stigma to its bitter, solitary end.

Just like when he had died alone, drowning under the weight of his sins.

And so, this time as well—
He would handle this problem himself.

No one needed to know.

Gloved fingers—firm, calloused, inhumanly cold—brushed against Mydeimos’ cheek. In one swift motion, He stood, hoisting the prince up with him as if he were nothing more than an oversized housecat.

For the first time that night, Mydei looked genuinely startled. His hands instinctively shot up, grasping at Kevin’s shoulders for balance.

Kevin would pretend to be Phainon.

If he broke character now, if he made a single mistake, there was no telling what would follow—whether Mydei would fight him, whether he would destroy the bonds Phainon had built.

The way Mydei reacted just now—the Kaslana could tell. Phainon had done this before. Countless times.

“The—”

Whatever Mydei was about to say cut off the moment he felt something solid at his back—the wall. His breath hitched as the coldness seeped through, a stark contrast to the heat rising under his skin. His legs—his legs were hooked around Kevin’s waist, locked there as if by force.

The white-haired man shifted his stance, stepping forward—and the sound of porcelain crunching under his boot was deafening.

This is wrong.

Mydei felt like he was burning.

Phainon was so cold that it made him feel hot.

Those sharpened, ice-blue eyes bore into him with unnerving intensity, the way a serpent might regard its prey, the way the Reaper might look at a soul awaiting judgment.

It was—

It was like being held in the arms of the River of Souls once again.

“Deliverer.”

The word slipped from his lips, barely above a breath.

And then, before he could register it—

Phainon leaned in, pressing just the barest ghost of a kiss against the corner of his mouth.

Soft. Fleeting. Cruel.

For a moment, Mydei’s mind went blank.

And then, his thoughts snapped back into place.

No. No, this bastard—

This 'Phainon', for all his sins, was nothing more than an overgrown dog. A massive, snowy-furred, insufferably smug dog.

"Mydeimos."

Mydei stiffened.

Phainon—’his’ Phainon—would call him by ‘Mydei’ lovingly, but Kevin Kaslana would address the prince by his full name.

He paused. Blinked once. Then again. And then, as if following some long-buried instinct—

He moved.

In one smooth, decisive motion, he shifted his weight, forcing Mydei higher against the wall.

And then he kissed him.

It was cold. It was hot. It was unyielding.

Lips crushed against his own, parting just enough to claim, to demand, to steal away the very breath from his lungs. Mydei’s fingers curled against the fabric of Kevin’s coat—whether to pull him closer or push him away, he didn’t know. His lips tingle, almost numb, as if they had been frostbitten. The sheer cold of it made him feel like he was suffocating.

He squeezed his eyes shut, barely registering how intently the other man was staring at him.
And then—

Mydei realized something.

He was fucking furious.

This goddamn mutt—

"You absolute bastard—!"

Kevin finally pulled away, only to find Mydei glaring daggers at him—gasping for air, chest rising and falling in ragged breaths.

Ah.

He’d stolen his breath for a full two and a half minutes.

How interesting.

And right then and there—Kevin Kaslana had the most brilliant idea.

"Woof."

Mydei froze.

This son of a—

Before he could react, ‘Not-Phainon kissed him again with an unrelenting chill that spread from his lips to the very marrow of his bones. When ‘Phainon’ finally showed mercy, releasing him, he leaned in close, voice a whisper against Mydei’s ear.

“If something was wrong, I would tell you.”

“I just need some time.”

“…Will you wait for me?”

That was how the Kaslana got away from an absolutely brutal spar.

—

Will you wait for me?

—

This was wrong.

The Kaslana knew it was wrong. And yet, his body whispered otherwise.

He shouldn’t have felt anything—this was merely a façade, a temporary role to conceal his identity while he searched for a way back.

Then why?

Exiting the dining hall and kitchen, his gloved hand remained over his face, as if to shield himself from the weight of his own thoughts. His fingers trembled slightly as they dragged down, revealing a fleeting expression that shouldn’t have been there.

His steps quickened down the dimly lit hallway.

Kevin glanced at a nearby window, catching his own reflection—the faintest tinge of pink dusting his cheeks, barely noticeable, yet impossible to ignore.

This had to be Phainon’s emotions.

A delicate tremor, like moonlight caressing the surface of a still lake—not strong enough to stir the waters, yet sending gentle ripples far and wide. A faint glow in the depths of his mind, neither blazing like the sun nor fading like a dying ember.

It made no sense.

This weightless feeling—this fleeting warmth—should not have affected him.

Closing his eyes, Kevin forced his rationality to take hold once more.

Outside, the night had already descended. He thought it best to rest, to allow himself time to process the events of the day. Today marked the first day he had awoken in this unfamiliar place.

Perhaps tomorrow, he should visit the library.

His fingers brushed against his lips.

Pomegranate. How sweet.

—
The next morning, Kevin Kaslana stepped into the library—unaware that, within moments, the icy barrel of a gun would press against his temple.

Someone has made a move.

Chapter Text

Present Era. The Moon. Before It All Ended.

“So… this is the end, then?”

“Yes.”

At her words, the person in the high school uniform let out a rare, almost wistful smile. The baseball bat in his grip slipped from his fingers, falling into the abyss before vanishing into nothingness. He took a step forward, closing the distance, his gaze lifting toward the Cocoon.

"Before my very eyes, you will inherit the full power of the Final Herrscher… It’ll be okay."

She watched his back as he stood there. Honestly—was this his favorite stance? Always turning his back away, always looking back at those who followed him, as if he were a leader waiting for his successors to catch up.

“And you… what about you?”

She asked him, but in truth, she was asking herself as well.

"It’s time for me to go… to where they are."

She knew exactly who ‘they’ were.

"Don't be saddened. This is what I wanted, too."

He added, the reverberation of his deep voice carrying an emotional weight that was impossible to ignore. Yet beneath that gravity, there was an unmistakable undertone—an unexpected sense of relief. A peace that had long eluded him, just out of reach. He had borne so much over the years—burdens she was only beginning to grasp.

"At last, I can finally stand tall and tell them…"

He breathed out.

"Everyone, it’s been a while."

—

Had he found them yet?

—

Long, flowing locks of white and violet cascaded down her back, tied into an intricate ponytail. A metallic crown sat atop her head, adorned with a delicate, segmented tassel that swayed gently in the moon’s cold embrace.

She—the Herrscher of Finality—sat alone on the lunar surface, right where her ancestor had once reigned.

He had once sat here, too. Gazing down at the remnants of the previous Herrscher of the End.

She did the same.

She, too, indulged in the serene stillness of the Moon, watching over what remained of the one who had once wielded the Authority of the End in the previous era.

Kevin Kaslana.

Her ancestor.

Kiana Kaslana’s ancestor.

Before her lay a massive gemstone slab, hewn and polished into the shape of a sarcophagus. Encased within was a man—tall, broad-shouldered, his skin pallid, his hair an unbroken expanse of snow-white strands. He remained clad in his long black coat, layered over a high-collared white shirt, black trousers, and boots. Traces of blue—faint yet striking—marked his attire, echoes of a past that refused to fade.

He was locked in eternal slumber.

His eyes would never open again, forever sealed in the quiet respite that only death could bestow.

Kiana had been the one to preserve his body after the battle.

Initially, she had believed that both his physical form and his spiritual essence had disintegrated, lost to the void. But as she wandered the lunar surface, retracing the steps of their final clash, she found him. His lifeless form was slumped against a fractured stone pillar, right at the site of their fatal struggle. Scattered around him were the remnants of his Deliverance form, shattered and strewn like relics of a war long ended.

And so, she had taken him here, built him a tomb—a final resting place—as a sign of respect.

Though she was stranded on the Moon, Kiana did not feel lonely. Her heart remained tethered to the world below, where her friends still lived—Bronya, Mei, and everyone else. She was never truly alone.

Her gaze fell upon the crystalline tomb, piercing through the translucent white gemstone that encased him. A small smile ghosted her lips.

“It’s been months since then,” she murmured. “Are you at peace?”

“...”

Of course, there was no answer.

The dead does not speak.

Her fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the stone.

And then—

Something happened.

The fingers of the man within moved.

Kiana’s eyes widened. The shift had been subtle, almost imperceptible, but she felt it.

“What…?”

Was she hallucinating? Was reality distorting itself just to toy with her perception?

She held her breath—not that she needed to breathe in the first place, but the sheer impossibility of the moment left her reeling. Her gaze sharpened, locked onto the unmoving figure within.

And then—

His eyes opened.

Aquamarine, cold and glassy with the haze of slumber, flickered to life, clouded with confusion as they took in the unfamiliar surroundings. The man inside stirred, his lips parting to mumble something under his breath—words lost to the void. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he lifted his hand, pressing it against the lid of his coffin.

With the barest exertion, he shoved it aside.

The gemstone slab slid, tilting over the edge before crashing onto the ground with a resounding thud, the impact reverberating through the chamber.

Kiana stood frozen, this was way too unexpected!

Unfazed by the spectacle, the man sat up, running a hand through his disheveled white hair, the remnants of sleep still clinging to his movements.

“Mydei… I told you to stop sealing me inside these damn crystals,” he muttered groggily. “What did I even do this time—”
Then he stopped.

His entire body went rigid.

Because there was no Mydeimos here. No Amphoreus. No familiar faces from the past.

“Kevin?”

The voice calling to him was not one he recognized.

His breath hitched. His gaze snapped upward, landing on the girl standing beside—

He looked down.

—his own coffin (?).

Slowly, hesitantly, as if grappling with the sheer absurdity of it all, the man with white hair turned his gaze toward the lone figure before him.
A woman.

No—something more than that.

His aquamarine eyes locked onto hers, and for a long, breathless moment, silence stretched between them. And then, at last, with quiet, uncomprehending awe, the resurrected heir of Chrysos spoke.

“Who … are you?”

Phainon of Aedes Elysiae had awakened.

-

He could hear the hushed murmurs around him.

They were whispering—about the Chrysos Heirs, about his name. Fleeting exclamations of surprise rippled through the gathered scholars and visitors as they caught sight of him within the grand city library.

Kevin paid them no mind.

The architecture here stirred distant recollections—faint echoes of the great libraries of Greece, before they had been reduced to ruin, before they had been obliterated by the Herrschers of the previous age.

Inside, towering shelves of polished wood and carved stone lined the vast halls, meticulously arranged to house scrolls of papyrus and parchment. The walls bore alcoves and armaria, compartments built to store texts both ancient and sacred. At the heart of it all was a grand atrium—an open space where scholars convened, poring over manuscripts at heavy tables of marble and oak. The scent of ink, aged paper, and candle wax lingered in the air, a quiet testament to the pursuit of knowledge.

Kevin’s soundless footsteps carried him through the labyrinth of bookshelves, his gloved fingers trailing lightly over the spines of worn tomes.

If Titans truly existed in this world, then the notion of a corresponding underworld was not so far-fetched.And if he had somehow possessed this body—Phainon’s body—then where, exactly, was the real Phainon?

His first hypothesis was simple: Phainon was somewhere else.

A place where lost souls gathered.

His gaze settled upon a particular section of the library—volumes bound in deep hues of crimson and obsidian, gilded letters marking their titles with reverence. His fingers ghosted over them, scanning the inscriptions.

Stories of Titans. Their myths. Their domains.

Then, his hand stilled. A row of books dedicated to one name—Thanatos, the Titan of Death.

"Aidonia – A Serene Demesne"

"On the Bone Collection Festival"

"Devotees of the Death"

One by one, he pulled them from their places, stacking them in the crook of his arm.

If there was anything in this world that could provide insight into the fate of lost souls, it would be this.

And so, in the grand halls of the city’s most revered institution of knowledge, the dignified Chrysos Heir—known for his amiable demeanor and radiant charisma—was now sitting alone in the corner, completely absorbed in books.

It was an strange sight. A few scholars had already begun to steal glances his way, exchanging uncertain whispers as they eyed the growing pile of morbid texts beside him.

Kevin, as always, remained unfazed.

That was, until a familiar presence flickered at the edge of his vision.

A shadow passed by and paused before coming to a stop directly in front of his table—wordless and unmoving. The Kaslana glanced up and found himself locked in a steady gaze with Anaxagoras.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The professor’s eyes drifted to the suspicious collection of books at his side before returning to him, unreadable.

Kevin supposed he should say something.

“A good day to you, Anaxagoras.”

Anaxagoras remained silent for a breath longer. Then, at last, he spoke—his tone measured, carefully void of any inflection.

“Address me as Professor Anaxagoras.”

Kevin inclined his head slightly and obliged, “Good day to you, Professor Anaxagoras.”

It was a grave mistake.

The professor’s eyes narrowed.

Phainon had never addressed him so properly before.

Boom. That was how Kevin gave himself away.
In an instant, a gun was pressed against his forehead. The hand holding it was firm, inked with deep crimson markings—symmetrical, precise, encircling a gemstone or a diamond-shaped emblem at its center. No hesitation, no tremor. A grip accustomed to the weight of a weapon.

"Who the hell are you?"

Under the cold steel, Kevin Kaslana… did not seem particularly threatened.

"What exactly do you think you're doing?"

If they pulled the trigger right here, right now, it wouldn't be a problem. The texts on those books spoke of a river of souls, a place where spirits drifted beyond the veil of death. And the only way to reach it? Death. A bullet to the skull would be the fastest route.
Efficient. Practical. Two objectives met in one swift motion.

Ah. No. That wouldn’t work.

This body wasn’t his.

This was Phainon’s body.

"Answer properly."

Kevin blinked. Slowly. A realization crept in—he had one advantage.

He exhaled, voice calm. "…I am Phainon."

The scholar before him didn’t even waver.

"Phainon isn’t this quiet. Phainon doesn’t choke down Mydeimos’ deliberate atrocious cooking without begging him to remake it at least once. Phainon doesn’t bury himself in books for hours on end. And most importantly—"
A finger ghosted over the trigger.

"Phainon doesn’t call me ‘Anaxagoras.’"

Titans above, he wasn't paid enough for this.

Regardless, it was a solid argument. Sounds logic enough.

However—

Kevin hadn’t heard the click of the safety being switched off. Anaxagoras was counting on intimidation alone, assuming he wouldn’t pick up on the details. That the mere presence of a gun would be enough, which is an unfortunate mistake.
He had been a soldier. He understood weapons better than most.

"Professor. That thing is dangerous."

Anaxagoras’s expression shifted.

Fighting was one of the things he did best.

In the span of a heartbeat, his hand clamped around the gun’s barrel, twisting it sharply upward. Before Anaxagoras could even react, the weapon shattered from within—the internal mechanisms frozen solid and bursting apart. Kaslana simply opened his palm, revealing a single, intact bullet resting against his skin.

A suffocating silence followed.

Kevin Kaslana had destroyed many Divine Keys—artifacts forged from the cores of fallen Herrschers. What could a mere firearm possibly do to him?

He dropped the bullet into Anaxagoras’s open palm—the same hand that had once gripped the gun.

A warning.

“Why don’t we sit down and talk?” Kevin suggested, voice calm, unhurried.

His opponent narrowed his eyes but then let out a slow breath. To Kevin’s mild surprise, Anaxagoras did take a seat across from him. But not before gifting him a knowing smirk, one laced with something almost… amused.

“Very well, Outlander.”

Kevin stiffened.

Damn it.

-

Kevin had broken Anaxagoras’s gun. That was 1 - 0 in his favor.

But the moment Anaxagoras uttered the words “Outlander”, the score flipped—20 - 1, with Kevin at a loss.

“...”

“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”

Anaxagoras was savoring the tension in the air, relishing the sharp caution in the eyes of the man before him—the one who was most certainly not Phainon. Even so, he kept his own demeanor carefully measured.

The earlier attack had been nothing more than a test, a way to gauge the intruder’s abilities. And judging by what he had just witnessed, this person’s power far exceeded expectations.

Which meant one thing: Anaxagoras needed to tread carefully.

Because if push came to shove, this man could very well annihilate him.

Not that he’d go down without a fight.
If ‘Phainon’ wanted him dead, then at the very least, Anaxagoras would make damn sure to take him down with him—or leave him grievously wounded in the process.

Anaxagoras held ‘Phainon’s’ gaze, watching as the man wrestled with his own thoughts, weighing the possibility of this being another trap. Eventually, after a long pause, the other man relented and spoke.

“...How did you know?”

“I simply see more than most.”

Anaxa’s voice was calm but carried an undertone of certainty. He continued, studying ‘Phainon’ intently.

“You’re an old, weary soul. How long have you lived, I wonder? Just curiosity.”

Kevin placed his hand on the smooth surface of the book before him, slowly closing it. His response was measured.

“Physical age or mental age?”

Anaxagoras narrowed his eyes. So, this man had ‘slept’ at some point—long enough for a significant disparity between the two.

“Both.”

For the first time during their meeting, Anaxa was genuinely surprised by the answer.

“Approximately fifty thousand.”

The scholar whispered, musing aloud.

“So you’re just an ancient geezer—”

He had suspected as much. This ‘Phainon’ had clearly endured centuries of hardship, countless experiences etched into his very being. But that only led to the most pressing question.

“Where is our Phainon?”

“I don’t know.”

Anaxagoras had already begun piecing things together. His mind worked quickly—his intellect sharp enough that just a few exchanges had given him a clear picture of the situation. His eyes flicked toward the stack of books left untouched on the table.

“You’re trying to find a way back, aren’t you?”

The man across from him nodded.

‘Phainon’ leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly.

“Could you… keep this between us?”

Anaxa responded with an expression of casual confidence, as though the answer were as obvious as the sun rising in the east. "And if I don't?"

Phainon leaned forward slightly, a glint of defiance in his eyes. "Then I'll deal with you personally."

"Bold of you to think that your actions wouldn't reach the ears of others, even if you did manage to silence me."

"Equally bold of you to believe that once I've decided to make you disappear, I'd still care about the consequences of getting caught."

Anaxa couldn’t help but respect the man’s audacity. He rolled the cold, metallic bullet between his fingers absent-mindedly, contemplating the precarious situation they both found themselves in.

The scholar shut his eyes for a moment, considering his options carefully. Meanwhile, Kevin Kaslana simply sat and waited, unwavering. The Kaslana’s instincts told him that this scholar—this anomaly—could prove to be a great help.

“Even if I don’t like them, the Chrysos Heirs, the prophecy, and Amphoreus all need Phainon.”

“By any means necessary, Phainon must return. His responsibility is far greater than most people realize.”

Anaxagoras knew many things. And among them was the weight of this world—and the one man who was meant to bear it.

“I see.”

“Well then, I'll let you slide this time.”

With those final words, the scholar rose to his feet and walked away, vanishing from Kevin's sight as if their conversation had never taken place.

Kevin watched him go, exhaling quietly. Something told him that Anaxagoras was going to be such a headache in the days to come.

Chapter Text

At the stroke of midnight, the door to Phainon's chamber burst open.
-
Dreams had always been a perplexing confluence of fleeting images and cryptic symbols.

Once again, he found himself standing before the sage.

This time, the wise man was about to recount the tale of Icarus—the boy who dreamed of conquering the sky. Ah, yes. Kevin remembered how this conversation had played out before.

He interrupted, for he too was familiar with the legend.

Most people deemed Icarus a fool, a victim of his own hubris—a boy who had dared to soar too close to the Sun and paid the ultimate price for his arrogance.

Most people believed that the tale of Icarus was a cautionary one, a solemn warning: Do not fly too high.

But the sage did not share this sentiment.

To him, Icarus was not a failure but a success, for he had reached the Sun. Even if he perished in the aftermath, even if the world ridiculed his demise, there were others—those who saw in him not a warning, but an inspiration.

"Some birds take flight only to fall," the sage mused.

In his eyes, Icarus had paved the way for countless others. His message was not one of despair, but of hope:

"Look, I have nearly touched the Sun. And because of me, those who come after will fly higher, further—they will surpass me."

And in that sense, Kevin Kaslana, you are no different from that bird who soared, only to set his own wings aflame.

Once again, the world splintered into pieces.

-

"Yes, in order to stop the sun from falling, I soared into the sky and stole your light."

"And for that, I shall melt away, falling into the ocean."

"But if you wish to reclaim it, you—all of you—must soar beyond me."

-

Kevin Kaslana awoke with a sharp inhale, the remnants of sleep clinging to him like a ghost. A dull ache throbbed at his temples, and he reached up, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to force clarity back into his mind. It had been years since he had last dreamed—or so he had convinced himself. Yet, ever since his arrival in Amphoreus, sleep had become treacherous, haunted by visions he could neither control nor escape.

Something was wrong.

His body tensed before his mind fully registered it. There was someone else in his bed.

Instinct flared like a blade drawn from its sheath. His training screamed at him to react—to twist, to strike, to end the threat before it could strike first. But logic held him back. He was in Okhema, one of the last bastions of resistance against the Black Tide. There shouldn't be any immediate threats lurking here. Not now.

Breathe. Assess. Then act.

Slowly, carefully, he turned, his icy gaze settling on the figure nestled beside him. A cascade of fiery-red hair spilled across the pillow, the strands catching in the dim sliver of moonlight filtering through the window. A single braid was neatly woven amidst the wild tangle, but the rest fanned out, untamed and free—like its owner. His proud features softened in sleep, his bare chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm beneath the thick white blanket.

Mydeimos.

He exhaled silently, but he wasn't surprised. Somehow, it felt inevitable that the lion had found his way here.

Asleep, Mydei was unrecognizable from the fierce combatant he was while awake. Now, he resembled something far less threatening—something closer to a great feline, curled up and vulnerable in the quiet solitude of slumber.

He had never pictured Mydeimos as the type to seek warmth beneath a blanket. He must have done it only because… because sleeping beside Kevin was an ordeal in itself.

Careful not to stir him, the Kaslana shifted, peeling himself free from the thick covers. The chill he carried with him clung stubbornly to his skin, and he knew—knew without needing to see—that Mydeimos had wrapped himself in the remaining warmth the moment he slipped away.

Voluntarily, then? Had the crown prince come here of his own accord?

He glanced at his hand, rough and calloused, with knuckles scarred from a lifetime of struggle. He flexed his fingers absentmindedly, feeling the unnatural cold seeping from within. It was not something he could control—it never had been.

It was a consequence, a price to pay.

A remnant of the experiment that had transformed him into something no longer entirely human.

Project MANTIS—Massively Augmented Neo-Tech Integrated Soldiers.

The project involved extracting the DNA of powerful Honkai Beasts found in the Previous Era and inserting them into human soldiers using ICHOR, in order to grant them superhuman abilities and innate Honkai resistance.

Kevin Kaslana had once made a choice—a willing sacrifice beneath the crushing weight of the Herrscher of Flame's power. Humanity needed a hero. And so, he had given himself to the experiment, knowing full well the odds of survival were infinitesimal. He had defied those odds, lived when he should have perished.

And the price of that survival had destroyed him.

At the very least, it had given him the strength to strike HIMEKO down—to kill the Seventh Herrscher with his own hands. A former comrade, reduced to an enemy he had no choice but to end.

Since that moment, human touch had become a luxury he could no longer afford. Ironic, then, that in his short time here, he had touched Mydeimos more than he had felt the warmth of another person's skin in an entire year.

And yet, something about the crown prince felt foreign.

Mydei was… beautiful.

Wait. What was he thinking?

'But Mydeimos really is—'

His breath caught as he realized his fingertips had traced the curve of the warrior's face without his conscious intent. His hand jerked back as if scalded, and he clamped it over his own mouth. A traitorous heat flared at the edges of his vision, and if he were anyone else, he would have sworn it was embarrassment.

This feeling—it was absurd. It was something that belonged in a past life, in the days of classrooms and stolen glances, standing before MEI and—

He panicked.

He needed to move. To sit up, to stand, to leave before this spiral of thought consumed him entirely.

But the instant he shot upright, a hand moved faster than he could react. Two fingers hooked beneath his choker, tugging him down with a firm, deliberate pull. A jolt ran through him—not of pain, but something far worse. Awareness.

Ah. He hadn't removed the accessory before sleeping. He had left it on, just as he had left his inner layers in place.

"Where do you think you're going?"

Mydeimos' voice was low, still edged with sleep. His touch burned.

No, that wasn't right. It wasn't the contact itself—it was the fact that Mydeimos had touched him willingly, unflinching. That was what burned.

He exhaled sharply as he was pulled back onto the bed, muscles coiling as he instinctively tried to pull away. His hands gripped the sheets, distancing himself before his resolve fractured further.

"Don't touch me."

It was different—entirely different—from when Kevin initiated contact. Because this time, Mydei had reached for him of his own volition.

And that—more than anything—was terrifying.

The prince's expression darkened, displeasure flickering in his eyes.

The Kaslana had barely steadied himself when the prince's voice cut through the silence, sharp and unimpressed.

"Do I look like I care?"

Ignoring the unspoken warning woven into his tense posture, the lion leaned forward, fingers outstretched, reaching tantalizingly close to his face.

His breath caught in his throat. For a fleeting moment, his mind went blank, overtaken by an unyielding instinct that surged through him like ice invading his veins. His spine went rigid, a creeping frost blooming beneath his skin, an unmistakable sign that danger loomed just within reach.

He was going to touch him.

Then-

Smack.

The sound sliced through the stillness of the room, sharp and bright as a blade drawn in the night. Mydeimos' hand was forcefully struck away, never allowed to close that perilous distance.

"Don't. Touch. Me."

The silence that followed was heavy, thick with unspoken tension.

Mydei narrowed his eyes, calculating, surprised. Whatever reaction he had anticipated, it clearly wasn’t this visceral rejection. He, too, could sense the confusion radiating from him. Mydeimos didn’t understand—he couldn’t possibly grasp something that coursed through his veins. Because it hurt, deeper than words could convey.

The memory seared through him with the clarity of a fresh wound. The MANTIS surgery had not gone as intended. Midway through the transformation, the anesthetics had failed. The sedatives had been rendered useless. The very enhancements designed to fortify their bodies against external threats had turned against them, making them immune to even the relief of unconsciousness.

He had felt everything.

The unbearable, suffocating agony had consumed him entirely, wrapping around him like a relentless shroud. Yet, he lay still, summoning every ounce of strength to resist the urge to break. In the cold, sterile confines of the lab, where the harsh fluorescent lights felt almost otherworldly, he sensed the gloved hand of Dr. MEI encircle his still-beating heart , a peculiar contrast of warmth against the icy surroundings.

It was too much—too cold, too hot, an overwhelming tide of pain crashing over him.

A whisper drifted through the darkness, light and delicate, like a feather brushing against the abyss.

"Kevin, it's alright. Just a little longer."

So he had watched, trusted, as her scalpel descended.

Kevin Kaslana longed for touch, craved it like a dying man craved air. And yet, he loathed it with every fiber of his being.

He could endure the force of an enemy’s strike, weathering the tempest of conflict that had become second nature to him. He had learned to withstand the moments in life when necessity dictated that he impose his will upon another.

But this—this was altogether different.

“Aglaea told me about your condition.”

The weight of Mydeimos’ words bore down on him like an unyielding storm cloud, suffocating and relentless. His gaze remained steady, a flicker of defiance in the depths of his eyes.

“I have heat resistance. Don’t underestimate me.”

Yet, it hurt.

When he drew Kevin into his embrace, it felt as though he were unraveling, dissolving into something soft and ephemeral. A part of him yearned to surrender completely, to dissolve into the warmth of those arms that sheltered him. And then, the realization struck him like a sharp blade to the chest.

That was why it hurt so deeply.

He didn’t deserve this.

The prince of Kremnos should be offering his kindness to someone else. Someone worthy. And in truth, that was exactly what he was doing—this tenderness, this quiet solace, it belonged to Phainon. Not to him.

And yet—

Fingers wove through the strands of his snow-white hair, idly toying with them, and Kevin—rigid in Mydei's hold—froze entirely.

"All is well. I'm here."

And just like that, he melted.

Somewhere in someone's mind, the image of a pair of fluffy white puppy ears drooping in surrender surfaced. His dull blue eyes, etched with the symbol of Kephale, fluttered shut.

Tentatively—hesitantly—he allowed himself to return the embrace, arms winding around Mydeimos' back. He greedily inhaled the prince's scent, something clean and reassuring.

Somehow, the pain was gone.

He felt like drifting off once more.

—

Following the previous night's dinner, Kevin found himself subjected to Mydei's persistent cooking. The meals were always good—frustratingly so. If the prince noticed that he was eating too little, he would ensure that every last bite was finished, one way or another.

They hadn't spoken much since what had transpired, yet he could still feel it—the unspoken care woven into Mydeimos' every action.

It was distracting.

The incident in the library with Anaxagoras had forced him to heighten his vigilance. But today, the scholar was nowhere to be seen.

"Snowy! Snowy!"

Unlike before, Kevin immediately recognized the nickname as someone called out to him. Strangely, he didn't find it unpleasant. If anything, it almost felt… familiar.

Like something Elysia might have playfully called him—if she were still here.

"Teacher Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon."

He gave a slight nod, acknowledging them.
Kevin pondered for a moment—why had 'Phainon' referred to these three children (?) as teachers?

They looked nearly identical, each with short, flame-red hair, pointed ears, and large, sapphire-blue eyes brimming with mischief. They wore pristine white dresses adorned with golden floral embroidery, and delicate, feathery wings sprouted from their shoulders.

He knew better than to judge by appearances. Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon might seem small and cherubic, but their actual age was likely an entirely different matter.

"We sense a wave of melancholy surrounding Snowy today… We thought perhaps we could bring some joy."

He knelt down on one knee to align their gazes, mindful to maintain a respectful distance while still conveying his concern.

"I'm fine. But I appreciate your thoughtfulness."

As he nodded, his keen eyes captured the way Trianne discreetly concealed something behind her back. No—both of his companions were involved in this clandestine gesture. A scheme was unfolding right before him.

“Snowy, please accept this gift from us.”

With gentle care, Trinnon placed a delicate white flower crown atop Snowy's head. The crown was an exquisite weaving of ethereal petals, their soft textures reminiscent of clouds, intricately layered with tiny sprigs of green that added a touch of life and vibrancy.

“And this too, Snowy!”

Before Kevin could fully comprehend the moment, Trianne had already placed a second flower crown upon him.

He remained still. He had the distinct sense that this wasn't over yet—

"This one is from me, Snowy."

And so, the third crown from Tribbie was added to the growing stack.

"…."

He must have looked utterly ridiculous, but oddly enough… this was endearing. With slow, deliberate movements, he adjusted the crowns, ensuring they wouldn't topple.

"How do you feel, Snowy?"

"…Warmer, somehow."

Strange. Comforting. Warm.

He wasn't adept at handling children (?), but perhaps he should try a little harder. With that in mind, he allowed himself a small, faint smile—subtle, understated, but the best he could manage.

"Thank you, teachers."

The Tribios beamed and clapped their hands in unison.

"Mission accomplished!"

So, this had been a premeditated plan.

Tribbie suddenly reached up. For a fleeting moment, he nearly flinched, haunted by the memory of a frostbitten child he had once encountered. But the tiny Chrysos Heir merely clutched the sleeve of his coat, her fingers barely grazing the fabric.

With Trianne and Trinnon already pulling ahead, Tribbie tugged him gently forward.

"Come on, Snowy! Let's go eat Golden Honey Cake together!"

Trianne interjected, "Isn't that De's favorite?"

Trinnon mused, "Actually, we could also get Janus's Double-Sided Pancakes…"

He arched an eyebrow. That detail sounded oddly familiar. The first time he had ever met Mydeimos had been at a stall selling Golden Honey Cake. So he actually had a fondness for it.

"Wait…'De' likes that Golden Honey Cake?"

"Absolutely! We can vouch for that!"

"…What else does he enjoy?"

"Let's see… He also likes pomegranate juice—mixed with milk."

Kevin silently considered the strange combination, debating whether he should try it himself. Regardless, as they walked through the bustling streets alongside the Tribios, he committed every detail to memory.

Through the lively Marmoreal marketplace, a striking sight caught the eye of onlookers—a towering young man, crowned in flowers, surrounded by three tiny, exuberant figures.

...Perhaps he had grown more fond of this world than he ever intended.

Chapter Text

"Oh... It's still pretty abstract when I put it like that, huh?"

"Let's put it another way then-"

"Before the newborn earth is able to withstand the power of Finality, I will remain on the moon and do my best to reduce the impact of Honkai on the world."

"This process could take five to ten years, and may require the cooperation of people around the world…"

"But I know that this is something we can definitely do."

It had only been a few months since that pivotal moment—since Kiana Kaslana claimed her extraordinary place on the Moon.

Many envisioned her existence there as one of profound solitude. A solitary figure nestled among the desolate lunar landscape, wistfully gazing at the vibrant blue orb of Earth, forever estranged from the world below. Yet the truth was far less somber. Kiana inhabited a cutting-edge lunar base, where she filled her days with diligent study and her nights with a delightful mix of doing homework, immersing herself in video games, and engaging in lively conversations with friends over the phone. The tantalizing aroma of snacks, ordered from Klein, often wafted through her quarters, a reminder of small comforts amidst the vastness of space.

Occasionally, Mei and Bronya would make the journey to visit her, along with researchers and staff arriving for various projects. But for the most part, Kiana found herself in a state of quiet solitude. For someone with her vibrant energy, even the briefest moments alone could feel somewhat stifling, an itch that yearned for stimulation.

Then, quite unexpectedly, everything changed.

Kiana Kaslana was no longer alone on the Moon.

Now, how exactly was she supposed to react when the final boss she and her friends had fought so hard to defeat suddenly sat up from his coffin—quite literally?

-

Phainon of Aedes Elysiae had come to two possible conclusions.

One, he had made some grave mistake, and Mydeimos had, in a fit of anger, exiled him to some unknown place.

Two, he was dreaming.

Yes, that seemed far more likely.

With that comforting thought, Phainon regarded the silver-haired girl before him for a long moment. Then, as if deciding the matter was of no concern, he raised a hand in a casual salute.

"Farewell, my lady. Perhaps we shall meet again if fate allows."

And then, before the Herrscher of Finality's very eyes, the Chrysos Heir calmly climbed back into his crystalline coffin, pulled the lid shut over himself, and crossed his arms over his chest.

Kiana… could only stare.

Completely, utterly dumbfounded.

Alright. She might have been a literal god now, but that didn't mean she was prepared to deal with a supposedly dead man springing out of his coffin, greeting her like it was the most normal thing in the world, and then promptly tucking himself back in.

"Wait—hold on, old man!"

Kiana yanked the lid open again, both hands gripping the edge with force.

"Kevin?"

The man—who definitely looked like Kevin—stared at her, then, with an expression of increasing skepticism, raised a hand and smacked himself lightly across the cheek. The sharp sting of pain confirmed one thing: this was no dream. And the girl beside him? She was real too. At the very least, she didn't seem particularly hostile.

Breathe. Just breathe. Stay calm. This wasn't the strangest thing that had ever happened to him.

…Alright, he admitted, this was absolutely the strangest thing that had ever happened to him.

Phainon felt—off. His body was sluggish, heavy, as though he had been dormant for far too long. Yet, despite the stiffness, his overall condition was surprisingly stable.

It was then that he noticed something odd.

His attire was completely unfamiliar.

A long, tattered black coat draped over a high-collared white shirt, paired with dark trousers and a belt tinged in blue. His gloves, unlike before, were now fully covered, leaving no fingers exposed.

Dread pooled in his gut as he turned to the first person he had encountered upon waking.

"Who are you?"

He repeated the question, voice firmer this time.

The girl blinked, looking just as bewildered as he felt. She raised a hand, pointing a finger at her own face.

"It's me, Kiana Kaslana!"

Phainon did not recognize her. And yet, she spoke as though he should. Everything was growing increasingly surreal—until she spoke again, with a name that sent a shiver down his spine.

"You don't recognize me, Kevin?"

There it was. The second time she had addressed him as 'Kevin.'

Phainon exhaled sharply, pushing himself upright as he met her gaze with unshaken certainty.

"My name is Phainon. Phainon of Aedes Elysiae."

The stray strand of hair on Kiana's head curled in protest, almost as if it were physically manifesting her confusion. If Phainon still had his old body, perhaps the antennas on their heads would be having a conversation of their own.

"I didn't expect you to have a different name, Kevin—"

"No, I'm not Kevin or whatever you think I am! My name is Phainon."

Kiana Kaslana locked eyes with him—sharp, piercing blue, bright and brimming with life. He was undeniably real.

With the vast wealth of knowledge amassed from every web novel ever penned, coupled with an outrageous stash of works of fanfiction she may or may not have devoured in her spare time, Kiana suddenly clapped her hands together with infectious enthusiasm. A metaphorical light bulb flickered to life above her head, illuminating her revelation.

“You’ve been reincarnated into someone else’s body! This tale should be titled ‘Reborn as the Final Boss, I Embark on My Second Journey to Save the World!’”

Phainon’s eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and bemusement washing over his features. Though Kiana's words danced with humor, their underlying implications resonated with an unsettling weight deep within him.

Translating her whimsical statement into more straightforward terms led him to a disquieting conclusion:

Somehow, in some unfathomable twist of fate—

He had died.

That singular notion was the only logical explanation that made sense. Someway, somehow—he had perished and been reborn.

A heavy sigh left him as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to regain his composure. His heart rate, which had been erratic moments ago, finally began to stabilize after enduring what felt like a hundred and two mind-breaking revelations in just a few minutes.

But—

"I died? How could I have possibly died?"

The last thing Phainon remembered was the soft, comforting embrace of his bed. He had earned himself a well-deserved rest after completing a mission. In fact, he had even planned to jump into Mydeimos's bed for a cuddle before passing out, but unfortunately, Mydei hadn't been there.

'Mydei…'

What was Mydei doing now? How was he dealing with all this? What if—what if he had actually buried him somewhere?!

No, no. That wasn't possible. It didn't make sense.

He was certain—

He couldn't possibly be dead… right?

Moreover, Phainon still had unfinished business.

Kiana, deep in thought, gently took his large hands into her own. She closed her eyes, as if contemplating something of great significance. For a brief moment, Phainon tightened his grip around hers before letting go. He needed a moment to process everything.

"You're warm," Kiana murmured, tilting her head slightly. "That strange body temperature of yours—it's gone."

The Herrscher's voice was calm, but her eyes—those mesmerizing bluish-purple orbs, with irises glowing in a vivid pink hue shaped like a cocoon—sparkled with unmasked curiosity.

"I can confirm that your soul is indeed inhabiting another body. Specifically, my great-great-grandfather's."

At her words, Phainon instinctively brought a hand to his face. Without hesitation, he turned toward the nearest polished gemstone surface, using it as an impromptu mirror. The reflection that stared back at him was strikingly handsome—thankfully so. For a moment, he had feared he was occupying the body of an elderly man.

He ran his fingers over the smooth surface, studying the face before him.

This person… looked just like him.

Like Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.

A pair of aquamarine eyes met his gaze. Their unfamiliar lack of the Kephale-like markings unsettled him. His hair was as white as fresh winter snow, and his skin, though fair, bore a slight pallor—perhaps a remnant of the fact that this body had once truly belonged to the dead.

Enough. That was enough for now.

Clearing his throat, he straightened, now fully composed.

"My apologies, my lady. Allow me to properly introduce myself once more." He placed a hand over his chest and inclined his head in a gentlemanly gesture. "It is an honor to meet you, Lady Kaslana."

Kiana beamed, hands confidently planted on her hips.

"Of course! You're Phainon, right?"

He nodded. Strangely enough, speaking with this girl felt effortless, as if they were somehow on the same wavelength.

"Lady Kaslana, do you know of any way for me to return to my world?"

Instead of answering immediately, Kiana… sat down. On nothing.

Yes, the esteemed Lady Kaslana was now comfortably crossing her legs midair, floating as if the very concept of gravity was beneath her concern. Phainon had to admit—the sight was quite impressive.

"You're from Earth, aren't you?"

Phainon tilted his head slightly.

"Earth?"

Kiana, ever so nonchalant, simply pointed upward.

Following the direction of her finger, Phainon lifted his gaze—only to freeze. His face paled instantly. By the high heavens, just where in the cosmos had he ended up?

From the surface of the moon, Earth hovered like a sapphire jewel against the silent abyss of space. Deep oceans melded into vast continents, their features softened by swirling bands of delicate white clouds. A luminous sphere, cradled in the endless sea of darkness.

Phainon hesitated before responding.

"I… don't think so?"

A heavy silence settled between them. Kiana blinked. Phainon blinked. Their eyes met, and in that moment, realization dawned upon them both.

He was doomed.

She was also doomed.

They were both absolutely doomed.

By some strange stroke of fate—or perhaps sheer mischief—Kiana, instead of asking which planet in the solar system was his, decided to take an entirely different approach.

"Phainon, what shape is your planet?"

Phainon glanced down at her, then lifted a gloved hand, tracing the shape of an infinity symbol in the air.

Ah. So, she had guessed correctly.

Phainon of Aedes-whatever-he-called-it did not belong to this planetary system. The situation was escalating into something far more complicated than she had anticipated.

In theory, only something with an energy output equal to the Cocoon could bypass the imaginary boundary encircling the solar system. And, well… take a wild guess—who here had the capacity to do that?

"I think I can help you!" Kiana declared, brimming with confidence.

But the biggest problem remained: Where in all the cosmos was the planet shaped like an infinity symbol that this man spoke of?

Phainon's eyes sparkled with an unmistakable glimmer of hope, a light so vibrant it caught Kiana off guard. The intensity of that gaze was startling, especially when 'Kevin' suddenly lowered himself at a perfect 90-degree angle, bowing with an earnestness that felt almost surreal. In that moment, Kiana marveled at the sincerity that radiated from him, a level of gratitude she doubted she would ever witness from the original owner of that body.

It was a scene that seemed plucked from the most bizarre of fever dreams, a vivid tapestry woven with threads of astonishment and disbelief.

Yet, perhaps even the true Kevin might have performed such an act, given the right circumstances. Kiana had always understood that beneath the surface of his flaws, he was never truly a villain. At his core, he had embodied the essence of a hero—a beacon of hope for humanity in its darkest hours.

A man who had lived by the principles of a hero, and ultimately, had met his fate as one.

"Thank you very much, Lady Kaslana."

Kiana waved her hand dismissively.

"Just call me Kiana."

Phainon offered her a dazzling smile—so effortlessly charming that, for a brief moment, she felt like she was looking at her own upgraded version.

"Of course, Kiana."

Kevin Kaslana—the enigmatic figure often dubbed the human iceberg—managed to smile in a way that caught her off guard. She found herself pleasantly surprised; he exuded a warmth that contrasted sharply with his reputation. Despite the fact that he wasn't the original version, there was something compelling about him. She noticed the subtle nuances in his movements and the way he carried himself—an uncanny familiarity woven into the very fabric of his demeanor, even though their personalities clashed in stark opposition. It stirred a curiosity within her, compelling her to delve deeper into the layers of his character.

Raising a slender finger thoughtfully, she began, "I think it’s going to take us a while to pinpoint the exact location of—"

Her words faltered, and he, sensing her hesitation, stepped in readily to fill the void.

"The homeworld I refer to is called Amphoreus," he stated, his voice steady yet imbued with an underlying intensity.

Kiana nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Right. We need to determine its precise position. That’s going to be a challenge…unless, of course, someone from Amphoreus decides to reach out to us first."

As if summoned by an unseen force, the very fabric of space around them convulsed violently. An oppressive atmosphere thickened, a palpable pressure weighing down upon them with suffocating intensity. Suddenly, a small vortex rent the veil of reality, a gaping maw manifesting before them like an open wound in existence itself.

Both Kiana Kaslana and Phainon instinctively tensed, their senses sharpening in perfect harmony. The Chrysos Heir reacted on pure instinct, channeling his urgency to summon his greatsword—

Only to be struck by the chilling realization that his signature weapon was no longer in his possession.

'Kevin Kaslana' stood frozen, the unfamiliar weight in his right hand tugging at his memory yet feeling as intimately known as his own heartbeat. But with an ominous danger looming ahead, Phainon had no time for introspection. He hoisted the massive sword high, bracing himself against the swirling vortex that threatened to unravel reality itself.

Before him, a searing crimson blaze erupted, igniting the surrounding darkness with its fierce glow. The blade was formidable and elongated, its edge honed to lethal sharpness, pulsating with an incandescent light that resembled molten magma, forged in the fiery belly of the earth. A core of tumultuous red-orange energy surged along its spine, radiating the anger and wrath of an epoch long forgotten. Kiana cast a fleeting glance at the weapon, and in that fleeting moment, something profound stirred deep within the recesses of her memory.

The Deliverer and his Key of Destruction. So it had never truly left the Kaslana after all.

A small, knowing smile graced her lips.

"I'm seriously starting to believe you might be my long-lost brother."

"Save that thought for later! I think this thing is about to explode—"

And they were mistaken. Instead of the anticipated eruption of energy, a single leaf emerged, drifting softly into existence. This delicate green oval tapered gently to a fine point, its surface textured like the finest silk. An ethereal glow enveloped it, as if imprinted with the essence of a spirit long departed yet ever watchful, a haunting echo of their will lingering in the fabric of the world.

A Bodhi leaf.

Kiana Kaslana caught it gently in her palm, feeling a warmth emanating from its fragile form. Beside her, 'Kevin' observed with quiet curiosity, his grip still resolute on the Cleaver of Shamash, its gleaming blade firmly embedded in the silvery lunar surface.

A translucent string of words shimmered in the air, faint yet flickering like distant stars.

'Herrscher, his time is running out.'

—

On Amphoreus, another day slipped away.

A white-haired man sat slouched in a single chair, head tilted back, a worn copy of 'Devotees of the Death' draped over his face. After a brief stillness, he exhaled and lifted the book, placing it absently on the table beside him before straightening his posture. His gaze fell to a distant corner of the room, unfocused.

And he wondered why breathing had begun to feel more difficult with each passing day.

Chapter Text

In just a week on the vibrant world of Amphoreus, Kevin Kaslana had managed to familiarize himself with its intricate landscape and peculiar charms.

Yet, truth be told, the adjustment had not come so easily for him. The very essence of this new existence felt foreign, filled with an unsettling freedom that left him adrift. Gone were the days of ceaseless vigilance, where the survival of human civilization hung in the balance and the relentless threat of the Honkai enveloped him like a shadow.

He had long reconciled with the idea that his own time had faded into the annals of history—that his existence would only find peace once those who followed in his footsteps had surpassed his legacy. What he had not anticipated was the bizarre twist of still being alive, breathing in a body that was not his own.

As the days unfolded, Kevin had explored every conceivable method to return this borrowed vessel to Phainon. Professor Anaxagoras would seldomly pay him a visit, their conversations skimming the surface of idle chatter while completely avoiding the unspoken reality that loomed like a ghost between them. He felt like the scholar was planning something.

At this point, the Kaslana had come to the grim conclusion that his only remaining option was to attempt 'dying' again to test whether his hypothesis held true. However, the risk was far too great—there was no guarantee that either he or Phainon would survive such an experiment.

After all, the dead were not meant to rise.

Kevin was certain of one thing: he had died. If he still existed in any form, then it meant either a third party had intervened, or that this second chance had come at an unknown cost.

Thus, he chose to remain still and observe.

In other words—he decided to rest.

…Was he really getting a break?

He felt like a laborer who had been worked to the bone for half a year, only for his overbearing boss to suddenly grant him a vacation out of nowhere.

The past few days had been filled with Mydei, missions, Mydeimos, interactions with others, the prince of Kremnos, food—

Wait… why was he here again?

As he adjusted his position ever so slightly, a cool, metallic surface pressed against his forehead—sharp and unforgiving, it was the clawed gauntlet of none other than His Highness.

He let out a weary sigh, the words escaping his lips like a resigned mist.

"I wasn't planning on moving."

"Good."

To be precise, he found himself resting his head upon Mydeimos' lap—or rather, he’d been compelled into this position.

Don't ask him how it had come to this; he was utterly at a loss as well.

It was, to put it simply, an unbearably hot day in Okhema. The heat swelled like a vast furnace suspended in the sky, drenching the air in an oppressive haze.

In the far corner of the dining hall, there was a cozy tea-drinking setup—one long sofa, a small glass table, and two single chairs. After finishing the last of the dishes, Kevin strolled over and casually helped himself to a bite of Golden Honey Cake, one of many he'd bought for the Chrysos heirs. Well, technically, Tribbie had dragged him out for an outing, and he and their ever-enthusiastic teacher had ended up buying an absurd amount.

Not long after, the prince of Kremnos, having apparently wrapped up his business for the day, sat down beside him without a word. Mydeimos's gaze settled on him, brows furrowed as if he'd just swallowed something unbearably spicy. Though Kevin and Phainon were not the same person, in this moment, both would have had the same thought—

'Did I do something wrong?'

"Lie down."

That was all Mydeimos said.

He blinked, taken aback by the abrupt command. But before he could ask what the hell was going on, Mydei had already seized his shoulders and pulled him down—right onto his lap. Golden eyes, sharp as a dusk-lit horizon, locked onto his for a fleeting second before hastily darting away. A faint blush dusted the prince's cheek, so brief it might've been a trick of the light.

"Do you need something from me?" Kevin asked, bemused.

Mydei's hand came to rest on his forehead, brushing aside a few strands of his snow-white hair. He still refused to meet 'Phainon's' gaze as he murmured,

His touch was not rough, despite the armor encasing his fingers. It did not hurt.

Perhaps… he liked it.

"Just stay there. It's unbearably hot today. I feel uncomfortable."

Oh.

Understanding clicked into place.

The Kaslana had long since accepted that his presence seemed to attract people like a walking air conditioner whenever the heat soared. It had happened countless times in his past life—his old comrades had practically treated him as a human cooling system powered by instant noodles whenever summer came around.

"Got it."

He shut his eyes, an uncharacteristic drowsiness settling over him. Strange. He hadn't needed sleep in the past—when he did, it was never for long. But lately, he found himself dozing off more often. And if Mydeimos was near… he'd be out like a light, to the point where the prince would have to wake him up in the morning.

Maybe… it meant something.

It was at that moment that Hyacine emerged from the shadowy corner of the room, cradling a stack of meticulously organized documents in her arms. Rather than opting for one of the empty chairs that surrounded them, she gracefully lowered herself onto the cool wooden floor, leaning back against the long, cushioned sofa where Mydei sat.

He glanced down at her, a hint of perplexity crossing his features as his gaze drifted to the soft, pastel-pink waves of her hair that contrasted beautifully with the muted tones of the room.

"Lady Hyacine, would you like me to move?" he asked, half-anticipating her response.

The nurse offered a gentle shake of her head, a warm smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

"No need. I'll just sit here for a bit. It's far too hot for comfort. Besides, you two seem quite engrossed," she replied, her voice soothing yet firm.

With that, she retrieved a pen from the pocket of her crisp uniform and began to jot down notes on her documents, her expression shifting into one of quiet determination as she immersed herself in her work. Perhaps it was better not to interrupt her focus. Yet, the reality lingered—she had specifically sought out this spot, citing the stifling heat as her excuse while deliberately choosing to remain close to them.

Before long, Tribbie arrived, dragging both Trinnon and Trianne along with her. It seemed they, too, had caught wind of the Golden Honey Cake supply and decided to partake. Not that he minded—there was plenty to go around.

"Snowy, it's scorching today! We'll be hanging out here for a while."

"Oh… Sure."

He was struck with an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.

Was it possible that the Chrysos Heirs genuinely saw him as a walking air conditioner?

Not that he particularly cared.

Even Mydeimos had started eating, methodically working through his portion of cake. The prince truly had a fondness for sweets. As Kevin's gaze lingered on him, Mydei arched a brow, then—without warning—speared a small piece of cake with his fork and brought it up to the Kaslana's lips.

The action was so abrupt that he barely had time to react.

He accepted it without protest, chewing thoughtfully. Oddly enough, the dessert tasted even better than before.

And then—just like that—Mydeimos averted his eyes again, a fleeting stiffness in his posture.

Was he… embarrassed?

Kevin Kaslana felt a stirring in his chest, a distinct impression that Mydeimos was striving, in his own manner, to communicate something more genuine and open. It was strikingly clear that in any relationship, Mydei was not one for the subtle gestures or tender expressions that made connections feel warm and inviting. That role, effortlessly performed, had always belonged to Phainon.

But Phainon was absent.

And with that realization, a wave of unease washed over him.

Perhaps he wasn’t as naturally affectionate as his counterpart, Phainon. Perhaps Mydeimos, facing his unyielding coldness and quiet nature, felt compelled to step into the role of the comforter, trying to bridge the emotional distance between them.

Deep down, he grappled with the unsettling thought that he wasn’t deserving of the effort and care Mydeimos extended toward him. And yet… perhaps, just perhaps, he harbored a flicker of fondness for this enigmatic individual.

A flicker.

A mere fraction.

Barely a whisper of sentiment at all.

In the depths of the war, he would have rather faced death than accept anyone’s kindness or compassion. When MEI perished, a part of him had shattered alongside her.

Yet now, in a world stripped of Herrschers and the relentless threat of Honkai, Mydeimos’s presence loomed large, an inescapable force that pulled at him with each interaction, making it impossible to simply look away. The intensity of it all was overwhelming, a tempest swirling in the depths of his heart, challenging the walls he had built around himself.

He reminded himself that his time here was fleeting. Once everything reached its resolution, he intended to leave the prince behind, an echo of a past he would not miss.

"Aren't your relationships developing quite nicely?"

A soft, composed voice—calm yet imbued with an unmistakable authority—cut through the air like a gentle breeze.

"We are as we always have been," Mydeimos replied matter-of-factly, turning to face the woman who had gracefully settled into one of the delicately carved chairs nearby. Lady Aglaea had arrived, a tray of steaming tea gliding through the air with effortless elegance in her hands.

"Agy, can we try some?"

"Please, Master. Help yourselves," she replied, a smile gracing her lips.

As she poured the tea, her movements were meticulous, each action refined and purposeful. Though Aglaea's eyes had long since dimmed, rendering her sightless, she perceived the world around her with a clarity that surpassed mere vision.

"Aren't you busy? What brings you here?"

'Phainon' inquired, his tone curious yet respectful. He did not wish to pry into her personal affairs, but there lingered an unsettling feeling that her reason for appearing would resonate all too deeply with him.

"Everyone deserves a few moments of respite, myself included. Besides… today is unbearably hot," she said, her voice carrying a weight of understanding that enveloped the room.

The heat. Again.

Kevin exhaled a long-suffering sigh and decided he had no more words left to give.

They truly were leveraging Kevin's abnormally frigid body temperature for their own comfort. It was a rare and unusual sight to witness Chrysos Heirs congregating in one place, yet here they all gathered, driven solely by their discomfort from the stifling heat.

A low murmur of conversation swirled around him, voices intertwining like strands of a tapestry, rising and falling in a rhythmic cadence. However, to Kevin, they were little more than a distant hum, an indistinct backdrop to his internal turmoil.

His ears throbbed with a persistent ringing.

-

Mydeimos looked down at the figure nestled against his lap, a sudden shift in the air capturing his attention. The white-haired man had, without a hint of hesitation, burrowed into the prince's abdomen, his arms gently encircling the warrior's waist before drifting off into a peaceful slumber.

A tumult of emotions swirled within the prince; part of him longed to rouse the man from his dreams, to shake him awake with a firm hand. Yet, another part of him relished this moment of tranquility, unwilling to disturb the fragile peace wrapped around them.

His expression deepened with concern. Phainon was succumbing to sleep more frequently now. Mydeimos had observed the fatigue settling in like a shadow over a once-vibrant landscape. Though the proud warrior maintained his formidable demeanor—chin held high, shoulders taut, arms folded as if permanently poised for the next battle—he sensed an undeniable weariness beneath that resolute facade. It was as if the so-called Deliverer was edging closer to his breaking point.

He felt an unrelenting urge to uncover the source of this silent struggle.

He remembered the times Phainon had teased him, the boisterous energy that only he could bring into a room. But he also found himself appreciating the quiet moments—the subtle gestures, the unspoken care, the almost gallant, understated romance this version of him carried.

It seemed Mydei was drawn to every part of Phainon.

With boundless enthusiasm, a fluffy puppy bounded forward, its tail wagging vigorously at the mere sight of the cherished kitten. The joy radiating from its eager demeanor was infectious.

In contrast, another equally fluffy puppy stood quietly nearby, exuding a tranquil sort of love. It didn’t bark or leap about, but its watchful gaze spoke volumes of the unwavering devotion it held for the same beloved kitten.

No matter the approach, one thing was clear: the feline was treasured by both, surrounded by a warm blanket of love in every form.

Damn it, Phainon was cold.

"Lord Mydeimos, has there been any improvement in his condition?"

Hyacine stepped forward, her voice quivering as the worry she had been suppressing surged to the surface. The weight of her concern was palpable, thickening the air between them. It had been over a week, yet Phainon remained enveloped in an oppressive cloud of melancholy that seemed to cling to him.

The prince of Kremnos released a long, weary sigh, the sound echoing with both fatigue and a hint of frustration.

"His physical condition is stable," he replied, his voice steady but heavy with unspoken fears. "But his memory… still no improvement."

Mydei's fingers delicately wove through the silky strands of his pristine, snow-white hair, a habit that offered him fleeting solace. To any observer, he might appear unusually gentle today. The absence of Phainon’s usual teasing, the playful banter that often ignited their exchanges, had created an unsettling quiet.

Phainon was now remarkably well-behaved, his typical playful provocation replaced by an eerie calmness.

Yet beneath this veneer of docility, he still sensed the remnants of something unpredictable, something dangerous. Even if he couldn't pinpoint it, he knew this 'Phainon' was not to be underestimated.

Still, the man treated him well.

And so, he had no reason to be angry.

A hand—undoubtedly belonging to a certain white-haired troublemaker—began to absently knead the soft flesh at his waist.

...Now, he had a reason to be angry.

He made a valiant attempt to ignore it.

"In any case, as long as Phainon is still able to carry out his duties, it seems everything is still under control."

Lady Aglaea lifted her teacup with a poised grace, savoring the warmth of the brew.

"After spending some time with Snowy," Trinnon continued, diving deeper into the conversation as they followed up on Aglaea’s earlier thoughts, "we came to the conclusion that he has actually matured a fair bit."

Mydeimos fell momentarily silent, his thoughts swirling in hesitation, when suddenly a sharp gasp slipped from his lips.

His expression darkened.

That pesky HKS had just pinched him right at the waist.

Aglaea chuckled lightly. "Are you alright, Mydeimos?"

"...Just fine," he muttered, trying to compose himself.

It was a strange sight, seeing Phainon so unguarded. He recalled a time when the man had kept him at arm's length, fearful that his icy touch might leave lasting damage. Thankfully, he had a resistance to extreme temperatures. He could endure Phainon’s subzero chill—though it was a close call every time.

After a few days, it seemed that the white-haired man had grown accustomed to him. He was far more at ease now.

Almost like taming a wild beast.

"..."

He glanced down, reaching out to cup both sides of Phainon's face. The other man remained motionless, his expression serene—whether he was truly asleep or simply pretending was anyone's guess. He cast a quick glance around. Tribbie was deep in conversation with Aglaea, Hyacine was absorbed in her own matters. And Phainon… was sleeping soundly in his arms.

No one was paying attention.

With a moment of hesitation, Mydeimos leaned down and pressed a quiet kiss against Phainon's forehead.

...Ahem. Hopefully, Phainon would stay asleep forever and never, ever find out about this.

Now, he couldn't help but wonder—how had Phainon always been so effortlessly open with his affections? He did it so naturally, so easily, that Mydei had never realized how difficult such a thing could be.

Just then, Phainon stirred. Mydei's heart skipped a beat.

Had he woken up? Did he—

No. He merely shifted closer, arms tightening just slightly around Mydei's waist.

The tension in his chest unraveled, and he let out a quiet breath.

Sleep well, Phainon.

-

It took every ounce of his willpower not to wrap this man up in a bundle and just keep him there.

He told himself he was too old for this, that a little teasing like this couldn't possibly—

Yet, as he lay still, feigning deep sleep, he pressed his lips into a thin line.

He thought, perhaps, he had been truly helpless.

This feeling—just a little, just for now—should be fine.

After all, this moment of blissful indulgence couldn't possibly last forever, could it?

-

"I've found it!"

The white-haired girl’s exclamation pierced the stillness, nearly causing Phainon of Aedes Elysiae to fumble the cup of instant noodles he held. Ah, instant noodles! He had just discovered this delightful concoction, and it had quickly become a favorite. Lady Kiana seemed to be just as enamored with them. He couldn’t wait to introduce this culinary marvel to Amphoreus upon his return.

"What did you find?" he asked, a thrill of anticipation racing through him. Though a flicker of hope ignited in his heart, he struggled to fully believe it. Could it be? Was there truly a chance to go back?

“Amphoreus. I know where it is.”

The Herrscher of the Finalilty's smile radiated triumph, her bright eyes sparkling with excitement.

In that moment, it felt as if joy was bubbling up, threatening to overflow, though perhaps that was a slight exaggeration. Still, the thought of being one step closer to home sent electrifying currents through him. After all this time, a path back home had finally opened.

"You're the best, Kiana!" he exclaimed, his enthusiasm bubbling over.

"I know, I know," she replied with playful confidence, her grin infectious.

Yet, amidst their excitement, a shadow loomed—an unresolved message whispered on the wind, etched into the quiet rustle of a Bodhi leaf.

Time slipped through fingers like grains of sand, a precious reminder of the fragility of their journey.

Regardless of whether you found solace or faced despair, may this journey offer you a glimmer of healing, Deliverer.

Chapter Text

"What are you trying to tell me?"

With a startle, Anaxagoras jolted awake from yet another tumultuous dream, one that left echoes of chaotic images dancing behind his eyelids. The dim light of dawn barely filtered through the tattered curtains, casting a soft glow on the heap of notes littering his bedside table. He reached out with trembling fingers, almost clawing at the paper as he grasped a pen that felt almost too heavy in his hand.

He began to scribble feverishly, a torrent of ink spilling onto the page in a desperate attempt to capture the elusive fragments of his vision. Each hurried stroke was a frantic grasp at the truth hidden within the shadows of his sleeping mind, as vivid and disorienting as the dream itself.

'Low density.'

'Finalilty.'

'Authority.'

'Help him.'

Anaxa furrowed his brows, his mood sour beyond measure. He clutched his head, and only when the tip of his pen finally marked the last period on the page did the throbbing headache begin to subside.

Sitting upright, the scholar stared at the meaningless jumble of words.

"...Help 'him'?"

Professor Anaxagoras leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to steady himself after the dream. It had been a long time since he last encountered that presence—the one residing within the body of Chrysos Heir Phainon. Ever since then, relentless visions had pursued him, forcing themselves upon him with no room for refusal.

The dreams were always the same—a conversation about something.

With them.

In these dreams, they always stood in dim light, strands of ash-gray hair falling over their face, with wisps of deep olive tracing across their cheeks. Their black-and-white attire, accented with red, exuded both scholarly refinement and an enigmatic air. Resting in their palm was a floating, luminous leaf—one whose significance Anaxagoras had never been able to grasp.

The Chrysos Heir could recall only fragments—mere scattered words—of what they tried to convey. Beyond that, they always asked him to help 'him'.

Make no mistake, the dreams were vivid, overflowing with intricate details. The enigmatic figure had spoken at length about many things. And yet, upon waking, all that remained was an unrelenting headache and a pitiful handful of words.

Somehow, Anaxa knew that the stranger was truly trying their best to communicate. Whether they were bound by unseen forces or blocked by something else—

"Phainon..."

Anaxa let out a sigh. The deep crimson tattoo along his hand flickered faintly as he grabbed a stack of old notes from the past few days. His fingers moved swiftly, flipping through the thin sheets until they landed on one marked with special care.

A single, crucial question was scrawled across it.

"Body swapping?"

That was the very reason Anaxagoras had been plagued by these dreams ever since. He distinctly remembered hearing those words escape that person's lips. The details that followed had grown increasingly obscure, but there was one thing he could be certain of.

These dreams were connected to Phainon—and to the person currently inhabiting his body.

"If these visions are to be believed, then…"

Anaxa's pen hovered over the paper before circling the question. He remembered it clearly—the word used was 'swap.'

"Which means Phainon is currently in someone else's body."

The real questions were: Who was inside Phainon's body? Whose body was Phainon inhabiting? And where was he now?

Anaxagoras hesitated for a moment before his fingers brushed against the small vial beside him. A wry smile tugged at his lips as he scoffed at his own fleeting cowardice. With a smirk, he deftly popped open the lid… of a bottle of sleeping pills.

For someone exhausted by the monotonous cycle of life, how could he resist such a tantalizing challenge?

With a deep breath, he swallowed the pill and let his head fall against the desk, surrendering to the weight of his eyelids as they fluttered shut.

He was ready to dive headfirst into the chaos and pursue it to the very end.
-

"He's gone on another mission."

Hyacine spoke softly as she carefully wrapped fresh bandages around the prince of Kremnos. Mydei had taken quite a beating—what was supposed to be a simple solo operation had turned into a disaster when an entire nest of Titankins surfaced instead of just a few scattered creatures. With civilians caught in the fray, Mydei had fought to protect them, enduring more than his fair share of injuries in the process.

Though he was incapable of dying, the nurse still took great care tending to his wounds. His regeneration varied across different parts of his body, making proper cleaning and bandaging essential to speeding up the process.

"That's not what I asked."

Hearing the lion's low growl, Hyacine merely chuckled. True, he hadn't asked about Phainon at all.

"If you must know, Lord Phainon has barely suffered any injuries lately. Or perhaps not at all. It seems his combat skills have improved significantly."

Mydei didn't turn his head but raised an eyebrow.

"Are you sure? That guy gets himself hurt in the most unnecessary ways."

That was true. Even Teacher Tribbie kept a stockpile of bandages nearby just for him.

Tightening the final wrap, Hyacine straightened up, her brows furrowing in thought.

"He hasn't come to see me these past few days. If you have the chance, could you check on him for me?"

Before Mydei could answer properly, another patient arrived, demanding Hyacine's attention. He barely managed a short, nonchalant "Fine" before leaving. As he stepped out, he caught her muttering to herself—wondering if Lord Phainon was simply hiding his injuries. It wouldn't be the first time. When he had first joined the Flame-chase journey, he'd done the same thing on more than one occasion.

Mydei told himself he would just ask the so-called Deliverer directly. There was nothing between them that warranted secrecy, after all.

Yet when he finally found him, the prince had no idea how to even start.

The Deliverer was playing make-believe with the children.

Phainon's greatsword rested against the wall, bearing the fresh marks of battle. He had likely just returned from a mission. And yet, there he was, entertaining the kids by playing the role of a noble prince. That ever-stoic face of his suited the part perfectly—he could have been the Duke of the North or any other aristocratic figure from a storybook.

Lost in thought, Mydei simply stood there, watching him intently.

"What a ridiculous sight…"

The scene unfolded with a delightful awkwardness as 'Phainon' interacted with the children, his clumsiness adding a touch of charm to the moment. He moved with careful precision, making sure that none of them accidentally brushed against his unnaturally cold skin.

Gripped tightly in his hand was a short wooden sword, while a bright-eyed boy took the lead, bubbling with excitement as he directed 'Phainon' on his next move.

With a serious nod, 'Phainon' lowered his gaze to the plush, red-orange Chimera sprawled on the ground, ready for confrontation.

With a theatrical flourish, he raised the wooden blade and cleared his throat. Then, in an unexpectedly deep voice that resonated with an eerie authority – one that even Mydei had never heard before – he directed an intense glare at the stuffed creature and unleashed a menacing threat that sent shivers down the spine of all who watched.

"I do not mind ravaging this opponent slowly."

For a moment, the children fell silent. Then, an explosion of delighted cheers erupted around him.

"Lord Phainon, you're so cool!"

"You really sound like a prince vanquishing monsters!"

"Lord Phainon! Can you propose to a princess too? My mom told me that always happens in fairy tales—I wanna see it!"

Mydeimos barely reacted to their chatter. He was already familiar with these kids. He had, on occasion, joined in their games himself. Playing make-believe wasn't so bad… though they did tend to rope him into it far too often.

Not that he minded, really.

His attention shifted back to 'Phainon' as he finally found the words to respond.

"...Then who is the princess?"

A heavy silence enveloped the room, hanging in the air like an unspoken secret.

Glancing around, he quickly assessed the group of children. Their youthful faces, filled with curiosity and innocence, lent an atmosphere of anticipation. Yet, as his gaze swept over them, a sinking realization struck on the children—none of them were girls. Oh no.

The boys immediately puffed up with stubborn pride, launching into a loud argument over who should be the princess.

Looking increasingly flustered—despite his expression hardly changing—'Phainon' waved his hands in an attempt to mediate. It was obvious he was trying his hardest to interact with them properly.

"How about I choose? Let's go find a princess together."

The suggestion was met with enthusiastic agreement, the children eagerly rallying around him.

Something about this didn't sit right with Mydei.

And then, as if drawn by some unseen thread, the Deliverer lifted his head.

His blue eyes—clouded yet gentle—met Mydei's gaze directly.

Leaving the wooden sword in the hands of one of the children, he took a single long stride forward—toward his beloved.

What was he planning to do?

Against his better judgment, he instinctively glanced over his shoulder, half-expecting to behold a princess standing there—a figure of elegance and grace, perhaps surrounded by an ethereal glow.

The familiar chill of that touch sent a shiver coursing through his skin before he could fully process it. Whirling around, he found 'Phainon' waiting, kneeling on one knee, his fingers softly enveloping Mydei's hand.

He looked every bit the prince—or perhaps a knight offering his unwavering loyalty.

“Deliverer, what are you doing?” Mydeimos asked, the surprise evident in his voice.

However, even as he spoke, he made no move to pull away.

—

Kevin Kaslana never imagined that the dramatic lines from Griseo's old mangas would come to life in such an intense way.

He barely noticed the eager eyes of the children around him; they were waiting with bated breath. But when he finally looked up, all he could see was a god.

In that fleeting moment, the weight of the Kaslana name hung heavy on his shoulders, and he knew he was utterly doomed.

This was more than just a play—it was a performance where he was both the actor and an unwilling participant. Yet, deep within him, Kevin realized that choosing anyone but Mydeimos for this role would have felt wrong.

A princess was destined to find her prince. They were meant to be united.

So, just for this moment, he dared to step out from Phainon’s long shadow.

For just this fleeting instance—he had something urgent to express.

For every time he had faltered, for every opportunity he had allowed to pass by, if fate kept him from returning, then at the very least… he would ensure that Mydeimos knew it all.

Like how he wasn’t truly Phainon. Or Mydei's lover.

Like how, in spite of it all, he might had fallen head over heels, utterly and irrevocably in love with him.

"From the moment I first laid eyes on you, I knew I no longer belonged to myself."

Unlike the typical heart which thrums with anxious excitement, Kevin's heart—though wildly unpredictable—beats at a measured pace, growing ever slower.

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

Each thud echoed like the heavy footfalls of a soldier marching resolutely toward his inevitable end.

Would he sacrifice his life for this love, this burning desire that both invigorated and tormented him?

It was a question that lingered in the silence, haunting and unanswered.

"Mydeimos."

The symbol of Kephale burned deep within his eyes, engraving the image of the one who had stolen everything from him.

Once again, he owed his old comrade, Griseo. She had truly saved him from a crushing defeat. Even now, he could feel the searing gaze of the prince above, piercing straight through him.

"The way you look at me, the warmth in your embrace, even the moments when I slip from your thoughts—everything about you captivates me, heart and soul."

With a terrifying, almost unnatural calmness, he pressed his forehead against the rough warmth of the 'princess's' hand, the chilling contrast of his skin stark against the calloused fingers.

"I cannot promise you a life free of storms or hardship." As he spoke, he felt as if he were drowning. "But I swear, through tempests or golden dawns, my hand will always be in yours. My princess… will you take it? Will you write the rest of this story with me?"

The moment the words slipped from his mouth, a cold wave of dread washed over him.

This was merely a performance.
This was merely a performance.
This was merely a performance.

And yet—

It struck him as terrifying, that he would willingly drop to his knees, if necessary, just to hear the prince granting his approval.

It was terrifying how fiercely it anchored him in place, making the thought of leaving almost unbearable.

But most of all, it was terrifying how it ignited a fierce longing to truly live—each heartbeat a declaration against the death that had long since claimed him, urging him to rise, again and again, defiantly embracing life.

The Kaslana realized that this love he bore for the prince was consuming him, dragging him into the depths of an unfathomable ocean.

It was just like—

Ah.

His fingers curled ever so slightly, tightening around that hand.

Just like how MEI had once been his reason to fight and survive.

Just like how Mydeimos was now becoming his reason to fight and survive.

The man he was holding onto glanced around, as if finally conceding to this little charade. With a sigh—one laced with affectionate exasperation—he turned his gaze aside, a faint flush creeping up his cheekbones. Then, in a voice deep yet quiet, he murmured.

"Mm."

Brief. Simple. But he liked it.

And so, he pressed a kiss against the back of that hand.

The children's excited cheers filled the air, but to him, they were nothing more than a distant hum.

Mydei stepped back slightly, crossing his arms with an amused huff.

"Get up already, Deliverer. You're being ridiculously sappy."

Kevin did as told, but not without taking a moment to bid farewell to the children. The sun had begun its descent, and their parents were calling them home.

These were the first kids he had met upon arriving here. It was a relief that the one who had suffered from frostbite had fully recovered. He had given the boy a proper apology—and perhaps, playing with them today had been his way of making amends.

Retrieving his greatsword, still stained with the blood of Titankins, Kevin returned to Mydeimos' side. At the sight of the weapon, the prince of Kremnos suddenly recalled why he was even here in the first place.

They began their walk back to Marmoreal Palace.

"Just got back from a mission, didn't you?"

'Phainon' nodded.

"Any injuries?"

He shook his head.

"Hungry?"

A nod.

Without warning, Mydeimos flicked his forehead, sharp and precise. Normally, 'Phainon' would yelp and grumble in protest, but this version of him simply accepted the hit, looking up at him with… was that wounded innocence?

He resembled a chastised puppy, willingly taking the scolding yet completely unaware of what he had done wrong.

"Did you lose your mouth somewhere?" Mydeimos sighed, his tone exasperated but fond. "Try talking a little, will you?"

Even after everything that had been said, Kevin found himself lost in thought, struggling to form a response. His gaze was drawn to the horizon, where the setting sun blazed like a colossal ember, casting fiery hues of orange and red across the sky. After what felt like an eternity, he finally spoke, his voice soft and almost hesitant.

"Mydeimos."

"Hm?" Mydei inquired, tilting his head slightly in confusion.

He took a deep breath, the weight of his words hanging in the air like the lingering warmth of the sunset. "If the 'Phainon' from the past and I were truly two entirely different people… would you give me a chance?"

The crown prince abruptly halted in his tracks, his brow furrowing as he turned to face him fully, an expression of bewilderment etched on his features.

"But in the end," he replied slowly, almost as if he were trying the thought on for size, "both are still the same person, aren't they? You will always be Phainon."

The Kaslana merely smiled, lips curving in a way that was neither amused nor sorrowful—just quiet.

"Let's say, hypothetically, that we weren't. What would your answer be then?"

Mydei narrowed his eyes.

"And what kind of chance are you asking for?"

It was a simple question, yet Mydei felt an odd weight to it, as if the answer would decide something crucial. The Deliverer had also stopped walking. Between them stretched a distance just wide enough for the wind to weave through, tousling strands of white hair. Then, in a voice so casual it almost felt unreal, he murmured—

"An opportunity to adore you."

For a beat, silence reigned.

Part of Mydeimos wished to disregard it, planning to conclude the discussion with a scoff and a casual wave of his hand. The other part, however, was inclined to respond appropriately.
Thankfully, he chose the latter.

"Alright then."

Kevin's eyes widened—genuinely surprised, as if he hadn't expected this outcome.

Mydei smirked and strode forward, each step closing the gap between them. Stopping just within arm's reach, he met the other's gaze head-on, reckless defiance burning in his own.

"If, by some miracle, there were two of you standing before me, I'd take both on without hesitation. You think I wouldn't?"

After all, it wasn't uncommon for a prince to have multiple spouses. But Mydeimos—he would only ever do so for Phainon.

…Not bad. It seemed he still had a bit of a chance.

'Phainon' averted his gaze, murmuring under his breath.

"…I wonder if you can handle both of us."

"What was that?"

"Nothing."

A gloved hand, sleek and black, carefully cradled the Mydei's chin, tilting his face with a delicate touch. The warmth of the gesture contrasted with the cool leather, creating a moment of connection. Then, with a tenderness that lingered in the air, a soft kiss was placed upon his cheek, a whisper of affection that spoke volumes in silence.

Thank you… for finding your way to me.

-

"I'm going to be so heartbroken, Phainon…"

Kiana dabbed at the corners of her eyes with a handkerchief, her exaggerated sniffles making it painfully obvious she was only half-serious—mostly for comedic effect. Still, there was truth to her words. She really would miss him.

"No one to do my math homework for me, no one to stay up playing games with me…"

Even though Lady Kaslana was just pretending, 'Lord Kaslana' panicked for real. Phainon flailed his hands in a desperate attempt to console her.

"If I could, I'd visit you all the time! Please don't be sad..."

Recognizing that his words hadn't quite resonated, he paused, uncertainty flickering in his gaze. After a brief moment of contemplation, he cautiously extended his hand, allowing it to rest gently on Kiana's head.

With deliberate tenderness, he bestowed a few slow, careful pats, each movement imbued with a quiet sincerity.

To Kiana's astonishment, the Herrscher of Finality blinked in surprise, momentarily taken aback by his unexpected gesture.

"A—ah, I’m sorry, Kiana. I thought this might help you feel a little better," he murmured, his voice softening.

A light laugh escaped her lips, a warm sensation unfurling in her chest at the surprising comfort of his touch.

It felt strange, witnessing Kevin’s face adorned with such a gentle expression, his gesture unfamiliar yet profoundly welcome.

"I can't leave the Moon," she admitted, her voice softer now. "But if you ever need help, I'll do what I can."

Phainon tilted his head slightly, his curiosity piqued as he waited for her to elaborate on her thoughts.

"…And if, by some miraculous stroke of fate, you happen to cross paths with Kevin Kaslana," she murmured, a delicate hand resting under her chin, her finely shaped brows knitting together in contemplation, "make sure to tell him I said hello."

A silence enveloped them momentarily, thick with unspoken thoughts, before she hesitated and continued, almost as if it had just occurred to her.

"It's merely a hunch, but if this really is a case of body-swapping… there's a chance you might encounter him… in your own body."

Phainon’s eyes widened momentarily at the suggestion, a flicker of uncertainty passing across his features before he masked it with a composed demeanor. Kiana Kaslana, ever attuned to the subtle shifts in his expression, noticed the brief glimmer of unease and decided to offer some reassurance.

"The likelihood of that occurring is quite slim," she stated softly, her voice gentle like a cool breeze on a warm day. "Kevin has already ventured somewhere far beyond our reach. But even if it does happen…"

She smiled.

"I can promise you—he won't do anything rash."

The Chrysos Heir shook his head.

"From what you've told me, I'm not worried about that. I just fear how others might react. They put Amphoreus' safety above all else."

That, at least, was no cause for concern. The Kaslana was nothing but experienced—if he was truly there, he would know exactly how to handle the situation.

Once he returned to Amphoreus, Phainon had only one goal: to find himself. He needed to know what had happened to his real body.

"Alright," Kiana declared, "I'm sending you back now."

Now that she had the precise coordinates of Amphoreus, the Herrscher of Finality tore open a rift in space-time.

Standing before the swirling gateway, 'Kevin Kaslana' paused, glancing back one last time.

"For everything you've done… thank you."

Kiana grinned, waving cheerfully.

"Think nothing of it, Phainon."

His lips curled into a bright, carefree smile—one that felt entirely at odds with the face he wore. With a half-step into the portal, he called out—

"Farewell, Kiana."

"Farewell, Phainon."

-

"Eternal Holy City – Okhema."

A solitary figure leaned casually against a weathered stone pillar, silver hair catching the light as he surveyed the bustling cityscape before him. His sharp, aquamarine eyes flickered with intensity, taking in every detail of the vibrant surroundings. Though his posture exuded ease, there was an undeniable air of authority about him—a captivating presence clad in unfamiliar garments.

Passersby rushed by, oblivious to the enigmatic man in their midst.

The atmosphere was infused with a refreshing vitality.

Yet nothing compared to the joy of returning home.

Chapter Text

Phainon had narrowly escaped a disaster, discovering just in time how to hide what Lady Kaslana called the "Seventh Divine Key." Had he charged into Okhema wielding a blazing greatsword casually over his shoulder, it wouldn’t have taken long for him to attract unwanted attention and be halted in his tracks.

He quickly became familiar with Kevin Kaslana's body. Their physiques were remarkably similar, both shaped by numerous battles and strengthened through experience. However, the Chrysos Heir couldn't shake off his curiosity about the unusual similarities in their appearances.

They were alike. Too alike. If there was one difference, it would be that the other had simply lived longer—seen more, endured more.

Lifting a hand, he adjusted his collar, gloved fingers grazing the bare skin of his neck. The absence of a black choker coiled around his throat left him feeling strangely incomplete.

Now then... where should he begin?

Naturally, the first step would be inquiring about the infamous Chrysos Heir—Phainon. The irony was not lost on him. To ask about himself, as if he were some distant entity, was an hilarious notion. He could only hope that 'he' hadn't already been buried six feet under.

For now, concealing his identity seemed the wisest course of action.

It was only then that he noticed his surroundings—he had wandered close to the southeast of the Marmoreal Palace, where the dromases' dwelling was located.

If fortune favored him, he might come across one of the caretakers. In the past, he often visited this place, feeding the dromases and tending to them. Much like the Chrysos Heirs, they too were steadfast guardians of Amphoreus. The thought stirred something in his chest—a pang of nostalgia. Castor and Pollux... were they still doing well?

As he stepped into the dwelling, a vast expanse of lush grassland stretched beneath the heavy-footed dromases—majestic, towering beasts clad in regal violet hides and ornate armor. The air carried the scent of fresh grass and sunbaked earth, mingling with the distant murmur of caretakers tending to their duties. Scattered green tents dotted the area, blending into the landscape.

And then, he saw her.

The one he encountered was more than just a manager.

Chrysos Heir—Castorice.

-

Whenever Castorice patrolled the familiar, winding paths of Okhema, she always found herself drawn to the dromases' dwelling.

She could never touch another person, her abilities made sure of that. However, standing at a distance, watching living creatures go about their day, was enough for her. It was a quiet comfort, an unspoken solace.

Recently, another had appeared—someone much like her. "Phainon." The man whose body harbored the most extreme case of 'hypothermia' in recorded history. Like her, he too could not make contact with others, save for a select few whose bodies could withstand the lethal cold.

'I hope he's doing well.'

A faint smile graced Castorice's lips as the dromases eagerly buried their snouts into the troughs of red earth. Ever since the calamity of the Black Tide, the creatures had grown more wary, their usual vibrancy dampened by lingering unease. Despite all of that, things had improved—if only slightly.

Pollux, in particular, was devouring its meal with such enthusiasm that streaks of dirt clung stubbornly to its muzzle. A cloth lay draped over the edge of the trough—convenient, within reach. But Castorice knew better. She couldn't do anything about it.

"Sorry, Pollux. I'll have to ask someone else to help you with that."

The beast let out a low, rumbling noise, almost as if it understood. But then, just as suddenly, it stilled. Its keen eyes fixed intently on something to the right.

"Lady Castorice, do you need assistance?"

A voice interrupted her thoughts. Instinctively, she followed Pollux's gaze and for a brief, disorienting moment, she almost believed Phainon had changed into something far more refined than his usual attire. But reality quickly settled in with a second glance. Phainon's sense of fashion wasn't nearly that... put together.

Yet the resemblance was uncanny. Disturbingly so.

She took a moment to regain her composure, her head tilting slightly in a measured nod that conveyed both gratitude and curiosity. "I'd appreciate that, thank you," she replied, her voice steady despite the unsettling familiarity.

The silver-haired stranger responded with a disarming, effortless smile—a warm expression that seemed to radiate an inexplicable comfort. As he reached for the cloth, a soft rustling sound echoed through the air, and Pollux, the majestic creature, let out an unmistakable sound of delight. With a gentle nudge, it pressed its enormous head against him, an affectionate gesture that suggested an unspoken bond, as if it recognized an old friend emerging from the shadows of memory.

But still, a question lingered in her mind. Wasn’t this very same dromas closest to Phainon?

Her gaze sharpened, tracing the contours of his dark cloak. There was nothing overtly suspicious about his clothing—no insignia, no embellishments that would immediately give away his origins—but it was clear that he did not belong to this land.

"You're not from around here, are you?"

Maintaining that same composed confidence, he gave a small, knowing nod. His voice, smooth and measured, carried the weight of quiet assurance.

"No. I have just arrived."

The Chrysos Heir gave a another small nod at his response. A question lingered on the tip of her tongue—one she hesitated to voice. Was there a familial connection between this man and Lord Phainon? The resemblance was too striking to ignore.

But that was a personal matter, and it wasn't her place to pry.

The man neatly folded the cloth and placed it back in its original spot. Pollux, ever the expressive creature, gave a gentle nudge against his chest this time—a quiet gesture of gratitude. He turned back to Castorice, but before she could speak, he was the one to bring up Amphoreus' Deliverer first.

"Lady Castorice, do you know where Lord Phainon is at the moment? I have an appointment with him."

Throughout the exchange, she clasped her hands neatly behind her back, her posture unwavering.

"I'm not certain. It's midday break, so he's likely in his chambers—or perhaps in Lord Mydeimos' quarters."

At the mention of the prince's name, something in his expression shifted. His gaze softened, a fleeting warmth flickering beneath the surface before vanishing just as quickly.

That reaction piqued her curiosity. When she had first laid eyes on him, she had assumed he was the type to be aloof and distant, the kind of man whose presence carried an air of detachment. And yet, the longer they spoke, the more she realized—he was approachable. Almost effortlessly so.

Just like the first impression she once had of Phainon.

"Thank you, Lady Castorice. If fate allows, we shall meet again."

With a courteous nod, he turned on his heel and departed.

Narrowing her eyes slightly, Castorice watched him go. The enigmatic stranger—who had claimed to have never set foot in Okhema before—strode away with a confidence that confused her. He hadn't asked for directions, nor had he hesitated, as if he already knew exactly where Phainon's chambers were.

One man wakes up with no recollection of himself.
The other arrives, an outsider, yet navigates the land as though it were second nature.

The sense of déjà vu pressed heavily against the back of her head.

Only then did she allow her fingers to move, shifting ever so slightly to reveal a teleslate resting in her palm. The screen remained lit. A call still ongoing.

And at the other end of the line—Aglaea.

—

'Kevin Kaslana' couldn't shake the feeling that if he were to claim he was 'Phainon''s long-lost brother, everyone would believe him without question.

The ease of his infiltration was almost suspicious.

All it had taken was a few inquiries with the palace guards. There had been no resistance—no skepticism. They had let him in without delay, though he had caught the subtle flickers of bewilderment in their eyes.

Something about this was too smooth.

And that was precisely why Phainon found himself doubting it.

With Aedes Elysiae gone, and with no kin left to his name, Phainon had long grown accustomed to the silence of his chambers. No visitors came knocking—save for the Chrysos Heirs. As such, he had no real certainty whether outsiders were ever allowed in this space at all.

With each tentative step forward, he was nearing the threshold of the kitchen and dining hall.

The scent of pomegranate thickened in the air, mingling with the unmistakable hum of a blender in motion.

"Mydei?"

The name was the first to surface in his mind.

Could it really be him?

A sensation coiled tight in his chest—one that bordered between anticipation and something dangerously close to desperation.

He willed himself not to rush in, not to fold under the weight of longing and throw his arms around his prince the moment he laid eyes on him. It had been too long. Far too long. And while he knew he was being dramatic, the ache of distance had been real.

But he wasn't himself right now.

And dammit, his feet had already moved of their own accord.

When it came to Mydeimos, self-restraint had always been his weakest virtue.

Oh well. He might as well take a peek. Just a peek.

His footsteps quickened, yet he remained mindful enough to soften his approach, heart pounding with each silent beat against the marble floors.

Then, at last, he reached the threshold.

And stopped.

"…Me?"

It was not the prince of Kremnos standing there.

The figure at the counter froze, hands poised over a blender filled with deep crimson juice. A neatly written instruction sheet fluttered to the ground, forgotten in the moment of sheer disbelief.

For a long, breathless second, they simply stared at each other, eyes wide—mirroring the same shock, the same incomprehension.

It was almost comical that, even in his daze, the male had enough presence of mind to reach over and unplug the blender before it could overheat and explode. Mydeimos would have 'his' head if he didn't.

—

There was no preparing for the sheer absurdity of standing face-to-face with himself.

Kevin had often wondered how others saw him. A mirror could offer an answer, sure—but nothing compared to the visceral reality of looking at himself through another's eyes, through another's body.

Kevin Kaslana.

Codename: Deliverance. The First of the Thirteen Flamechasers.

CM-001.

Alright. The Kaslana had already entertained the possibility that their souls had somehow been switched. However, he quickly dismissed it as the least likely scenario—if only because he was dead, and Phainon, as far as he knew, was very much alive. The natural laws of life and death did not simply resurrect someone without demanding a price.

And standing before him was proof of that immutable truth.

The other Kevin still gripped the doorframe, looking utterly blindsided. Did he even realize how transparent his shock was? Or rather, had he himself once worn such an expression before?

He let out a long exhale, tension hanging in the air.

"You're Phainon, aren't you?"

Phainon pressed his lips into a thin line, finally righting himself as his features hardened. When he was serious like this, he truly did look no different from the Kaslana.

Then, with measured precision, he nodded and gestured toward himself.

"That's right. And I suppose… I'm in your body."

His finger then lifted, pointing straight at Kevin Kaslana.

"Just as you are in mine."

Phainon expected confusion, perhaps even disbelief. Instead, Kevin barely spared him a glance before coolly turning away, reaching for the pomegranate juice he had been preparing. He poured the remainder into a glass, sealed it, and placed it in the fridge—all with the same practiced ease, as though this entire conversation wasn't bordering on existential madness.

Seriously? Juice? Now?

Then again, Phainon had an inkling of why.

"That's for Mydei, isn't it?"

The Kaslana nodded.

"Yeah."

(If nothing else, at least they seemed to operate on the same wavelength.

Even if the heavens collapsed, even if the very earth caved in to swallow them whole—Mydeimos came first.

Oh no, this was absolutely not an indicator of devastating, all-consuming devotion. Not at all.)

Could it be that, in his absence, the Hero of Humanity had been the one taking care of Mydei? If so, that was a relief. Phainon had been worried—worried that his beloved might have suffered while he had been unceremoniously cast into another world.

Stepping fully into the kitchen, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae took in the sight before him.

Two men—two Deliverers—standing side by side.

Both were tall, both bore snow-white hair, both had piercing blue eyes. One was clad in black, the other in white.

Mirror images, yet utterly different.

"Ahem." Phainon cleared his throat. "Kaslana, does anyone else know about our situation?"

"How?"

Deliverer faltered slightly at the clipped response. He tilted his head, waiting for an explanation. The supposed 'Phainon,' distant and composed, simply repeated, "How do you know my surname is Kaslana?"

Ah.

Phainon answered slowly.

"While wandering through... another world, I met one of your descendants. Kiana Kaslana. She told me what I needed to know."

For the briefest moment, that unreadable, expressionless face cracked—surprise flickering across his sharp features. Kevin murmured, almost to himself, "So that's how it is..."

Then, after a beat— "...Were you alright there?"

Phainon blinked. That was unexpected. Still, he shook his head and smiled in reassurance.
For the first time, Kevin saw his own face smiling back at him.

'So this... is what I look like when I smile?'

"No problem," Phainon replied smoothly.

The air around them was cold. Colder than before.

Now that he thought about it, Lady Kiana had mentioned something about this man's peculiar body temperature. Phainon studied this version of himself with keen interest. Kevin was... darker in presence, his aura frigid and somber, yet layered beneath it was an undeniable weight of age, of quiet wisdom.

Then another, far more troubling realization settled in.

Their voices. There was no difference between them.

If Kevin's voice sounded deeper, it was only due to the way he spoke, his natural cadence. But in essence, they had the exact same voice.

"..."

The Chrysos Heir raised an eyebrow.

So he was just… going to stay silent?

"And what about your side?"

"..."

Kevin frowned, his lips pressing together as he took a moment to gather his words. Eventually, he answered, his tone calm but firm.

"They kept a pretty tight leash on me at first. Aside from one person, no one knows I've taken over your body."

Phainon's expression remained unreadable, but his response was immediate.

"Let me guess—Anaxa?"

Kevin confirmed.

"Yeah. Professor Anaxagoras."

A flicker of understanding crossed Phainon’s face. “I can see how he caught on so quickly.”

Because, judging by his demeanor, it was a miracle that no one else had gotten suspicious.

Phainon exhaled, studying the man before him.

"Don't get the wrong idea," Kevin added, his voice steady but laced with something subtle—an exhaustion that wasn't physical. "The only reason I got away with it was by pretending I had amnesia. Other than that, I still have no clue how to reverse this mess."

That meant the Kaslana was actively trying to return.

To go back to where he came from.

To…die?

A disquieting thought took root in Phainon's mind: Kevin Kaslana was already dead. Kiana had shared that revelation with him, and the weight of her words lingered like a ghost in the air.

So why?

He had the choice to stay right here—to take over Phainon's body and experience existence in a manner he had never imagined possible. But he didn't succumb to that temptation. Instead, he was on a quest, desperately seeking a path back to where he truly belonged.

'This man…'

Phainon observed him with renewed scrutiny.

He wasn't a schemer. He wasn't some desperate soul clinging to life at any cost. He was simply a warrior—a soldier who had already fulfilled his duty, a man who had lived far too long and was now treading a path he had no intention of deviating from.

There was something admirable about that.

After a long moment of contemplation, the younger man gave a slow nod. This was, indeed, a situation that required serious thought.

And then, an idea popped up.

"I think you've done well keeping yourself hidden," Phainon admitted. "But now that I'm back, I can take on the role of a mediator."

Kevin folded his arms across his chest, a single brow arching.

"You mean we should just tell them outright?"

The more optimistic version of himself nodded without hesitation.

It made sense. the Kaslana had chosen to stay quiet as a precaution—a smart move, given the unpredictability of how the Chrysos Heirs might react to an outsider, especially one from another world. But now, with Phainon here, the situation has changed. He could smooth things over, offer context, and ensure that this didn't spiral into something worse.

"Exactly. I believe they can help us."

Kevin considered it for a moment, then gave a short nod.

"Understood."

Phainon's lips curled into a faint smile, though there was a hint of resignation in his expression.

"Although… I think the truth might've already been uncovered the moment I stepped foot in here."

A nonchalant shrug, a slightly exasperated smirk. People often mistook his aloofness for ignorance, but Phainon wasn't stupid. And unfortunately for them, neither was everyone else.

The guards were lax. The doors were left unlocked. The halls, empty. And, of course, Castorice kept her hands behind her back the entire time.

It was all too telling.

As expected, within mere seconds, The Goldweaver and the Garmentmakers stepped through the doorway.

Lady Aglaea—calm as ever, her face a mask of unreadable composure—turned her emerald eyes toward the two males standing before her.

"Phainon. And our… esteemed guest. Both of you will come with me."

As near-invisible golden threads wove their way through the air, her shrouded gaze lingered upon them, observing, analyzing. The sight they made, standing side by side, was nothing short of peculiar.

At last, they complied.

The one known as 'Phainon' offered no resistance. He merely inclined his head in quiet assent.

"Very well."

-

At the Vortex of Genesis, a gathering of Chrysos Heirs awaited.

Their supposed threat, now bound by Aglaea's golden threads, stood in the center. The delicate strands, initially resilient, had already begun to stiffen and crack at the mere touch of his frigid aura. And yet—despite the opportunity, despite the obvious fragility of his restraints—he made no move to break free. No sign of defiance.

It was an eerie kind of stillness.

But today, that silence would be broken.

They would finally learn of The Hero of Humanity.

Or rather—the Last Hope of Mankind.

Chapter Text

'The starting point of the world,
hidden by the waves. A grand sanctuary that houses the primal divinity of the Twelve Titans.'

The path into the Vortex of Genesis plunged into unfathomable depths.

The air here was thick, almost viscous, as though time itself had slowed its relentless march. Each step reverberated with an eerie echo, swallowed by the boundless shroud of eternal night.

Before him loomed the swirling gate, radiating a deep azure glow—like a galaxy spiraling inward, a jagged tear in the fabric of reality itself.

Once again, Kevin Kaslana found his breath faltering—not from fear, nor from tension, but something heavier, something intangible. He shut his eyes briefly, willing himself to stay composed. If he still had the chance… maybe he would visit Hyacine one last time. That was, if she even wanted to see him.

Lady Aglaea stood ahead, her posture an impenetrable fortress, betraying no hint of vulnerability. Kevin still couldn't claim to truly understand her. This woman—sharp-tongued and swift to act—was the first to neutralize any 'potential threats' to Amphoreus with ruthless precision.

That much was evident in the golden threads, razor-sharp and far from the delicate strands typically used to glean secrets, now coiled tightly around his wrists. Some looped around his throat, pressing hard against the black choker he wore, biting into his skin. The space around him thrummed with invisible, lethal webbing—an inescapable snare.

Phainon—still tethered within Kaslana's body—mirrored his predicament. However, he seemed unperturbed, his expression lost in quiet contemplation. Seeing himself like this was an oddity beyond words, and Kevin bet Phainon felt the same surreal dissonance.

Castorice had been here from the start. The scent of death lingered in her wake, a silent specter trailing them all.

The Tribios had only just arrived. Their faces, etched with raw, almost childlike panic, made their distress all the more palpable. For a fleeting moment, he felt the weight of the flower crowns they'd once bestowed upon him.

He exhaled, his gaze settling on Aglaea.

"You must have a lot of questions."

In truth, didn't they all?

The woman flicked her gaze past 'Kevin' for a brief second before her clouded, inscrutable eyes locked onto his.

"I imagine everyone here does," she replied, her voice calm yet edged with steel. "This trial will commence once the Chrysos Heirs have fully assembled."

…A trial?

So, these fleeting days were drawing to a close.

Kevin Kaslana gazed down at the sun-shaped emblem etched into the cuff of the pristine white garb he wore. He knew, deep down, that he could never linger here for long—he didn't belong.

This was where it ended. Sooner or later, he'd vanish; it was only a matter of time before the body-swap was undone.

Or… was it?

If he had the choice, he'd stay.

But that was greed talking, and Kevin Kaslana had never been worthy of such indulgence. It all boiled down to a hollow 'if only'—a fragile thread of wishful thinking.

He'd do well to stop dreaming.

"Kaslana, it'll be alright."

The whisper came from the white-haired figure beside him. Phainon flashed a faint, reassuring smile—one brimming with the quiet confidence that nothing would veer off course, that he could handle this mess.

At times, Kevin envied the faith and hope Phainon carried so effortlessly.

Or rather, the faith and hope he himself had once borne.

-

He ran.

With all due respect, what in the blazes had Aglaea meant by dropping such earth-shattering news out of nowhere?!

'I'm calling an emergency assembly.'

He was nearly at the entrance now.

'Right now, at the Vortex of Genesis.'

Mydeimos still clutched the teleslate, its screen glowing faintly in his grip. In his mind, her message replayed like a glitching reel, each word searing into his thoughts.

'Chrysos Heir—Phainon—and another suspect have been brought here. The trial and interrogation will commence once all capable Chrysos Heirs have gathered.'

A trial? An interrogation?

Setting aside the sudden appearance of yet another figure, what in the world had Phainon done this time? In certain missions where mistakes were inevitable—even in cases where they'd inadvertently compromised Okhema's security—the Deliverer's punishments typically amounted to scrubbing bathtubs or tackling double the usual paperwork.

But to be dragged to the Vortex of Genesis… this was an entirely different beast.

By the time Mydei arrived, Hyacine had just stepped into the scene. She flinched slightly as the prince brushed past her in a rush, his breaths ragged and labored, as if he might collapse at any moment. According to the nurse's recollection, Mydeimos was supposed to be on a mission in the outskirts right now. Yet, in a mere sliver of time, here he was.

"Deliverer!"

Mydei's voice rose, sharp and commanding.

That familiar silhouette—the broad shoulders, the unyielding stance—stood resolute before the swirling vortex.

'Phainon' glanced back over his shoulder, a faint "Mydeimos…" escaping his lips before his gaze darted downward, evasive and uncertain.

Before the prince of Kremnos could press further, his eyes caught the figure standing beside him.

A long black coat flared out, its metallic trim glinting faintly in the dimness. The man turned fully, his expression softening into something warmer, almost disarmingly so. That 'foolish' grin—tinged with a teasing edge—locked onto the prince without hesitation.

"Mydei."

Mydei froze, struck dumb.

For a long, breathless half-minute, silence reigned. Mydeimos—Mydeimos could only stare, wide-eyed, at the two men before him.

…Why were there two Phainons?

Then, like a dam bursting, memories of a past conversation with 'Phainon' flooded back, crashing over him with relentless force.

"If, by some miracle, there were two of you standing before me, I'd take both on without hesitation. You think I wouldn't?"

Back then, he'd only meant to comfort 'Phainon.' Looking back, though, the question had carried an odd weight. Two of them instead of one—had he actually been serious at that moment?

It was almost laughable—how could something like this even happen? Mydei swallowed hard, shaking himself out of the stupor that had gripped him, and scrutinized the scene once more. Oh, that figure in the black cloak only resembled Phainon. He hadn't even met this person before.

Yet the stranger's gaze lingered on him—warm, affectionate, tinged with a subtle devotion that felt almost too personal.

That is, until the one who looked uncannily like the Deliverer raised both bound hands to his hair, tousling it with a casual, almost theatrical flourish. The strands fell into disarray, and—

Suddenly, he was indistinguishable from the real thing.

That deliberate, utterly unnecessary gesture was so quintessentially Phainon.

"What is going on here?" Mydei muttered, his question dissolving into the tense air around him.

Moments earlier, Hyacine had softly announced that Professor Anaxagoras wouldn't be joining them due to personal matters, and it was then that Aglaea finally stirred into action.

"At this moment, I'm as lost as you are," she said, her voice steady yet laced with resolve. "But we're about to unravel it—right now."

Threads of fate shimmered as they danced between her deft fingers.

"Snowy…"

Professor Tribbie pressed a hand to her chest, a flicker of dread igniting within her. Even Hyacine, the nurse, seemed to sense it—an ominous premonition tying itself to Phainon's abnormal body temperature and fragmented memory. Perhaps answers were finally within reach.

Aglaea's voice cut through the silence, sharp and commanding.

"Though none of you have yet crossed any unforgivable line, the fate of this city hangs as fragile as these threads I wield."

She stepped forward, her presence imposing yet eerily serene.

"And so, it falls to us to excise any threats before they can take root."

Faced with a judgment that could spell death, the Kaslana stood in stoic silence, accepting it without protest. To live or to die—it mattered little. Resistance wasn't beyond his capability, but something deep within stayed his hand. He wouldn't fight this.

"Very well," he said, his tone calm and measured. "I'll tell you what you need to know."

Beside him, Phainon chimed in, his voice carrying a hint of his usual charm despite the tension.

"Lady Aglaea, I swear it'll all make sense soon enough."

By this point, even Aglaea had begun to piece together the identity of this enigmatic 'honored guest.'

"Very well," she declared, her tone resolute yet threaded with quiet authority. "I'll pose a series of questions to you both. Should you dare to lie, the threads binding you will tremble. If you speak the truth, they'll remain still."

Mydeimos felt a prickle of unease twist in his gut.

"The number of times the threads quiver," Aglaea continued, "will match the steps the executioner takes toward you."

"Aglaea."

The crowned prince's voice carried a low, warning growl—perhaps a subtle attempt to temper her resolve. But regardless of his intent, the decree stood firm.

The executioner in question was none other than Castorice, positioned just behind them. She looked anything but at ease, her posture rigid, her face betraying a flicker of nervous tension she couldn't quite mask.

"A swift, painless death is the least I can promise," she murmured, her voice soft but heavy with reluctance. It was clear she wanted no part in this.

And then came the first question—the most pivotal of all—delivered like a blade slicing through the suffocating silence.

"State your true identities."

The Chrysos Heirs stood in silent vigilance, their breaths held captive, eyes locked on the scene as the truth teetered on the edge of revelation.

The first shock came swiftly. The man in the black cloak lifted his gaze, meeting Aglaea's stare head-on, and answered without a trace of hesitation.

"I am Phainon of Aedes Elysiae."

The golden threads encircling him lay dormant, undisturbed.

Hyacine's hand flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. The Tribios stared wide-eyed, words failing them entirely. Though they'd harbored faint suspicions, even Castorice couldn't maintain her usual composure, her calm facade cracking under the weight of the moment.

But the one struck hardest was undoubtedly Mydei.

…The person he'd spent no small amount of time with—wasn't Phainon at all.

What the hell is happening?

Though every fiber of his being screamed to demand whether this was some elaborate jest, the stillness of the golden threads stood as irrefutable proof—cold, unwavering evidence of the truth in those words.

"Then who are you?" Mydei pressed, his voice tight with disbelief.

The 'Phainon' he'd known turned to him, offering only a hollow stare tinged with a faint, melancholic shadow. For reasons he couldn't quite grasp, Mydei's heart twisted painfully under the weight of that gaze.

"My name is Kevin Kaslana," the man replied, his tone steady yet distant.

He paused, then added, "I'm not from this world."

Once again, the golden threads remained motionless, their silence deafening.

And just like that, the pieces fell into place. Aglaea, ever perceptive, seized control of the moment, her sharp gaze shifting to the true Phainon as her voice dropped to a low, commanding timbre.

"Phainon, if it's truly you, explain the situation. Now."

As expected, the Chrysos Heir turned to the Deliverer first. Had Kevin faced this interrogation alone, earning Aglaea's trust might have been a near-impossible feat. But with Phainon's presence, the scales tipped.

"It sounds fantastical, I know," Phainon began, his voice carrying a trace of utter seriousness, "but the gist of it is this: he and I swapped bodies. I woke up in another world entirely, and it was only through some fortunate assistance that I managed to return."

He didn't miss a beat, adding swiftly, "Neither of us knows what caused it. As far as we can tell, it was a freak accident—nothing more, nothing less."

The golden threads, satisfied with the honesty in his words, loosened their grip around his wrists. With a faint shimmer, they unraveled and dissipated into the air, restoring his freedom at last.

"So, the one who's been with us all this time wasn't Snowy-" Trianne said, her voice laced with astonishment as she broke the stunned silence.

"But someone else entirely—using Snowy's body…" Trinnon finished, his words hanging heavy as the realization rippled through the room.

The others present exchanged glances, their expressions shifting from shock to comprehension as the truth settled over them like a storm clearing into uneasy calm.

And for Mydeimos, it clicked—why he hadn't recognized Phainon during that near-brawl in the kitchen all those days ago. Because it wasn't Phainon! Yet everything that had unfolded after—

Heat surged to Mydei's face, a volatile mix of subtle embarrassment and fury igniting within him.

"So, you've deceived us, you bastard."

—

"So, you've deceived us, you bastard."

So, it turns out—

Mydeimos fell silent after that, his words swallowed by the storm brewing within him.

But gods, it was hard to breathe for the Kaslana.

What was this searing sensation clawing at his chest? It felt achingly familiar. His vision blurred momentarily, overtaken by strange, fleeting shadows that danced at the edges before fading back into clarity.

He couldn't recall the last time mere words spilling from someone's lips had struck him this deeply, unraveling him so completely.

It was his fault.

He should've confessed everything from the start—laid bare his truth and accepted his fate as a stranger among the Chrysos Heirs. He never should've allowed himself even a taste of someone else's life, savoring what wasn't his to claim.

Kevin Kaslana had once harbored a quiet hope that he might stay, but now that desire felt superfluous, hollow. As if spurred by the torrent of his negativity, the air around him grew frigid, the temperature plummeting with an almost unnatural swiftness—perhaps a echo of Parvati's gene awakening in response to his turmoil.

Phainon of Aedes Elysiae cast him a concerned glance, but Kevin pointedly ignored it, his expression shuttered.

"Go on, ask your questions," he said, his voice icy and clipped. His fingers laced together tightly, wrists still bound by the unyielding threads.

Aglaea regarded him with a measured gaze. "The questions that follow will determine your fate. If we can ascertain that you pose no threat, you'll be permitted to remain here as a guest until we devise a way to reverse this body swap."

Should he fail to convince them, however, they might find themselves studying a corpse rather than harboring a living soul.

The Kaslana nodded wearily, resignation etching lines into his features. Aglaea pressed forward, her tone firm yet not unkind.

"Swear to me that you'll answer every question with absolute honesty."

Promises again.

"…Fine, I swear it," Kevin muttered, his voice a reluctant murmur.

Phainon opened his mouth as if to interject, but the sharp, irritated edge in Mydei's expression caught him off guard. Despite all of that, beneath that simmering frustration, Phainon could discern something else—a flicker of anger that wasn't entirely genuine.

He was still worried about the man.

"First, outsider," Aglaea began, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade, "did you orchestrate this swap?"

Kevin answered, his tone even. "No."

The golden threads lay still, undisturbed.

"Second, do you harbor any ill intentions toward Amphoreus or its people?"

He mulled it over briefly, but there was no reason—no motive—to suggest otherwise. "No," he replied once more. With this, a subtle shift rippled through the room. The Chrysos Heirs visibly relaxed, their guarded postures softening at last.

Tribbie ventured, her voice warm with a hint of relief.

"Honestly, from what we've observed, he's genuinely a decent person."

She paused, then added, "We believe he concealed his identity purely for his own safety—nothing more."

Castorice nodded faintly, a quiet agreement shimmering in her eyes, though her unease lingered like a shadow.

Hyacine raised a tentative hand, and with a slight nod from Lady Aglaea, she was granted permission to speak. "I suspect your memory loss was just an excuse, wasn't it?" she asked softly, her gaze searching. "So, if I may… why is your body temperature so unnaturally cold?"

Mydeimos—who'd grown all too accustomed to that bone-chilling minus-thirty-degree aura—arched a brow. Despite the storm of irritation still churning within him, he couldn't deny his own curiosity prickling at the question. For once, Kevin Kaslana's eyes locked with his, a silent exchange passing between them before the outsider averted his gaze.

Kevin's lips parted, hesitating as if grappling for the right words. At last, he offered a curt explanation. "It's a side effect."

Aglaea, all too familiar with such evasive half-truths, tilted her head slightly, her tone firm yet laced with expectation. "Care to elaborate?

"…"

Why did they even care about this? The detail was utterly inconsequential—prying into it wouldn't yield anything of value. Mentioning 'Honkai' now would only tangle everything into an incomprehensible mess.

"…It's irrelevant," Kevin said at last, his voice flat. "It poses no threat to Amphoreus."

The golden threads encircling his wrists and throat remained still, affirming the truth of his words. Yet—

"Castorice, one step."

Castorice hesitated, then took a single, reluctant step closer to him.

At the same moment, the golden threads tightened with a vicious grip, constricting around his wrists until he could almost feel the skin threatening to split. One more tug, he thought grimly, and blood would spill.

Phainon, witnessing this, stepped forward instinctively, his voice edged with urgency as he intervened. "Lady Aglaea, I truly believe there's no need for such excessive caution."

But Aglaea—practically a demigod by now—had long since had her emotions eroded by time and duty. The absolute safety of Amphoreus was her unyielding priority. Her threads, though powerful, had their limits, and her inability to fully pierce through Kevin Kaslana's guarded depths only heightened her wariness. She raised a hand, silencing Phainon's protest.

"Proceed."

Kevin exhaled heavily, a weary sigh escaping his lips. This was becoming a headache.

He needed to sidestep this cleverly. Bringing up 'Honkai' energy now would upend everything he'd managed to stabilize. After a beat, he spoke again, choosing his words with care. "It's a side effect of my ice-manipulating abilities. Most of the time, it's not something I can fully control."

The threads lay dormant once more.

It wasn't the whole truth—not by a long shot—but it was accurate enough. Sensing his growing discomfort, teacher Tribbie stepped in, her tone gentle and apologetic.

"Kev, we're sorry for pressing you on this."

He blinked, caught off guard. 'Kev'…? It seemed teacher Tribbie had already christened him with a new nickname, slipping it in with an ease that almost felt disarming.

To his surprise, even Lady Aglaea inclined her head slightly, a gesture of refined courtesy. "I, too, offer you my sincerest apologies, Kaslana," she said, her voice softened by a rare trace of contrition.

He shook his head. "My fault. It's fine."

Whether it was a flicker of mercy stirring in Aglaea or simply her judgment reaching its limit, she decided the next question would be the last.

"If, in the future, conflict arises between our sides, would you turn your blade against Amphoreus?"

He had no reason—none at all—to do such a thing.

"No."

And with that, everything was settled. The suffocating tension that had gripped the room finally dissipated, melting away like mist under dawn's light. The delicate threads binding his wrists snapped apart and dissolved into the air, leaving behind faint red marks that barely registered as an afterthought. The interrogation had concluded, and it had ended well.

However, the Kaslana's mood remained leaden, an unshakable weight pressing against his chest, gnawing at him with a quiet unease. He scarcely registered Aglaea's decree permitting him to stay in Amphoreus, complete with a private room prepared just for him. The murmured words of the surrounding heirs drifted past him like a fleeting breeze, barely touching his awareness.

Wait—Phainon seemed just as detached.

Their prince, his posture rigid with unspoken defiance, turned away in solitude, his steps echoing faintly as he distanced himself.

Their feet moved almost of their own accord, drawn toward him.

—

Should he leave?

At a distance that felt both achingly close and impossibly vast, a streak of red blazed like smoldering embers—Mydeimos, exuding the unyielding resolve of a warrior forged through countless battles.

If Kevin Kaslana did nothing, he'd let this moment slip through his fingers.

He'd lose Mydeimos.

And that… was that okay?

A wave of dizziness crashed over him, disorienting and relentless.

Then, abruptly, a weight settled into Kevin's arms—a presence, warm and real. The control room, the main control room—

'And he'll be called Adam, the name of the first man.'

The man with long, ash-gray hair wore an expression of profound sorrow, his disappointment in himself etched starkly across his features.

'I'm sorry, Kevin.'

'I failed to cure MEI's sickness.'

Unwillingly, the Kaslana's gaze dropped to the weathered stone floor, where MEI's lifeless body lay—still, powerless, devoid of breath. She had perished there in the main control room, joining the ranks of most of his comrades lost in the battle against the Herrscher of the End.

That was how MEI had left him.

And now, Mydeimos's retreating figure grew smaller in the distance.

"…"

Mydeimos was not MEI—Kevin knew that with crystalline clarity. He had never seen the prince as a mere shadow of her, not once. The distinction was undeniable, rooted in Mydeimos's singular essence.

But would he let himself be abandoned yet again?

Would he allow another chance to slip through his grasp?

He'd rather face Mydeimos's outright rejection than surrender without reaching out. And so…

Kevin surged forward, his steps swift and resolute.

A gauntleted hand clamped around his heart, its sharp claws sinking deep into the fragile muscle.

His pride? That, he could discard.

—

Mydei felt irritation simmering within him, rising with every passing moment, though its source eluded him.

Was it because Phainon had dared to linger elsewhere for far too long?

Or because that Kaslana bastard had kept silent about his true identity?

Beneath the tumult of his emotions, the core of this chaotic storm was likely an overwhelming confusion—a disarray he couldn't quite untangle.

Yes, perhaps a long soak in a steaming bath would soothe his frayed nerves. Mydei was utterly unprepared to confront not one, but two Deliverers at once—each a riddle wrapped in enigma, testing his own limits.

"Mydei!"

A pair of arms—both foreign and achingly familiar—encircled his waist from behind. The oversized white pup wagged its tail eagerly as he performed a gesture so ingrained that it felt like second nature: burying his face into the crook of Mydei's neck, pressing a searing kiss there instead of the icy touch one might expect from someone else.

The prince stood frozen, rooted to the spot. Glancing downward, he caught a glimpse of a black cloak edged with metallic trim at the corner of his vision. The hands embracing him were not clad in usual fingerless gloves, adorned with subtle accents of deep sea-blue.

"I missed you so much."

A stranger's body, a soul he knew intimately.

Mydeimos genuinely didn't know how to respond.

He turned his head, and that handsome face filled his view—striking and unguarded. The sign of Kephale was gone, replaced by a breathtaking shade of blue reminiscent of the ocean's depths.

The Deliverer grinned, a playful lilt in his voice. "You're mad at me, aren't you? Don't be."

"HKS-" Mydei cursed under his breath, his armored hand rising to rest against the warm cheek of the real Phainon. The man—white-haired, blue-eyed, and brimming with unrestrained delight—nuzzled into his palm like an overjoyed puppy reunited with its master. It was almost surreal to see the face of the Flamechasers' leader reduced to such unabashed affection before Kremnos's sole prince.

This was his Phainon.

A vivid memory surged through Mydei's mind, sharp and unrelenting. If this was the true Phainon, then what did it mean for Kevin Kaslana? What had those interactions—their shared moments—truly signified?

Kevin had always been a touch reserved around him, his demeanor cool and aloof, yet beneath that icy exterior lay his underlying tenderness and carefulness. He'd treated Mydeimos as if he were the most precious thing in existence. Though his cooking skills were rudimentary at best—nothing extraordinary in flavor—he'd still taken the time to study Mydei's favorite dishes, crafting them with quiet determination. His abnormal body temperature made him hesitant to initiate embraces, only daring to hold Mydei when given explicit permission, always wary of causing discomfort or harm.

What did it all mean?

Phainon pouted, a flicker of playful grievance crossing his features. Ever the perceptive one, he'd already pieced together what had transpired in his absence. A twinge of jealousy sparked within him—how could it not?—but then again, his beloved was the prince of an entire dynasty.

His arms tightened around Mydei's waist, pulling him closer as he whispered, his voice a soft, intimate murmur against the prince's ear.

"You're far too charming for your own good," Phainon teased, his voice laced with mock indignation. "Captivating someone else so effortlessly in such a short time?"

He pouted again, the gesture almost theatrical. Of course, they'd touched on this before—back in the early days when their bond had first sparked to life.

And that someone just so happened to be the First of the Flamechasers, a figure whose prowess towered above countless others.

Mydei's eyes widened. That had absolutely been a joke!

Lately, someone had brought it up again—twice now, in fact.

The words echoed in his mind, slipping past him once again, then twice, like a refrain he couldn't shake.

"If, by some miracle, there were two of you standing before me, I'd take both on without hesitation. You think I wouldn't?"

Oh, no.

This—

Thud.

The sound of knees hitting the ground jolted him from his thoughts.

Mydeimos stared down in stunned disbelief. There, before him, was Kevin Kaslana—still housed in Phainon's body—kneeling. The prince's eyes narrowed as that familiar chill, one he'd gradually grown accustomed to over time, brushed against him again, tracing a shiver along his hips. He felt Phainon's hands shift slightly higher on his waist, making room for the icy embrace that followed.

"Kaslana?" Mydei's voice wavered, uncertain.

The hero's eyes glinted with a faint redness—subtle, almost imperceptible. His expression was a tangled mess of confusion and pitiful desperation, a silent testament to the fierce internal battle he'd waged within himself.

"Don't go."

Kneeling on the cold pavement, his voice was a fragile murmur. His powerful arms wrapped tightly around Mydeimos's hips, clinging as though letting go would unravel him entirely. In his mind's eye, imaginary puppy ears drooped, forlorn and defeated.

"I'm sorry. Don't leave me."

Defiantly, he pressed his face into the prince's abdomen, seeking solace in the warmth there.

"You promised."

…Was the Kaslana being clingy?

It seemed that in this battle, the man had resigned himself to defeat. He simply couldn't bear it any longer.

Phainon behind him, Kevin before him—Mydeimos was utterly pinned, caught between two unrelenting forces. Before he could fully process it, he found himself holding the leashes to two massive, fluffy white Samoyeds, their metaphorical collars tethered to his hands.

(…Someone, anyone, get him out of this predicament—he wasn't remotely prepared for this-)

Chapter Text

After everything he had done, he still believed he could never truly reach that person.

And indeed, he couldn't.

"No."

The moment that single word slipped from Mydeimos' lips, his heart seemed to falter, as though it had stopped beating entirely.

Or perhaps it had ceased long ago, and he'd only now noticed the hollow silence within?

'Phainon' gazed upward, wide-eyed, only to be met with a stare dripping with contempt, laced with a bitter thread of resentment. Those amber eyes—ones he once remembered as the sun's twilight glow mirrored upon an endless ocean—had transformed. Now, they were a fathomless abyss, concealing turbulent undercurrents, wild and unpredictable, threatening to swallow him whole.

Out of the corner of his eye, he observed 'Kevin' pulling his hand away from the Undying, his facial expression a mystery, as inscrutable as stone.

The weight of one single gaze felt like the scrutiny of a thousand souls. It pierced through him, stripping him bare, layer by agonizing layer—like a fruit peeled too slowly, or a block of ice melting into nothing more than tepid, useless water.

This sensation… it was all too familiar.

The Kaslana bowed his head, the violet-blue stone of the Vortex of Genesis beneath his feet warping into a gaping chasm, an endless void that mirrored the one within him. He bit his lip, his hand still resting on Mydei's hip, tightening one final time—a desperate, silent plea before the world crumbled entirely. Just once, he let himself recall the flicker of hope and unshakable optimism that had once shone in Phainon of Aedes Elysiae. Even amidst the bleakest trials, that man had seemed the type to cling to the belief that there was always a chance, that every path would lead to a beautiful end.

And so, he had hoped.

His knees didn't ache. The Kaslana could stay like this for eternity, savoring the weight of that presence until the world decided it was time to part them. If his heart had stopped, crushed by that very hand, he would welcome it. The faint glimmer in his eyes was an illusion, a fragile lie—and in this moment, he looked so much like Phainon.

Yes, he had clung to a hollow, foolish hope.

He was willing to hope again, despite having forsaken it in an era long past. He was willing to try, just once more, for this person.

But that fragile thing had been crushed long ago, reduced to ash and scattered dust. Sometimes, to hope too fiercely was to invite the deepest abyss of despair.

Did you know? Love, in its truest form, is one of the most twisted curses of all.

Mydeimos' voice cut through the silence, sharp and cold as a blade,

"Do you think yourself worthy to beseech me after you hid everything from me?"

He flinched for the first time. The sensation of drowning engulfed him, a suffocating tide that clawed at his lungs, begging them to still.

He wondered why ice was blooming beneath the floor.

He wondered why that ice gleamed red, like blood spilled and frozen in time.

"I despise dishonesty with every fiber of my being."

Those words pierced him like a dagger laced with the deadliest of poisons, each syllable a venom seeping into his veins. Strange, wasn't it? Even as the leader of the Flamechasers fought to cling to the last fraying threads of his sanity, Mydeimos stood there, arms crossed, gaze unyielding as it bore down upon him—a judge passing sentence without mercy.

Mydeimos was judging him.

They were judging him.

His head throbbed, a relentless ache pulsing behind his eyes.

Kevin wanted to flee this place.

The dead watched him—enemies and comrades alike, those he had struck down with his own hands. Their eyes, unblinking, were trapped in the merciless ice, its crimson hue born from the very blood of those he had slaughtered without hesitation.

Stop looking at me like that, please.

'Though the battle had ended long ago, the chill emanating from that man still cloaked the battlefield in an unshakable frost. Every drop of blood spilled upon the earth hung suspended, frozen midair, a macabre tableau of dark red, like sea spray caught in an eternal winter.'

'...I hate people who don't keep their word.'

That pink-haired girl had gazed at him for the first time with eyes shadowed by sorrow and disillusionment. From beginning to end, someone like Kevin Kaslana was beyond redemption—shattered beyond repair.

He was like a pane of glass, splintered into countless jagged shards, fortunate enough to encounter Mydeimos, who had painstakingly pieced him back together with fragile strips of tape. But now, that same person was tearing him apart again, peeling away each layer with a sound so sharp it grated against his soul—a cacophony of breaking glass echoing in the void.

Ice, unrelenting and frigid, continued to rise around him—

He thought, this time, no one would rouse him from the haunting echoes of his past. Yet the prince of Kremnos had stepped forward to 'assist' him directly.

Back in those days, that man had always stood by 'Phainon.' His gentle touches were like an anchor, tethering him to reality amidst the storm. But this time—

A resounding 'smack' echoed through the stillness, and a fiery sting radiated across his right cheek. Kevin's head tilted slightly, his eyes flaring wide, as though the reality of what had just happened refused to settle in his fractured mind. It was only then, in the haze of that moment, that he realized his Parvati gene had surged to life unbidden—frost unfurling beneath his boots, tendrils of ice snaking across the floor and leaving faint, crystalline scars upon the prince's skin.

"Snap out of it. Perhaps you should turn your efforts to something more useful—like finding a way to return this body to its rightful owner?"

Mydei's voice was calm, almost detached, though a keen ear might catch the faint tremor woven into its edges.

He had wounded Mydeimos.

"I'm sorry."

The words stumbled from his lips, feeble and inadequate, all he could scrape together from the wreckage of his thoughts.

Phainon was speaking—murmuring something indistinct—but the sound drowned in the roaring void of Kevin's mind. Then Mydei's hand clamped around the Chrysos Heir's wrist, tugging him away with a force that brooked no resistance, abandoning the Kaslana to the solitude of that forsaken place.

He rose slowly, each movement deliberate, as if testing the limits of a body that felt foreign and numb. A dull heaviness clung to him, yet somehow, he remained intact—at least outwardly.

So, he had failed.

It was inevitable, wasn't it? What had he dared to hope for from the outset? Mydei's anger was justified, a righteous flame fed by his own mistakes—every misstep, every sin, his to bear alone.

In some cruel, undeniable way, the Undying had spoken true. He needed to redirect his efforts, to unravel the tangled curse of this body swap. Amphoreus… it held nothing for him anymore, no lingering thread to bind him to its fading light.

As Kevin moved, the heel of his boot crunched against something solid. He glanced down—a small shard of ice, its shape a crude mockery of a lotus flower, jagged and malformed.

'Look at their faces, Kevin. Will your tears… freeze?'

"…"

He turned back, retreating into the shadowed heart of the Vortex of Genesis, where Lady Aglaea stood like a sentinel amidst the chaos. The Kaslana offered a silent prayer of gratitude that she spared him the indignity of remarking on the slightly red welt marring his cheek.

"Though I'm here merely as a guest, I'll still lend my strength to Amphoreus' defense—at least until a solution to this swap is uncovered." He said, his voice steady despite the storm within.

Aglaea understood, of course, the unspoken weight beneath his offer. As the one tasked with overseeing their Flame-chase journey, she couldn't deny Kevin Kaslana's prowess. When it came to duty and execution, he was a force of nature—missions that might drag on for a week, he dispatched in a mere two days. His abilities remained a shadowed enigma, but his tactical mind? That was a brilliance no one could dismiss.

"The workload of a Chrysos Heir is no small burden, "but you won't be recognized as one of their own. Will you be alright with that?"

Aglaea remarked, her tone measured yet probing.

He exhaled, a slow, weary breath escaping him. "It's fine."

"Then thank you for your aid. Given our current predicament, we're in dire need of it."

"It's nothing."

And with that, he was handed a sprawling list—pages brimming with reports detailing the state of various regions, alongside a litany of tasks demanding his attention. This woman was sharp, he thought. She seemed to sense that he needed distance, a reprieve to untangle the chaos in his mind and piece his thoughts back together. Fine by him.

"I'll inform you when a solution is devised." She added. "Until then, please keep yourself—and the body you're inhabiting—safe."

"Understood."

-

Days passed, and Mydeimos found no trace of that name anywhere. The man had vanished, slipping away like a shadow without leaving so much as a whisper behind.

Had he been too harsh?

Mydei pressed a hand to his forehead, the thick white blanket shoved aside in a heap. It was absurd, really, how stifling the warmth felt now. Had he lingered so long in the Kaslana's orbit that he'd grown accustomed to the subzero chill that clung to him like a second skin?

Last night, sleep had eluded Mydei entirely.

He couldn't shake the memory—the way his stomach had twisted into knots as he'd gazed upon that lost, almost confused expression on 'Phainon''s face, a face that wasn't truly his own. It was the first time he'd glimpsed a flicker of light in those clouded, aquamarine eyes. And it was Mydeimos himself who had snuffed it out, extinguished it with his own hands.

Kevin Kaslana—that man who had cast aside his pride to plead with him. Yet Mydei, consumed by the blaze of his own fury, had offered him no mercy, no sliver of reprieve. That anger had since ebbed, its fire guttering out, leaving nothing in its wake but a vast, aching emptiness.

Somehow, he couldn't help but think that Kaslana's mind was a fragile thing, teetering on the edge of ruin. It was evident to anyone who cared to look—the way he ate the vilest of meals without a single complaint, as if taste meant nothing to him; the way he flinched or froze at the simplest touch, a reflex born from something deeper, something broken. Had Mydei's words driven him to some reckless, desperate act? Was he out there now, wandering in a maze of shadows, his mind clouded with unnameable thoughts?

Mydei squeezed his eyes shut.

Before he could stop himself, he realized he was worrying about that man.

"Good morning, Mydei."

Phainon breezed through the door with an effortless grace, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Somehow, he'd adapted to inhabiting another's body with uncanny speed. Then again, Kevin Kaslana and Phainon bore such a striking resemblance—two sides of the same coin.

"You could at least knock," Mydei grumbled, his voice laced with mild reproach.

Phainon dangled a bag of Golden Honey pastries between two fingers, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "No need to fuss. Even if you were bathing or changing, I'd stroll in just the same—"

With a familiar 'HKS!', Mydei's pillow hurtled through the air, striking Phainon square in the face. Most people's pillow tosses were harmless, but when Mydeimos threw one? It was a force to be reckoned with, a blow that carried the weight of his irritation.

Phainon caught the pillow mid-flight, clutching it to his chest. Truth be told, he was half-tempted to bury his face in it and breathe in its faint, familiar scent—but no, he reined himself in. Steadying his composure, he carried both the pastries and the pillow over to his lover's bedside. He sank into the chair beside the bed, setting the basket of treats on the nightstand. As for the pillow, he pressed a gentle kiss to Mydei's forehead before deftly slipping it beneath his head, a quiet act of care.

A comfortable silence settled over them, soft and warm like a shared breath.

That is, until Phainon broke it.

"Mydei, are you alright?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mydei's tone was guarded, though a flicker of curiosity danced beneath it.

"Normally, you'd be out of bed by now."

The white-haired man offered a faint smile, reaching out to rest a hand on his beloved's forehead.

"No fever, it seems…" His voice trailed off, testing the warmth of Mydei's skin.

"There's no word for 'fever' in the Kremnoan dictionary," Mydei quipped dryly.

Phainon rolled his eyes, a spark of amusement flickering in his gaze. One day, he vowed silently, he'd hunt down a Kremnoan lexicon and scour it to see just how many words they'd conveniently omitted.

He paused, gathering his thoughts, then pressed on.

"Actually, I ran into Kevin earlier—"

As expected, the mere mention of that name jolted Mydei upright. Caught off guard by his own visceral reaction, he turned his gaze aside, masking his unease with a question dripping with irritation.

"So, did he do anything to you?"

The Chrysos Heir beside him burst into laughter, the sound bright and unrestrained.

"No, of course not! Quite the opposite—he's actually pretty impressive. I just returned his weapon to him. When I asked a few questions, he even took the time to show me how to wield it."

To be precise, Phainon had chosen that moment to return the Cleaver of Shamash to its rightful owner. According to Aglaea, Kevin had been immersed in a relentless string of missions, rarely lingering in Okhema. Like clockwork, he reappeared every three days to deliver his reports.

Mydei lapsed into silence once more, a stillness heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Phainon ventured, his tone teasing.

"Hey, Mydei, do you like him?"

The prince's eyes widened, a spark of indignation flaring within them.

"Are you out of your mind, Deliverer? Of course I don't—"

He shook his head, cutting himself off mid-protest.

"I have you. You've come back to me. That's enough."

The aforementioned Deliverer let out a long, drawn-out sigh, his expression shifting to one of faint displeasure. It wasn't disappointment over whatever had transpired between Mydei and the Kaslana—no, it was the way Mydeimos buried his emotions beneath layers of denial that gnawed at him.

"Of all the souls in Amphoreus, I'm the one who knows you best," Phainon said softly, his voice a quiet insistence.

He reached for Mydeimos' hand, guiding it to rest against his cheek, inadvertently sharing a trace of warmth that radiated from his skin.

"These past few days, you've been brooding, lost in your own head."

The prince offered no reply, his silence a wall between them.

"Sometimes," Phainon pressed, his tone gentle yet firm, "you should let yourself feel what's truly there."

Mydei's throat tightened, a dry ache blooming within. What was Phainon suggesting? How much did he already know?

A tender kiss brushed against the back of the prince's hand, warm and alive—a stark contrast to the icy press of lips that other had once offered. Despite all of that, beneath their differences, both gestures carried the same overwhelming curren–a love so profound it bordered on consuming, poured forth from two souls who adored him in their own flawed, fervent ways.

"Mydei, I want you to be happy. As long as it's possible, even if I have to share you, I'm willing."

As long as Mydeimos found happiness, Phainon was content with a polyamorous bond.

The laws of Amphoreus were remarkably lenient when it came to matrimony. Polygamy—be it polyandry or polygyny—was both legal and recognized, though it hinged on one cardinal rule: mutual consent. Should any party be coerced into a relationship, whether monogamous or otherwise, the punishment was swift and severe.

However, despite this legal freedom, few pursued multiple spouses. The reason was simple: such arrangements often crumbled under their own weight, or those who attempted them lacked the fortitude to sustain them.

But Mydeimos was no ordinary soul. He was the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos, a figure born of royal blood, chosen and destined to ascend as a demigod—a Chrysos Heir.

He possessed every quality needed to forge such intricate bonds, provided they were rooted in the fertile soil of voluntary love.

As long as they cherished one another, that was enough.

Mydeimos folded his arms, turning his face away.

"I need to think."

The white-haired man grinned broadly. Somehow, every gesture of the prince struck him as endearing—was this what it felt like to be so hopelessly in love that reason slipped away?

"Think fast. Kaslana's about to leave."

Phainon knew his beloved too well. When Mydeimos said he'd 'think', it was a quiet confession that he'd already fallen, however reluctantly, for someone.

"Ha… " He sighed. "I'll return soon."

The Deliverer lingered in the room even after the prince departed. A soft, private smile curved his lips. In some miraculous way, it was a relief that Mydei had finally admitted the truth to himself.

Phainon leaned back, tilting his head to gaze at the ceiling.

How fortunate.

Mydeimos was immortal, an eternal flame. Phainon, however, was not.

So, if by some twist of fate he were to perish first, there would still be someone to tend to the love of his life. Of course, that ending was still a distant horizon. For now, in this very moment, all Phainon needed to do was focus on loving him wholeheartedly.

Oh, then perhaps in the future, he'd have to devise a plan to win over Mydeimos's favor!

-

With not a single thought cluttering his mind, Mydei hastened toward the Path of Parting.

According to Phainon, the Kaslana was preparing to depart from this place for yet another mission. If luck was on his side, he might just catch a glimpse of him.

The prince strode past the stretch of road where they had first crossed paths. He could still recall that fleeting moment when "Phainon" had regarded him with an icy detachment so profound it chilled the air between them—they had truly been strangers then.

Yet, over time, strangers had woven themselves into familiarity.

It seemed what had captivated him wasn't merely a loquacious Deliverer, one who knew how to cherish and cradle him with unimaginable tenderness, but also that frigid, taciturn version who, behind the stoic facade, cared for him in quiet, unspoken ways.

Each of them, in their own unique way, drove Mydei insane.

Far in the distance, that familiar white-clad silhouette emerged. Flecks of dried monster blood still clung to his attire, a testament to the relentless, grueling frequency of his recent missions. It was clear he hadn't yet left—just on the verge of doing so.

And for the first time, he called out a name.

"Kevin Kaslana."

-

How absurdly comical it was—that Kaslana, hearing someone call his name in a voice so achingly familiar, whipped his head around in a frantic search, only to find no one there. At last, Kevin raised a hand to his forehead, muttering to himself, convincing his weary mind that he'd slipped into yet another hallucination.

Indeed, it had to be just that. How could that person still be here, of all places?

Perhaps Mydeimos no longer had any need to lay eyes on him after all.

He should press onward—

A gauntleted hand settled firmly on his shoulder.

He halted.

His entire body stiffened, frozen in place. He really needed to see a doctor. Kevin had once convinced himself that he didn't dream—perhaps because he'd been perpetually trapped, living in the echoes of his past. But this time, the sensation felt startlingly real.

Slowly, he turned around. His eyes captured the sight of the prince of Kremnos.

In that fleeting moment, words deserted him entirely.

It seemed his love had conjured a hallucination so vivid it rivaled reality.

His gaze dropped.

"Mydeimos."

He lingered, waiting. Usually, it only took a few seconds for the illusion to dissolve, leaving behind a fool muttering to the empty air. But… why was it taking so long this time?

Could it truly be real—

"Abandon that mission. You're coming with me."

What?

"What do you mean, 'what'?" The voice pressed on, sharp and unrelenting. "Do you have feelings for me or not?"

Caught off guard by the sudden, almost unbelievable intensity, Kevin Kaslana wondered if he'd slipped into a waking dream. That same hand—the one that had once crushed his heart—now encircled his wrist, gently but firmly tugging him away from the gate looming behind.

If this was a dream, then…

He murmured, barely audible, "I… like…"

But, as always, the sensation tightened around his wrist, the touch grounding him in undeniable reality. It was maddeningly unfair—how could Mydeimos wield such power over him?

"I feel the same. So shut up and come back with me."

Mydei marched ahead, resolute, dragging the Kaslana along. A faint flush crept up the sides of his ears, betraying the abrupt confession. Yet, the moment those words left his lips, the man trailing behind him came to a dead stop. The prince faltered, mildly startled as the one he'd been pulling so effortlessly suddenly turned heavy as iron. Then, with a subtle flex of strength, Kevin yanked him back.

Mydeimos collided with his chest.

It felt as though he'd been enveloped by the embrace of some massive, loyal hound. Its tail swayed non-stop, a silent melody hinting at the quiet joy bubbling within.

The Kaslana simply stood there, his head dipping to rest against the crowned prince's shoulder.

Unnoticed by either, a shard of ice—shaped like a blooming flower in exquisite, fragile splendor—drifted silently to the ground.

Chapter Text

What does it feel like to wake up every morning in the same bed as them?

At first, Mydeimos might have said it felt a bit stifling, overwhelming even. But after a few nights, he'd grown accustomed to it. Their bed was vast—an expansive sea of linens and pillows—large enough for the trio to sprawl or shift without the slightest disturbance, though none of them ever did anything so undignified.

Before the Entry Hour, the room bathed in the tender glow of dawn. Soft golden rays slipped through the gossamer curtains, painting delicate streaks across the wooden floor. The air hung crisp and cool, as though the thermostat had been dialed below ten degrees. The reason for that wasn't hard to guess.

He lay at the heart of it all, flanked by his two lovers.

Once a man who'd scoffed at the necessity of blankets, he now found himself tugging them higher of his own accord.

Who could have imagined that Kevin Kaslana, of all people, would be the one to unwittingly instill this habit in him? With the Kaslana by his side, fans, air conditioners, and any cooling contraptions became obsolete—his presence alone was enough.

Every morning unfurled like this: a languid struggle to peel themselves from the bed. The delay stemmed entirely from the two 'Samoyeds' who refused to stir without first indulging in a ritual of cuddling their prince.

One of them—Phainon, no doubt—slid an arm around Mydei, gently tugging him toward the right side of the bed.

He glanced over. Phainon's eyes remained shut, feigning sleep. When they'd climbed into bed the night before, both 'Deliverers' had shed their outer coats. Only then did it become apparent that he—housed within Kevin's form—wore a sleeveless white tunic, snug against his frame. It bared the chiseled strength of his shoulders, usually concealed beneath that signature black cloak. The high collar lent an air of refinement, yet the subtle triangular cutout at his chest seemed like an almost deliberate act of provocation.

Mydeimos furrowed his brow, though in truth, he wasn't annoyed. He murmured, "If you're awake, just get up already."

The Deliverer responded slowly, his voice still thick with the haze of sleep. "Just… a little longer…"

Despite the drowsy tone, he knew better. Phainon had snapped awake the instant he so much as twitched. The white-haired man on the left side of the bed was no different. Both were light sleepers, their instincts honed to razor-sharp alertness, likely a byproduct of their vigilant natures. Even after waking, they'd often linger with eyes closed, pretending to drift in slumber.

He had only recently pieced that together.

It was precisely why sharing a bed with Kevin Kaslana and Phainon felt so...secure in a way. They possessed every skill needed to unsheathe their massive greatswords at a moment's notice, should an assassin dare creep into the night.

"You're awake?"

Mydeimos's amber eyes collided with the twin aquamarine gems gazing from his left. Kevin's expression remained as stoic as ever, yet beneath that familiar coolness flickered traces of tenderness and indulgence—subtle hues not easily discerned.

Unlike Phainon, the Kaslana avoided physical contact while they slept. Brief, fleeting touches were tolerable, but anything prolonged risked leaving even him with a frostbite. Thus, distance was maintained until morning reigned supreme. The lion pretended not to notice how Kevin often slipped from the bed in the dead of night, retreating to the long sofa across the room, only to crawl back in just before dawn.

When his beloved offered a slight nod, the Kaslana propped himself up on one elbow. His free hand toyed with the braid Mydeimos had forgotten to undo the night before, lifting it to press a cool, fleeting kiss against the strands.

"Good morning, my Mydeimos."

His morning voice rumbled low, a deep timbre that resonated in the stillness.

The prince in question froze for a heartbeat before clearing his throat, reaching out to graze the cheek of this newly acquired...Samoyed? It was the very spot where Mydei's hand had once struck—a memory neither acknowledged now. The other didn't pull away, instead, he leaned into the touch with a languid ease, eyes drifting shut as if savoring the contact, nuzzling faintly against his palm with a quiet relish.

Then, a warm breath brushed the nape of his neck.

"My-day, I want some too."

Phainon's white hair tickled against his skin, igniting a faint itch. Calloused fingers encircled his frame, tracing a teasing line along his side—a triumphant gesture, as if Phainon alone held the privilege of touching his beloved so freely, so brazenly.

Mydeimos felt as if he were caught in the embrace of two fluffy white clouds, suspended in a dreamlike haze.

He resolved that he had to rouse them immediately. Because he knew, in mere moments—

Two pairs of fathomless sea-blue eyes locked onto him, unblinking.

—those 'clouds' he'd envisioned would swell and engulf their Sun entirely.

Enough was enough; the metaphor was veering into troubling territory. And before Mydeimos fully registered his own actions, he'd swung his legs out, delivering a swift kick to both 'threats', sending them tumbling off the bed as he rose to begin his morning routine.

-

Still, they'd risen remarkably early.

By some inexplicable sorcery, even though Mydeimos was the first to slip from the bed, he had yet to materialize in the living room—while Phainon and Kevin had already tidied themselves and settled into the morning.

"Yawn… Kaslana, what're you up to? Can I see?"

The Chrysos Heir cast a curious glance at the stack of crumpled notes clutched in Kevin's hand. The paper itself was fresh, pristine in its make, yet its surface bore the telltale wrinkles of frequent handling.

"…"

Kevin offered no reply, but he extended the notes toward the younger man for inspection. It took less than a heartbeat for Phainon to recognize Mydeimos's handwriting.

Their beloved had excellent penmanship—neat, rounded, and somehow adorably plump, each stroke exuding a natural elegance. By comparison, Phainon's own handwriting, while undoubtedly refined, lacked the same inexplicable charm.

The notes in question?

A guide. Specifically, a step-by-step breakdown on how to toast bread.

Seriously?

Phainon's lips twitched. He couldn't help but feel a little aggrieved. Mydeimos had never given him anything like this before. And if Kaslana had been deemed trustworthy enough to receive such a guide, then... that could only mean one thing.

It meant this man—of all people—had the potential to follow basic recipes without either setting the kitchen on fire or inflicting mass food poisoning.

The instructions were succinct and to the point.

Correct Method: Toast at 180°C for 7 minutes.
Incorrect Method: Toast at 1260°C for 1 minute.

Faced with this very specific warning, Phainon suddenly had a brilliant idea.

Of course, he understood why the second method was incorrect. Temperature didn't quite work like that. But still…Wouldn't it be interesting to see what actually happens?

"Kaslana, have you tried the second method yet?"

The older of the pair responded simply.

"No."

What Mydeimos decreed, Kevin followed. If Mydeimos labeled it wrong, Kevin deemed it so—especially in the sacred domain of culinary arts.

Thus, it was settled: he'd never once strayed from the sanctity of those notes.

Phainon placed a hand on his chin, feigning deep contemplation.

"I wonder… would your weapon even be capable of reaching that temperature?"

The Kaslana narrowed his eyes. Something about this conversation felt off.

Even so, he chose to answer plainly and truthfully.

“If I were to shift its form, then yes, it’s possible.”

The Deliverer of Amphoreus blinked in surprise, his expression shifting to one of slow realization. A light ignited in his aquamarine eyes, sparkling with curiosity and intrigue

Lady Kiana had been right—nothing around the Kaslanas was ever boring.

"It can shift forms too? Huh. Say, would you like to try toasting with it?"

"…"

For the first—and certainly not the last—time, Kevin Kaslana found himself utterly speechless. This was akin to suggesting he wield the Might of An-Utu (the Zeroth form of Shamash)—a weapon capable of razing an entire city at full power—to whip up a meal.

"You seriously want to do that? It'll burn to a crisp."

Phainon nodded eagerly, feigning ignorance of the sheer folly. He wouldn't admit aloud that he was itching to glimpse the hidden form of that greatsword.

…Truth be told, Kevin was...curious too. A little experiment wouldn't hurt. With his ability, he could easily freeze the weapon's power before it turned the kitchen into a crater.

Shamash materialized in his grip. Tilting its blade skyward, the Kaslana—

A door swung open with a resounding bang, the wood slamming against the wall in a shrill crash.

Before their scheme could take flight, a wave of murderous intent surged from behind them. It wasn't suffocatingly thick, but it carried enough weight to signal one undeniable truth: they were in deep trouble with someone.

The two white-haired men stiffened in unison. Phainon's eyes widened, and he flashed a helpless grin, shooting an apologetic glance at his reluctant accomplice.

"Phainon of Aedes Elysiae. Kevin Kaslana."

They were done for.

Drawing a collective breath, they turned slowly. The Kaslana deftly stowed the greatsword, his face clinging to its usual calm—though now, a very faint tremor betrayed him.

"Yes, Mydei."

"Yes, Mydeimos."

There, framed in the doorway of their cherished kitchen, stood their reckoning. The Tribios clung to Mydeimos's legs, peeking out with wary eyes at the two men who'd nearly transformed the room into a battlefield. It didn't take a genius to guess who'd snitched.

In the end, their punishment came in the form of two sharp raps to the head—painful, but well-earned.

Above all, breakfast still tasted divine.

-

A Few Minutes Before the Incident

At this moment, Mydei was still enjoying his peaceful morning routine.

He was in the middle of unraveling and re-braiding the lone plait in his hair, fingers deftly working through the strands. Everything had been proceeding smoothly—until a familiar voice rang out from beyond his door.

"De! De, are you there?!"

Mydeimos blinked.

It was unusual for them to knock on his door this early. Though mildly surprised, he was nearly done with his hair, so he called back without much concern.

"Give me a moment. I'm almost finished—"

Trianne's voice cut through the air, more urgent this time.

"De! I think Snowy and Kev are in the kitchen together!"

For a split second, Mydei dismissed it as an overreaction.

So what? It was just two people in the kitchen—

Wait.

His hands froze mid-motion.

Phainon and Kevin Kaslana. In the kitchen. Together.

A jolt of realization shot through his spine.

With a speed rivaling lightning itself, Mydei abandoned his morning preparations, swung open the door, scooped up the Tribios in one fluid motion, and bolted toward the kitchen at full throttle.

For the sake of the world's survival, for the future of Amphoreus, the prince of Kremnos had to stop them.

And, as expected—

By the time he arrived, he wasn't even surprised anymore.

Of course.

Of course a certain Kaslana was standing in his kitchen, holding a massive, blazing greatsword.

And, of course, the one from Aedes Elysiae was right beside him—watching. Not stopping him. Not even remotely concerned.

He sighed deeply. What would their lives even become after this?

Don't get him wrong—

It wasn't as though he minded.

-

It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that the bathhouses were among the finest luxuries in Okhema.

While Overflowing Bath—the public sanctuary blessed by Phagousa—was always teeming with life, its counterpart, Hero's Bath, remained a world apart in serene isolation.

Perched on an elevated level above the bustling city, the Hero's Bath was a privilege bestowed upon the Chrysos Heirs by the Council. No one outside their ranks was permitted entry—except for those personally invited by an Heir.

Phainon reclined against the edge of the bath, muscles unwinding in the soothing heat. A small wooden tray floated beside him, carrying a delicate cup of chrysanthemum tea. After a long day spent on missions beyond the city walls, there was nothing quite as satisfying as a scalding soak.

The tranquility stretched on, undisturbed—

Steam curled upward, veiling much of his view. His bare form flickered in and out of sight through the haze. Or rather, it was Kevin Kaslana's bare form—exposed, vulnerable, yet commanding beneath the shroud of mist.

Phainon reached back idly, his fingers brushing against his own skin. Along his back sprawled a scattering of marks—faint, reddish-pink splotches faded to ashen gray, resembling birthmarks at a glance.

As a true warrior and a Chrysos Heir, he understood the battlefield's toll all too well. Scars and permanent wounds were inevitable risks. Whether it was Mydeimos, whose immortal flesh bore no lasting trace, or Phainon himself, tempered by countless clashes, both had tasted injuries. And if they laid eyes on these marks, they'd likely agree on one thing.

They didn't look natural.

To put it bluntly, they seemed almost… stitched on. Perhaps—just perhaps—he ought to pay Hyacine a visit for a thorough examination. If he'd unwittingly damaged this body in some way, that wouldn't do at all.

At times, Phainon found himself deeply curious about that person.

"I wonder what his world looks like," he mused aloud, voice soft against the steam.

He voiced the thought aloud, just as he became aware of another presence entering the room. A voice, smooth yet unmistakably firm, rose from behind him, effortlessly addressing his idle musing.

"You could have just asked me directly."

Kevin Kaslana had returned from his mission. He made no grand entrance—just a quiet, unassuming presence as he leaned against a nearby lounge chair, his frame wrapped in nothing but a loosely secured towel. Wherever he moved, the air seemed to cool ever so slightly, an almost imperceptible shift that Phainon couldn't help but notice.

"Oh? So I could ask you?"

The Deliverer responded with a natural ease, as if they were discussing something as trivial as the weather.

"Well then, why don't you join me in the bath?"

Kevin arched a brow. "Are you asking me to freeze it over?"

"No worries, no worries. I don't mind a cold bath today."

There was a pause. Then, the unmistakable sound of a weary sigh, followed by the subtle ripple of water as another presence settled beside him.

For a while, there was only silence—the quiet kind that came from two warriors who had nothing to prove, each adjusting to the presence of the other.

Kevin was the first to break it.

"I heard you met Kiana."

Phainon's lips curled into a faint smile.

"Yep, Lady Kiana! I ran into her right after waking up in this body."

"So she's truly doing well."

He had wanted to ask more—about what had transpired after his death, about the world he had left behind. But if Phainon had awakened somewhere as desolate as the Moon, it was unlikely he knew much of anything beyond his own experience. For now, just knowing that Kiana Kaslana was alive and well was enough.

"Then…"

He caught the faint hesitation in Phainon's voice.

"What was your old world like?"

The Kaslana had anticipated this question. Without missing a beat, he answered with practiced calm.

"I've lived through two eras. Which one do you want to know about?"

He made a point to ignore the soft muttering from the Chrysos Heir, something about "Damn, he really is as old as Lady Kiana said…"

"The first one, then?"

The response hung in the air, as predictable as the sunrise.

Kevin remained impassive, his face unreadable as he gazed into the water's surface. With a lazy flick of his fingers, he disturbed the reflection, ripples distorting its clarity into something unrecognizable.

Everything in this moment felt strangely unreal.

Perhaps it was because Kevin Kaslana had somehow survived long enough to recount a tragedy from an era long buried in time. The irony was not lost on him.

"You could think of it as a world invaded by an external force—something akin to the Black Tide."

At that, Phainon stiffened.

"The fate of that world was complete annihilation."

The Deliverer of Amphoreus stared in disbelief, his eyes widening with realization. He had been aware of the dire circumstances, yet he had never imagined it would result in such overwhelming devastation. A heavy, rare solemnity enveloped him as he posed a question, his voice dropping to a whisper, weighed down by the gravity of the moment.

"Were you one of the last to bear witness to the end of that era?"

His gaze remained steady. "That would be accurate."

"A shame," Phainon murmured. "I think I can understand how that feels."

Because the same 'complete annihilation' was a fate his own homeland, Aedes Elysiae, had also suffered.

His breathing grew heavier. That ugly, festering emotion buried deep within him—the insatiable need for vengeance, for retribution against the one who had razed his home, slaughtered his people, and left his world in ruins—began to claw its way to the surface.

"Hey, Kaslana."

He turned.

"What kept you going? What made you keep saving the world after all that?"

If Phainon remembered correctly, even in the very end, Kiana had still called this man a hero. But the response he received wasn't what he had imagined.

The Kaslana merely stared at him, hollow and unreadable, his silence stretching long enough that Phainon almost thought he wouldn't answer. Then, at last, the words came.

"Humanity needed a hero. I had a promise to keep and a will to inherit."

The Deliverer frowned. "And what about your own will? Did that not matter to you?"

Those piercing eyes cut through Phainon like a blade.

"Isn't that the same for you?"

Ah.

They both shared the same flaw, didn't they? Their desires, their wishes, were never their own. It was always the dreams, the wishes of others—not their own. Heroes of humanity, saviors of worlds, yet in the end, little more than hollow shells brimming with desires that weren't theirs. Those expectations shaped them, molded them into the people they had become.

Sensing the conversation growing heavier, the Kaslana shook his head, his voice as deep and steady as always.

"But you—no, we, neither of us, are truly alone, are we?"

The other looked up and gave a soft smile.

"Yeah. Of course. I'm not alone."

Kevin leaned on the edge of the tub. The water had grown cold by then. Today, it seemed, he was speaking far more than usual. Both he and the young hero were facing problems they couldn't quite solve. So, they would live with them.

"If you need a reason to save the world, then remember this world is home to the people you hold dear."

That would be enough.

If living for themselves felt impossible, then perhaps living for others could be their guiding light. And that was acceptable.

"I understand now. Thank you, Kevin. You don't know how much I needed this conversation. By the way, can I call you that?"

Kevin nodded.

"…Sure."

Phainon's attention drifted back to the chamomile tea on the floating tray nearby. He'd been so engrossed in the exchange that he hadn't noticed it before—still brimming, teetering on the edge of spilling over. It always hovered in that precarious state until he took a sip, restoring its balance.

"But…"

The younger man spoke again, the light in his eyes nearly dazzling the Kaslana for a fleeting moment.

"If I come up with another way to interpret it, I'll be sure to tell you."

...So, that was it.

Kevin had finally reached the conclusion of his narrative, the final chapter of his story carefully penned and laid to rest. As his own tale drew to a close, Phainon stood at the precipice of a new adventure, brimming with endless possibilities that stretched out before him like an uncharted horizon. The future beckoned, offering the Heir the chance to forge a new ending, one that could be uniquely his.

They resembled each other in many ways. However, Kevin Kaslana was Kevin Kaslana, and Phainon was still Phainon. If Kevin were to make an observation, he would say that Phainon resembled Kiana more than him.

This person was worth looking forward to.

"Oh, by the way, the water's gotten really cold!"

"..."

In the end, once Phainon opened up, he rambled about everything under the sun. Kevin couldn't help but wonder why four out of every five sentences revolved around Mydei—mostly lavish praise that soared to the heavens. Not that he minded– they were details he, too, was eager to hear.

Somewhere far off, the prince of Kremnos paused, wondering why he kept sneezing. Was someone talking about him?

-

"No matter the cost, humanity shall purge the Honkai."

…For you, the cost includes humanity itself, doesn't it?

Chapter Text

“Hey, where do you think the safest position in the world is?”

The fruit vendor casually asked as she leaned on her stall, voice drifting toward the florist a few feet away.

It was midday at the Marmoreal market—normally a chaotic mix of shouting, laughter, and haggling. But at this hour, the clamor dulled to idle chatter and the hum of occasional footsteps. People were either napping or killing time, and so the two merchants indulged in their usual exchange of far-fetched rumors and harmless gossip.

“Okhema, maybe?”

A safe bet. After all, the city of Okhema was one of the last standing bastions against the Black Tide. If this wasn’t a safe place, what was?

But instead of agreeing, the fruit vendor chuckled, a sly smile tugging at her lips.

“That’s incorrect.”

“Huh? What—is that a trick question?”

“I asked about a position, not a place. Now try to picture this from the perspective of the Chrysos Heir from Castrum Kremnos.”

She didn’t need to say another word. The moment she brought up that name, the florist immediately got the hint.

Okhema had been buzzing nonstop with stories about the Chrysos Heirs. The latest tale? Apparently, a traveler from a faraway land had arrived in the city—and by some strange twist of fate, he bore an uncanny resemblance to Okhema’s own Deliverer. The two men could’ve passed for long-lost twins.

But the real twist? According to the ever-hungry rumor mill, both of them had fallen for the same person.

“That guest from out of town—he’s a Kaslana, isn’t he? Prince Mydeimos must be something else if he’s got both of them wrapped around his finger.”

The fruit vendor laughed, loud and unrestrained. As the seller of the finest pomegranates in all of Okhema, she’d gotten used to seeing the two silver-haired men show up at her stall on alternating days—each one shopping on behalf of the same prince.

And if she were being honest? They were both quite easy on the eyes.

“That’s exactly why I said his position is the safest. He’s got two Deliverers wrapped around him like a personal guard detail.”

“Well… I don’t think Prince Mydeimos needs protecting. If anything—”

A deafening crash suddenly erupted somewhere nearby. Strangely enough, no one in the vicinity even flinched. It was as if the market had grown accustomed to this kind of disturbance.

The florist sighed, shoulders slumping as his sentence was cut short. He gestured vaguely in the direction of the sound.

“See what I mean.”

And then, faint but unmistakable, came the furious roar of the prince of Kremnos himself—one more outburst added to the daily rhythm of the city.

“Phainon! What’s the meaning of this stash of secretly taken photos on your teleslate?!”

“Kaslana—why are you an accomplice in this, too?!”

Welcome to the daily chaos that is their life in Okhema.

-

“Hold on. Have you heard the rumors? Apparently, Professor Anaxa from the Grove of Epiphany has been seen muttering to himself weirdly…”

-

1.

In the early days of cohabiting—not with one, but two Deliverers—Mydeimos found himself feeling… a bit overwhelmed.

He had assumed Kevin Kaslana was the type to be emotionally reserved in relationships, just like him. Turned out, he couldn’t have been more wrong. Apparently, when love strikes, people reveal their true colors—and Kaslana’s happened to be that of a refined gentleman with a gallant air and a surprisingly soft core reserved solely for his beloved.

Phainon, naturally, noticed this shift. And he did not like it.

He began to question why he had ever agreed to share space with this wolf in sheep’s clothing. Sure, it was because his Prince Mydei liked the guy too—but surely, surely the prince would favor him more, wouldn’t he?

And thus emerged a new side to Phainon: the charismatic, outgoing man who, when in love, burned with an intensity that was nothing short of ravenous. It was as if he wanted to devour the prince whole.

A young, proud, competitive pup versus a slightly older—but just as fiercely territorial—one.

And in the crossfire? Poor Mydeimos, perpetually under siege.

Like now, for example.

The prince swore he had done absolutely nothing to provoke it. He was just peacefully wearing an apron, quietly preparing a meal.

But the moment Phainon passed by, he seized the opportunity to grasp Mydeimos by the chin and—without a word—began to press kisses all over his face, relentless and unfiltered. The prince had no time to react, much less defend himself.

Mydeimos froze, stunned like a cat overwhelmed by too much affection. Then, his lips pressed into a thin line as his brows knit together.

“What was that for? If you want to kiss me, wait until later. Not now.”

The man in the black cloak merely smiled, victorious, and sauntered away.

Mydeimos let out a heavy sigh, his cheeks tinged with pink. How, in the gods’ names, did the Deliverer manage to act like that so effortlessly?

Shaking off the stray thoughts, he turned his attention back to his cooking.

Soon after, Kevin Kaslana arrived as well. He passed by the same spot.

He glanced over briefly—then, with infuriating ease, closed the distance between them. One hand braced casually against the edge of the kitchen counter, and then he leaned in, his movements fluid, precise.

A cool kiss landed on Mydeimos’s eyelid.

Of course, the prince bristled at that. These two—always helping themselves to him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I said—”

But the Kaslana, having completed his ‘daily mission,’ turned and walked away like nothing had happened.

2.

“This match has gone on long enough…”

In the crowd, Trinnon stood five paces from Castorice, both women observing the small wooden box at the center of the clearing with growing amusement.

A full-blown arm-wrestling tournament was underway.

The qualifiers had already concluded; this was the second round of the semi-finals.

“Teacher Trinnon, I believe that’s perfectly normal. This is them we’re talking about.” Castorice replied calmly, a glass of juice still in her hand. After securing her own victory in the first semi-final match, the ever-graceful Castorice—now a clear favorite for the championship—had taken a stroll around the grounds. When she returned, the match between the final two contestants was still dragging on.

She honestly couldn’t recall why she’d even agreed to join a tournament like this, especially given her rather deadly abilities. All she remembered was her opponents forfeiting the moment it was their turn to face her.

Meanwhile, Mydei and ‘the outlander’ (in truth, Phainon) were locked in a battle that had become downright epic.

Their elbows remained firmly planted on the wooden box. In the middle of a growing crowd, they’d somehow managed to maintain a perfect deadlock for an absurd amount of time.

The prince of Kremnos smirked, that competitive glint lighting up his expression—as it always did whenever his opponent was Phainon.

“So, Deliverer… been practicing, have you?”

His rival, unshaken, returned the banter with effortless calm.

“You too, Mydei.”

Veins stood out sharply along their forearms, taut like steel wires drawn to their limit. Their gazes locked—fierce, unyielding, and laced with silent defiance. Neither of them backed down. Their hands clamped tightly together, fingers whitening at the knuckles from the pressure.

Realizing they were caught in a stalemate, Phainon decided to change tactics—by engaging the next deadliest weapon he possessed.

His mouth.

“You know… you’re looking especially adorable today.”

The comment blindsided Mydei just long enough for his grip to falter—Phainon gained ground for a few seconds. But the prince recovered swiftly, snapping back with controlled strength. He hadn’t lost. Not yet.

His brows twitched. So, this was how the Deliverer wanted to play it.

Very well.

“You, on the other hand, look incredibly attractive today. I’ll give you that.”

The words 'incredibly attractive' and 'I'll give you that' hit Phainon like a direct blow. He nearly lost right then and there.

Nearly. But not quite.

“See? We’re so compatible. If we got married, would that make you the princess of Aedes Elysiae?”

Oh, gods. Mydeimos nearly slammed his forehead into the wooden box out of sheer exasperation.This man really dared to say that—in broad daylight.

“Princess, my-! What, are you supposed to be a prince or something?”

“Exactly. I’m practically the future prince of Castrum Kremnos—”

The crowd around them sighed collectively, shaking their heads in quiet resignation. Fortunately, most of them had little knowledge of Aedes Elysiae’s inner workings. In their minds, this so-called traveler named Kaslana must be ridiculously skilled to hold his own against a Chrysos Heir.

Mydei let out a breath that turned into a laugh, half in disbelief, half in pure irritation.

He had just thought of a way to utterly destroy this man.

His eyes narrowed, gleaming with dangerous amusement as he stared Phainon down—enough to make the Deliverer go momentarily still. Whatever was coming, he knew it wouldn’t be fair. But he had started it, hadn’t he?

“If you want me that badly… then tell me, do you have any plans for tonight?”

Something short-circuited in Phainon’s brain. Heat rushed to his face.

And before he could gather any coherent response, Mydeimos slammed his hand down, pinning Phainon’s to the surface of the wooden box.

Match over.

The shocking question had rendered Phainon defenseless.

He stammered.

“Mydei—wait, are you actually—”

But the prince was already rising to his feet, triumphant, casting a victorious glance down at his vanquished opponent.

"No."

In the end, Castorice emerged victorious.

3.

Kevin Kaslana had barely set foot back in Okhema City when a cryptic message from an unknown sender pinged his device, accompanied by an address.

“Prince Mydeimos has drunk himself into a stupor.”

…His beloved, drunk?

His expression remained a stoic mask, betraying little, but his body thrummed with an almost irrepressible urge to teleport to the prince’s side in an instant. He’d never pegged Mydeimos as the type to succumb to liquor so easily—not unless he’d drowned himself in enough spirits to lose all sense of the heavens above and the earth below.

The truth, however, was that Mydei’s tolerance had always been pitifully low.

When he arrived at the location, he found not a prince, but a ginger cat—or so it seemed—curled up tightly on a cushioned bench.

Mydeimos had claimed an entire four-person table tucked away in the dimly lit corner of the bar, where a long, crimson-upholstered bench stretched invitingly. Perhaps overwhelmed by the haze of intoxication, the prince had collapsed onto it, coiling into himself as though shielding his very soul from the chaos of the outside world.

Kevin’s brow furrowed ever so slightly.

Such a sleeping posture was common among fragile creatures—or those who’d once been wounded deeply. Yet in his eyes, Mydeimos was no weakling. Far from it.

His gaze drifted to the scattered bottles littering the table, a silent question gnawing at him: Why had he come here to drink alone like this?

“Mydeimos.”

The Kaslana reached out, his hand resting on the prince’s shoulder with a gentleness that belied his formidable presence. But instead of stirring, Mydeimos—blissfully lost to the world—clutched Kevin’s arm and pulled it close, nuzzling into it as he sank deeper into slumber.

…Perhaps it was the coolness of his skin that he found so comforting.

For a moment, the Kaslana froze. A faint flush crept across his cheeks, a subtle crimson bloom so faint it was nearly imperceptible. Truly, only one soul in existence could coax such a reaction from him.

‘So he has this side to him too…’

“Mydeimos,” He murmured, his voice soft yet firm, “it’s time to go home. Wake up...love.”

The prince stirred faintly, a single word slipping from his lips in a drowsy murmur. “Home…”

His face was flushed a deep crimson from the alcohol, his eyes still sealed shut, and the half-open attire he typically wore seemed even more daringly disheveled in his vulnerable state.

“Yes, home,” He echoed softly.

The Kaslana gently eased him upright, his deft hands moving to adjust Mydeimos’ rumpled clothing. Slowly, the prince’s eyes fluttered open, his gaze dazed and unfocused—like a lion cub roused from a dream. But when the stark white of his presence caught his sight, those eyes softened, a tender glimmer breaking through the haze.

“Kevin… Take me home.”

There was something in the way Mydei said 'home: that tugged at Kevin’s instincts—a sense that it wasn’t their current residence the prince longed for. Nonetheless, he cleared his throat to steady himself, extending a hand. Of course, he would guide him back—

“…”

The lion fell silent, but instead of taking the offered hand, he stretched both arms wide, fixing him with an expectant look so oddly earnest it bordered on disarming.

The Kaslana's hand hovered awkwardly in midair. His lips parted as if to speak, then pressed shut again, words eluding him entirely. A sigh escaped him, laced with a hint of quiet fondness he couldn’t quite suppress. He moved to return the embrace but hesitated mid-motion.

His body was cold—too cold, perhaps, for this.

He slipped off his long white cloak and draped it over Mydeimos’ shoulders. Then, with a swift, decisive motion, he scooped the prince into his arms, lifting him effortlessly as he carried him toward ‘home.’

The crowned prince nestled his head against his chest, sinking into a peaceful slumber.

Come morning, Mydeimos awoke to find himself in his private chambers, his fingers clutching a familiar white coat. But instead of a blanket, he was wrapped in a thick black cloak. It seemed that, in the stillness of the night, ‘someone else’ had also slipped into his room, adjusted his coverings, and departed without a sound.

4.

“Haikas!”

“Get your hands off me, HKS!”

“You’ve gone and done it again, haikas.”

HKS, haikas, HKS, haikas, haikas—

Lately, that word had begun to extend beyond its original targets—not just the titankin, those monstrous spawn of the Black Tide and sworn enemies of Mydei, but also Phainon and Kevin themselves.

A question lingered between them.

What did it even mean?

Judging by the tone Mydei wielded it with, the Kaslana suspected it was some affectionate jab—a playful curse tossed their way whenever they ‘pushed him too far.’

Figuring Phainon, as the one who’d arrived first and lingered here longest, might hold the key, Kevin decided to probe him.

“Phainon, do you have any idea what that word means?”

To his surprise, the younger one merely chuckled, shaking his head in bemusement. “Not a clue.”

“If you could dig up a Kremnos dictionary, we might actually figure it out,” Phainon added with a teasing lilt.

Despite his casual tone, the Deliverer’s curiosity burned bright. He genuinely wanted to know if the Kremnos tongue had shed as many words as the prince often claimed. Mydeimos, predictably, refused to enlighten them. In addition, he lacked both the spare time and the stamina to scour the Librarium’s endless stacks for some ancient lexicon.

Kevin’s mind drifted back to the days he’d roamed the library’s depths, hunting for scraps of knowledge on soul-swapping and theories tied to death itself…

Wait—hadn’t he once held such a dictionary?

“There’s one in the Librarium, actually—”

Phainon cut in, eyes widening. “What? You’ve found it already?”

“I think I held it once. I might even remember where it’s shelved.”

And so, during their break, they raced to the library like eager hounds on a scent.

Lady Aglaea couldn’t help but wonder why both of them were so unusually productive today. Then, to top it off, they’d slipped away together on some clandestine mission. Those two in close quarters always spelled a touch of danger, didn’t they? Still, she reasoned, things would likely stay under control.

After much rummaging, the Kaslana unearthed the Kremnos dictionary.

Phainon hadn’t expected it to be so compact. Bound in weathered beast leather, its deep crimson cover bore the scars of age, fraying at the edges. They flipped to the section for words beginning with ‘H’ and began their search from there.

The truth unfurled before them like a long-buried scroll.

'HKS' or 'haikas' meant, quite simply, 'scoundrels'—or, alternatively, a term slung at someone to brand them a hyena.

Phainon’s jaw stiffened. So, he’d been cursed out since his very first encounter with Mydei, blissfully ignorant all along. Yet, strangely, he didn’t feel the sting of insult. If anything, the prince hurling such a term his way didn’t strike him as venomous.

On the contrary—it felt… oddly exhilarating?

Good gods, had he truly fallen so far that even being scolded now thrilled him? Had every shred of reason fled his mind, leaving him smitten beyond repair? The thought struck him as absurd, and Phainon couldn’t help but let out a wry chuckle.

And… Kevin wasn’t far behind.

The Kaslana’s mind flickered back to that moment—the time he’d barked, quite literally, in Mydeimos’ face before their first kiss. Now here he was, dubbed a hyena: a creature closer kin to cats yet cloaked in the guise of a dog. Could it be… did the crowned prince genuinely see him as some loyal pup—?

“Hey, Kev— Oh.”

The Kaslana erupted into laughter.

It was a quiet sound, low and resonant, spilling from him unexpectedly. For a fleeting second, Phainon could’ve sworn he heard an echo of his own voice in that rumble. Never before had anyone witnessed the Hero of Humanity laugh like this.

Catching the stillness beside him, he forced himself to stifle it.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Phainon clapped him on the back, grinning wide enough to split the air. “You should laugh more often. At first, I half-wondered if you even had emotions. But now I see it.”

Here was a man Phainon of Aedes Elysiae could trust…

…to entrust Mydei to in the direst of circumstances.

And in turn, Phainon was the one the Kaslana could rely upon to safeguard Mydeimos should the need arise.

For Kevin Kaslana, Phainon had been quietly observing him over a long stretch of time. Jealousy? Perhaps a flicker. Resentment? A whisper of it. Yet the love he bore for Mydei transcended such petty shadows. Because Mydeimos was the prince of Castrum Kremnos—and the one Phainon would shield with every ounce of his being.

At any cost. No matter the price.

---

On a radiant day, yet another meeting convened within the swirling depths of the Vortex of Genesis.

Deep inside, Anaxagoras stood waiting… both eyes shut tight.

“Kevin,” he intoned, “it’s been a while.”

Chapter Text

At this moment, only the two of them stood within the swirling maelstrom of the Vortex of Genesis.

"What a troubling notion it is—that you people can so effortlessly seize the body of a Chrysos Heir."

The Goldweaver faced the figure who should have been one of the Seven Sages of the Grove of Epiphany, the revered founder of the Nousporists—Anaxagoras.

The same robes. The same face. The same mannerisms. Despite all of that, there was one difference—his eyes remained shut, as if they would never open again.

A gentle smile formed on his lips, so serene that even the blind Aglaea would have sensed that this was most certainly not Anaxagoras.

"Do not fret, my lady. I am merely borrowing this body. With his full consent, of course."

The man in question—Anaxagoras himself—was currently preoccupied, playing chess with an Aeon.

To put it bluntly, the scholar was the 'key' to resolving all of this.

The dreams they had shared repeatedly were nothing more than a means to strengthen their connection—a foundation for the eventual exchange of souls. Anaxa had willingly lent his body for a chance to stand before a god. Truly a curious decision. Normally, such a feat would have been beyond him, given how severely—almost entirely—limited his interactions with the physical world were.

Reaching Amphoreus had been no small undertaking.

And through Anaxagoras, he had descended.

"Earlier, you mentioned wanting to aid a friend. I presume that friend is Kevin Kaslana?"

Under normal circumstances, Aglaea should have been far more wary of another visitor from beyond the sky. However, 'Anaxagoras' had sought her out the moment this second possession took place, making his intentions known. Judging by recent events, she suspected that he and the Kaslana shared some sort of connection.

As expected, the man nodded.

"Indeed. You may call me Su. My time is limited, so I will not be occupying this body for long."

There was yet another reason Aglaea chose to hear him out.

"You say 'aid'—in what way, exactly?"

Su's response was nothing short of compelling, delivered with a quiet confidence that demanded attention.

"The matter of the body-swap between Kevin and the Chrysos Heir named Phainon," he began, his voice steady, "I possess the means to resolve it."

Aglaea regarded him in silence, her mind carefully weighing the plausibility of his claim. On one hand, the city's most brilliant scholars and researchers had already thrown their collective intellect at the phenomenon, striving tirelessly to reverse it. However, their efforts had crumbled into futility, confounded by their inability to comprehend the bizarre 'energy' coursing through the two entwined bodies.

Aglaea harbored a suspicion that this enigmatic 'energy' was intricately tied to the cryokinetic prowess Kevin Kaslana wielded with such devastating precision.

"Very well," she said at length, her tone resolute. "Your request for temporary refuge here is granted."

Faced with an intractable problem, she was inclined to entertain any solution that held even a glimmer of promise.

The figure of Anaxagoras pressed a hand to his chest in a gesture of gratitude, and Aglaea couldn't shake the fleeting thought that if this moment were captured with irrefutable proof, no one would believe it authentic.

"My thanks, my lady," he said, his voice carrying a warmth that felt alien to the scholar's usual demeanor.

There was an absurdity to it, in a way—watching the scholar behave so starkly out of character.

After those words, a heavy silence descended, broken only by the faint hum of the Vortex of Genesis. 'Anaxagoras' stood transfixed, his gaze locked on the ceaseless spiral of its depths.

That is, until a certain hero strode into the chamber.

-

"Kevin. It's been too long."

When Kevin Kaslana received the Goldweaver's abrupt summons, he had made haste to the appointed place. Contrary to his expectations—braced as he was for what he imagined might be a second round of interrogation—the one to greet him was none other than Professor Anaxagoras.

…Or was it?

'Phainon' could hardly imagine Anaxagoras addressing him with such casual familiarity.

Seeking clarity, Kevin's gaze flicked to Aglaea, who stood beside the scholar. Yet she remained impassive, arms crossed, as though deliberately ceding the stage to the two outsiders.

A thread of suspicion coiled tighter within him as he responded, his voice cautious but steady.

"Likewise, Professor Anaxagoras."

The last time Kevin had exchanged words with this man, a gun had been pressed against his temple.

The figure before him still kept his eyes firmly shut, a detail that tugged at Kevin's memory, conjuring the image of someone distinct. The man tilted his head slightly, lips curving into a smile.

Wait—since when did this man even smile—

"Kevin, my friend. Have you truly forgotten me so soon?"

"…"

For a brief moment, he could only stare in silence as the scholar stepped forward. Then, the 'Anaxagoras' spoke, delivering a revelation that sent a jolt through him.

"Ever since my 'death', I have been watching you. From the moment you began Project STIGMA to the moment you met your own end."

A ringing noise filled Kevin's ears. His lips parted slightly. He had thought he had lived long enough that nothing could truly shock him anymore. Reality had just proven him wrong once more.

"What…"

He had just mentioned Project STIGMA—something only those directly involved would know.

Another pause stretched between them, and Kevin exhaled, the sound laced with a mix of astonishment and a faint, bittersweet joy.

"Su."

The name was both a statement and a question, hanging in the air like a fragile thread.

Su's smile lingered, subtle but unwavering.

How strange it was—their reunion unfolding in such an uncanny manner, neither of them truly themselves. 'Anaxagoras' and 'Phainon' stood suspended in the moment, grappling with the weight of the revelation. Then, once more, the silence shattered.

"Su… how is this possible?"

'Bodhi' understood precisely what 'Deliverance' sought to unravel.

"When I perished, it seems only my physical form was lost—my mind, however, endured."

As he spoke, his gaze roamed over the body Kevin now inhabited, studying it with a meticulous intensity. The resemblance between them was uncanny, almost deliberate. Could this, too, have been orchestrated—

"So that's how it is."

It was almost miraculous. Kevin couldn't say for certain whether his own revival had followed a similar path. Regardless, they had taken a brief moment to reminisce before the other Chrysos Heirs arrived.

Among his former comrades, Griseo and Hua had survived, whole and unscathed, in their original world. Su mentioned that little Griseo had grown up—he wished Kevin could see her now. That world was still in the midst of rebuilding after the final battle. It seemed he had left quite a mess behind.

"So then, Kevin, how have you been faring here?"

The question caught the Kaslana off guard, stirring a reluctance to answer. Truth be told, he had grown accustomed to life in this strange new realm, forging bonds with those around him. And then there was… someone. Someone extraordinary. The thought of sharing that with Su felt oddly daunting, like exposing a fragile piece of himself to scrutiny.

"It's been good."

That was all he chose to say. Just few simple words.

Yet Su's expression shifted, a subtle flicker crossing his features as he caught the rare, unguarded sincerity in his old friend's voice. Kevin's face softened, his eyes alight with a warmth and tranquility that stood in stark contrast to the icy detachment he'd once worn like armor in their former world. Whatever occupied Kevin's thoughts, it was something—or someone—capable of unraveling the stoic warrior hehad known.

If he were to hazard a guess, Kevin had found a new life in Amphoreus. A real one.

But…

A pang tightened Su's chest, sharp and unrelenting. How could he bring himself to voice the cruel truth awaiting the Kaslana?

How could he confess that Kevin's time… was running out?

Steeling himself to keep his voice steady, 'Anaxagoras' spoke again, his words carefully measured.

"It seems you've formed… a special bond with the people here."

The white-haired former hero turned away, a faint cough escaping him as a flush of color bloomed briefly across his cheeks before vanishing just as swiftly.

Su felt as though he'd been plunged into an icy abyss.

That expression—unmistakable, unguarded—was the same one Kevin had once reserved for MEI.

If the Kaslana had truly found—

"Yeah," He admitted, his voice quieter now, tinged with a vulnerability that felt almost sacred. "I've met someone… someone truly special."

The white-haired man's smile was soft, almost foolish, reminiscent of a lovesick teenager from their distant high school days.

He had found someone new. He had honored the final wishes of his lost love, MEI, carrying her will forward while somehow stepping out from beneath her lingering shadow. He had forged a path toward a future that should have been his alone—a future he had earned.

Make no mistake: under ordinary circumstances, Su would have been elated, overjoyed to see Kevin achieve such a feat.

"Kevin…" Su whispered, the sound barely escaping his lips, fragile as a dying breeze.

Why did fate have to be so merciless to his dear friend?

"Hm?" Kevin turned to him, his expression open, almost boyishly unaware of the storm gathering on the horizon. In that moment, he saw not the weathered warrior, but an innocent soul blind to the cruel truth awaiting him.

"…I'm sorry," The scholar murmured, his voice faltering. "I should be congratulating you, but about this body-swap…"

His gaze dropped to the floor, unable to bear the weight of what came next. He could feel Aglaea's piercing stare boring into the back of his neck and Kevin's steady, unsuspecting eyes fixed on him from the front. Whatever happened next, the Kaslana deserved to know. It was the last act of mercy Su could offer.

To conceal the truth would be the ultimate cruelty. So…

"You need to hear this, Kevin," He said, forcing his voice to hold steady despite the ache clawing at his chest. "Once the swap is undone, your time… it will be short."

The white-haired man froze, his breath catching in his throat.

The silence that followed was deafening, heavy with unspoken dread.

"Even now, Kevin Kaslana, you are dying."

Something shattered in that moment—fragile, irreplaceable.

-

Hadn't the Hero of Humanity already sacrificed enough?

Fate, it seemed, cared little for such notions. Its greed was insatiable, its cruelty boundless. It demanded everything from him. Having stripped away nearly all he held dear, it still hungered for more. So it had revived the Kaslana, only to tear him apart once again.

And the hero could only ask, with a voice worn raw by loss: What more does he have left to give?

From the very beginning, Kevin had known—deep in his bones, the moment he dared to crave life, he had already lost.

In Amphoreus, someone had ignited within him a desire to keep breathing, to endure. That someone had kindled a belief so potent it became his faith, his anchor.

Yet, even as he sensed the fragility of his existence, suspecting he might not survive, he had selfishly allowed himself to love. And now, because of him, that love would bring anguish to the one who held his heart.

His beloved deserved better than this.

Perhaps, Kevin thought, this was his karmic reckoning.

"I'm sorry…"

It was all Su could offer, his voice a fragile echo of regret, repeated once more.

Aglaea, who had likely overheard every word, chose to remain silent, her presence a quiet sentinel in the unfolding tragedy.

The scene felt achingly familiar to Kevin. The same apologies, the same tale of hearts recklessly given, entwined in devotion. But this time, it was he who would fall. The irony was a bitter sting.

"…It's fine."

No, it wasn't. He knew it with every fiber of his being.

The truth was immutable, sealed by the words of his closest friend. Every hypothesis had been confirmed, every doubt laid bare.

In another time, he would have embraced his fate without hesitation, welcoming the chance to 'rest' after an eternity of exhaustion. But lately—

His lips pressed into a thin line.

Kevin Kaslana no longer wished to surrender to that inevitability.

Perhaps that was why his breaths grew shallower with each passing day.

Perhaps that was why his vision blurred, the world slipping into a haze.

Perhaps that was why his mind began to drift into a silent, desolate calm—serene, yet steeped in the stillness of death.

He was dying.

Time was slipping through his fingers.

Kevin Kaslana was dying, once again.

So be it.

Part of him yearned to press Su for every detail, to unravel the mechanics of his unraveling existence. Another part urged him to let it go, to allow the end to claim him quietly. He stood at the crossroads of defiance and acceptance, torn between the will to fight and the weight of inevitability.

'Anaxagoras' parted his lips to speak, but his words were swallowed by the sound of approaching footsteps, sharp and deliberate against the stillness.

The protagonist of this tale—Phainon—had arrived

Su froze for a heartbeat, arrested by the sight of that achingly familiar face. His astonishment deepened as the one bearing Kevin's visage broke into a radiant, unguarded smile, closing the distance with an eager stride. Yet as Phainon drew nearer, a flicker of confusion crossed his features, sensing the oppressive weight that cloaked the air around them.

"Kevin, you're here already!" he exclaimed, his voice bright before his gaze shifted. "Oh, and Professor Anaxa, too."

Aglaea chose that moment to intercede, her presence commanding attention with effortless authority.

"Phainon, allow me to bring you up to speed."

"…"

It took time for Aglaea to unravel the tangled threads of the situation, her words deliberate and precise. As she spoke, Phainon's eyes darted intermittently toward 'Anaxagoras,' absorbing her explanation with rapt focus. For now, the Goldweaver tactfully omitted any mention of the Kaslana's dire condition—perhaps because even she lacked the full measure of its cause.

"So… this isn't actually Professor Anaxa?"

Su stood rooted in place as 'Kevin' extended a hand, the gesture warm and inviting, as though to bridge the chasm between them.

"Greetings," the young man said with a disarming grin. "As you've likely gathered, I'm Phainon."

The former Flamechaser clasped the offered hand, struck by the disconcertingly… normal warmth radiating from the body that should have been a certain someone's. It was a sensation so mundane it felt almost alien.

When he lingered in silence a moment too long, Phainon's voice broke through, tinged with concern. "You alright?"

"Of course," Su replied, his voice soft, almost wistful. "Just… caught in a bit of nostalgia."

For an instant, he was transported back fifty thousand years, to a time when Kevin was still a boy—a teenager, really. Back then, the Kaslana had been the 'Prince' of Senba High, the foreign exchange student who effortlessly stole hearts. Athletic, devastatingly handsome, academically gifted, and disarmingly approachable, he was the quintessential dream of every schoolgirl, a living archetype of youthful perfection.

This 'Kevin Kaslana' before him now exuded that same vibrant energy, untarnished by the weight of eons.

But then the Honkai had descended, and that golden era had crumbled into ash, lost to the relentless march of time.

"Su," came a voice—Kevin's, the real Kevin's, low and knowing. "I can tell what you're thinking."

The scholar offered a faint smile, shaking his head. "Yeah."

The moment had come. All answers now rested with one person.

Phainon took the initiative, his voice steady but laced with cautious hope. "If I may ask… do you truly know how to reverse this condition binding the two of us?"

-

"As for that matter, I'll be using a few terms from our old world. They might be a bit difficult to grasp."

'Anaxagoras' turned his attention to Phainon, his closed eyes lending an air of solemnity to his presence.

"Phainon, you've met Kiana Kaslana, haven't you?"

The young man nodded, his expression earnest. "Yes, that's right. She was the one who guided me to Amphoreus."

"And do you recall the circumstances under which you awoke?"

Phainon paused, his thoughts drifting to that pivotal moment. The first thing he remembered was a shimmering expanse of white, translucent and radiant. It had enveloped him—a crystalline coffin, pristine and unyielding.

He cast a glance toward Kevin, his eyes tinged with regret before he spoke. "I awoke inside a coffin, and it seemed… Kevin had already passed before our bodies were swapped. Lady Kiana told me as much."

The man in question stood with his arms crossed, his face an impassive mask, betraying no reaction to the mention of his own death.

Su pressed forward, his tone steady. "You heard him, Kevin. Kiana Kaslana preserved your body."

The Kaslana's brow furrowed slightly, a faint crease of skepticism. "What does that have to do with our current predicament?"

Everything. It had everything to do with it.

The truth was about to unfurl, stark and unsparing.

"After the final battle on the Moon, remnants of the Authority of Finality were still left within you."

Phainon and Aglaea might have been puzzled by the term, but the Kaslana froze, his mind reeling. In theory, Kiana had required time to fully merge with the Cocoon of Finality, claiming its vast power as her own. What he hadn't anticipated was that a fragment of that authority had remained embedded in his body, even after his death.

For simplicity's sake, let's call the Authority of Finality 'AoF.'

With his eyes still shut, Su raised a hand, gesturing as he outlined the intricate chain of events.

"But that power was faint, scattered thinly throughout your body. The reason your form didn't decay was because the AoF was struggling to sustain you."

Thanks to Kiana's act of preserving his body, that scattered energy had found a foothold, coalescing with greater density in a single region of Kevin's frame.

He delivered the final blow.

"You, Kevin, are currently surviving on a pseudo-core formed from the remnants of the Authority of Finality. When your condition destabilized, that core acted to preserve you—triggering the body-swap in the process."

Kevin Kaslana's gaze locked onto Phainon—or rather, onto his own body. At last, understanding dawned upon him. His lips parted as he quietly acknowledged the truth.

"I see."

Which also meant… the moment that core depleted its remaining energy, so too would his life be extinguished.

Lady Aglaea and Phainon exchanged glances.

Though they had grasped the general meaning of the conversation unfolding before them, foreign terms like 'core' and 'Authority of Finality' left them struggling to fully comprehend the weight of what was being said.

'Phainon' raised a hand, pointing to the center of 'the Kaslana's' chest. The pseudo-core resided there, nestled within Kevin's original body.

"So, I suppose we have to… stimulate the core in order to switch back?"

Su nodded, his voice firm. "Precisely."

The question, of course, was how?

Under normal circumstances, such a task could be accomplished by exposing the core to Honkai energy. But Phainon, for all his virtues, lacked the ability to wield it.

That left only one path forward—a solution far simpler than Kevin had anticipated.

The Seventh Divine Key: the Key of Destruction. Shamash. A weapon already imbued with Honkai energy, its power coursing through its very essence. To swing it like an ordinary greatsword would be a waste of its potential, a squandering of its purpose.

The Kaslana summoned Shamash.

"Kevin, what are you—" Su began, his voice tinged with apprehension.

His concern was not unfounded. The last time he'd witnessed Kevin wield this Divine Key was also their final meeting at the Seed of Sumeru. And what had that weapon achieved in those moments? Nothing less than cleaving a quasi-black hole into fragments.

The hero raised the blade skyward, his words cryptic yet resolute, cutting through the tension like a blade of their own.

"This won't take long."

Phainon had once expressed a fleeting curiosity about the hidden form of the fiery greatsword Kevin wielded—a weapon as formidable as it was mesmerizing.

Now, that form was unveiled.

Zeroth power: Might of An-Utu.

It was never a mere sword. The moment it was summoned, the air itself seemed to choke, suffocated by an oppressive force. Space fractured in delicate fissures under the weight of its annihilating flames, the world trembling before its might.

If Phainon were to offer a critique, he might say this second form of Shamash was less brutish than its initial state—sleeker, more refined. Stretching longer than half a man's height, its blade burned with a strange, crimson energy that pulsed like a living thing. Forged from the core of a fallen Herrscher, it was no surprise it radiated such otherworldly power. A small ring encircled its hilt, an understated detail that belied the weapon's devastating potential.

"Wait, Kevin! Surely there's a less… catastrophic way to handle this–"

It was too late.

Su's voice drowned in the suffocating silence that followed.

Aglaea's threads of salvation, woven in a desperate bid to intervene, were severed before they could take hold.

Phainon's own blade, drawn instinctively to shield himself, hung useless—too slow to matter.

"Wha- wait!"

The Chrysos Heir could only stammer a few broken words—barely more than a breath—before the attack came, swift and merciless, crashing down like judgment from the heavens. Too sudden. Too fierce. There was no time to react—only to fall.

Might of An-Utu plunged into 'Phainon's' chest.

A searing agony erupted near his heart, an alien energy surging through his veins, infiltrating his very being and igniting something dormant within. Then, as swiftly as it had come, the excruciating sensation vanished. Phainon blinked, disoriented, only to realize his hand now gripped the hilt of the sword.

"It worked," a low, familiar voice rumbled. "I knew it would."

Phainon's vision cleared, the scene before him snapping into focus.

Kevin Kaslana clung to the blade's edge, his cryokinetic power flaring to encase the roaring flames in ice before they could consume them all. The gaping wound in his chest, which should have bled freely, was cauterized by the sword's blistering heat, sealed in a fleeting reprieve.

By all accounts, such an injury would have felled any mortal.

"Kevin!" Su's cry cut through the haze, raw with panic. He was so shocked that he even opened his eye. But instead of his usual fuchsia-colored irises tinged with green, it was now a soft crimson blended with a pale, washed-out blue.

Then again, Kevin was no ordinary man. This was a MANTIS—more monster than human, forged in the crucible of countless battles. And it seemed the hour of his departure had not yet come.

Their bodies had been restored to their rightful owners.

At that moment, though delayed, the head nurse, Hyacine, burst into the Vortex of Genesis, drawn by the resounding clash that had echoed through the chamber. She sprinted toward the scene, her urgency palpable.

Trailing behind her… was Mydeimos.

The latecomers stood frozen at the threshold, too distant for Phainon to discern their expressions. The greatsword's hilt weighed heavily in his grasp, an anchor tethering him to the chaos that had just unfolded.

They had some explaining to do.

-

Meanwhile, their Professor Anaxagoras was engrossed in a chess match of cosmic proportions.

"You're every bit as intriguing as he is," his opponent remarked, amusement threading through the words.

Anaxagoras couldn't suppress the urge to laugh, a rich, unrestrained sound that echoed in the ethereal void.

Mortals were often the playthings of gods.

But here, he was the god's equal at the board.

"And you're no less fascinating, divine one," he countered, his grin sharp with defiance.

That doctor—Su, was it? He'd have to wait a little longer. Anaxagoras wasn't ready to relinquish his place in this game just yet.

Chapter Text

"So the two of you have switched back."

The two white-haired 'Deliverers' nodded in unison.

"With a single stab."

Phainon deftly concealed the greatsword he'd been clutching behind his back. Kevin, meanwhile, stood with arms crossed, enduring the moment. The wound on his body was gradually knitting itself together, though the process was noticeably sluggish compared to his usual resilience.

Mydeimos pressed a hand to his forehead, exasperated. He wasn't paid nearly enough to deal with this chaos.

He swore he'd only left these two Samoyeds alone for half a day. Half a day! And yet, here they were, tangled in this mess. To make matters worse, it turned out Anaxagoras wasn't even himself but some foreign entity inhabiting his form.

Mydeimos couldn't help but wonder when it would be his turn. Would some random outsider hijack his body next?

He always had the sinking feeling that Amphoreus was a powder keg of miracles—or poised to explode at any moment.

Hyacine's voice, laced with concern, cut through the air.

"Lord Kaslana, that wound looks severe. May I examine it?"

The man in question glanced at the gash for a moment before shaking his head.

"No need. It'll heal on its own."

Su, however, wasn't convinced. As a fellow MANTIS, he knew their kind ceased to age and possessed remarkable regenerative abilities. By now, Kevin's wound should've already sealed shut.

"Kevin, your recovery seems slower than usual."

"…"

A strange sense of déjà vu washed over Phainon as he listened. He'd had this exact conversation before—dragging a stubborn Mydeimos to the infirmary because the man refused treatment, insisting his wounds would heal if he just toughed it out. Sure, Phainon had taken a few punches for his efforts early on, but he'd still hauled that prince to Hyacine every time.

The thought of Mydeimos enduring pain was something Phainon could never abide, mortal though he was, and immortal though the other might be.

"You should at least clean and bandage it for now," he urged, his voice firm yet gentle.

Hyacine nodded in agreement with Phainon's assessment.

"But I can't treat you myself—your body temperature is far too low…"

The nurse lacked the resilience to withstand such extreme cold. Even brief contact with his skin was enough to leave her fingers pale and trembling, chilled to the bone.

The Kaslana let out a weary sigh.

"I appreciate your concern, but I'll handle it myself. Do you have the supplies I need?"

'Anaxagoras' beside him looked vaguely offended. Alright, maybe he was just playing around, but still—he had been a doctor once, you know?

"Have you forgotten about me already?" he quipped.

Kevin Kaslana's gaze drifted absently to the side. "Must've slipped my mind. It's been a while."

"Hey!"

Wait… had he just joked?

Regardless, it was Su who ultimately took the medical kit and supplies from Hyacine. As she double-checked her inventory, however, a sinking realization hit her—she'd run out of something critical.

"I think we need to head back to the Golden Courtyard. I'm out of anesthetic."

What seemed like a perfectly reasonable suggestion was met with odd looks from the two MANTISes, as if she'd said something bizarre. Their reaction left Hyacine visibly flustered.

"What's wrong?"

'Anaxagoras' offered a faint, reassuring smile and shook his head.

"No need for that."

The Chrysos Heirs exchanged glances, taken aback by the peculiar decision. Kevin's wound, at the very least, required disinfection and stitching—especially given its depth. If they were reading the situation right, 'Anaxagoras' planned to suture it without anesthesia.

Mydeimos arched a brow, his expression radiating disapproval. It was strange, really, for someone like him to say this, but—

"No way. You're coming back to the Golden Courtyard with me."

The concern in his voice was unmistakable. Honestly, it was almost… endearing.

"Kevin, you haven't told them yet, have you?"

Su turned to his companion.

"…"

What could he mean? The question hung unspoken in the minds of those gathered. It was a subtle nudge, one that made them realize just how much of a cipher 'Kevin Kaslana' remained. His aloof demeanor whenever pressed for personal details had always been respected; they'd waited patiently, trusting he'd open up when ready.

"Lady Hyacine," Kevin began, his voice steady, "it's not that I seek pain. Anesthetics simply don't work on me."

In truth, it had lost its effect bit by bit, until the moment he lay on Mobius’ operating table, when it ceased to work entirely. He could still recall her words from that day, sharp and indelible.

"Fine, fine. Let us begin, Kevin. This may take a long time... A pity that anesthetic hardly works on you anymore. You must bear the pain using sheer willpower."

"But I promise it'll be worth it. After enduring all the pain and suffering, I assure you that like me, you'll feel... reborn."

From that particular day to this very moment, an eternity seemed to have passed.

Phainon rested a hand on his chin, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "May I ask why that is?"

Hyacine nodded in fervent agreement. "Indeed, Lord Kaslana. I don't wish to pry, but your condition… it's deeply concerning to me as a healer. I can't ignore it."

Su, ever pragmatic, pressed a firm hand on Kevin's shoulder, guiding the white-haired warrior to sit on the steps. He began tending to his reticent friend's wounds with a precision that belied his closed eyes—an almost uncanny finesse. As his deft fingers worked, he spoke on Kevin's behalf.

"It's because we've lain on operating tables, wagering our lives for power. Our bodies were altered to resist adverse effects, including anesthetics."

For a fleeting moment, a heavy silence descended, thick with unspoken gravity.

"Su…" Kevin's voice was low, a faint crease forming on his brow as his old friend threaded the first stitch through his wound. It was the only sign he still felt the sting of pain.

"Quiet," The other chided softly. "You've worried them enough already, haven't you?"

The Kaslanas were ever thus—shouldering burdens alone until they drowned beneath them.

The Chrysos Heirs stood stunned, grappling with the revelation. They'd traveled alongside this enigmatic stranger for so long, yet this was the first glimpse into his shrouded past.

Mydeimos stepped forward, fists clenched tight at his sides. His mind flashed back to a stack of old documents he'd once stumbled across in the Grove—records of others just like this. Twisted experiments. Desperate people.

"Hey, doctor…" his voice was low. "Are you talking about… human experimentation?"

The scholar nodded without hesitation. Back then, such topics weren't even deemed sensitive.

If humanity wished to survive, such actions were inevitable.

"Yes. But please, don't pity us for it. We chose this path—willingly."

Mydeimos felt a dawning clarity. Only now did he grasp the odd reactions the Kaslana displayed whenever they brushed against each other, the subtle recoils that had puzzled him. By then, though, he was already faring better, no longer bothering to react at all.

Hyacine pressed a hand to her lips, stunned into silence. Aglaea, however, latched onto a specific detail, her memory sharp from a prior interrogation.

"Then, I suppose the abnormal body temperature is also a side effect of the procedure?"

This time, the former hero answered for himself.

"It is."

The pieces had finally fallen into place.

The Deliverer let out a heavy breath, his lips curving into a reassuring smile as he sidled closer, claiming a spot on the steps below.

"I've heard some of your story from Lady Kiana," he said. "Tragic as it all was, what matters is that you overcame it. You're standing right here now, aren't you?"

"I'm sitting." A certain someone deadpanned.

"Haha—alright, fine. You're sitting here, then. You've—"

Suddenly, Kevin felt fingers weaving gently through his white locks. If this had been the old him, he'd have frozen, guarded and wary. But this touch—it belonged to someone uniquely dear to him. He'd grown accustomed to its warmth.

He savored it.

"You've done well," Mydeimos murmured, his voice soft yet resolute.

His eyes drifted shut, as if willing the moment to linger just a little longer.

"And yet, everything I've done has led to failure."

But then, like something too sweet to be real, Mydeimos' next words flowed into his ears, smooth as honey.

"Failure? To me, you've never been a failure."

Kevin Kaslana may have faltered in holding onto those who once stood by his side, stumbled in safeguarding the world of old, and fallen short of becoming the 'hero'. But in those amber eyes gazing at him now, he had never once been a failure.

Like everyone in that world, he etched the possibilities of human nature into his heart.

He was the sunchaser of legend, soaring towards the sky, and embracing his final victory with his fall. He ascended to heights uncharted, only to come face to face with the sun - a place not visited by anyone before. His wings would melt because of it, only for him to fall into the sea and after that…

Countless others would surpass him, soaring to even greater heights.

How unfair, he thought, that such a gaze could unravel him so completely.

In a sudden, fluid motion, Kevin seized Mydeimos' wrist, drawing it down to press a gentle kiss to the center of the prince's gauntleted hand—right there, in front of everyone.

"…"

The Chrysos Heirs let out a synchronized sigh, all equally exasperated. Phainon immediately slung an arm around Mydei's waist, as if to say 'if Kaslana gets affection, so do I.' Su, for the second time that day, actually opened his eyes.

Here they go again—flirting shamelessly in broad daylight. Could they maybe not?

The former doctor finished bandaging the last of Kevin's wounds, though his thoughts were already tangled in a dozen directions.

"So this is the 'special someone' you mentioned?"

The Kaslana responded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"Yes."

It was almost unthinkable that this 'someone' would be a man as striking and formidable as Mydeimos. Regardless, Su found himself oddly pleased by the match. "Well, I'll be damned," he mused. "So I've lived long enough to see the day you'd be smitten with a pretty young man like this."

The moment the words 'young man' left the lips of the entity inhabiting Anaxagoras, Mydeimos felt a jarring disconnect. The way the foreign doctor spoke, it was as if both he himself and the Kaslana were ancient relics—

Wait.

All this time, Tribbie had estimated Kevin Kaslana to be somewhere between twenty and thirty years old. For an immortal like Mydeimos, age was a trivial thing, but now curiosity gnawed at him. He was beginning to realize just how much his 'lover' kept veiled.

If he asked something simple, like "What's your favorite food?" Kevin would only tilt his head and murmur, "Anything you make."

And damn if that didn't make it harder to pry anything else out of him.

If Mydeimos asked, "What's your hobby?" The Kaslana would pause, just for a heartbeat, before answering with a quiet, "Watching you."

Even when pressed about his favorite color, he'd claim it was vermillion red.

From the very beginning, everything about Kevin Kaslana seemed to orbit Mydeimos, like stars tethered to a sun.

"I highly doubt I'm that young. In fact, I'd say I'm rather old... at least compared to these two idiots."

Mydei was still trying—somewhat unsuccessfully—to pry Phainon's arms off his waist. The man was jealous. Again. As if Kevin had the upper hand occasionally, while someone here got to monopolize the prince in bed on a regular basis. (Just for cuddling, mind you—trust him on that.)

Su shot his dear old friend a look that practically screamed 'Seriously?' while the man in question merely cradled his forehead in quiet exasperation.

"What, you're not like that?"

Hyacine, ever curious, leaned forward.

Among the Chrysos Heirs, only Phainon and Anaxagoras knew the staggering truth about the former Flamechasers' ages.

Phainon raised a finger, a spark of mischief in his eyes. "Actually, do any of you recall Lady Kiana—the one who helped me return here?"

Aglaea nodded. "You've mentioned her multiple times before."

Kevin Kaslana felt the ground shift beneath him, as if his entire history was about to be laid bare. Gods, he wanted to bury his face in his hands. Would his prince think him too old now?

"She's his descendant." Phainon declared, letting the words hang.

One. Two. Three.

"What?!"

'Anaxagoras' knew he shouldn't laugh at his friend's expense, but the situation was just too rich. Reflecting on it, he realized how vast the chasm of time they'd traversed truly was…

Well, since he'd already started poking the bear, he might as well go all in.

"We're only about fifty thousand years old," he casually added.

"..."

All this time, Mydeimos had seen Kevin Kaslana as a brooding, gentle young man—quietly reserved, perhaps a touch passive, but undeniably tender.

And yet… and yet! This man was no innocent pup but a cunning old fox, a weathered beast grazing on tender grass, a white wolf cloaked in the guise of a Samoyed!

Phainon's laughter boomed at Su's blunt confirmation. By the stars, when Kiana had first told him about this, she'd held up her fingers to count the zeros, as if the number alone could topple empires.

Phainon, ever the provocateur from Aedes Elysiae, couldn't resist a jab.

"My prince, isn't he a bit too old for you? I'm your true match, you know—your taste runs toward younger men, doesn't it?"

Imaginary puppy ears perked triumphantly atop his head, reveling in this unexpected leverage. Seizing Mydeimos' stunned silence, he pressed his advantage, tossing out the quip like a gauntlet.

Kevin, surprisingly, was not unaffected.

The old white pup's ears drooped in silent sorrow—pretending to stay composed, but looking for all the world like he'd just been scolded.

"Mydeimos," he murmured, voice low, "is your type really… younger men?"

Mydeimos felt the trap snapping shut around him. "I'm the Undying," he countered, exasperation creeping in. "Age means nothing to me."

The two white-haired warriors circled him, each vying for ground.

"But my Mydei loves me best, right?" Phainon teased, a grin flashing.

"I just hope you don't think less of me…" The Kaslana added, his tone softer, almost vulnerable.

After their chaotic little jaunt to Amphoreus, Su came to a conclusion: his old friend was utterly, hopelessly smitten.

How...tragic.

-

In the aftermath, only Phainon harbored a question that loomed larger than the rest. So, he sought out the enigmatic outsider named Su in private.

"Su, can I ask you something?" he ventured.

The 'Anaxagoras' with both eyes closed inclined his head. "Go ahead," he invited, his voice calm and open.

"It's just a hunch… but are you the one who owns the bodhi leaf—the one that sent a message to me and Lady Kiana?"

Asking that question… wasn't easy for the Deliverer.

'Herrscher, his time is running out.'

At the time, waking up in someone else's body only to receive such a cryptic message moments later, Phainon couldn't help but envision a bleak, inevitable future.

Kiana had said nothing. Phainon himself had said nothing. But—

Since returning to Amphoreus, he had been living on borrowed time, bracing for the moment when his hourglass would run dry. The message had used 'his' and was sent to both him and a woman. It wasn't hard to leap to the conclusion that it referred to him.

That meant he was nearing his end.

Day after day, the man from Aedes Elysiae turned the thought over in his mind, letting it fester but never daring to voice it.

What if the message was wrong? What if it wasn't about him at all? But if—just if—it was true… how could he possibly tell the others? How could he tell Mydei? His mind spun with possibilities, a gnawing uncertainty clinging to him like a venomous curse.

Before he realized it, Phainon had begun acting as if he were racing to mend everything.

'So, if by some cruel twist of fate he were to fall first, there would still be someone to care for the love of his life.'

That was the reason—the driving force that explained his every action with unshakable clarity.

Even if it meant tearing himself apart, his beloved had to be looked after.

This was how he loved: fiercely, wholly, and with a desperate edge born of a future where he might lose that love.

Like Aedes Elysiae, consumed in a sea of flames.

If he were to face his own end, he would lose the one who held his heart.

But if fate took his beloved first, the ache would be just as profound—he would still lose everything that mattered.

That's why, once Phainon gave his heart, he gave it with everything he had.

"No… I'm sorry for causing you to misinterpret, but that message wasn't about you."

The other's words sliced through Phainon's mind, detonating like thunder in the heart of a storm.

The bodhi leaf hadn't been referring to Phainon at all.

-

'Anaxagoras' clutched his head, his brows knitting in faint frustration.

It was unthinkable—the real Anaxagoras had outright refused to reclaim his body. He'd said, with infuriating nonchalance, "The game's at a critical point. Let me finish, then I'll come back."

Never—not in all his existence—had Su encountered someone so brazen, so recklessly audacious.

"When are you leaving?" Kevin Kaslana asked, his arms crossed as always, his tone deceptively soft.

"I don't know," Su murmured. "He won't come back."

A faint whisper of exasperation escaped him. He wouldn't be able to maintain this form much longer—a day was already pushing it.

"…"

A silence settled between them, neither comfortable nor strained, but heavy with unspoken weight. There was so much they wanted to say, so many regrets left dangling, so many things they still yearned to do.

"Hey, Su," Kevin ventured, breaking the quiet.

"Hm?"

It was already a miracle they'd been granted this final meeting.

"How much time do I have left?"

At that question, his former comrade's heart sank, a dull ache blooming in his chest—not for himself, but for his friend.

"Based on the lingering energy," Su said softly, "fifteen days."

Everything had unraveled from a single, careless act. Kevin wasn't sure whether to see it as a blessing or a curse. But now, perhaps, he understood.

It was both.

"Fifteen Entry Hours, then…" he echoed, the words trailing into the void.

The Kaslana was grateful—truly—for this chance to see his important someone. Deep gratitude wove through him, a silent ode to the precious chance fate had bestowed.

At the very least, fate had spared him this one mercy.

"Kevin, you…" Su began, his voice catching.

"It's fine." The man cut in, his tone resolute. "It's nothing."

There it was again—that familiar deflection, that same old wall.

"I know what I need to do."

Su felt a wave of helplessness crash over him, like he was back in that cursed main control room. Once, he'd stood powerless, watching MEI—another dear friend—waste away under the Honkai's cruel grip. Now, here he was again, staring into the abyss as another soul slipped away: the man who'd once been her love, who'd only just rediscovered a reason to live.

If I only had fifteen days left, what would I do?

I would spend thirteen of them loving you with everything I have.

I'd spend the next day facing your judgment.

And the final day, I'd paint my own ending.

In the end, it was all just a fleeting moment—a vision teetering at the edge of time.

Chapter Text

Yesterday was utter madness.

The chaos unfolded from the moment those two white-haired figures—specific ones, mind you—managed to swap back into their rightful bodies, to the bizarre spectacle of Anaxagoras being hijacked by another entity entirely. Was the intruder's name 'Su'? Unlike the situation with Kevin and Phainon, that particular problem had been resolved rather quickly. By the end of the day, Su had quietly stepped away and returned the body to its rightful owner.

Oddly enough, once Anaxagoras returned to himself, he seemed in unusually high spirits… though no one knew exactly why.

Thanks to that enigmatic outsider, the Chrysos Heirs, alongside him, gleaned fragments of insight into Kevin Kaslana himself—including the staggering revelation of his age.

Fifty thousand years. A number that gnawed at the edges of comprehension.

Because that meant Kevin Kaslana had lived through, survived, and experienced more than any of them could fathom. His mind was something else entirely—deep, razor-sharp, and unreadable. For a brief moment, Mydeimos had even questioned whether he had some kind of hidden agenda when he first approached him.

In this scenario, the crowned prince himself was the poor little feline being lured in by an old, cunning hound.

Yet, the moment he imagined a big fluffy white pup with droopy ears and a pitiful look on its face, all of Mydei's suspicions simply vanished.

It was starting to feel like a trap—but whatever. He'd live.

Once Phainon got his original body back, that old competitive streak of his came roaring to life. And he wasn't just aiming it at Mydei—it extended straight to the eldest among them, too.

Turns out, the only reason Phainon had held back before was because he'd felt awkward using someone else's body. If he had tried flirting with the prince of Kremnos in that state, wouldn't that have just worked in the Kaslana's favor?

So, the moment he returned to his own body, he made it his mission to stick to the love of his life like glue.

For example—this.

"Fifty-one now, Mydei!"

Phainon's voice echoed from across the rubble-strewn expanse. If Mydeimos squinted, he could just make out the silhouette of a Deliverer, one foot planted triumphantly on a titankin's chest, greatsword plunged through the creature's skull.

"Don't get too cocky, Deliverer," Mydeimos shot back. "I'm about to even the score."

The prince was no slouch either. His gauntleted hand seized a Black Tide-spawned abomination, hurling it through a nearby doorway with an effortless grace that belied its violence. The maneuver obliterated the door and shattered the puzzle mechanism of the place in one fell swoop—a single arrow felling two quarries with ruthless precision.

It was a rare occasion that Phainon and Mydei found themselves assigned to the same extermination mission.

And if anyone happened to wonder—what about Kevin Kaslana? Well, Mydei would like to confess that neither he nor Phainon had a clue. The man had seemingly vanished that morning, and no one had seen a trace of him since.

A flicker of concern tugged at Mydeimos, but surely someone like Kevin would be fine.

Back to the matter at hand: he needed to close the gap in Phainon's kill count. With the beast from moments ago, Mydeimos had racked up fifty. One more titankin or Black Tide abomination would do the trick.

He strode toward the Deliverer, eyes scouring the surroundings for any lingering prey.

Regrettably, every last monster in the vicinity had already been culled.

"Tch."

In the brooding silence of Mydeimos's frustration, Phainon, as if reveling in his dismay, declared his victory with unabashed swagger.

"That's my win this time. You remember the terms, don't you?"

With a defeated sigh, Mydei could only nod. Not every competition between them ended this way, but oftentimes, they would agree on a 'reward' or condition to be fulfilled by the loser. And when it came to Phainon's terms... they were often rather vicious in their own peculiar way.

It was through these wagers that Mydei first discovered just how deeply the other enjoyed 'studying' his body. There was one time—just one—when he had requested the lion lie down and bare his back, so he could press a line of kisses from the nape of his neck down his spine.

Just thinking about it made his face heat up again. Damn that Deliverer. (Of course, during his next win, he made sure to get his revenge.)

"So what's the demand this time?"

To his surprise, the other didn't answer right away. Instead, Phainon gave him a look—one of those sly, unreadable smiles.

"I'll tell you later. For now, let's head back."

The white-haired rogue looked positively gleeful.

The skirmish hadn't been particularly long or draining, and now that the adrenaline was fading, both of them began to relax. But just when they thought they could settle down and enjoy the lull… peace simply didn't last long.

As they emerged from the depths of the ruin, both of them quickly realized that the exit had been sealed shut. Surrounding the door were crumbling pillars—and an ancient, weathered Tome of Miracles perched on a golden pedestal.

"Mydei, it looks like we've got a puzzle to solve." Phainon mused, rubbing his chin as he eyed the azure tome before them.

Mydeimos crossed his arms, offering a solution as blunt as it was predictable. "Just smash the door and walk out."

The other immediately shook his head, clearly displeased. "We shouldn't. Teacher Tribbie said mechanisms linked to Oronyx tend to be extremely complex. They can even interfere with timelines…"

In other words: better safe than sorry.

The crowned prince rolled his eyes and muttered back, "Then do whatever you want."

This… this was the moment Mydei would come to regret most today.

He never should have let the Deliverer tamper with that dilapidated, erratic, and utterly uncontrollable Tome of Miracles.

Here's how it unfolded.

Phainon approached the suspicious artifact, poking and prodding at its interface. After endless swipes and presses yielded no progress, his stubbornness drove him to fiddle further with the relic's ancient machinery.

The result? Commands stacked upon commands, triggering a catastrophic error.

Mydeimos barely had time to shout a warning—"Phainon!"—before the Tome of Miracles emitted a bizarre pulse of energy. Then it detonated, a blinding white light engulfing everything.

The last thing the prince of Kremnos glimpsed was the flutter of the Chrysos Heir's white cloak before the radiance seared his vision.

"Mydei, are you alright?!"

When his own eyes fluttered open, the first thing he saw was a pair of cerulean eyes, deep as an ocean abyss, brimming with concern. The familiar Kephale sigil gazed back at him, etched with worry.

The second thing he noticed was a hand resting on his cheek—a hand adorned with long, razor-sharp claws.

Wait… claws?

"Phainon?"

Mydei called his name directly—and that alone was enough for both of them to realize just how dire the situation had become.

The same piercing blue eyes. The same snow-white hair. But now, the Deliverer he once knew stood noticeably taller, and his attire had shifted into something far darker than usual.

Beneath the faint shimmer of falling starlight, his silhouette emerged like a nightmare born from the depths of an abyss. He wore a cloak of midnight black, its edges glowing faintly violet—an eerie gleam like ghostly fire flickering at the bottom of an ancient crypt. The hood had already been lowered, revealing a face Mydei knew all too well.

"Huh? What's wrong with me?"

It was only now that Phainon seemed to notice the state of his own body.

Oh.

"What in the world is going on?"

Even the man himself was no less stunned—not least because his greatsword had morphed into an entirely different form.

For a moment, they stood frozen, staring at each other in bewildered silence.

"Deliverer, are you certain you haven't merged with some Black Tide abomination?" Mydeimos's tone was laced with suspicion.

Phainon's exasperated shout echoed back. "Of course not!"

"You look like one of those marauders skulking around the outskirts—"

"I said it's not that!"

He hauled Mydei to his feet, and only then did the prince of Kremnos fully grasp the extent of this new Phainon's stature. He was towering. The prince had no choice but to tilt his head back just to meet his gaze.

They needed a plan.

"We head back to teacher Tribbie." Mydei declared. "They'll know something."

The white-haired Chrysos Heir mulled over the suggestion, his clawed hand still probing his transformed body. Honestly, this was the second time he'd faced some bizarre issue with his physical form. But surely, this would be a simple fix. Just a glitch from Oronyx's Miracles—nothing more.

Phainon's gaze lingered on his beloved, a quiet intensity in his eyes.

Why did Mydeimos suddenly seem slightly… petite and utterly endearing?

Actually, this new form came with a few advantages…

"What are you scheming now?" He snapped, cutting through the silence. "Let's just get moving."

The Deliverer fixed him with an enigmatic look, one that sent a prickle of unease down Mydeimos's spine. The lion within him sensed danger prowling closer. What was this man up to now?

"Can I hold you for a moment?"

The prince tilted his head, clearly confused.

"Now's not the time for hugs. Let's get back to Okhema first."

Although he had declined, Phainon pressed on, undeterred.

"Please?"

There it was again—that look.

Mydeimos was holding the metaphorical leashes of not one, but two fluffy white hounds, and he had never once been able to resist when they gave him that face. Life was so incredibly unfair.

The prince of Kremnos let out a sharp "Hmph!" and turned his face away, a tacit agreement wrapped in feigned indifference.

Contrary to Mydeimos's expectations, Phainon—in his towering, transformed guise, cloaked in black with that peculiar crescent-moon sigil—dropped to one knee. With his clawed hands, he didn't embrace Mydeimos as anticipated. Instead, he… measured the prince's waist.

Mydeimos stared down at his own midsection, dumbfounded, a flush creeping across his cheeks.

Since when could Phainon encircle his entire waist with just two hands?

"Has your waist always been this slender?" Phainon mused, shamelessly kneading the soft flesh there. "Or are my hands just… larger now?"

His spine stiffened, his entire body tensing as those oversized, clawed hands slid upward, brazen and unrelenting.

No. He shuddered, wrestling for control. There was a secret he could not let Phainon discover. Absolutely not.

He was ticklish.

Gritting his teeth, Mydeimos twisted, desperate to wriggle free from the embrace—if one could even call it that. This wasn't hugging, this was outright groping.

Acting on instinct, the prince delivered a 'loving' punch to the fool, one guaranteed to leave the other wincing until tomorrow.

And so, with Phainon still inconveniently transformed thanks to that damned Tome of Miracles, the two made their swift return to the city of Okhema in search of help from the Tribios.

Little did Mydeimos know, this was far from the strangest phenomenon they'd face today.

-

At long last, they reached Okhema.

Given Phainon's conspicuously altered appearance, the pair had navigated a labyrinth of obscure backroads to avoid alarming the townsfolk. The man in question, however, was adapting to his predicament with remarkable finesse—befitting a true Deliverer.

"Deliverer, you're floating again."

"…Ah. Not again. Sorry, it just feels natural now."

The black-cloaked figure adorned with a crescent moon motif finally touched back down and resumed walking like a normal person—more or less.

They searched the entire area but still couldn't find any sign of teacher Tribbie. In the end, Phainon had no choice but to retreat into the shadows while Mydei went around asking for information.

Though he knew the Deliverer was lurking nearby, watching his every move, Mydeimos couldn't shake the eerie sensation that Phainon—swathed in that pitch-black garb—had all but melded into the darkness itself.

Strolling through the bustling Marmoreal market, he struck gold with a lead.

"Excuse me, do you know where Lady Tribbie might be?" He asked a flower vendor.

The woman's response carried an ominous undertone. "I'm not certain… but earlier, I saw Lady Tribbie and Lady Castorice hurrying toward Marmoreal Palace."

She hesitated before continuing, her voice lowering. "I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but it sounded like their conversation had something to do with a guest—I mean, Lord Kaslana."

…What now?

So if Phainon was causing trouble somewhere, did the Kaslana automatically get dragged into a separate incident elsewhere? These two didn't even need to be together to wreak havoc on the world. That was… genuinely alarming.

"Thank you." He said, trying to suppress a sigh.

The prince of Kremnos offered his thanks before turning toward Marmoreal Palace. From the subtle shift in the air behind him, he could tell Phainon was trailing in step—silent, seamless, like a shadow tethered to his own.

They finally reconvened properly once they'd secured a sliver of privacy within the palace walls.

"Why not check Kevin's private chambers?" Phainon suggested, his voice carrying a rare note of pragmatism—one of the few sensible things Mydei had heard from him all day.

Step by step, they traversed the palace's opulent corridors.

From a distance, two familiar figures came into view—a red-haired childlike presence and a girl with soft lavender locks. Both were urgently knocking at the door to Kevin Kaslana's chambers.

"Miss Tribbie, Lady Castorice—what's going on?" Mydeimos called out.
Both of them turned, eyes widening in tandem at the sight of him… and more specifically, at the unsettling figure trailing just behind.

"Dei, that's—what happened to Snowy?"

Tribbie's tone was laced with wariness while Castorice's gaze dissected the white-haired man as though she'd glimpsed something unsettling.

Time was short, so Mydeimos kept his explanation concise. "It's a long story, but this idiot meddled with a malfunctioning Tome of Miracles. This," he gestured to the one standing next to him, "is the result."

Phainon nodded in agreement, as if to say: 'Yes, blame that cursed relic.'
Tribbie let out a soft, relieved breath, placing a hand lightly over their chest.

"Oh, thank the stars. If that's the case, it should be manageable. These kinds of glitches are rare, but not without precedent."

They paused briefly before continuing, their tone calm yet reassuring. "It should wear off in two, maybe three days at most. If Snowy's lucky, the effect of the Oronyx's Miracles might fade even sooner."

Phainon let out a slow sigh, nodding in reluctant acceptance. So he was stuck in this form for a while. Not ideal—but not exactly a tragedy either. He could… experiment a little, maybe. There were upsides to this, after all—

"Thank you, teacher Tribbie. I'll keep that in mind."

Had they not been entangled in a more pressing crisis, the group might have lingered to jest about Phainon's striking new appearance.

"Now, about Kaslana—" Mydeimos began, only to falter as his gaze caught a glimmer of frost encasing the doorframe.

Kevin's chamber radiated an unnatural chill, thin veins of ice creeping across the surrounding walls. Even from outside, the four of them could hear a faint, unsettling scrape—like something heavy being dragged within.

Castorice spoke up, her voice measured as she edged back, maintaining a cautious distance. "We grew concerned when Lord Kaslana didn't emerge from his room all morning. The temperature around here has been plummeting at an alarming rate…"

Tribbie picked up where she left off. "We only just arrived ourselves. We suspect Kev's in some kind of trouble."

Mydeimos and Phainon exchanged a fleeting, wordless glance, their instincts aligning. The prince of Kremnos, his sunset-hued hair catching the dim light, stepped forward. Raising a hand, he rapped firmly on the solid wooden door.

"Kevin, are you alright?" he called, his voice carrying into the chamber.
The dragging sound ceased abruptly, as though his words had pierced the veil of whatever transpired inside.

After a tense pause, a response finally came. "I'm fine. Just… feeling a bit under the weather."

Those outside the door froze, their senses sharpening. The voice was unmistakably the Kaslana's, yet it carried an eerie distortion. It was as if two voices overlapped, resonating in unison with an unnatural echo—a timbre reminiscent of the Titans themselves.

Mydeimos frowned, voice quiet but firm.

"Can I come in?"

He had braced himself for rejection—but Kevin's response surpassed his expectations.

"You really want to?"

"I do."

There was a pause. A long one.

At last, the figure sequestered within relented, as though, in some unspoken way, he could no longer bear to conceal anything more from his beloved.

"Alright. But… brace yourself before you step inside."

The prince of Kremnos placed his hand on the doorknob. The strange flutter in his chest reminded him of tearing open one of those wildly popular mystery bags at the Marmoreal Market. Uncertainty, mixed with a dash of suspicion—and a whole lot of dread.

Beside him, Phainon stood uncharacteristically serious, wordless and still. His left hand rested gently but firmly on the lion's shoulder, a silent anchor.

Teacher Tribbie flanked his right, poised to retreat behind him should danger arise. Castorice, ever cautious, had already positioned herself at a safe distance, though her sharp gaze remained fixed on the door.

Mydeimos exhaled, steeling himself, and pushed the door open.

The first thing to greet him was a blast of razor-sharp cold wind that lashed through the threshold with a force like nature itself had snapped.

"Mydei, watch out!"

Phainon's reflexes were lightning-swift, as if he'd anticipated the assault. With a flourish, he swept his voluminous black cloak forward, shielding them both from the unexpected onslaught.

"I'm sorry, Mydeimos. It's… been hard to control."

The Kaslana's voice followed, low and apologetic, carrying an unexpected warmth despite the frigid air.

And then, as Phainon let the cloak drop away, their vision cleared.
What they saw was a single, massive wing—jutting from Kevin's left side. It was unnaturally large, curved and raw, and distinctly… not human.

"My core's acting up a little."

Alright, fine. Mydeimos hadn't yet fully processed what manner of creature Kevin Kaslana had become, but one thing was certain: Tonight, he'd be scouring the Amphoreus forums to post a single, burning question.

'If both of my men turn into colossal, possibly eldritch monsters on the same day, what am I supposed to do?'

To preempt the inevitable panic from the online community, he'd tack on a disclaimer: 'They don't seem inclined to devour me—at least, I don't think so. No need to worry.'

Chapter Text

He couldn't even spend the last fourteen days of his life in peace.

Kevin Kaslana was still struggling to rein in the massive, solitary wing sprouting from his back. Just moments ago, he had accidentally knocked over the bedside lamp perched on his nightstand, sending it crashing to the floor in a shower of shattered fragments.

"…"

Arms crossed with a detached air, he hesitated to meet the gazes of the Chrysos Heirs who had just flung open his chamber door.

This was his Active Honkai Reaction form, a state only achievable by MANTISes who had transcended their own limits. Under normal circumstances, Kevin could shift into this form at will, but today, inexplicably, he found himself unable to control it.

When he awoke this morning, he had already sensed his body halfway locked into the Active Honkai Reaction state. The most likely culprit, he surmised, was the chaotic instability emanating from the core within him.

With a faint shake of his head, tinged with self-disappointment, he acknowledged that this form… was hardly palatable to ordinary eyes.
The silence in the room grew oppressive, suffocating. Clearing his throat, Kevin broke the tension.

"Mydeimos—everyone, I apologize for subjecting you to this sight. It seems my powers have slipped beyond my control."

His words, however, seemed to fall on deaf ears.

The Kaslana's body was encased in obsidian scales, reminiscent of a dragon's hide, most prominent across his lower torso and arms, lending him the visage of a demon spawned from some abyssal rift. He was taller than usual, frame more imposing, with elongated claws on his fingers, tousled white hair, and two jagged horns curling from his crown. Long, pointed ears framed his face, giving him a faintly elven silhouette, but the four-pointed star emblazoned across his forehead spoke to something far more otherworldly.

His upper torso was barely wrapped in loose, frayed bands of white cloth, revealing odd bluish-black markings carved into skin and muscle—and a lean, defined abdomen beneath. A thick, reptilian tail curled behind him, tapering like a dragon's.

But it was the wing that truly disturbed.

It was not feathered, nor angelic. Instead, it was forged of coalesced darkness—inky, viscous, and jagged. Thick plates of shadow-like material overlapped like armor, contorted into a torn, violent silhouette. Its edges were serrated, claw-like, and strands of corrupted matter drooped from it like dripping ink, as if the wing itself were decaying in motion.

To put it bluntly—Kevin Kaslana looked like the unholy offspring of a dragon and a demon.

Faced with the current situation, Mydeimos silently pressed a hand to his forehead, falling into quiet contemplation.

Had he committed some unforgivable sin in a past life? Was that why he was now entangled with not one, but two silver-haired lunatics who seemed capable of absolutely anything?

"Mydei…"

Phainon stepped further into the room, making space for Teacher Tribbie to follow suit. Castorice remained just outside the door, peering in with caution.

It was only then that Kevin Kaslana truly registered Phainon's current appearance.

The man didn't look much better than he did.

Now that both of these white-haired monsters were standing side by side, the sheer scale of their altered forms became obvious. Exactly what had been scaled up was unclear. (Height, presumably. Hopefully.)

"Kev, are you okay? You seem extremely unstable right now…"

Kevin blinked. Even in a moment like this, Tribbie's first instinct was to express concern for his wellbeing. It surprised him… and warmed him, just a little. Though, he doubted they would still look at him the same way if they knew how many lives had been extinguished by these very hands—by this very form.

He bent down slightly, making it easier to speak at eye level.

"I'm fine, Lady Tribbie. This is a form I reserve for particularly difficult battles. It's… a part of my strength."

His voice remained steady, deliberately calm, as he offered the explanation. He didn't want them to worry. He had to find a way to deactivate this Diabolic state soon. But at the moment, even that was beyond him.

A sharp pain pulsed through his left chest.

That wretched pseudo-core had forcibly triggered his Active Honkai Reaction, bypassing even the preliminary Over-Metamorph stage entirely.

Worse, it was clouding his mind.

…It was growing harder to keep himself in check.

"Lord Kaslana."

Castorice's voice sliced through the air, drawing Kevin's attention. She tilted her head slightly, her amethyst eyes—unwavering and piercing—studying him with an almost unnerving clarity.

It was as if she knew something.

"Your energy… it's fading, isn't it? Does it have anything to do with this form of yours?"

Kevin fell silent. His draconic tail slumped to the floor, mirroring the weight of his unspoken emotions. The former hero's brow creased, but after a moment, he shook his head.

"It's merely a side effect. Nothing dangerous."

Standing nearby, Mydeimos watched his lover's face closely, suspicion stirring in his chest—but he chose to say nothing, for now.

The real question was: What were they supposed to do about this mess?

The lavender-haired girl voiced what everyone was already thinking. "I mean no offense to any of you, but… we can't exactly let either of you wander around freely in those forms."

And so began the cascade of Mydei's future tribulations. The architect of his impending woes? None other than the most disarmingly charming Chrysos Heir in existence.

"Oh, De, would you mind keeping an eye on them?" Tribbie chirped. "We're confident you'll handle it splendidly!"

The prince of Kremnos agreed without much thought. Partly because it was a request from the Tribios, and partly because he was already accustomed to wrangling these two white-haired troublemakers. Surely, this wouldn't be that different.

Mydei had no inkling of the chaos awaiting him.

-

"Look at you—you're practically a humanoid dragon!"

"…And you look like some Black Tide abomination."

"Why does everyone keep saying that?"

After a while, the two female Chrysos Heirs had slipped away, leaving one man to contend with two humanoid monstrosities. Seizing a moment while Phainon and Kevin bantered, Mydeimos activated his teleslate.

He had, in a moment of desperation, turned to the vast expanse of the net for guidance.

‘If both of my men turn into colossal, possibly eldritch monsters on the same day, what am I supposed to do?’

The first reply he received was… this.

@Yourdei: Try patting both of them on the head.

For a long, frozen second, Mydeimos just stared at the teleslate, eyes narrowed in utter disbelief. He had to double-check to make sure he was, in fact, still on the main Amphoreus forum—the one known for its serious discussions and civilized tone. Even the username was suspicious. It nearly resembled his own.

But no—he was in the right place, and yes, the answer was completely earnest.

Still masked under anonymity, Mydei cautiously typed a reply.

@Anonymous: Seriously? Shouldn't I be running for my life or figuring out how to subdue them first?

The response came almost immediately.

@Yourdei: Brother, when will you ever get a chance like this again? You've got to experiment—see if you can coax those two men of yours back to normal faster.

As someone who rarely engaged with internet culture, Mydeimos fell for it. Hard. He didn't notice that @Yourdei hadn't been serious from the start.

So—naturally—the prince decided to test the theory.

"Deliverer."

Mydeimos had barely muttered the name, teleslate still glowing in his hand, when a shadow engulfed him. Glancing at the wooden floor, he saw himself and everything nearby swallowed by Phainon's looming silhouette, vast as a canopy.

"Yes, my dear?"

Why, oh why, was this snow-haired titan so impossibly massive?

Mydeimos drew a steadying breath and turned to face him.

Right. He reasoned that the Deliverer still exuded the energy of an overgrown puppy—just one far fiercer and exponentially larger than before.

"Stay still."

Egged on by the internet's dubious counsel, the crowned prince reached up, his hand settling atop Phainon's head. The white-haired anomaly blinked, completely caught off guard by the unexpected affection. For a brief moment, he stood there stunned—before slowly leaning down so Mydei could reach more comfortably.

If affection was being offered, who was he to refuse?

Ah. Why did he suddenly feel a piercingly cold gaze drilling into the back of his neck?

Mydeimos frowned. Apparently, it wasn't working.

"Kevin, come here for a moment."

That was all the invitation the other needed.

In the blink of an eye, someone rather specific had rested his chin on the prince's shoulder, wrapping him in a loose embrace from behind. The figure in the black cloak in front of him smirked, as if accepting a challenge, inching closer and closer.

Before Mydei knew it, he was completely sandwiched between two absolutely non-human monsters.

This scene feels familiar. He was sure this had happened before.

Yet, the prince of Kremnos stood unbothered, serene as ever—after all, he was someone capable of holding his ground against entire armies. He wasn't about to be outdone by just the two of them. Calmly, without hesitation, he reached up and patted the snowy-haired Kaslana on the head.

His fingers brushed against something—hard.

And that's when Kevin froze.

Only then did Mydei notice: Kevin Kaslana had grown a pair of horns. And he did something monumentally reckless. It's not entirely his fault—he'd acted on instinct alone.

He touched the horns of the Kaslana, who was fully immersed in his Diabolic form.

"…"

This was uncharted territory. Not even Elysia had been granted such a privilege. Kevin reserved his Diabolic state for combat or foes worthy of its terror, making this sensation utterly alien.

He swore he didn't shudder when Mydeimos's fingers traced a slow, deliberate path from the base of his horn to its tip.

It was… mildly exhilarating.

While the prince pondered whether '@Yourdei' had bamboozled him, the figure embracing him from behind gazed at him with the adoration of a 'dragon' beholding its most cherished mate, yearning to cocoon him in a warm, protective nest.

He wanted to fold Mydeimos into a ball and keep him safe and cozy.

Okay—what the hell was Kevin thinking right now?

This was dangerous.

In this state, his thoughts and instincts veered perilously close to those of… Honkai Beasts.

'Active Honkai Reaction refers to the point when a MANTIS crosses the line and fully accepts the power of the Honkai Beast they were assimilated with, transforming into a beast similar to it. In the Previous Era, all MANTISes are said to be subjected to the instinct of succumbing to its power and thus are actively suppressing it.'

The Kaslana pressed his lips into a tight line. He was still actively holding himself in check.

Phainon, meanwhile, was clearly entertaining impure thoughts again. It seemed he was genuinely committed to testing something out. With disturbingly creature-like behavior that mirrored the Black Tide constructs, he simply leaned forward and buried his face in the curve of Mydei's neck—taking a soft, deliberate inhale.

The scent was intoxicating—positively delectable.

Ping. Another comment popped up on the forum.

Mydeimos snapped to attention, diving back into his teleslate with a seriousness that completely overlooked the two 'Deliverers' hovering nearby, their hunger—both literal and figurative—palpable. Their expressions turned comically betrayed—how could their beloved just ignore them for a stupid teleslate?

Displeased, Phainon tapped a clawed finger against the screen, demanding attention. His other hand, far less innocent, had already started sneaking up the left side of the prince's waist.

The shortest of the trio (thanks to the others' transformed states) issued a low, warning growl.

"Phainon."

Before the prince could even process that, something long, scaled, and alarmingly slick began to coil tightly around his waist.

Mydei's eyes widened in alarm.

The tail.

The tail that looked far too much like a dragon's—Kaslana's—had wrapped itself snugly around him.

"Mydei, I don't know why, but I'm restless." Phainon murmured, his razor-sharp claws slipping beneath the prince's shirt. The tail—whosever it was—tightened another loop, its scales grazing Mydeimos's skin with a featherlight rasp.

This was not good.

The prince bit his lip, struggling to suppress the… absurdly ticklish sensation creeping up on him. His words came out strained, each syllable a battle.

"Don't… Back off a bit…"

It was far too ticklish.

"Kevin, remove your tail on Mydei."

Phainon's voice suddenly dropped an octave—low, commanding, eerily reminiscent of the former Hero of Humanity. Perhaps this strange, volatile form was beginning to affect his behavior as well, dragging out parts of himself he normally kept buried.

"And your hand," Kevin said coolly, "where exactly do you think it's resting, Phainon?"

The 'Deliverer' was speaking, but the 'Deliverance' refused to yield.

At last, they reached a consensus.

"You take one half, I'll take the other. Fair?"

"Done."

What in the blazes did they mean by dividing him?! They were acting as though the prophesied prince of Castrum Kremnos—destined to ascend to demigodhood—was nothing more than a succulent delicacy to be shared!

"Don't—"

Mydei tried to protest, but he was already beyond the point of resistance.

A laugh—light and sudden—spilled from his lips, utterly involuntary.

In that moment, he knew he was doomed. Four predatory eyes bore down on him from above, glinting as though he'd just done something utterly fascinating.

He was finished. Utterly finished.

Unbeknownst to Mydeimos, however, this involuntary reaction had just spared him a far graver fate.

Phainon's laugh—sinister, infuriatingly smug, and far more wicked than usual—rang out.

"Mydei, are you ticklish? You never told me—"

A gloved hand shot up and clamped over his mouth, silencing the oversized menace in black. The restrained one didn't even try to back off—he leaned forward instead, still grinning under the iron grip.
As if being pinned from the front wasn't bad enough, the back wanted in too.

"I've heard," Kevin murmured in a low, contemplative tone, "the neck is also... highly sensitive."

"Hah—!"

The nape of Mydei's neck received a cold kiss—courtesy of Kevin Kaslana. As if being ticklish wasn't bad enough, it was also freezing, like ice water, and that made it all the harder to keep his composure. His skin flushed a soft pink from his neck to his shoulders, though even he wasn't sure whether it was from embarrassment or pure, simmering outrage.

"The book says aside from the soles of the feet and the neck, this spot too."

Not to be outdone, Phainon trailed his long fingers down to lightly tickle around Mydei's navel. Now he understood the real danger of dressing too comfortably.

The prince of Kremnos officially broke into audible laughter—for the second time.

Even with his features scrunched in discomfort from the relentless teasing, the sound he made was warm, sunlit—like a rare burst of summer in the middle of a storm. It didn't echo, didn't last long. Just a short, unguarded laugh that slipped free before he could catch it. He seemed surprised by it himself.

Kevin Kaslana and Phainon of Aedes Elysiae both went still—completely entranced.

Meanwhile, Mydei's teleslate, still miraculously in his hand, lit up with a new notification:

@SmolChimera: Weird question, but I suggest reminding them who the real boss is here.

The username was adorable. The advice? Decidedly less so.

Once Mydeimos managed to wrestle back control of his breath—and his dignity—he promptly delivered two sharp bonks to the heads of both snow-haired men. Judging from the dull thunk, they were absolutely going to feel that tomorrow.

This felt oddly familiar. Had something like this happened before?

The aftermath was fitting though.

Kevin was sentenced to remain seated, using his wing and tail to wrap around a container filled with milk, cream, and sugar—a makeshift ice cream maker. Yes, today he was not a noodle-powered air conditioner. He was now an ambulatory freezer unit.

Phainon, meanwhile, was put on kitchen duty. With his overly tall frame, he kept bumping his head on the upper cabinets. His dramatic black cloak, embroidered with that ridiculous crescent moon, dragged along the floor—probably cleaning half the palace as it went.

In this relationship, Mydeimos was unquestionably the one wearing the crown.

Should they ever adopt a few Chimeras, those creatures would likely outrank the two white-haired 'husbands' in the household hierarchy.

What a vexing predicament.

-

What was it they had meant to do earlier? Something critical, no doubt—but it had slipped their minds entirely.

-

Despite a few minor inconveniences, the Chrysos Heirs and their associated personnel had never been more efficient.

Kevin Kaslana in particular had become an unstoppable force—some tasks that once took hours were now completed in under fifteen minutes. It certainly helped that he could fly, but the real mystery remained: how in the world did he manage to maintain perfect aerial balance with only one wing?

Aglaea, for her part, seemed more than pleased with the results.

Moreover, a certain frail scholar seemed utterly captivated by the Kaslana's prowess.

Phainon, meanwhile, threw himself into experimentation with fervor. He had mastered the art of melting into shadows and teleporting—temporary abilities, he surmised, triggered by a glitch in the Tome of Miracles that would be rectified by tomorrow. His return to his original form was imminent.

Meanwhile, the forum users continued their relentless chatter.

@Ihaveanidea: Brother, why not try riding on their shoulders? Bet it'd be a riot!

Mydeimos's expression darkened. The forum denizens were clearly a pack of lunatics. For days, he'd been bombarded with advice that was neither logical nor remotely serious.

Two days had passed, and still, neither of the two showed any sign of reverting from their monstrous forms.

"Snowy, don't you dare drop us!"

"Of course not, Lady Tribbie."

'Snowy'—though his current appearance was anything but pristine white—flexed his brawny arms, allowing the three diminutive, red-haired Chrysos Heirs to dangle from them.

Tribbie claimed a privileged perch on Phainon's shoulder, while Trinnon was hoisted effortlessly at his side. Trianne, ever the daredevil, treated his ironclad arm like a gymnast's bar, swinging with impressive finesse. They were remarkably adept at this.

As for Kevin, he was engrossed in conversation with Anaxagoras, discussing something about 'experiments.' Mydeimos had a sinking feeling he'd soon need to intervene before those two embarked on some harebrained scheme.

Why was being a Chrysos Heir so utterly exhausting?

@apophis: With all due respect, mate, you holding up okay?

In the thread that had rocketed to the top of the forum, Mydeimos received his first genuine inquiry. As if to vent his pent-up frustration, he typed a swift reply.

@Anonymous: No.

Succinct and to the point.

Mydeimos wanted to quit. He yearned to rescind his agreement to oversee the two 'Deliverers.' Even in their normal forms, they were a headache; now, transformed into these monstrous guises, they were an outright calamity.

But it wasn't that simple.

The reason for Mydeimos's swift surrender was this—
The moment he turned his back, a bone-chilling sensation slithered down his spine. It wasn't fear, not exactly—just an instinctive recognition of danger.

The piercing gazes of two pairs of eyes, deep as ocean trenches and glinting like aquamarine, bored into the back of his skull.

Though he was certain the scenario he imagined wouldn't come to pass, an unsettling feeling lingered, coiling around him like a persistent specter.
And yet, Kevin Kaslana and Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, in their current… altered states, seemed very much like they wanted to devour their dear prince.

This wasn't logic. This was gut-deep, soul-deep instinct.

Every now and then, they'd look at him like he was a freshly cooked meal.

And every time he caught them in the act, they would immediately plaster on their big, fluffy, innocent-puppy expressions—like they were just two misunderstood snow wolves desperate for affection and belly rubs.

@apophis: I may not be much help, but stay vigilant.

The prince hadn't given much weight to the warning from @apophis, likely due to the barrage of frivolous comments that preceded it.

He should have been more cautious. But now, it seemed, it was a tad too late.

-

That night, they slept together. (He'd protested vehemently, only to be swayed by those pleading, puppy-dog eyes.)

Due to their size disparity, Mydeimos felt like a fragile egg nestled in a nest—or a kitten ensnared by two apex predators with piercing blue eyes. He still wanted to upend this absurdity. It was utterly preposterous!

In any case, they had settled in to sleep.

And here's the thing: barely half an hour after they'd climbed into bed, Mydeimos found himself unable to sleep. Cracking his eyes open, he was met with a sight that was… less than reassuring.

Staring back at him was Phainon. His eyes gleamed unnaturally in the dark, a cold, expressionless mask replacing his usual warmth. Mydeimos, feigning sleep, had merely been observing, curious to see what this man was doing while still awake.

Then, Phainon's lips curled into a smirk

Let it be clear: a smirk, not the radiant smile he typically flashed.

To his credit, Phainon didn't cross any lines. Instead, he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to the prince's eyelids, his voice a soft, affectionate murmur: "Sleep, love. It's late."

Phainon knew full well that he was awake.

With a sigh, the prince dropped the pretense, seeing no point in hiding any longer.

Then, abruptly, he caught the faint rustle of something slithering across the sheets. The Kaslana, positioned at a slight distance to avoid chilling Mydei with his icy aura, stirred. His voice, low and gravelly—not the groggy tone of someone roused from sleep, but laced with a restrained edge—rumbled through the dark.

"Be good. Sleep."

Where had the docile, gentle facades of these two gone?

That night, he remained sleepless.

Still… nothing had happened. Nothing serious, right?

Hours drifted by until the Curtain-Fall Hour struck, heralding midnight. Just as Mydeimos began to hope the night might pass quietly, Phainon’s voice—soft, tinged with a petulant whine—broke the silence.

The Deliverer had reached his limit, his restraint fraying.

"Mydei, if you're still awake… I'm starving."

The prince's irritation flared. Wasn't he the one who'd commanded him to sleep with that overbearing tone?

The greatest mistake of Crown Prince Mydeimos of Kremnos—undoubtedly the most ill-fated decision of his entire life—was answering that damned question.

Mydeimos squinted, grumbling under his breath. It was the dead of night, for heaven's sake. If he was hungry, he could wait until morning. But it seemed Phainon wasn't the only one plagued by hunger.

"…Mydeimos, I'm hungry too…"

His jaw tensed.

Phainon's appetite was somewhat expected. But Kevin Kaslana? If he was claiming hunger too, then something was definitely wrong.

Perhaps it was that cursed compassion of his—the same fatal flaw that made him say yes to supervising two chaotic Deliverers in the first place—but against all better judgment, Mydei pushed the blanket aside and sat up, fully intending to drag himself to the kitchen and whip something up for the two insufferable disasters he called companions.

"…This is a one-time thing." He muttered, already mentally exhausted by the absurdity of it all. Who would've thought he, the prince of Kremnos, would end up making midnight snacks like some overworked caretaker?

However, he never made it out of the so-called 'nest.'

A powerful, velvety tail coiled around his waist and yanked him back down. For a split second, the world went dark—then warmth. A solid wall of heat met his spine, and he realized, with dawning horror, that he was now lying flush against Kevin's bare chest.

He was completely ensnared in the Kaslana's arms.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

Mydeimos sputtered, scrambling to rise, but Phainon wasn't having it. A massive hand, tipped with razor-sharp claws, seized his ankle—firm yet painless. Then, with deliberate slowness, the culprit parted Mydeimos's legs, draping one over his shoulder.

The mortifying position snapped Mydeimos's awareness to the dangerous direction this was veering. His face flushed crimson, heat surging to his cheeks.

"Hey, have you both lost your minds?! Didn't you say you were hungry—"

A hand gently cupped the prince's chin, tilting it slightly to the left. Kevin Kaslana leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, frigid as frost yet achingly tender.

"Darling," he whispered, "may we… tonight?"

Above, Phainon chuckled softly, brushing a kiss against the ankle of his beloved.

"Food? No need for that, Mydei."

The Deliverer's gaze, brimming with unbridled devotion and raw desire, sent another shiver racing down the prince's spine. Mydeimos clenched his jaw, stifling a sound as Phainon's other hand settled on his abdomen, pressing with deliberate gentleness.

"Tonight, we're craving the main course first."

How could they let the main dish slip away to prepare a side? That simply wouldn't do.

Both of them had clearly lost their minds.

Mydeimos darted a glance between the two, swallowing hard. The prince of Castrum Kremnos—one above thousands—wondered if he'd survive this night.

Before he realized it, hesitation flickered in his gaze. His voice came softer than usual, almost reluctant.

"…No. Why not wait until tomorrow…?"

Tomorrow, at least, Phainon would likely revert to his normal form. Kevin's state was uncertain, but this way, the odds of Mydeimos avoiding a bedridden fate were marginally higher.

The man from Aedes Elysiae pouted, his expression pitifully wounded.

"Don't you love me, Mydei? Or are you scared—unwilling to rise to the challenge?"

Mydeimos gritted his teeth. He wanted to refuse, but his damned pride wouldn't allow it.

He was immortal, after all. Surely, everything would be fine… right?

"In the Kremnos lexicon," he growled, "there is no such word as 'fear.' Get that through your head."

No sooner had Mydeimos spoken than Phainon lunged forward. But it was merely a playful feint, a teasing jest as if he were threatening to etch 'fear' into Kremnos's dictionary himself.

Instead, Phainon only leaned down and brushed a kiss against the corner of the lion's mouth, soft and deceptively innocent.

For a heartbeat, Mydei relaxed, a sliver of condescension curling in his chest. So this was all he could manage? The infamous Deliverer, and this was—

Click.

…What?

It had been a distraction.

Something tightened around his throat. Mydeimos's eyes widened as his fingers grazed the smooth leather now encircling his neck.

"Since I can't wear it in this form," Phainon murmured, lips grazing the prince's ear, "would my beloved wear it for me…?"

It took Mydei a few precious seconds to process what had just happened.

A choker. His choker. Black leather, unmistakably Phainon's.

And the moment Mydei realized the way it hugged his throat, felt the faint pressure and phantom weight of that belonging—it was like the air caught in his lungs. He nearly choked on his own breath for a fleeting second. He tried to ignore the smug satisfaction radiating from Phainon's face. Though the choker wasn't constrictingly tight, he still struggled to muster a few words…

"Phainon, how dare you—"

…only to be cut off yet again.

A cold, calloused hand—rough, clawed—slid beneath his garments, cradling and locking around the underside of his thigh. Mydeimos glanced down, only to be greeted with yet another alarming sight.

He swallowed hard.

Kevin, silent as ever, was fastening a familiar black thigh strap around his leg—his usual one.

Both of them were… claiming him.

They were no different from wild beasts, barely restraining their primal urges.

The only reason they hadn't acted yet was because they were waiting.

Biding their time.

Mydeimos had a sinking feeling that no matter what he did, escape from this predicament was impossible.

The Kaslana, having secured the thigh strap, fell silent, his eyes locked on Mydeimos. Then, he nuzzled into the prince's sunset-hued hair, a gesture almost tender, as if soothing him before… whatever was to come.

"So, love, are you alright with this?" Kevin asked, his voice low.

He was, astonishingly, respecting Mydeimos's choice. If his beloved refused, he would back off and handle his desires alone.

But the beloved prince turned his head away, suddenly fascinated by the bland, empty stretch of wall. Anything but their eyes. After a long, unbearably tense silence, he finally gave his answer.

After all, Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos had never once backed down from a challenge.

"…Fine."

And with that single word, he sealed his fate.

The two white wolves watching him looked ravenous—as if the man before them was the most exquisite delicacy they'd ever laid eyes on.

That night, they devoured their prey whole.

—

Legend has it, the Crown Prince of Kremnos didn't leave his bed for two full days afterward.

Chapter Text

'You have yet to fulfill your duty.'

'That oath you swore to her—do you intend to forsake it?'

Travelers and exiles glided by, their faces shrouded in dark, heavy hoods. The air around him buzzed with their murmurs, each whisper echoing in his mind as if they were sharing secrets meant just for him.

Kevin Kaslana had returned to this place once again.

His head throbbed with a relentless, searing pain, the core embedded in his chest growing ever more unruly. For days now, every half-day, his mind would drift—plunged into an entirely different realm, unmoored from reality.

The white-haired man stood still, his gaze sweeping the surroundings.

Beneath a night sky glittering like a velvet tapestry strewn with stars, the land before him unfolded as an alien, ethereal, and frigid world.

Gossamer clouds drifted lazily, tinged with hues of violet and indigo, bathed in the mingled glow of distant constellations and the faint streaks of far-off galaxies. The ground beneath was black and jagged, cloaked in a delicate veil of mist. In the distance, figures draped in dark robes stood scattered, motionless as stone sentinels. They melted into the fog, reduced to indistinct, ghostly silhouettes.

The Kaslana felt an unease gnawing at him. Standing here, he could sense his very life force ebbing away.

And so it was.

Seven days—a mere week—was all the time he had left.

"…"

"Go forth and fulfill your oath!"

"Humanity has yet to be saved. Hero, we beg of you."

Hadn't he failed? Hadn't Project STIGMA crumbled under his hands? His descendants, alongside her comrades, had thwarted him. He had fallen in that battle, and humanity had been saved—at least in part. The duty to stand against the Honkai had been fulfilled, hadn't it?

That had already happened... hadn't it?

His brow furrowed sharply as another wave of pain stabbed through his skull.

What the hell were they talking about?

"Your vow, your duty—!"

"Lord Kaslana."

Kevin Kaslana snapped awake, the desolate wasteland around him dissolving in an instant, replaced by the vibrant, bustling expanse of Okhema's cityscape.

He blinked, his vision finally sharpening.

It was Castorice.

"I know I've asked this more times than I can count, but are you sure you're alright?"

Those piercing aquamarine eyes, faintly clouded, locked onto the figure of a woman standing five paces away. Her pointed ears and amethyst gaze marked her as distinct, otherworldly. The Kaslana himself leaned casually against a stone pillar, arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm fine." He replied with a soft sigh.

But in truth, Kevin suspected Castorice knew more than she let on. Her affinity with death, coupled with her moniker as the daughter of the River of Souls, gave her an uncanny intuition. She had asked after his well-being no fewer than ten times, perhaps more.

Castorice tilted her head, her silken violet hair shifting with the motion. "I really think you should see Lady Hyacine."

"There's no need. I'm fine."

"…"

"It's unnecessary." He remarked once more in a smooth manner. "Really."

"…"

A prolonged silence stretched between them, neither inclined to break it. Such was the way of introverts.

Sensing the tension growing taut, Castorice pivoted to a new topic.

"Ah... if I may ask, how is Lord Mydeimos doing? After you and Phainon returned to your human forms, he hasn't left his private quarters at all..."

At that, Kevin Kaslana faltered, a cough catching in his throat. A faint flush crept across his face, though it was barely noticeable.

He remembered that night all too clearly.

In his Diabolic form, he had gotten... a little carried away. (Both due to overwhelming excitement and an unfortunate lapse in self-control—an oddity even for him.) Humorously enough, by the time dawn broke, both he and Phainon had reverted to their normal states.

"He's fine." The white-haired finally managed to say, voice steady.

After the incident, Mydei was essentially treated like royalty—well, more accurately, continued to be treated as royalty. The two white-haired troublemakers had bent over backward trying to make amends, knowing full well the mess was their fault.

The girl before him blinked innocently, her curiosity unrelenting.

"But... Why was Lord Mydeimos injured?"

He stared at her for a long moment before answering flatly.

"He took on both me and Phainon. At once."

"Pardon me?"

"You heard me."

Mydeimos had indeed fought them both. Whether that 'battle' had taken place on the training grounds or elsewhere was another matter entirely.

-

At times, Kevin Kaslana found himself questioning how he had survived at all.

It all began when Kiana Kaslana preserved his lifeless body, an act that triggered the dormant Authority of Finality within him to coalesce into a pseudo-core.

That core, in a desperate bid to save its host, triggered a body swap.

From there, he arrived in Amphoreus, crossed paths with the Chrysos Heirs, and unwittingly entangled himself in a web of affection with the prince of Castrum Kremnos.

Yet the moment he chose to press onward with life, Su appeared, delivering a grim verdict: fifteen days. That was all he had left.

Amid these events, a glaring inconsistency gnawed at him.

Kevin Kaslana had never been a perfect vessel for the Authority of Finality.

In the past, he had seized its power through sheer force, an usurper claiming a prize not meant for him. The Authority, in turn, had deemed his body a cage, relentlessly seeking to break free by ravaging his flesh. He had died and resurrected countless times, exploiting his regenerative abilities and manipulating the Authority's temporal dominion to subdue it.

That torturous cycle only ended when Kiana inherited its power.

So why, now, did the Authority of Finality seek to preserve him?
Did it harbor some ulterior motive?

"Kevin, you've won again! That's hardly fair!"

Ah, it seemed his mind had drifted again. Phainon's voice snapped him back to reality. His ability to concentrate had noticeably deteriorated; he wasn't sure how much longer he could endure though.

Kevin Kaslana faintly registered the weight resting in his hands. It was his teleslate, held horizontally across his palms. Phainon sat cross-legged before him, mirroring his posture.

Right, he remembered now. He had just introduced Phainon to an entirely new world, a domain that no one else in Amphoreus had ever ventured into.

That domain was—

"But seriously, this stuff is really, really fun!"

—video games.

In his youth, Kevin had dabbled in programming courses. Crafting a video game with the available technology wasn't beyond him. He'd adapted the teleslates for the task, and to his satisfaction, they worked flawlessly.

"You're enjoying yourself?" He asked gently, tapping the device off with his thumb.

"Of course!" Phainon beamed.

Kevin had only shared this creation with Phainon so far (mostly because the man had stumbled upon him tinkering and asked about it). Yet it seemed the Deliverer was already utterly captivated by the novelty.

"Honestly, it feels like your old world was just packed with amazing things. I even tried something called... instant noodles?"

"I used to eat those, too." He commented offhandedly.

He didn't need to ask to know Kiana was behind this. Truth be told, he was beginning to wonder if this 'Phainon' shared some connection to the Kaslanas. The resemblance was uncanny—the reckless demeanor, the near-nonexistent culinary skills, and now an affinity for instant noodles.

Phainon Kaslana? It wasn't outside the realm of possibility.

"Hey, can I show this to Mydei?"

Phainon's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he brandished the teleslate. Before Kevin could even nod, a figure swept past, deftly snatching the device from the Deliverer's grasp.

"Deliverer, were you looking for me?"

Mydeimos had arrived.

The crowned prince's presence shifted the atmosphere in an instant, like a storm giving way to a charged calm. The white-haired Deliverer immediately shot to his feet, swiftly guiding Mydei to take his seat. The prince, however, furrowed his brow in protest.

"Look, I've told you, I'm fine now—"

"No, Mydei, you need to rest." Phainon interjected, silencing him with a carefree kiss to his lips. Meanwhile, Kevin calmly poured a glass of freshly chilled pomegranate juice for their cherished royal, as if this scene had become routine.

Here they went again.

Ever since that fateful night when Mydei had been overwhelmed by the two formidable forces that were Kevin Kaslana and Phainon, the morning after had seen him pampered beyond reason—treated as delicately as a rare bloom, as preciously as a fragile treasure. At first, the crowned prince had no complaints; the experience had been as exhilarating as it was painful, and he deserved the care that followed. But as time wore on, their doting grew excessive, as though he were some delicate princess.

Especially from the Kaslana.

Indeed, his affection for his Mydeimos had deepened profoundly since those early days. He handed Mydei the frosted glass of juice, the chill preserved by his own icy touch, and pressed a tender kiss to the prince's forehead.

"How are you feeling, love?"

There it was again.

He sighed, accepting the glass. At times, he couldn't shake the feeling that the Kaslana loved him as though he were staring down his final days.

"I was fully recovered yesterday." Mydei grumbled. "Are you two having another episode?"

"I have a high pain tolerance, you know."

The phrase high pain tolerance made both white-haired men avert their gazes, a faint flush creeping up their necks. Phainon swore he wasn't picturing that exquisite, intoxicating scene. Mydeimos sprawled across silken sheets, clutching a pillow to his face, his sunset-hued hair splayed in wild disarray, a choker—Phainon's own—around his throat, and that cursed thigh strap, courtesy of the Kaslana, accentuating his form.

That image had driven Phainon to the edge of madness.

Mydeimos narrowed his eyes. "What are you two thinking about now?"

"Nothing!" The Deliverer blurted, swiftly changing the subject. He retrieved the teleslate, eager to redirect the conversation. Right, he'd meant to show the prince the marvel that was video games.

In the end, all three settled in to play.

While the Deliverer had steadily honed his skills, the Undying was, frankly, abysmal.

"…It's rather entertaining." Mydeimos admitted grudgingly after his fifth humiliating defeat to his rival. (It wasn't entirely fair; Phainon had a head start with practice.)

"Got you again!" The latter teased, grinning.

"Don't get too smug, Deliverer. There won't be a next time." Mydei shot back.

"I'll hold you to that."

'Deliverance', unsurprisingly, abstained from playing—he had made the damn game, after all. Joining in would've been akin to bullying.

Then, out of nowhere, Mydeimos posed an odd question. "The design of the boss in this game… was it based on you, Kevin?"

The game was a cooperative combat title, where players earned contribution points to rank their performance. The final boss, the players' ultimate foe, bore a draconic form with a single wing and a palette of cold hues. It wielded ice in battle.

In the game, Player Phainon and Player Mydei had teamed up to vanquish this formidable adversary.

"Pure coincidence." The Kaslana replied curtly. Even he wasn't entirely sure what had inspired him while coding the game.

In the warmth of that easygoing moment, the trio continued to share their time together.

Little did they know, the game concealed an unexpected message, lurking in its intricate layers just waiting to be uncovered.

-

Six days remained.

If Su's words held true, Kevin Kaslana had precisely six Entry Hours left.

Yet why did it feel as though death could claim him at any moment?

Paranoia gripped him with increasing ferocity, and he knew it was far from a good sign. He could be walking a familiar street, untroubled, when his mind would abruptly wrench itself elsewhere, as if torn free by some capricious force. If no one called him back to reality, he'd find himself in an utterly alien place, his chest constricting with pain so severe it mimicked a heart about to give out.

And the voices in his head—they never wavered in their refrain.

The Father of the Kaslanas had yet to fulfill his oath.

He didn't understand.

Had he not executed Project STIGMA? Had no Herrscher, aligned with humanity, risen to thwart him? Was he, even now, merely adrift in the Sea of Quanta, awaiting someone to carve a path to salvation?

Had he truly... done nothing at all?

The idea was absurd. Every fragment of memory, every scar upon his body, bore witness to what he had accomplished.

The pseudo-core continued to whisper honeyed poison into the Kaslana's mind, unbeknownst to him, sowing chaos in its wake.

'Every Kaslana Bold Must Live By Their Oath.

Purge The Vile Honkai And Smash The False Gods.

Your Sires Sleep In The Fields As Humanity's Brave Shields.

By The Judgement Of Shamash, Kaslanas Die And Never Yield.'

This was the solemn vow of Kevin Kaslana himself, passed down to every descendant who bore his name.

'Why now... why resurface now…'

His skin itched furiously, a terrible pressure roiling just beneath the surface, as if something monstrous were clawing to be free. His memories twisted and warped, then compressed into a singular, chaotic mass. His body's Active Honkai Reaction flared violently, barely restrained before blackened scales could erupt across his skin.

He knew he was dying, yet it seemed the Honkai would grant him no peace.

His sanity eroded at a terrifying pace.

As he gazed upon the citizens of Okhema—the guards patrolling the streets, the merchants hawking their wares—he no longer saw people.

He saw monstrosities. Creatures with grotesque, malformed limbs, their skin bone-white and etched with swirling patterns of violet and pink.

Only then did Kevin Kaslana realize he was teetering on the brink of madness.

-

In the end, the pseudo-core—that fragment born of Honkai—was desperately trying to save its host.

But not out of loyalty. Not out of love.

Out of necessity.

'Pseudo-Herrschers refer to false Herrschers. Herrschers that are not part of the Herrscher cycle, and were either created artificially or through possession. Normally Pseudo-Herrschers are made with residual Honkai energy or a pseudo-core, and are thus less powerful than an average Herrscher.'

The essence of the Honkai was invasion, destruction, assimilation. It required emissaries to carry out its will.

Those emissaries were known as Herrschers.

-

The countdown had dwindled to four days.

Kevin Kaslana awoke to the stark expanse of a white ceiling. His gloved hand rose, rubbing at his forehead as the blinding light from outside assaulted his senses.

"Lord Kaslana, you're awake."

Hyacine's voice, brimming with relief and a touch of excitement, cut through the haze.

"…"

Kevin sat up, his back pressing against the headboard. Only then did he realize he was in the Golden Courtyard.

"Why am I here?" He asked, his tone edged with confusion.

Before the nurse could respond, another voice—male, steady—interjected.

"You collapsed on your way to Marmoreal Palace. I brought you here."

Anaxagoras sat in a chair beside the bed, one hand cradling an open book. From his relaxed posture, it was clear he'd been waiting for some time.

He… collapsed?

What kind of absurdity was this?

The Kaslana took a moment to process the revelation, his mind grappling with the implications. Then, slowly, he offered a quiet word of thanks.

Anaxagoras barely acknowledged it. Instead, he raised a hand, signaling to Hyacine.

"Hyacine, could you step outside for a moment? I'd like a private word with him."

The twin-tailed girl blinked, mildly surprised. Still, she nodded respectfully and excused herself. If her professor had made such a request, she would honor it without question.

The moment Hyacine departed, Kevin braced himself, sensing Anaxagoras was about to drop something monumental.

He wasn't wrong.

The scholar's expression remained as placid as ever as he delivered his next words with chilling nonchalance.

"When you die, mind if I study your body?"

Kevin Kaslana had no words. At this point, he wasn't even surprised anymore.

"Let me guess." He said dryly. "You heard it from Su?"

"No," Anaxagoras replied, unfazed. "I slipped a recording device into my coat pocket before lending my body to that doctor."

A madman, perhaps, but a perfectionist—one who always knew how to exploit every advantage at his disposal. In the crucible of battle, this was the man Kevin Kaslana would need to be wary of most. Those with intellects that transcended the ordinary were terrifying in their own right, be they MEI or Otto Apocalypse.

He averted his gaze, his eyes drifting to the corner of the room as if tethered there by some unseen force.

The mint-haired scholar, his eyepatch casting a shadow over his features, let out a soft sigh. "Are you going to tell them anything?"

"…"

The white-haired Kaslana offered no response, but everyone in the room knew exactly who Anaxagoras meant by 'them.'

The Kaslana had never been adept at sharing his burdens or baring his emotions. Had he still been the naive high school boy, unscarred by the ways of the world, confessing the truth might have come easier. But before he realized it, he had retreated to his old habits—guarded, concealing, a fortress unto himself.

"Anaxagoras."

Without warning, Kevin withdrew the Cleaver of Shamash from his side.
In an instant, the scholar's pistol was trained on the Kaslana's temple—the second time since his arrival in Amphoreus that such a threat had been made.

"Put it down. You're being overly cautious."

Anaxagoras grimaced but lowered the weapon. A fragile thread of trust still bound them, it seemed. No doubt he'd briefly entertained the notion that this man, wary of how much he knew, might try to silence him permanently.

"This," he continued, gesturing to the blade, "can you give it to Phainon?"

The Kaslana was entrusting the scholar with delivering the weapon to the Deliverer. Anaxagoras reached for the hilt, only to redirect its tip toward the floor, the sword's immense weight nearly overwhelming him.

"Is this supposed to be your dying wish?"

In response, he was met with a rare sight, a fleeting smile—one of the few times anyone had glimpsed such an expression from the stoic Kaslana.

"Something like that," Kevin admitted. "I meant to give it to him myself, but—"

A sudden, searing headache engulfed him. When the Kaslana looked up at the scholar's face, he saw… something else. Something inhuman, indescribable, better left unnamed.

"…I can't take this anymore." He rasped, exhaling a shuddering breath.
In theory, he had four days left. But what those four days would hold, he couldn't predict. Still, he could envision the worst-case scenario. Thus, if the end came sooner than expected, Kevin Kaslana would entrust Shamash — his will, the very will of the Kaslanas — to Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.

He believed the man would be the most fitting bearer.

"Tch. Pathetic." Anaxagoras hissed, words laced with venom and yet, he did not let go of the greatsword.

"One more thing," He added. "If you can, tell everyone to keep their distance from me. That's all."

With those final words, Kevin Kaslana cast aside the white blanket draped over him and rose to his feet. The cursed whispers flooded his mind once more, their relentless clamor drowning out all else. Perhaps the 'Discipline' Aponia had imbued him with, meant to shield his psyche from mental assaults, was failing.

Beneath his coat, black scales and glowing cyan markings began to emerge across his skin.

As the Kaslana reached the door, Anaxagoras's voice called after him.

"What about my first question?"

Without turning back, the former Hero of Humanity answered softly, his voice carrying a quiet resolve. "If you ever find my body, be my guest."

-

He clung to the fraying threads of his sanity until he accepted a mission to eradicate the Black Tide creatures on the outskirts of Castrum Kremnos. The area was a desolate expanse of ruins upon ruins, devoid of any human presence.

Upon arriving, he finally grasped why those relentless voices insisted he had yet to fulfill his duty and his oath.

The Black Tide creatures Honkai Beasts swarmed like ants, moving in erratic, aimless clusters. The Honkai Beasts refugees, those poor souls, were fleeing from the very place.

'Purge the vile Honkai and smash the false gods…'

Wasn't that the promise you made?

To avenge her death, you must do this.

Eradicate the Honkai the Black Tide abominations.

Eradicate the Honkai the humans.

Amidst the sea of lies, Kevin Kaslana felt himself shatter. It was as though he had been pulled back into the past once more, as if he were forced to endure those burdens all over again. His lone wing spread wide.

In the final three days, a pseudo-Herrscher descended.

He never returned.

-

Light Calendar, Month of Strife, Day 21, Lucid Hour.

To Lady Aglaea and the esteemed Chrysos Heirs,

We urgently beseech your aid. A vast region spanning Castrum Kremnos to the Grove of Epiphany has been transformed into a frozen wasteland.

The culprit is none other than your honored guest.

Every living creature in the vicinity—titankins and Black Tide beasts alike—has been obliterated in a sweeping massacre. The ruins and abandoned structures have fared no better, reduced to rubble. Our patrols dare not approach, for it seems he…

…can no longer distinguish between humans and monsters.

It appears he is heading toward Castrum Kremnos.

We implore your aid.

Chapter Text

The scroll clutched in her hand was cold, tattered, and heavy, as though it had endured a harrowing odyssey to reach her grasp. The words scrawled upon it were hasty, almost reckless, but in dire circumstances, no one could cast judgment on the writer's urgency.

"That's all the information I've received."

As Aglaea concluded her delivery of the urgent report from a patrol near the Grove of Epiphany, the chamber descended into a suffocating silence.
Every operational Chrysos Heir was present—a stark testament to the gravity of the situation.

Once a trusted ally, he had now become something… unrecognizable: Kevin Kaslana.

Aglaea's eyes, dimmed of their former radiance, fixed upon the sprawling map of Amphoreus unfurled across the table before her. Her slender finger traced a precise point on the faded ochre parchment.

"First, there's a vast expanse of dense forest between the Grove of Epiphany and Castrum Kremnos. Our source indicates that this region was… utterly razed and plunged into an ice age."

And it had all happened in a terrifyingly short amount of time.

This was only the preliminary damage assessment. No one could say how much worse it would become.

"Are you certain of what you're saying, Aglaea?"

Mydeimos' low, resonant voice shattered the stillness, a stone cast into a bottomless lake, stirring a torrent of questions among the Chrysos Heirs. The staggering news struck him like a spear through the spine. His mind reeled as if the world's sounds had been siphoned away, leaving only the chaotic thudding of his heart echoing in his chest.

The Goldweaver offered no reply. With a quiet grace, she placed the report atop the expansive map.

The evidence was undeniable.

Across the table, Phainon stood with the Cleaver of Shamash still in one hand — the signature weapon of the Kaslana. In the other, he held the report, eyes scanning each line as though searching for a flaw that would give them hope.

Meanwhile, Mydeimos — silent until now — turned and retrieved his teleslate, an object he rarely had cause to use.

He remembered clearly that just days ago, they had all been gathered, laughing together over something as mundane as a video game. Of course, like all the Chrysos Heirs, they had saved Kevin Kaslana's contact information into the teleslate issued to him.

When he pressed the call button, the entire room fell silent in unspoken unison.

The soft, rhythmic hum of the teleslate ringing echoed through the hall, each note amplifying the weight of anticipation. The Tribios stood nearby, their eyes locked on the screen, worry etched into every line of their faces.

Click. Someone had answered.

A fragile spark of hope flickered within Mydeimos. Maybe this was all just a terrible misunderstanding. Maybe Kevin Kaslana had merely stumbled into a catastrophic situation, forced to fight back with overwhelming force to survive. After all, everything he had destroyed was monsters… wasn't they?

"Kevin. Can you hear me?"

No reply. The call was still active, but the other end remained disturbingly quiet.

"Answer me now. What are you—"

Before Mydeimos could finish, a loud, piercing crash echoed from somewhere far off, followed by the unmistakable sound of something shattering. The call dropped without warning. He lowered the teleslate and stared at the screen, now returned to its default interface.

"De... I think Kev just destroyed it."

A suffocating silence enveloped the room.

That was until Professor Anaxagoras shattered it.

"Even I didn't see this coming. So the bastard, already half-dead, still managed to go and pull something like that."

His comment, laced with bitter sarcasm, hit harder than anyone expected. The other Chrysos Heirs were left stunned, caught between disbelief and dread.

Aglaea crossed her arms, her silence a tacit acknowledgment.

"Naxy, what do you mean? Can you enlighten us?"

Trinnon pressed a hand to his chest, speaking for those still shrouded in confusion. The one dubbed 'Naxy' furrowed his brow, hesitating as if weighing his words with care.

"How absurd. Is that outsider truly so resolute in his silence about this?"

But what was the point of deliberation now?

"He was fated to die the moment he stepped into this place. While the rest of you were still breathing easy, thinking the body-switching anomaly had been resolved, he had only fifteen Entry Hours left to witness the world."

The words tore free, and the silence that followed stretched into eternity, as if time itself recoiled before the weight of the truth.

And so they wondered: how had it come to this?

"…I'm sorry."

Castorice stepped forward, her head bowed.

"I sensed his life force waning with each passing moment. Yet I chose to remain silent."

She lowered herself into a deep bow, a quiet atonement for having placed her faith in those immovable words from that man, insisting that he was 'fine'.

"Lady Castorice, please, don't! I-I also…"

The girl with pastel pink braids stammered, her voice faltering. If truth must be spoken, Hyacine had glimpsed fragments of it, however faint. As a physician, those subtle signs should have commanded her attention more keenly.

"Kev showed signs of pain in our presence more than once… and we didn't press him on it."

Teacher Trianne's voice carried a sorrow far heavier than her usual cadence. Beside her, Tribbie rested a gentle hand on her back, offering quiet solace.

Someone's grip tightened on the hilt of a greatsword.

"I think I knew something was wrong, but I hesitated."

At last, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae unraveled the disquiet that had plagued him when he received Shamash from Anaxa's hands. He recalled his conversation with the outsider named Su.

Su had focused solely on reassuring him, insisting Phainon would be fine, that he needn't worry.

Phainon would be fine, but what of Kevin?

Once Su confirmed that Phainon himself was not the one fated to perish, he offered no further words—perhaps because he could not. For the Kaslana had deftly requested a private audience immediately thereafter.

Phainon, though still riddled with doubts, chose to let it pass, trusting in the former hero. He believed the Kaslana would not conceal the truth of his own creeping demise. And so, he hesitated, and hesitated again, until that hesitation snuffed out all hope.

He had been too arrogant, believing he had breached the impenetrable walls surrounding Kevin Kaslana.

A sudden memory stirred.

"Mydei, I…"

Phainon's words caught in his throat.

Never—never had he seen his beloved wear such an expression. Mydeimos had never been so utterly shaken. The notion of the Kaslana descending into madness was one thing; the revelation that he was on the brink of departing this world was another entirely.

And the crux of it all–

Mydeimos' amber eyes finally lifted from the floor. His lips trembled, and a belated confession slipped from his mouth.

—every Chrysos Heir had noticed at least some sign from the Kaslana.

"I knew nothing."

Except him.

Kevin Kaslana had always, and would always, present his most flawless facade before his Mydeimos. All this time, Mydei had believed himself close enough for the former hero to lean on him, even if only a fraction.

Yet everything Kevin did revolved around him, for him, because of him.

For Mydeimos of Castrum Kremnos.

Even his reason to keep breathing, it seemed, had been Mydei.

It was only then that the prince began to grasp just how unhealthy the white-haired man's way of living truly was. He looked at him as if he were a lifeline, as if he were a sunflower to the sun, a devoted disciple to his god.

He had failed to see Kevin Kaslana for who he truly was from the very beginning…

He bit his lip, his throat constricting with a sudden, searing pain.

From the start, Kevin Kaslana had lost the ability to live for himself.

Even now, Mydeimos could not fathom what the man truly desired.

And so, that fool disregarded his own fate, content as long as Mydei remained safe, happy, and thriving. Everything, it seemed, was permissible. Surely, he believed that confessing the truth would burden the prince with sorrow and worry. If he could slip away silently, his death would be but a fleeting cloud, carried off by the wind.

The prince would soon forget the wretched man and stride forward alongside Amphoreus' rightful Deliverer.

But that plan had failed and the core in Kevin's body was what had driven him to the brink of madness.

"I…"

All eyes turned to Mydei, as though he had become the fulcrum of the moment, their gazes awaiting his decree.

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them once more.

This time, a fierce resolve blazed within them.

From this moment forward, let Kevin Kaslana witness how Mydeimos would live for him.

Regret was far too late now. Life or death no longer mattered. Though it was likely futile to try and save the Kaslana from the sands slipping through the hourglass, letting him die consumed by madness would be the greatest disgrace of his life.

"I will bring him back."

Even if Kevin were dying, he would meet his end at Mydei's side.

Beside him, Phainon offered a faint smile, a subtle signal that their path was now clear.

"Of course, I'll lend my aid. He may be my rival, but he's still a dear friend. I'll go with you."

Incidentally, this side of his beloved was rather captivating—oh, the Deliverer had veered off course again.

"Understood. The task force for this mission will comprise Mydeimos, Phainon, and myself."

The Goldweaver stepped forward. The Kaslana's current power defied measurement or prediction, so she approached this mission as though it were a campaign against a titan. At a minimum, a demigod needed to be part of the lineup.

"Castorice and Master Tribios, please stand by as reserves, ready to intervene should matters spiral beyond control."

Those addressed responded with solemn nods.

"We'll focus on evacuating the remaining civilians near the borders of Castrum Kremnos."

"If it turns dire, just call for us."

Aglaea continued issuing orders with measured calm.

"Hyacine. According to the latest intel, the outskirts near the Grove were swept through once already. Some innocent bystanders were caught in it. If possible, go and assist with emergency healing."

Miraculously, no fatalities had been recorded, but caution remained paramount.

"Anaxagoras."

"I'm heading back to the Grove. No need for orders. Farewell."

Aglaea chose not to push him further. This impromptu, urgent council had reached its natural end. Kevin Kaslana—now the most immediate threat—was still out there, destroying everything in his path. With a quick flick of her fingers to check her golden threads, she opened the door and stepped out.

Phainon followed, the Cleaver of Shamash dragging at his side.

Mydeimos wasted no time in joining them.

This time, they would confront the full truth of the Hero of Humanity.

Somewhere amid the smoldering ruins, the man who had lost his last shred of sanity clutched the shattered remnants of the teleslate he had crushed minutes before.

His sharp, elongated claws pierced the fractured screen.

That voice… so familiar.

His head throbbed, but he could not falter. He had to press on, to fulfill his duty.

This was his mission.

Annihilate them.

-

By the grace of the Hidden Passage gates—ancient conduits imbued with the power of Janus, scattered across the realms—they swiftly closed the distance to the rampaging figure beyond.

Fortune favored them, for Kevin Kaslana, in his current state of fractured sanity, lacked the clarity to exploit those gates. Had he done so, Amphoreus would have known no respite from his wrath.

As prior intelligence had foretold, his trajectory pointed toward Castrum Kremnos. To reach it from the vast, untamed forest spanning the Grove and Kremnos, he would approach from the east. Thus, the trio made directly for this point, sparing no time to scour other regions.

They knew he would emerge here.

Indeed, a sprawling expanse of woodland and earth stretched between Kremnos and the Grove.

"Lady Aglaea, please take care."

Hyacine's words reached her after the young healer arrived at her designated position. Aglaea could only wonder what horrors the girl had witnessed upon setting foot in the frozen desolation left in the Kaslana's wake.

"The air's grown colder…"

Phainon remarked as they advanced toward the eastern reaches of Castrum Kremnos.

Beneath the dim flicker of flames dancing atop crystalline stone pillars, ruins steeped in the weight of ages materialized—a silent testament to an era of unparalleled grandeur. Towering columns, cloaked in verdant moss and trailing vines like nature's own tapestries, stood resolute in the stillness.

Once a mighty empire, what remained of Castrum Kremnos now? Perhaps only rotting wooden chests, shattered fragments of armor, and the eternal flames that burned unyielding as if the spirits of fallen warriors still guarded this sacred ground.

But in the distance, above the sagging roofs of crumbling temples, a radiant golden blaze erupted. The Lance of Fury, colossal and unrelenting, pierced the heavens, its incandescent glow carving a luminous arc through swirling, ominous black clouds.

Ice veins began to creep across nearby walls.

The air's temperature plummeted with alarming speed.

They were close now. Very close.

By the time the ground had transformed into a glistening sheet of ice, Aglaea extended one arm sharply across their path, halting the two men behind her in a single, fluid motion.

Her voice echoed into their minds.

'Don't move. Don't breathe.'

Though confused, both Mydei and Phainon obeyed without question. The reason was simple—this golden-haired lady possessed a keener awareness than either of them, enhanced by the invisible golden threads she had long since woven across the area.

Then, abruptly, the colossal ruin to their right was obliterated. A massive spike of ice, its origin unknown, erupted through it in all directions, like a pufferfish inflating within a fragile paper box.

'Aglaea,' came Mydeimos's whisper across the telepathic link.

'Steady. Don't move.'

Something unrecognizable—black, tattered, formless—was hurled through the now-shattered ice mass with such ferocity it tore a line across the air, sweeping right past all three of them. Shards of glistening, razor-sharp ice danced in the air.

Mydei's gaze locked onto the object in question.

It was one of the most common adversaries in Castrum Kremnos, twisted by the Black Tide's influence: a wretched Furiae Troupe, lifeless, its wings brutally torn asunder.

Then came the sound.

A dragging rasp–wet, grotesque, like flesh slithering across frozen stone. It clawed at the back of their minds, raising goosebumps down their spines.

"Ugh…"

And finally, they saw him.

The figure before them moved with the languid menace of a malformed dragon fused with mortal flesh, stepping forth from the aftermath of the devastating attack. His wing was momentarily retracted, one clawed hand, black as obsidian, clutching his head.

Golden blood stained his form, streaking his body in foul, twisting smears.

There was something markedly different from the last time Mydei had seen the Kaslana in this state. Truth be told, he remembered it vividly, though now was not the time to dwell on such matters.

To be blunt, Mydei did not recall the faint, intricate veins of violet-pink etched across Kevin's pallid skin. Delicate yet densely interwoven, they sprawled like a spider's web, creeping up his neck and halting at his cheekbones.

Those aquamarine eyes, once so piercing, were now unfocused, adrift.

'Hold on, both of you. There's something I need to confirm first.'

Despite every part of him screaming to charge forward, slam Kevin Kaslana into the dirt, curse him senseless, then drag him back home by the collar, the crown prince of Kremnos wrestled his impulses into submission.

Aglaea had sensed something.

So, too, had Phainon, which was why all three stood rooted, not daring to twitch a single muscle.

The beast before them swept his gaze across their position, eyes locking briefly in their direction. Then, as if they were mere wisps of air, he lumbered onward.

Phainon's voice entered their minds through their telepathic link.

'It looks like Kevin… can't see us.'

The full implication was clear: the Kaslana seemed unable to perceive them, provided they remained utterly still and silent.

Aglaea didn't respond aloud, but her silence was assent.

Mydeimos's eyes widened.

So that idiot had been stumbling around here, blindly unleashing destruction without any sense of direction and in some kind of partial blindness?

Then, suddenly, a sharp noise rose behind them.

A colossal Praetor Furiae had taken notice of the human presence nearby, its massive greatsword dragging thunderously across the ground. It had locked onto them.

Aglaea tilted her head ever so slightly, thoughtful. She was even weighing whether dodging would be necessary.

But there was no need.

Before Mydeimos or Phainon could neutralize the sudden threat, Kevin Kaslana, in his Diabolic form, surged past them with terrifying speed. The Praetor's head was already ensnared in his grip, pierced by his razor-sharp claws. In an instant, the surrounding air froze, the temperature plunging yet further.

"Honkai…"

His voice, distorted and laced with a pitiful confusion, barely rose above a whisper.

Watching his beloved fool cast the lifeless corpse aside, those vacant eyes scanning the surroundings as if groping for the next target, stirred a visceral ache in the prince's heart—an ugly, gnawing sensation.

At that moment, Mydei stood frozen.

To Mydeimos, Kevin Kaslana was a soul of profound gentleness. Though he harbored secrets within, his essence remained steadfastly virtuous.

He was a figure worthy of admiration.

Above all, he cherished his Mydeimos deeply.

And so, here and now, it would be Mydei's turn to reciprocate that devotion.

The prince took a single step, his boot striking the frozen ground with resolute clarity.

A pair of pointed ears twitched ever so slightly. Footsteps. Clear and deliberate.

Phainon gripped Shamash tighter. Threads of gold shimmered faintly in Aglaea's hand.

"Kevin."

Only Kevin. Just Kevin. A name that sounded so plain, so stripped of grandeur, yet needed no embellishment from 'Kaslana.'

All he wanted to see was Kevin.

The pseudo-Herrscher froze, his gaze snapping toward Mydei. That he did not attack immediately was a promising sign.

"Do you recognize me?"

"…"

The white-haired beast's eyes widened.

Believing he had reached some part of him, Mydei dared to take another step, then another—

"Emperor-Class… Honkai."

Kevin muttered cryptic words under his breath.

In that instant, the Prince of Kremnos had unwittingly marked himself as the next target.

Mydeimos was at peace with this.

"Mydei!"

A lethal wave of ice surged forward, only to be incinerated by the searing power of the Seventh Divine Key in Phainon's hands.

The prince steeled himself to face a walking cataclysm.

Negotiations had failed. The battle had begun.

No matter how many times he would have to die, he was prepared.

-

Irritating.

Kevin Kaslana soared through the air, tracking the movements of the 'Honkai Beasts' below.

Itching, unbearable.

He hadn't anticipated encountering three Emperor-Class Honkai Beasts here. No matter—it was still within his capabilities.

The pseudo-core in his chest pulsed as if on the verge of detonation, a ticking bomb radiating heat. He could vaguely sense Honkai energy coursing through his veins. His vision blurred, steadily succumbing to an endless darkness.

…Loss of sight, purple veins threading across his skin…

These symptoms felt hauntingly familiar, yet their origin eluded him.

Hadn't MEI perished in a similar state?

Why bother remembering? His purpose was clear: annihilate them.

He existed for this.

Something felt missing. His hands felt strangely light, as though he was meant to be holding a weapon. It was familiar, this absence. But he dismissed the thought. It was irrelevant.

As long as Honkai was eradicated, the means were inconsequential.

He raised his hand, preparing to unleash another devastating strike.

"…"

His wrist was ensnared by vexing golden threads. With a savage yank, he tore them asunder, only for the white-clad 'Honkai Beast' to seize the moment, slashing at him with a flaming greatsword. His wings absorbed the blow with effortless grace.

Another anomaly—since when did Honkai Beasts wield swords or manipulate threads?

His head throbbed painfully—

The red-hued 'Honkai beast' landed another strike. The Kaslana's irritation flared. Why did he keep allowing it to act so brazenly? Wait…how could he discern its red hue when his vision was shrouded in darkness?

Colors…?

The battle's tempo surged relentlessly.

"Kev… Kevin…"

"Kevin—!"

"…"

What a captivating voice. Who could it belong to?

Whoever it was, they were maddeningly persistent, clinging to life like a leech.

With a sweep of his hand, he unleashed another wave of indiscriminate destruction, ravaging the terrain. Once, twice—they evaded each assault. From what he recalled, Honkai creatures lacked such cunning.

Kevin could not track the movements of these three entities.

Very well. He would let them strike first.

"Kevin Kaslana, snap out of it!"

He ignored the plea, his mind fixated on a single, looping word: opportunity. A tremendous force slammed into his cheek, shattering blood-red crystals in a spray of shards. Kevin absorbed the full impact… and grinned.

"Found you."

For in the moment that figure landed the blow, Kevin's hand had clamped around their throat. His other hand shot backward, intercepting a greatsword aimed at his spine. Ice began to encase the weapon.

The ambusher froze, caught off guard.

Predictable. When the red one was struck, the white one would shield it.
And if both were imperiled, what would the third do?

To the left, definitely the left.

In a single, fluid motion, Kevin hurled the greatsword and its wielder westward. The white figure collided with the golden one. Impressively, the golden one still managed to unleash her threads—only for Kevin's single wing to shear through them with ruthless precision.

In an instant, the tide of battle turned.

He tightened his grip on the red one's throat.

-

This had always been a one-sided battle.

The Chrysos Heirs had lasted longer than they ever anticipated. Kevin Kaslana, with unnerving precision, intercepted every teleslate pulse and thread-signal Aglaea sent for reinforcements, severing any line of communication before it could breathe.

As of now, nearly a third of Castrum Kremnos lay in ruin. The battleground had become a wasteland of crumbling stone and shattered iron. Fortunately, no civilians remained in this wreckage of memories.

Phainon panted heavily, one knee pressed against the frozen earth, his entire weight leaning on the greatsword he had driven into the ground to keep himself upright. It was bad. Kevin's relentless frost strikes had battered his legs and hips without mercy. Only now did he realize how pale and numbed his skin had become—frostbitten, unfeeling.

Aglaea gripped her slender blade tightly, her side pierced by a vicious wound. If only Kevin wielded fire, the deep gash might have been cauterized instantly. But this was the harbinger of Amphoreus' ice age.

"Hng—"

Mydeimos.

The Prince of Castrum Kremnos was in his grasp.

Aglaea's Garmentmakers lay scattered across the ground, irreparably damaged. Repairing them would take ages… if she even survived.

Phainon struggled to rise, only to collapse once more.

"Mydei… Mydei."

The prince bore the gravest injuries of all. The battle had dragged on so long that Phainon could count the times the Kremnoan had fallen—three deaths, yet he persisted, recklessly charging headlong at the wretched foe.

The white-haired warrior gritted his teeth, a surge of fury coursing through him.

Whether it was Phainon of Aedes Elysiae or Kevin Kaslana, both had failed spectacularly to protect their beloved.

The Deliverer's vision blurred, but he refused to succumb to unconsciousness. Before him, Kevin's fingers tightened around Mydeimos' throat, lifting him off the ground, his claws mercilessly pressing into the prince's carotid artery. If this continued—

The Kaslana remained lost to them.

In the crushing silence of desperation, the Deliverer looked down at Shamash.

He needed only a few seconds to make his choice.

Kevin Kaslana's greatest regret would forever be showing Phainon how to wield that damned thing.

He remembered it clearly. One serene afternoon on the training grounds, bathed in amber sunlight.

"Zeroth Power… that's the name of Shamash's hidden form, isn't it?"

The white-haired man stood with his arms crossed, nodding slightly.

"Yes. However—"

The hesitation in his voice had stirred Phainon's curiosity.

"Neither you nor anyone else but me, is permitted to use that form."

The Deliverance had said it with such absolute finality as if he would genuinely kill anyone who dared to defy that order.

Phainon had pouted at the time, visibly disappointed.

"But it looks so damn cool. Not even a little?"

Kevin had sighed, answering in a voice that betrayed both weariness and warning.

"It's not that it's impossible. But using the Zeroth Power will consume your lifespan as fuel, and then it will quite literally burn you alive."

Only Kevin Kaslana could wield it without immediate self-destruction, his unnaturally low body temperature acting as a safeguard. Phainon had no such advantage. The weight of that reckless choice now settled like lead across his shoulders.

No—there was no time left.

A choked gasp hung in the air. Strangely, even in this dire moment, Mydeimos did not thrash or struggle as one of the two men he loved most stole his breath. Instead, he focused, straining to speak, summoning every ounce of his will to rouse the madman before him. The prince fought on, a fool clinging to the hope of bringing Kevin Kaslana back.

Whether it was Mydei, Phainon, or Kevin, they were all fools in the end.

"I'm sorry, Mydei…"

It was pointless to let this tragedy unfold further.

Phainon rose, gripping Shamash's hilt with both hands, its blade pointed skyward.

It activated. A surge of Honkai energy erupted, its intensity forcing Kevin to halt. His attention snapped to Phainon, and with a brutal motion, he flung Mydeimos to the ground, where the prince coughed violently, gasping for air.

Zeroth Power - Might of An-Utu.

With a single, unwavering act fueled by pure, indomitable will, the ice around them melted at a staggering pace.

Adrenaline surged through every vein in his body. Phainon could feel it—he still had a sliver of time left before the greatsword would inevitably consume him—

"Phainon. Hold it steady."

The voice was both familiar and alien.

And in the span of a single heartbeat, everything changed.

"Snowy, we received no transmission, but we came anyway."

"We're here to help!"

The Tribios had arrived.

"Lord Phainon, Lord Mydeimos, Lady Aglaea, you've all fought hard."

Castorice, with her gleaming scythe, stepped forward, shielding them with calm resolve.

But that voice… it belonged to neither of the newly arrived reinforcements.

"Focus, Phainon. With my blessing, you won't die today."

The ice around them began to crack and melt. Vision returned to the battlefield in fragments. A second hand clasped the hilt of Might of An-Utu alongside Phainon's. The white-haired man's eyes widened in disbelief, heart skipping a beat at the sight before him.

"Though this is only a projection, and my power is limited… I promised I'd be here when you needed me most."

Clad in a flowing dress of white and deep purple, adorned with black and violet blossoms, her long white hair was tied in a high ponytail, a delicate metallic crown resting atop her head.

The woman, alongside Amphoreus' Deliverer, raised the greatsword high, the tip of its blade aimed at Kevin Kaslana in his Diabolic form.

"Forward, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae!"

Kiana Kaslana had arrived.

Chapter Text

"Either way, our chances of winning are now higher than ever. He's weakened—significantly."

Lady Kiana gazed up at the man who had once stood as her enemy in their final battle on the moon. It turned out that no matter the world or the timeline, this man was always destined to meet the same end.

Beside her, Phainon's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of disbelief in his expression.

"Weakened, you say?"

The white-haired girl gave a subtle nod, her piercing gaze never straying from their target.

"Indeed."

If this were the Kevin from the days of Project STIGMA's execution, Kiana's mere projection might not have sufficed. Fortunately, the Kevin before them now wielded only a faint remnant of the Authority of Finality's power, coupled with his Diabolic form and… an abundance of Honkai genes coursing through his veins.

Parvati was hardly the only Honkai gene the former hero possessed, it was merely the most dominant. In truth, the Kaslana genome held traces of every recorded Honkai beast from the previous era. That was why he bore the title Chimera of Humanity—a byproduct of Project CHIMERA.

But there was another reason why the Chrysos Heirs held the upper hand.

For the first time, the Kaslana's mind was fractured.

To Kiana, he had always been a man of indomitable mental fortitude. In their past encounters,he had been acutely aware of his actions, deliberately guiding, testing, and manipulating the flow of battle. Despite all of that, it seemed even he had his limits.

This wasn't merely a pseudo-core driving him to madness.

No, that pseudo-core had pushed Kevin Kaslana to the very brink of his endurance, the precipice of everything he was.

The unimaginable eons he had endured, the heartrending deaths he had witnessed, the crushing burdens he had shouldered, the promises and aspirations he had carried, and the brutal manner in which his hopes for a new life had been snuffed out—all of it had finally shattered him into fragments.

"But…"

The Herrscher of Finality spoke again, her voice reaching every soul present.

"I still believe Kevin is in there."

Having once endured the override of her own will by that of a Herrscher, Kiana could say this with certainty. In fact, she would even argue that Kevin was still himself—only blinded, deceived.

Look at him. He hadn't spat venomous phrases like 'pathetic insects' or 'worthless scum.' That, in itself, was proof enough.

Phainon's lips curved into a confident smirk.

"Alright then. Let's drag him back before it's too late. Right, Mydei?"

The prince of Kremnos wiped the blood from his neck, where razor-sharp claws had grazed him, and flashed a defiant grin.

"Damn right."

Kiana's own smile broke through, radiant and unyielding. Who knew? These young warriors might just make an unstoppable team. But for now, the battle demanded their focus.

Her projection exhaled softly.

"Now, Phainon, we'll have only one clean strike…"

-

He hovered in the air, his solitary wing unfurled in a majestic arc, its edges shimmering with an otherworldly sheen.

The distance between him and his adversaries was scant, a mere breath in the grand tapestry of their confrontation.

In the inky blackness enveloping him, Kevin Kaslana perceived a kaleidoscope of colors. They swirled and intertwined, each hue bolstering the others, weaving a chaotic yet breathtaking palette. Where colors bled together, one might expect only a void-like black, mirroring the weary, barren soul he had long since resigned himself to. Still, these shades danced with the radiant beauty of a rainbow arching over a storm-cleansed sky.

This sight left Kevin Kaslana utterly confused.

They seemed too human.

"All of you…"

His voice faltered, a desperate flicker of doubt clawing at the edges of his resolve. Kevin blinked, as if straining to see past the dark matter encasing his hands, now marred with jagged black scales and razor-sharp claws.

Or was he the true monster here?

Before his thoughts could unravel further, that accursed pseudo-core triggered a cascade of relentless reactions. Its will surged, encroaching upon his own, suffocating his fading clarity. Delicate veins of magenta and violet pulsed across his skin, creeping toward the corners of his eyes. His body resembled a marble statue on the verge of shattering, each crack a testament to his unraveling.

In a torment that rivaled the cruelest tortures, he lashed out blindly, targeting the pulsing surges of Honkai energy with reckless abandon.

He… had to kill them all.

Didn't he?

A seed of doubt took root in his fractured mind.

His foes began to resemble the very humanity he was meant to safeguard.

That resplendent crimson, too—it stirred something within him.

He was starting to remember.

-

"Everyone, buy me two minutes—can you all manage that?"

Phainon still needed time to channel the full might of An-Utu into a singular, devastating surge. Per Lady Kiana's counsel, relentless strikes against their foe would yield negligible damage. Instead, their hopes hinged on one decisive blow.

This weapon, at its peak, could raze an entire city to ash.

And they intended to force Kevin Kaslana to absorb every ounce of that cataclysmic force in a single, unrelenting strike.

"Understood, Lord Phainon."

In an instant, Castorice's scythe arced before Phainon, deftly deflecting a stray barrage of icy projectiles from their adversary. She braced herself as the Kaslana himself lunged toward her, his intent unmistakable.

Locked onto Phainon, the white-haired man surged forward. In his fragmented mind, the Deliverer was the source of the greatest Honkai signature—the largest threat. And threats had to be eliminated.

But before he could reach Castorice, a barrier of blood-red crystals erupted before her, halting his advance.

Just in time.

The Chrysos Heirs—and Mydeimos, the one who conjured the barrier—realized something crucial.

They could react without guesswork. Kevin's speed had diminished, he was undeniably weakening.

The Kaslana narrowed his eyes at the obstacle in his path. He saw the barrier not just as a nuisance, but as a problem.

So he made a fatal error: he turned to destroy the one who caused it.

Once again, Kevin and Mydeimos were locked in a brutal duel. This time, the prince of Kremnos would hold the line against this relentless foe, aided by the golden threads of Tribios and their synchronized support.

They dodged and struck, dodged and struck. For reasons unknown, Kevin refrained from unleashing his wide-ranging attacks—a stroke of fortune they couldn't afford to question.

"Kevin, I'm right here."

Mydeimos narrowly parried a tail swipe aimed at his knees, his reflexes honed to a razor's edge. He noticed Kevin's strikes no longer targeted vital points with lethal precision, as if… he were holding back.

Those lifeless aquamarine eyes bored into him, unblinking.

In that fleeting moment, Kevin's lips parted, forming a single, achingly familiar word. A soft question.

The prince of Kremnos heard it clearly.

That was enough. Mydeimos made his choice.

He wanted to try again—and he would, as many times as it took.

As Kevin pivoted, claws poised to seize him bare-handed, those talons grazed Mydeimos' side. Seizing the moment, Mydei lunged forward, enveloping Kevin's form in a fierce embrace. His breath hitched, a shiver coursing through him from the chilling familiarity of that frigid presence. His arms encircled Kevin's neck, his chin resting firmly on his shoulder.

He squeezed his eyes shut.

"You stubborn HKS… it's alright now. You can stop."

Baring his neck like this was hardly his style. But Mydei wanted to try—he needed to. He was immortal, after all. What was death to him?

He would die for this man, a thousand times over. If letting Kevin kill him a thousand times could rouse him from this torment, then so be it. Let it be done.

The hand gripping his side tightened, and Mydeimos felt Kevin's other arm jerk abruptly.

Another death, then—?

Yet nothing happened. The man stood frozen.

Three seconds passed, and Mydei remained unscathed, no icy tendrils piercing him from within.

"Mydei… Mydeimos…"

It was Kevin Kaslana's voice, hoarse and laced with despair.

The prince's eyes snapped open. It was working. In a fleeting surge of shock, he didn't release the monstrous figure but instead tightened his embrace, clinging to him with desperate resolve.

In response, a guttural snarl rumbled from Kevin, and he hurled Mydei aside once more.

But the act held no malice.

Mydei gazed up at the man who had once loved him with unwavering devotion, now writhing in agony, clutching his head.

Their first encounter had been when Kevin's essence inhabited Phainon's form. The Deliverer's body had instinctively shielded Mydei, an innate reflex born of something deeper.

And in their last meeting, Kevin's true form had exhibited that same protective impulse, a genuine echo from the depths of his heart.

"Stay back… stay back, please…"

He was teetering on the edge of lucidity and madness.

His voice trembled with a pitiful confusion as if he couldn't fathom why his body had betrayed him with such an act. The name he'd uttered—Mydeimos—sounded foreign on his lips, a memory he couldn't grasp. Staggering, the Kaslana lurched away from Mydei, still drawn toward the blazing Shamash, its frenzied Honkai energy a beacon in his fractured mind.

Mydei took a moment to haul himself upright. Nearby, the golden-haired woman had paused her movements. He could see Aglaea's deep wound, now crudely stitched shut by her own hand. Truly, an extraordinary woman.

"Snowy's ready!"

Trianne clapped her hands together, their voice cutting through the tension.

"Now we just need to ensure the strike hits its mark."

As if sensing the shift in the tide, Kevin, in his Diabolic form, unfurled his wing and soared upward, a dark silhouette against the chaotic sky.

-

"Now, we only need one final blow. Phainon, can you do it?"

Having fully charged the Shamash with enough energy to avoid draining the wielder's life force, Kiana released her grip from the massive greatsword. Throughout history, this weapon had been forced into countless forms, its ranks continually elevated to match the overwhelming might of its previous bearer—Kevin Kaslana.

"We cannot miss."

Phainon's eyes locked onto the airborne target. Both hands gripped the Shamash as he lowered its tip toward the ground.

"I'll support you. Go."

The silver-haired girl placed a hand on his back, and Phainon broke into a full sprint.

The signal was clear to all.

Castorice swung her scythe with lethal precision, cleaving through every obstacle in their path. After this, her weapon would likely feel as though it had been plunged into a cryogenic frost.

Kevin's movements had grown sluggish, noticeably labored. This was within their grasp.

Aglaea's golden threads continued weaving through the air like a web spun in anticipation.

"Mydeimos. Pin him down."

"…Understood."

The prince of Kremnos clenched one hand tightly. He could feel it—this was the end of the line. All that he could do for that man, he was doing now. Crimson crystal flared around his wrist, and in that moment, a colossal chunk of that same crystal clamped down around the immobilized Kaslana.

"…"

Of course, they couldn't hold him for long.

The golden threads surrounding the white-haired warrior snapped in a flash. The red crystal shattered into countless fragments.

"Century Gate!"

Tribbie, Trinnon, and Trianne synchronized perfectly, opening a surprise Century Gate that completely blindsided the Kaslana. Temporarily robbed of sight, relying only on sound and the raw presence of the world around him, he was then warped from his position—forcing his mind into a state of disarray.

Kevin Kaslana was pulled straight into Phainon's path, suspended mid-air, just above the ground.

Even in his diminished state, he remained a terrifying force, adapting with preternatural speed. His arm lashed out, slicing through the fabric of space twice, rending it into a jagged, four-pointed star.

Kiana instantly recognized the implications.

Deliverance form. With only the last dregs of energy left in him, the former hero was recklessly attempting to trigger Deliverance.

She had to act—now.

"Phainon, keep going!"

Raising two fingers, Kiana mimicked the shape of a handgun.

A searing beam of energy pierced through Kevin's wing, sending a sharp jolt through him and halting his motion completely. Every ounce of momentum he had gathered vanished in an instant.

Before him, the radiance of Shamash blazed like a molten sun, its fiery glow mirrored in the oceanic depths of his aquamarine eyes. His wing scorched, as though melting into wax under the unrelenting heat. All he could do was stare—stare at the human before him, transcending mortal limits to stand against him.

They were undeniably human.

Wearily, Kevin Kaslana closed his eyes.

It had all been foreshadowed from the very beginning.

Dreams of the sage and the tale of Icarus.

Once and again, telling a story lost in time.

The way it starts, and the way it ends.

This time, the sun had burned him once more.

"I'm sorry."

He caught Phainon's whispered apology just before the weapon that had been his steadfast companion through countless ages tore into its former master. The initial strike pierced his chest, reminiscent of the moment they had once swapped bodies.

The Kaslana's hand found Phainon's wrist.

To the Deliverer's astonishment, he redirected the blade downward.

"…Do it."

He was tired.

A blazing arc of fire cleaved the sky, its molten light engulfing everything. The frigid ice encasing him began to melt under the apocalyptic heat.

Never again making up stories in dismay.

With several starts, but just one end.

Phainon gritted his teeth, pressing down with all his strength, though he knew this act would shatter his dear friend's body and crush his organs. With a cataclysmic strike that shook the earth, they unleashed an explosion of devastating force. His form absorbed the brunt of the blow, and he moved no more.

As the smoke dissipated, a motionless figure lay sprawled on the ground.

A long, gruesome gash stretched from his chest to the left of his hip.

The Hero of Humanity lay there, gazing up at the boundless azure sky above. Though his vision blurred, the irony was not lost on him—it seemed to mock a broken-winged bird like him.

Let it laugh, then.

Perhaps it was finally time for him to rest.

Ah, how I long to embrace.

The future breaking free from shades.

From the past.

Still ablaze.

-

Kevin Kaslana should have felt peace. Satisfaction, even. After all, his long-overdue death had finally arrived.

But reality, cruel as ever, offered the opposite.

"Kevin."

He couldn't see. His vision was gone, shrouded in darkness.

How tragic that he couldn't witness the world's final, breathtaking vista.

He felt people kneeling beside him, the soft weight of their presence pressing into the earth. And then, all at once, shame bloomed inside him like a wound torn fresh. He had brought them nothing but pain and destruction. It was a miracle they hadn't strung him up on a cross and burned him alive like the Herrscher of Binding from the age before.

"Kevin… can you hear me?"

Such a beautiful voice. He cherished it.

"…"

He longed to respond, but his throat constricted, raw and rebellious, as though determined to choke his breath. Yet, it didn't stop him from trying to say something.

Anything.

"Mydeimos…?"

A bare hand, unencumbered by the usual armored gauntlet, settled gently on his forehead, brushing aside the errant strands of white hair veiling his eyes.

That touch had never failed to rouse him. Whenever he sank into the abyss of his past, it was an anchor, a lifeline tethering him to the present.

He closed his eyes. He remembered.

Kevin Kaslana had, with his own hands, nearly crushed the one he loved, nearly slaughtered those who had granted him a chance to remain here. In the end, he had ruined everything.

He should never have existed.

"Kevin Kaslana, is there anything you want to do?"

The voice of the man he loved was soft, warm, and resonant. For a fleeting moment, he was transported back to his last birthday celebration. Sumptuous dishes, an enormous cake, and the flickering glow of candles.

Those tiny flames had warmed his soul, drawing him to a distant past. In that tender moment, he had leaned forward to extinguish the candles.

They flickered out.

The light went out, and so did the noise.

There was nothing else left.

Just like now.

He wasn't sure he deserved to wish for anything.

The Kaslana turned his face aside as if shying away from the blinding light. His lips parted, his voice a hoarse, faltering murmur.

"Kill me."

It was the only thing he wanted.

It was over.

A heavy silence enveloped them.

Then, a movement.

The warm hand on his forehead slid to the crown of his head, fingers threading through his hair with boundless affection.His eyes widened, startled by the comforting gesture. That hand was stained with blood and grime, yet it felt anything but repulsive.

"You're a terrible liar, Kevin."

"Now, I want to know everything. Let me in, alright?"

Then, that man—his Mydei, his Mydeimos—leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. Though Kevin could see nothing, the searing warmth of it sent a shiver through him.

The love of his life wanted to know everything.

"We're listening."

Phainon, Aglaea, Castorice, the Tribios…

"My great-great-grand-whatever, I'm listening too."

Kiana Kaslana. She was here too.

They wanted to know everything.

Kevin Kaslana's lips pressed into a tight line, the sound of shattering echoing in his ears. A faint, almost imperceptible fracture within his heart, one that seemed inaudible to others, yet reverberated endlessly within him.

The impregnable walls he'd built around himself had crumbled.

"I…"

What did Kevin Kaslana want?

To fulfill his vows and duties, to carry the will and dreams of those who came before, or to bring deliverance to humanity?

What did he want?

Deep in his soul, Kevin realized he'd known the answer since the moment he met them here. So, with a faint, almost foolish smile, he answered them.

"I want to travel before…I get married."

Utterly unexpected, wasn't it?

MEI had once told him about a popular trend among the youth of her time. Before marriage, couples would travel together, testing their bond. Back then, amidst the chaos, Kevin hadn't even had the chance to travel, let alone marry.

Choosing to travel with another was a rare commitment, a testament to their worth. Its rarity only underscored the depth of that choice.

It was called…

Devotion.

At Amphoreus, he'd been given that chance, but he'd let it slip through his fingers.

As those words left his lips, he suddenly felt the delicate touch of flower petals settling on his chest. He must be losing his mind—how could there be flowers here?

The pseudo-core unleashed one final surge of energy.

"…Damn it."

Violet threads, like delicate veins, enveloped his body. The Kaslana arched his head back in agony, exposing the intricate web of marks crisscrossing his throat.

He was dying.

"Kevin, it won't explode. I'll stabilize the core. You can… go in peace."

The projection of Kiana Kaslana pressed her hand to his chest. How fortunate that the descendant he held in such high esteem was still here. At the very least, he could meet his end with tranquility.

"Mydeimos."

He reached for Mydei's bare hand, his claws encircling it with a gentleness that ensured no pain.

"Immortal or not...don't neglect yourself, alright?"

Even without him, Phainon could handle this just fine.

Those warm fingers tightened around his, a silent assurance that his words had been heard.

At last, the former hero's gaze drifted back to the boundless azure sky above. His old jest about digging his own grave on the moon no longer held sway.

"If I get the chance, I'd love for you and me to travel…"

His whisper faded, dissolving into an endless abyss of darkness.

If he had the chance… he wanted to live.

Kevin Kaslana wanted to live.

He had never, ever, wanted to live more desperately than now.

The candles flickered out once more.

Beside him, amidst the tempest and frigid ice, a blood-red lily bloomed in defiant splendor, as if waging a breathtaking rebellion against the chaos.

The light went out.

It went out along with all their names—

—and the wish he made.
.

.

.

Wait, did you really think this was the end?

The pink-haired muse pouted, her lips curling in playful indignation.

Honestly, she hadn't anticipated her gift would be unwrapped in such a distant future, but she was delighted nonetheless.

That gift had a password: The desire to live.

The sender? None other than her.

The recipient? Kevin Kaslana—the one who had danced with her in that final waltz at the Final Banquet.

With this, the will of the Herrscher of Humanity stirred once more, rising to greet an old friend.

Miss Pink Elf is coming. Wait for her, oh Deliverance!

Chapter Text

The battle had left nothing in its wake.

The remains of the esteemed guest of the Chrysos Heirs could not even be recovered, for his corpse had disintegrated and dissolved in the most literal sense. Anaxagoras was, to put it mildly, profoundly displeased.

Kiana Kaslana had claimed the last vestige of what she termed the 'Authority of Finality', a safeguard to ensure such a calamity would not recur. She had briefly returned to her native world, vowing to send a projection of herself to visit them when time permitted.

Life's relentless wheel began to turn once more.

Castrum Kremnos lay partially in ruins, though much of the devastation was confined to structures already teetering on the brink of collapse. Miraculously, aside from a few innocent souls bearing minor wounds, there were no fatalities.

Some even went so far as to consider Kevin Kaslana's actions a twisted form of salvation—he had culled and obliterated a staggering number of Black Tide constructs and titankins.

Phainon still carried the final memento of the Hero of Humanity: the Seventh Divine Key. Though its weight felt just right in his grasp, and its power undeniable, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was never truly meant for him.

Still, it was Kevin's gift, entrusted to him. He would wield it until the day he forged his own greatsword, one imbued with the very essence of his soul.

The others were recovering well, their spirits buoyed by resilience. All but one.

Phainon let out a soft sigh as he rapped on Mydeimos' door, only to be met, once again, with silence.

Twilight had fallen, and the sky blazed crimson with the dying light of day.

The Deliverer knew precisely where his beloved was.

He set out.

Undoubtedly, Mydeimos was wandering the path stretching from Marmoreal's bustling market to the resplendent Marmoreal Palace. Phainon's intuition proved unerring when, in the distance, he caught sight of that familiar streak of red—more vivid, more arresting than the sun's golden-orange glow.

Phainon donned his usual easy smile, quickening his pace to drape an arm around the prince's shoulders.

"How's my prince doing today?"

His Mydei flinched, momentarily thrown off balance by the sudden weight. On any other day, he would not have been so distracted, so unguarded. The realization only deepened the ache in his chest.

"There's nothing to talk about. Get your hands off me."

As if he ever would. Not a chance.

Silence fell between them once more.

These past few days, the prince had been adrift, unable to anchor his focus on anything. Phainon, consumed by worry, had become his constant shadow. Conversations with the prince were met with half-hearted murmurs, and even the children's playful theatrics failed to spark his interest. When the Deliverer slipped into Mydei's room to hold him through the night—fearing his prince's solitude—he noticed the blankets had been cast aside, the room stiflingly warm. Mydeimos seemed to be eating less, too, his appetite waning.

Yeah, well… things really were stuffy without the Kaslana around.

But what unsettled Phainon the most was that Mydei had started extending his duty hours—without reducing the sheer volume of work he undertook.

From behind, the white-haired man quietly slipped both arms around the prince's waist, his voice a hushed murmur.

"Mydei, come on, don't be so gloomy. Want me to dress up as a dromas for you? I'll put on a show."

The prince swatted halfheartedly at the head burrowing into the crook of his neck, pushing it away.

"You'd have better luck performing that for Anaxagoras."

When it came to dromases, Anaxa was the undisputed enthusiast. Everyone knew it.

In the end, under the golden glow of twilight, Mydeimos stopped resisting. He allowed himself to be embraced by a certain overgrown, snow-white Samoyed. When Phainon finally rested his chin on Mydei's shoulder, he spoke again, his tone tinged with a plaintive edge.

"Mydei, even Kevin, before he left, wouldn't have wanted to see you neglecting yourself like this."

"…"

The other offered no reply.

Perhaps it was simply that he hadn't yet adjusted. It might have been the briefest romance he'd ever known—how absurdly fleeting. Yet, despite its brevity, that connection had been infinitely more precious than any fleeting tryst.

If he hadn't cherished it, he wouldn't now be haunted by the mirage of a white-haired man with gentle, sorrowful blue eyes leaning against a lamppost in the distance.

A mere trick of the mind, nothing more.

He could almost convince himself it was truly Kevin, lingering to watch over him even after his soul had dissolved into the ether.

The hazy vision shattered as Phainon's voice broke through once more.

"Honestly… making you brood like this? I might just have to march down to the nether world and wring his neck myself."

Phainon's jest hung in the air, but Mydeimos didn't take it as such. The prince of Kremnos replied, and in doing so, committed a grave misstep.

"No. I didn't find him down there."

In that instant, the arms encircling him seemed to freeze, his entire frame tensing. At first, Mydeimos was puzzled by the abrupt reaction. Only moments later did he realize his careless slip. But it was too late—the Deliverer seized his shoulders, spinning him around to face him head-on.

"…Mydei, how the hell do you know the Kaslana wasn't down there?"

The prince averted his gaze, his tone defiant.

"Well, I looked for him. Obviously."

The implication was painfully clear.

Mydeimos had descended into the nether world, had courted death itself to search for Kevin Kaslana's soul. Each time, he'd been forced to navigate the treacherous currents of the River of Souls to claw his way back to the living world.

Phainon's breath hitched, his eyes widening as the pieces fell into place. That must have been why, on certain days, his beloved returned so late, as though weighed down by an unseen burden. At this moment, Mydeimos braced himself, certain the Deliverer was about to unleash a torrent of anger, to scold him for his recklessness.

However, in the end, the white-haired man only pulled him into a fierce, silent embrace. A gloved hand, fingers exposed, pressed Mydei's head gently against his shoulder.

Phainon—no, they—were always too tender with their world, with their Mydeimos.

Sometimes, he resented it.

They were strong yet never cruel, maddeningly complex yet always willing to make amends for his sake. They cared—relentlessly, excessively so—showering him with a tenderness so overwhelming it felt like a burden he was forced to bear.

"Don't… don't do that again. Can you promise me that?"

They knew he was immortal. And still, they would throw their lives down for him in an instant because the thought of him hurting was too much to bear.

The fingers woven through strands of sunset-hued hair stirred gently, stroking with the tender affection one might lavish on a grand, lounging feline. In response, Mydeimos merely closed his eyes and let out a soft sigh.

"Fine."

After all, his repeated descents into death and back had confirmed that Kevin was not in the nether world. Where he had gone, Mydei could no longer fathom.

Phainon slowly released him, his expression drooping like that of a chastised puppy. Mydeimos figured he ought to offer the fool some comfort.

"Hungry yet? Want to grab something to—"

Ping.

Both their teleslates chimed in unison.

When both devices sounded simultaneously, it was almost certainly a group message from Aglaea. But as they pulled out their slates to check, they found it was anything but.

"What… is this…?"

Mydei whispered, a wave of astonishment crashing over him. Beside him, the Deliverer mirrored his stunned expression.

"This is… an update for that video game Kevin coded?"

Phainon enlarged the notification for a clearer view, and indeed, it announced a fresh update.

The absurdity of it gnawed at them both—

How could a game possibly receive an update when its creator was no longer among the living?

Mydei could hear his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. He forced himself to cling to rationality—this could simply be a pre-scheduled update, nothing more. Still, his finger had already tapped the game's icon.

The login screen flickered to life.

"That thing… it's called an 'account,' right? I think Kevin set one up for each of us," Phainon mused. "Looks like we need to log in again."

Phainon spoke softly, his gaze still fixed on the screen. He tapped the input fields with his index finger—typing in his name for the username, and his birthdate for the password. Back when the Kaslana was still with them, he'd already anticipated that they'd forget such details eventually, so he'd asked for their personal info ahead of time to create the accounts himself.

A flicker of suspicion crossed the Deliverer's mind as Mydeimos subtly angled himself away, shielding his teleslate while logging into the single-developer game.

Acting on impulse, Phainon lunged forward, craning his neck for a peek.

Like a lion bristling with indignation, the prince swiftly blocked the screen.

"Mydei, what're you hiding? Let me see!"

"No way. Back off."

No matter how much the Deliverer pleaded—pouting, poking, even laying on the dramatics—he got absolutely nowhere. Mydei refused to lift the veil of mystery.

There was no way Phainon could've known that, when the Kaslana created his account, he'd refused to use his lover's real name.

His head spun as he forced himself to type a three-syllable username into the field.

…Meowdeimos.

Damn that sly, white-haired HKS!

Only Kevin and Mydei knew of this, for the Kaslana had been the one to set up the account. If Phainon ever found out, Mydeimos might just have to dig a hole and bury himself in it. There was no way he could let that happen.

The two Chrysos Heirs entered the game. The loading screen lingered for an agonizing moment before ushering them in.

And there, awaiting them, was…

"…Kevin?"

'It's been a while since I last saw you, hasn't it?'

The voice was deep, warm, saturated with an emotion so palpable it needed no name.

Kevin Kaslana's voice—unmistakable.

The Undying and the Deliverer exchanged a glance, their eyes brimming with astonishment.

The last time Mydeimos and Phainon had played this game, it had been with him. Together, they'd vanquished a one-winged dragon that wielded ice in battle. Now, that same creature stirred once more, gliding across the screen before the two players.

In an instant, some hidden function triggered without warning. A blinding flash assaulted their vision, forcing them to squint. When their eyes adjusted, their teleslate screens displayed an intricate digital map, a vivid simulacrum of Okhema's sprawling cityscape.

The black-and-blue dragon soared through the virtual map.

'Mydeimos, the first time we met, you made me a bowl of plain porridge. Remember?'

That voice pressed on, resonant and achingly familiar.

"Is this… a pre-recorded message?" Phainon wondered aloud, his question dissolving into the air. "How did I not know about this?"

Mydei offered no reply, his gaze locked on the teleslate. The dragon in the game had flown to Marmoreal Palace, perching at a spot that felt intimately familiar to him. It was as though the creature was openly beckoning them.

The kitchen.

His mind was already a whirlwind of uncertainty.

This could be nothing more than a pre-recorded echo.

Yet, his feet were already carrying him toward the designated place.

"Mydei—!"

Phainon's startled cry rang out, but he quickly fell into step, chasing after the prince.

'That dish was genuinely delicious—no mockery intended. It had been ages since I'd had a proper meal.'

As the lion sprinted from the market toward the palace, the voice in the game persisted. His heart pounded, each beat a deafening roar as if it had sprung to life, clamoring for a possibility that should have been unthinkable.

'After that, I kissed you without your consent. Alright, I'll apologize for that. I was an idiot, thinking I could handle everything alone, in secret. I pretended to be Phainon.'

The Deliverer, matching Mydei's breakneck pace, faltered for a moment, stunned. Good gods, had something like that truly happened?

'Oh, and Phainon,' the voice continued, 'if you're listening, sorry for borrowing your identity back then.'

Hold on—Phainon could swear the Kaslana had truly fallen for his Mydei in that very moment. While covertly attempting to reclaim his original body, Kevin had unwittingly tumbled into the snare of love with the captivating prince. And who could blame him? The crowned prince of Castrum Kremnos was utterly magnetic.

In the past, Phainon might have bristled, consumed by jealousy and possessiveness over such a revelation. But time had softened those edges. The love both white-haired men bore for Mydei was undeniably genuine. He had even grown accustomed to the unconventional rhythm of their bond.

They supported one another—a failsafe, really. If Phainon wasn't there, the Kaslana would be, and vice versa. Mydeimos was their shared priority, always.

Mydei pressed on, his sprint unrelenting. The path to Marmoreal Palace stretched endlessly before him. Weekly festivities had transformed the usually tranquil route into a chaotic throng, slowing his progress.

'That kiss was…sweeter than I expected. After that, you just kept walking further into my life.'

He clicked his tongue, a faint flush blooming across his face as the words hit him.

'I tried to shut myself away, to run from it all. But you dragged me out like you were pulling a stubborn hound by the tail.'

The prince gripped his teleslate tighter, finally breaking free from the suffocating crowd. Marmoreal Palace loomed just ahead, a mere handful of steps away.

'You should take responsibility for me, you know.'

Mydei burst into the palace, only a few turns left to navigate.

'You're almost here, aren't you?'

He flung open the kitchen door.

Before him stood a white-haired man with deep, gentle sea-blue eyes, seated on a chair by the kitchen window. In his hand, he clutched a battered teleslate, hastily repaired by the looks of it. He had coded and spoken directly into the game's microphone, broadcasting through the very program he'd just installed.

As Mydeimos stood frozen, paralyzed by shock, the man offered a tender smile, his lips murmuring a final phrase into the mic.

"I love you. Always and forever."

-

It's a long tale.

Kevin Kaslana had truly died—once, and for all eternity.

In another time, as the executor of Project STIGMA, as a hollow man clinging to a distant, faded past, he would have seen death as a sublime gift, embracing it with a weightless heart.

But in Amphoreus, as his final breath slipped away, he realized how fiercely he yearned to live.

It was akin to a soul poised on the edge of self-destruction, standing atop a towering skyscraper, only to confront their own cowardice when gazing at the abyss below.

In the end, every soul carries a star in their eyes, harboring emotions as unique as their own existence. Likewise, each holds a crystalline ocean within, aching for someone etched into their mind.

When the frigid depths finally swallowed the bird whose wings had been clipped, the sun's radiant warmth began to wane. The Kaslana sank, and sank, his gaze lingering on the dimming blue above, slowly devoured by encroaching darkness.

He closed his eyes.

He thought of him.

Was this a death that could satisfy him?

In truth, he was unwilling. He longed to stay with them, to share countless moments, to chase the desires that were his own.

Yes, his desires—not the needs of humanity, nor the duties he was bound to fulfill.

But it was far too late.

Even in death, fate tormented him to the very end, much as it had crushed his hopes in the era before. The irony was almost cruel—

"Kevin."

A feminine voice pierced the silence.

The Kaslana kept his eyes shut, idly wondering what manner of reaper had come to guide him this time. If such beings existed, perhaps the afterlife did too. Perhaps, at last, he would reunite with old friends.

It should've been the end.

"Mou, Kevin, you're so stubborn. Come on, open your eyes already."

Those initial two syllables hadn't been enough for Kevin to place the voice, but a full sentence? That was unmistakable. The sing-song cadence, at once vibrant and cherished by all who knew it…

So, the first soul he'd meet again was hers.

He felt two hands cupping his cheeks, their warmth grounding him as they sank deeper into the abyss of the Sea of Souls. The pink-haired girl flashed a radiant smile, her aquamarine eyes finally meeting his.

"Elysia."

The one who loved humanity with every fiber of her being.

Her pale pink hair, tied into a long ponytail, was adorned with a large clip bearing a sea-blue gem. Those matching pupils, subtly pointed, still bore the telltale marks of the MANTIS experiments. She wore the same familiar outfit from her days with the Flame-Chasers, unchanged by time.

"Finally reunited, huh, old comrade?"

In the past, Kevin might have merely grunted an "Mm" and fallen silent. Their dynamic had always been one of her endless chatter and his quiet attentiveness. But it had been so long since he'd seen this soul, lost too soon.

"Yeah. It's good to see you, Elysia."

Elysia's heart swelled at the Hero of Humanity's genuine response. Before she could tease him about this newfound openness, he pressed on with a question.

"So… where are the others?"

The query sank into a heavy silence.

The pink-haired girl tapped his forehead lightly, almost chidingly.

"Kevin, you know the answer. There's no 'other side' for us."

Instead of shock or despair, he felt only… acceptance. He had once dreamed of a realm where he could reunite with the fallen, but its impossibility was a truth he'd long understood. The fantasy was just that—unreal.

Kevin let out a quiet sigh.

So, it seemed he would dissolve, like a mermaid fading into seafoam. Every trace of his existence in the mortal world would be erased.

The realization tightened his chest, a quiet ache that refused to relent. The image of a certain demigod consumed his thoughts—sunset-hued hair adorned with a delicate braid, amber eyes that burned with fierce vitality.

He missed Mydeimos with a ferocity that bordered on agony.

"Well, now… do you truly wish to live?" Elysia's voice carried a playful lilt. "What am I even saying? If you didn't yearn for it, I wouldn't be here, would I?"

Her words, as always, were laced with cryptic undertones. Only now did Kevin register the paradox: she stood before him, despite her own admission that death offered no reunion with others. The fact that he still lingered, submerged in the enigmatic depths of this vast, otherworldly ocean, was an anomaly in itself.

"What do you mean? And why are you here?"

Why hadn't Kevin Kaslana dissolved into nothingness?

Elysia's smile returned, radiant and unforgettable.

"I'm merely a lingering will, a fragment of the Herrscher of Human. This is a message from a distant past—a gift I left for you."

Without warning, the effervescent Miss Pink Elf seized Kevin's wrist with surprising strength. They were no longer sinking; instead, she pulled him upward, toward the faint glimmer of sunlight piercing the abyss.

"Elysia—"

"Remember when we danced at the Final Banquet?"

"Yes."

Defying the boundaries of life and death, shattering every limit, Elysia guided him toward the light.

"I chose to fade away then, to kindle hope for humanity. You remember, don't you?"

If Kevin Kaslana claimed he didn't, it would be the most egregious lie he'd ever told.

"…"

Even trapped within the Quantum Sea, he had witnessed countless cycles of the Previous Era replaying in endless loops. Elysia's sacrifice was no exception—he had been there, a silent observer to her final act. Yet, try as he might, he could not recall receiving any 'message' or 'gift' from her.

"Back then, I didn't have to die," she continued. "That was a choice I made willingly, not one dictated by the laws of life and death."

At this moment, the white-haired man's eyes widened in pure surprise. His hand instinctively tightened around the pink-haired girl's hand.

"Elysia, please, be serious. There's no way you could have done something like that."

She laughed aloud, her tone brimming with pride.

"Oh, but I did. I had no idea what to do with the 'excess life' I had. So, I decided to give it to you, Kevin."

He was left utterly speechless.

The first breath of air returned to him.

The air around him began to warm up.

"But I'd never force a gift on someone who didn't want it. It would only unwrap itself when you truly desired it."

Before Kevin Kaslana could fully grasp it, he was no longer submerged. He found himself seated on a stretch of dull gray sand, beneath a sky draped in eternal night, speckled with twinkling stars. The pink-haired woman knelt beside him, her gaze tender as she reaffirmed the truth.

"That moment is now."

He had yearned to live. And so, Elysia's gift had unfurled.

The Kaslana could scarcely fathom that such a monumental secret had been woven into the fabric of existence fifty thousand years ago. When he had died on the Moon, Elysia's will hadn't appeared—because, back then, he had no desire to cling to life.

Now, things were different.

He had a reason to endure.

Yet her act of sacrifice baffled him, defying comprehension.

"…You shouldn't have done it. Someone else deserved that gift more than I did."

Elysia pouted, hugging her knees as she sat on the gray sand, her fingers lightly digging into the long black stockings she wore.

"You're making me sad now~ I wanted to give it to you. I chose to give it to you."

She paused, then continued.

"My dear Hero of Humanity, you've fought for far too long. It's time for you to rest. But your place isn't in the afterlife."

She declared, "You deserve this."

With those words, Elysia's will began to fade. She let out a soft gasp, glancing at her own hands.

"Looks like my time's almost up. Such a shame—I was hoping to meet your wife, too."

Kevin flushed slightly, though this time he didn't shy away from her gaze. He muttered under his breath, 'Wife, really…?' But in truth, the term held an undeniable charm.

"You're leaving already?"

"Yep. Stay strong and live well, Kevin. I hope your story ends the way you've always dreamed!"

"Elysia—"

"Oh, one more thing! If you want to win over your beloved, you'll need to thicken that skin of yours. Sincere advice, promise!"

Elysia's will was dissolving rapidly now. Despite all of that, they still had just enough time for a final farewell. The former hero, keenly aware of her fading presence, betrayed a rare trace of urgency.

"Alright. Thank you, truly, for everything you've done, and…"
He cleared his throat.

"…until we meet again."

The Herrscher of Human beamed, her smile radiant. Before vanishing entirely, she managed a playful wink, her parting words carrying equal weight.

"Until we meet again, Hero of Humanity."

-

From that moment onward, Kevin Kaslana defied the currents of the River of Souls, clawing his way back to the mortal realm.

His first task was to devise a way to reveal himself after having died—quite publicly—before the Chrysos Heirs.

"That's the whole story."

The first two souls he encountered upon his return were, predictably, them. At first, they mistook him for an impostor or a doppelgänger. It had taken no small amount of explaining to reach this point.

And, well… Kevin found himself in a rather precarious situation.

"I'm sorry, Mydeimos."

Kevin Kaslana—once hailed as Deliverance, Father to the Kaslanas, Hero of the Previous Era, Sire of the World Serpent, Enforcer of Project STIGMA…

But now, standing before Mydeimos, he was merely a forlorn, fluffy white Samoyed, freshly returned from being lost and thoroughly deserving of a scolding.

"You."

The pitiful oversized pup raised its bright blue eyes to meet the face of his upset, beautiful little orange cat, who was clearly not pleased.

"I should punch you. Hard."

That insufferable white-haired man recalled one of Miss Pink Elf's pearls of wisdom: thicken your skin. So, without hesitation, the Kaslana stepped closer, practically offering his face for the blow.

"…"

He bowed his head, staring at the floor as if it held the secrets of the universe, looking utterly pathetic—a mirror image of Phainon in his most woebegone moments.

Speaking of Phainon, the man was currently cracking his knuckles, a dazzlingly bright smile plastered across his face.

"Kaslana, if Mydei doesn't hit you, mind if I take a swing?"

The piercing blue eyes of both white-haired men locked in a charged stare. To Phainon, this was the one who'd beaten them black and blue, who'd left the prince of Kremnos weeping on the battlefield. Unforgivable.

"That's… not advisable."

This life was one he'd fought tooth and nail to reclaim. But the seething man before him looked ready to end it all over again. No way—he still had plans to travel with his beloved.

"Either way, I'm itching for round two."

"Oh, I'm right here."

Before Kevin Kaslana and Phainon of Aedes Elysiae could descend into a full-blown brawl in the kitchen, they froze mid-motion. Strangely, no one had shouted for them to stop, yet they did. Peculiar, wasn't it? This was the moment for someone to yank them apart and give them a proper scolding.

But when their gazes landed on Mydeimos, furiously rubbing at his eyes, their resolve crumbled like sand.

In an instant, the two Samoyed-coded men called a truce, rushing to fawn over their beloved.

"Mydei?"

"Mydeimos, are you alright?"

The prince of Kremnos swiped at the corners of his eyes.

"Back off. It's just dust."

Oh, the oldest lie in the book of romantic tales.

Their darling was crying.

Kevin Kaslana, awash with remorse, knelt swiftly, pressing gentle kisses to the damp edges of Mydei's eyes. Meanwhile, Phainon enveloped their cherished one from behind, his hands tracing soothing patterns as if to hush the storm within.

Brawling could wait—their wife came first.

Mydei only sniffled a little, truly. The Kaslana's return had detonated like an atomic bomb in his heart. He'd believed the deaths he'd endured for this man, the desperate attempts to rouse him, had all been for naught when that fool had finally slipped away.

That loss had tormented the prince for far too long. His mind had been clouded by the event, his appetite and sleep forsaken. He'd even ventured into the nether world in search of the Kaslana. Guilt gnawed at him, for neglecting himself felt like betraying the hopes Kevin had entrusted to him before his death.

Now, the former hero stood before him once more.

It was all too much, a tidal wave of emotion threatening to break.

Of course, he didn't dissolve into melodramatic tears like some lovesick maiden—just a glimmer at the corners of his eyes before he snapped back to his usual urge to lecture Kevin for an entire day.

Phainon tugged Mydei back possessively, shooting a glare at the man before them.

"This is all your fault."

The Kaslana didn't back down. He knew he had to thicken his skin to stand a chance against Phainon. Like the soft paw of a puppy, he gently enveloped Mydei's hand.

"I know I messed up. Can you… 'adopt' me again?"

The Hero of Humanity pressed on, his tone earnest.

"I promise I'll behave."

Mydeimos gaped at the usually stoic man who'd just tossed his dignity out the window. Phainon slapped a hand over their clasped ones.

"No way. Mydei's got me already—forget this guy! I'm not done with him yet!"

"Mydeimos—"

In the end, both men earned a sharp rap on the head and a thorough scolding. Well, this scene had probably played out a hundred times before.

Kevin half-expected he'd get no answer today, that he'd have to chase his beloved for days to come. But, to his surprise, the opposite unfolded. As he rubbed his poor, aching head, his Mydeimos spoke.

"Anyway… welcome back, Kevin Kaslana."

The prince stood resplendent, his attire sharp and breezy, exuding the indomitable spirit of a warrior. His face was a vision of beauty, framed by sunset-hued hair and striking amber eyes that gleamed like molten gold. Before Kevin, the vibrant red of Mydei bloomed like a radiant flower in full splendor.

That was an unspoken acceptance.

He couldn't recall how overjoyed he felt at that moment.

Perhaps his claim of favoring vermilion red wasn't entirely a lie.

He offered a rare, gentle smile and stepped forward.

For he knew, at last, he had come home.

-

His return sent shockwaves through their world.

To put it mildly, Aglaea, rather than dragging Kevin Kaslana into the Vortex of Genesis for yet another trial, opted for clemency after hearing the full tale. Instead, she insisted he join the Flame-Chase journey of the Chrysos Heirs. More perilous events loomed on the horizon, and the battle against the Kaslana that day could be reframed as securing a formidable ally.

Anaxagoras was, well, disappointed that the white-haired man hadn't stayed dead—ahem, no, not really. At the very least, the Kaslana's body was intact, and that was a relief. Still, he vehemently protested being force-fed the trio's relentless displays of affection as if it were a daily meal.

Hyacine, ever pragmatic, demanded Kevin undergo a thorough health check the moment she processed the news. The adorable Tribios trio, predictably, reacted with unbridled enthusiasm—being around Kevin was refreshingly cool, and they adored it. As for Castorice, she gained a new introverted confidant to share quiet conversations with—not a bad deal, was it?

A new world, new bonds—Kevin was navigating uncharted territory.

Phainon and Kevin Kaslana's relationship was a labyrinth of complexity. They could be steadfast brothers, loyal comrades, or the best of friends—yet when it came to their lion-hearted prince, they morphed into fierce rivals vying for his favor.

Mydeimos often found himself enduring their endless antics or the chaos they wrought (not to mention their overwhelming, almost suffocating gestures of care and tenderness). But, in truth, he found it… acceptable. Honestly, those two could hardly go a few minutes without demanding hugs or kisses, and every so often they'd pin him to the bed, wanting—well, never mind that.

This lion could also be an oversized cat, cradled by two even larger, fluffy white pups.

The cat let out a weary sigh, its amber eyes drifting shut as it basked in the warmth of thick, snowy fur. The first pup's nose nuzzled into the crook of its neck. The second rested its chin atop its head. The cat, now nestled as if in a grand, protective den, felt utterly secure.

With lungs filled to bursting with a love so fierce, they could finally breathe again.

In the end, all was well.

Chapter Text

"…Fine."

And with that single word, he sealed his fate.

Mydeimos felt as though his entire being was laid bare under the piercing gazes of these two...hounds. A shiver of unease rippled through him, electrifying his nerves.

His sunset-hued hair spilled across the pristine white pillow, clothes disheveled, his body radiating a feverish heat that flushed his cheeks a subtle crimson. To put it crudely, the prince now resembled nothing less than a delectable dish, meticulously plated and ready to be savored.

His mind grew hazy, thoughts tangling into a chaotic blur.

He had truly allowed this madness to unfold, and now there was no escape.

Phainon didn’t smile—a dangerous omen in itself. His dark hood had fallen back, revealing snow-white hair and eyes blazing with a ravenous, almost primal hunger. With deliberate slowness, his clawed fingers began to peel away Mydeimos’ clothing, piece by tantalizing piece. The heat of Phainon’s touch stood in stark contrast to the icy chill emanating from Kevin Kaslana, who held Mydeimos in his unrelenting embrace. The former hero’s scaled, clawed hand tugged his undershirt aside, exposing a tantalizing glimpse of the prince’s guarded flesh.

Their movements were agonizingly slow, deliberate to the point of terror.

To truly savor a succulent prize, haste was the enemy.

Only when Phainon stripped away the last remaining piece that shielded Mydei’s modesty did the prince truly grasp how utterly exposed he now was.

He’d never minded revealing clothing. In fact, he was quite used to it.

But this… this was something entirely different.

Two pairs of piercing blue eyes—sharp as blades—fixed on him with the kind of attention that left no doubt: he was prey.

There were countless reasons why the Deliverer harbored such a peculiar fascination with the prince of Kremnos’ body. Mydeimos’ physique was a masterpiece, chiseled as if by a divine sculptor. They couldn’t fathom what had possessed him to etch those crimson tattoos across his skin. The intricate lines traced the contours of his muscles, blooming across his chest and converging just below his navel. Unwittingly, they rendered him utterly appetizing.

Phainon swallowed hard.

Yes. Scrumptious was the word.

“...Just do whatever you’re going to do already. Finish up so I can get some sleep.”

Mydei muttered, his voice laced with a mix of resignation and defiance. He had no choice but to offer himself up, though in his naivety, he believed sleep was still within reach.

He had no idea that even the chance to crawl out of bed the next day was a luxury he wouldn’t be afforded.

Before he could dwell on the oddly suggestive words he’d just uttered, something hard and imposing pressed against him from below. Still trapped in Kevin Kaslana’s embrace, he shifted slightly, his bare thighs brushing against it.

Kevin's breath hitched, a heavy exhale, and he suddenly realized what it was.

That snow-haired bastard was hard.

And—hell—it was huge.

“Phainon.”

The Kaslana’s voice nearly made him jump. It was far deeper than usual—resonant, guttural. There was something distinctly inhuman in the way he said that name. For a moment, Mydei questioned whether letting these two have their way was a wise decision at all.

“Alright, alright.”

Phainon let out a sigh, though it was laced with clear excitement.

Without warning, he leaned down, his lips closing around Mydeimos’ own straining arousal.

“Hng—”

Of course, this wasn’t the first time the Deliverer had done such things to him. But this time, it was different. It had been far too long since they last made love, and the anticipation only heightened the prince’s sensitivity to a maddening degree.

Phainon’s tongue was large. Too large.

Longer than it ever should’ve been.

Mydei cursed that damned alternate form of his. If only he could turn back time, he would’ve slapped the fool’s hand away from that cursed Tome of Miracles. Who would’ve thought that behind that pristine, snow-white exterior—so deceptively harmless, like a fluffy Samoyed—he was hiding something that looked like it had crawled straight out of the Black Tide?

The Deliverer's inhuman tongue coiled itself around Mydei’s cock, the wet heat of it swallowing him down before giving a sudden, deliberate suck that made the prince cry out. He arched instinctively, his back brushing against the rock-solid chest of the man still cradling him from behind. Kephale above—he might actually climax from nothing but that monstrous mouth—

Then coldness wrapped around his chest like a freezing vice.

His eyes flew open.

He flinched.

Sure, he’d grown accustomed—somehow—to Kevin’s sub-zero body temperature. But this? This, in the middle of such a compromising moment, was too much.

That clawed, massive hand kneaded his pecs, fingers brazenly pinching the hardened peaks between thumb and forefinger, teasing them mercilessly. The cold was so intense it set his entire body ablaze. For reasons unknown, that part of Mydeimos had always been exquisitely sensitive to another’s touch.

“Kaslana… ugh!”

The bastard paid no heed to his protests, feigning deafness as he continued to torment the prince’s sculpted chest. Meanwhile, Phainon claimed dominion over his lower half. A sudden, strange heat grazed Mydeimos’ sensitive underside. The thick, clawed fingers of the man still devouring his cock parted his cheeks, brushing against his tight entrance.

Mydei squeezed his eyes shut, his back arching instinctively.

Phainon’s fingers were larger than usual in this form.

“Relax,” The Kaslana’s voice murmured evenly against Mydeimos’ ear, his icy breath tangible.

Two fingers from the former hero glided over the prince’s taut abdomen, lingering just below his navel. The frigid touch sent a numbing shiver through him. Before Mydei could adjust to the sensation, Phainon’s single finger breached his tight, unyielding passage.

“Hah—!” He climaxed at that very moment. His hot release flooded into the Deliverer’s throat, and, naturally, Phainon swallowed every drop.
Only then did Phainon lift his head, that solitary finger still buried inside Mydeimos’ tight heat curling to graze his most sensitive spot.

No, everything felt sensitive now.

The prince of Castrum Kremnos’ face burned crimson.

He had just come from a mere blowjob, a bit of teasing, and a single finger. One. He wasn’t even properly stretched yet.

How utterly humiliating. He was done for.

Phainon’s lips curled into a wicked smirk.

“Came so soon? Didn’t expect that,” he teased.

“Shut up,” Mydei snapped, embarrassed, biting back.

But to the insufferable Deliverer, the retort was nothing short of endearing. Without warning, Phainon slipped a second finger inside. The lack of preamble made Mydei flinch, his lips clamping shut to stifle a cry. The sudden stretch burned, a mix of pain and an intoxicating, unfamiliar pleasure that left him gasping.

That was, until Kevin leaned down, his lips capturing Mydeimos’ in a searing kiss, his tongue gently prying the prince’s lips apart.
One of the white-haired's hands slid beneath the narrow space between his beloved's back and the bed, stroking downward with agonizing slowness.

Letting that tongue invade his mouth was a catastrophic mistake.

Mydeimos nearly choked.

The Kaslana's tongue was far more draconic than he’d anticipated—wet, thick, and capable of reaching the back of his throat. He couldn’t breathe, reduced to helpless moans as the man’s touch inadvertently pressed against a weak spot along his spine. He tried to suppress any overt reaction, but it was clear Kevin had already caught the signal.

Those aquamarine eyes, blazing with unyielding intensity, never wavered as they locked onto his lover’s face while their tongues danced in a fervent, consuming tangle.

The tenth vertebra. That seemed to be the spot—his darling's weakness.

Kevin traced over it, pressing down ever so slightly to feel the subtle ridge of bone beneath soft, flushed skin, rewarded instantly by a moan so sweet it curled the heat low in his belly.

Meanwhile, Phainon had deftly worked three fingers into the prince’s tight entrance. Though those slick, heated walls enveloped his fingers with obedient compliance, a flicker of envy sparked within him.

He, too, yearned to claim Mydei's lips.

Like a neglected pup, Phainon resigned himself to cradling the prince’s thigh with one hand while the other continued its relentless task. Unable to resist, he leaned down, sinking his teeth into the tender flesh. The crowned prince, desperate to cry out, was silenced by the lips still plundering his own.

The marks they left would fade by morning, courtesy of Mydei's immortal constitution. Yet, to Phainon’s eyes, the sight of the prince’s skin adorned with crimson imprints was nothing short of breathtaking.

When that endless kiss finally broke, he was left gasping, his lips swollen and faintly pale from the cold.

“Uncomfortable? My apologies, love,”

Perhaps he felt a flicker of guilt—for once. He placed another kiss on those abused lips, chaste and featherlight, as if trying to make amends. He was holding back. They both were.

At least until now.

Because for all their restraint, both monstrous men had been patiently preparing their prince.

But now? That patience shattered like brittle glass.

Kevin sank his teeth into Mydei’s neck again, and the tail that had been curled lazily around the prince’s waist suddenly flipped, forcefully pulling him down against the mattress. In one swift motion, he was repositioned—face down, ass in the air, exposed and defenseless.

Before he could recover, Phainon’s hand pushed his head down into the sheets.

His fingers withdrew from the prince’s entrance, leaving behind a raw, aching emptiness.

But that void wouldn’t last long.

The silence that followed was long. Too long. Mydei squirmed in frustration.

“The hell are you waiting for, Deliverer? Do it. I’m not some delicate flower.”

He wasn’t sure if provoking the white-haired beast was a good idea—although to be fair, it had worked for him before.

And then, someone’s thread of restraint snapped. With a sound like tearing fabric, something searing and impossibly large brushed against Mydeimos’ meticulously prepared entrance.

It was… massive, ridged with veins.

This was not Phainon’s usual size. Did shifting forms enhance that too? What kind of logic was this?

The prince’s eyes widened.

Regret for his earlier words began to creep in.

It wouldn’t fit. It would tear him.

“Wait—!”

Phainon wasn’t listening.

Gripping the prince's hips with bruising force, he yanked the prince back. Mydei gasped, panting heavily, his hands scrambling for purchase—sheets, pillows, anything—but it was too late. In one decisive thrust, Phainon buried himself to the hilt. Sometimes, a bold, all-in plunge could make the pain more bearable, couldn’t it?

“Phai…non…”

The initial breach was agonizing.

Mydeimos could feel a bulge forming in his abdomen, a testament to the sheer, unyielding size of Phainon’s altered cock. A scream caught in his throat, emerging as a sultry, feline purr. His back arched as the man behind him filled him completely, stretching his poor entrance to its limits.

Tears of exertion welled in his eyes, soaking into the sheets.

“Mydei, I love you,” Phainon murmured, his voice a low, reverent whisper. During sex, he often rambled sweet nothings, endearing until the other realized how feral he became in bed.

Phainon began to thrust deeply, his tip seeking out Mydei's prostate with precision. He pressed his chest against the prince’s back, one hand pinning both of Mydei's wrists above his head while his hips worked relentlessly. The man beneath him let out broken moans, fragments of words like “More-” spilling from his lips.

“I adore you so much, my prince...”

The said prince's back quivered uncontrollably, his teeth sinking into the sheets to muffle the lascivious moans threatening to spill from his lips. In some twisted stroke of fortune, Phainon’s current state was far from lucid. If he were fully aware, he’d likely have pried Mydei's mouth open by now, forcing those wanton sounds out for his own delight.

“Mydei, Mydei…”

Phainon chanted his name like a sacred litany, a fervent benediction.

His hands gripped the prince’s waist with bruising intensity, certain to leave behind a constellation of purple and crimson marks. The hand that had pinned his head to the bed shifted, fingers hooking into the black choker encircling his throat.

Only then did the prince of Kremnos remember—he had been marked, claimed by these two ravenous beasts before their wild heat even began. The collar. The matching thigh harnesses.

The realization made his head spin.

He took it as an ill omen, and instinctively, he clenched tighter—unwittingly driving the Deliverer to the brink of ecstasy.

“Don’t—!”

Phainon thrust harder.

Mydei cried out, his voice a sharp, shattered whimper. The angle of each thrust was nothing short of merciless, each one crushing his prostate and drowning the prince in relentless waves of pleasure that eclipsed the initial pain.

He climaxed again, his second release before Phainon’s.

The white-haired man’s thick length, still buried deep in the prince's molten heat, stilled for a moment—an ominous pause. It was followed by a barrage of relentless thrusts as the Deliverer chased his own release.

And all Mydei could do was mewl like a heat-stricken cat, soft cries tumbling uncontrollably from his lips.

“…Mydei… can I—inside you?”

Phainon’s voice was low, husky, nothing like his usual bright, teasing tone. The blue-eyed wolf gazed hungrily at the prince’s sculpted back, admiring the red tattoos that ran along his spine. He leaned down, teeth grazing the vertebrae, biting where he pleased—each nip sending tremors down the prince’s shuddering frame.
Mydei gave a weak nod, barely enough to register—but it was all the permission Phainon needed.

And finally—finally—the Deliverer came inside.

A thick rush of seed flooded Mydei’s insides, hot and unforgiving. He gasped, twitching beneath the weight of it all, his cheek pressed into the soaked sheets, lips parted in a daze as he struggled to catch his breath. His body spasmed faintly as Phainon emptied every last drop into him.

The Deliverer leaned in, nuzzling against his cheek like a massive Samoyed, all faux innocence. He pulled out slowly, and warm cum began to drip lazily from Mydei’s stretched hole, trailing down his thighs.

Then Phainon collapsed beside him, wrapping an arm around the prince’s waist as if it weren’t enough—would never be enough.

That much? Mydei thought, utterly exhausted.

A nagging feeling tugged at him, as if he’d forgotten something crucial.

In his haze of disorientation, another presence flipped him onto his back. His spine met the damp sheets, his glassy eyes staring upward.

“Planning to forget about me, love?”

That frigid, resonant voice snapped him back to reality.

Right. He had two Samoyeds—not one.

And a good owner always made sure to treat both equally, didn’t they?

His body was far too sensitive. Too raw. He couldn't—

Unlike Phainon, Kevin Kaslana had restraint. He had waited, watching from the shadows, letting the other ‘Deliverer’ have his fill before stepping forward to claim his share of the sweetness that was their prince.

“Kaslana, I—”

Whatever excuse he had died the moment Kevin leaned in and kissed him—tender, affectionate… but far from harmless. Because below, the man was already moving with intention.

He lifted one of Mydei’s legs, resting it on his shoulder, that sculpted, battle-hardened frame looming over him like a white wolf sizing up a helpless lion cub.

And those piercing aquamarine eyes?

They promised ruin.

Before he even realized it, the second round had already begun.

So this is it, Mydei thought. No sleep tonight. No walking tomorrow.

The frigid touch against the tender flesh of his inner thighs made him wince. In his Diabolic form, Kevin Kaslana was scarcely distinguishable from a dragon—complete with twin horns, a single wing, and a sinuous tail. Mydeimos felt as though he could be devoured whole. Terrifyingly, even in this heated moment, his stoic expression barely wavered, save for the predatory hunger smoldering in the depths of his eyes.

There was no denying it: the normally austere former hero was ravenous.

He lifted Mydeimos’ hips with a gentleness that belied the feral desire burning in his gaze. With a deft claw, Kevin sliced through the fabric concealing the monstrous, straining beast beneath his bandages. As it sprang free, the prince felt a jolt of visceral danger.

“Kaslana.”

A futile warning, his voice trembling.

Moments ago, pinned beneath Phainon, he hadn’t glimpsed the full spectacle of a cock belonging to a being in such an inhuman state. And now, here it was—the endowment of Project CHIMERA’s sole success, CM-001, in his Diabolic glory.

“Shh.”

The Kaslana leaned down, pressing a tender kiss to Mydeimos’ forehead, guiding the prince’s arms to loop around his neck.

His hips surged forward, and the delectable “Ah—! Ah—!” spilled from his beloved, a symphony to his ears. The prince’s slick, abused entrance, already stretched and filled by Phainon’s release, yielded with little resistance to the Kaslana's icy, massive length.

Mydei felt impossibly full, his abdomen distending under the pressure.

More than that, he felt a maddening cold.

Never had he imagined something so frigid could plunge so deeply into his molten core.

“You’re still so beautiful,” The former hero murmured.

Each thrust was deliberate, powerful, striking Mydeimos’ prostate with precision. Yet, they were agonizingly slow, as if Kevin intended for the prince to feel every inch of him.

“Hng—!”

His long tongue lapped at the tears of exertion streaming from Mydeimos’ eyes. He felt a pang of sympathy, surprised at his own restraint.

“So cold…” Mydei whimpered.

“Mhm.”

He made love to his beloved.

The prince’s eyes fluttered shut, his head turning to the side as he clung to Kevin’s neck. Beneath, his abused hole continued to swallow thrust after thrust from the Deliverer. The Kaslana's massive wing draped over him protectively, while his long, serpentine tail curled possessively around the prince’s bruised waist.

His fingers clawed at the Hero of Humanity’s back, his body jolting with each powerful thrust. The cold within him was strange but not unpleasant—thrilling, even.

The tip of Kevin’s tail teased Mydei's swollen nipple. His lips trailed down the prince’s neck, moving to the opposite nipple, latching on with calculated gentleness. His tongue toyed with the hardened bud, suckling just once—and Mydei gasped, new scratches blooming across the Kaslana's back as the pleasure spiked.

He was being fucked hard from below, and bitten above. His senses were drowning.

Overstimulated.

Instinctively, his hand grazed the lone star on the former hero's forehead, tracing up to one of his horns, eliciting a low, rumbling growl.

“You’re such a tease…”

A particularly brutal thrust followed—so deep that for a second, Mydei swore he saw stars.

He didn’t know what this feeling was—ecstasy, pain, fear—all bleeding together. His hand drifted down, brushing the bulge pressing up under the skin of his own stomach. He rubbed it gently, like a cat content with a belly full of cream.

That one simple gesture was enough to send Kevin over the edge.

“Together, love.”

And they climaxed as one.

Mydeimos’ eyes rolled back, lost in a haze of overwhelmed sensation.

His abdomen swelled, distended by the sheer volume of inhuman seed flooding his insides. Kevin Kaslana flipped his beloved, withdrawing his cock from the prince’s thoroughly ravaged entrance—now stretched and gaping—and settled Mydei atop his lap, the prince’s back pressed flush against his chest.

Phainon, who had been sulking as he watched his beloved be claimed by his second ‘husband,’ reentered the fray.

“Hey...Mydei. If you could get pregnant, you’d already be carrying our child.”

He smirked as he used the thick, viscous semen pooled on the prince’s belly to draw a symbol—that symbol, the one that always burned at the center of his own gaze. He traced it right where a womb might have been, had he been born a woman.

The prince buried his face into the crook of Kevin’s neck, body trembling, flushed from head to toe. No, he couldn’t bear children… but the thought—the image of his body seeded by both of these white-haired monsters, filled to the brim with their unrelenting lust—sent a shudder of forbidden arousal down his spine.

“HKS, I— I can’t—!”

Even now, there was no reprieve.

The madman Kaslana lifted his hips again, impaling him once more, ravaging his already ruined entrance despite the prince having reached his third climax. His cock hung limp, utterly spent, with nothing left to give.

“Kaslana—Stop—!”

The prince’s plaintive, trembling whimpers—so unlike his usual commanding tone—only spurred the Diabolic Kaslana to harden once more. Damn it all, it had been an eternity since he’d last indulged, and Mydeimos was the only one who could withstand his subzero touch.

His, his, his—

Kevin hoisted Mydeimos’ toned thighs, exposing their joined bodies below.

Phainon closed in, and he instantly knew what was coming. The Deliverer’s veined, monstrous cock—still rigid from its first round buried inside him—loomed ominously.

For the first time, Mydei trembled with genuine fear.

“Hah—Deliverer…?”

Phainon leaned forward, kissing the tear-streaked corner of Mydeimos’ eye, savoring the man they were about to utterly consume. There was a twisted humor in it: the prince of Kremnos, so formidable on the battlefield, reduced to a mewling kitten in their bed, helplessly taking all they gave.

“Don’t worry, Mydei. I know you can handle it.”

The tip of Phainon’s cock nudged against Mydeimos’ already occupied entrance.

“Mydeimos, stop clenching. Trying to snap me in half?” Kevin growled, still cradling his lover, enveloped by those tight, molten walls. The prince’s panic was palpable in the way he gripped him, as if bracing for the inevitable.

“Be good, love. Relax. It’ll be fine,” The Kaslana soothed, nuzzling into Mydeimos’ hair while Phainon peppered kisses across his face, a deliberate distraction.

The prince whimpered. These two lunatics were really going to do it—both at once!

He shook his head frantically. “No, it’ll break me-”

So much for 'there is no such thing as fear in the Kremnoan dictionary.' What a joke. Because the image—being broken by two monstrous cocks at once—was too real, too vivid, too terrifying.

Too arousing.

“You’ll manage. You can,” Phainon declared, his patience fraying.

Inch by torturous inch, he pushed in. Deeper, deeper, until he was fully sheathed. With every movement, Mydei gasped, eyes wide at the impossible fullness in his abdomen. His belly bulged unmistakably, molded to the shape of their cocks.

They were branding him from the inside out.

The Deliverer smirked.

“It’s a bit chilly inside, you know. Your fault, Kaslana.”

“…Deal with it.”

What a breathtaking tableau.

The crowned of Castrum Kremnos, pinned between two towering beasts, was utterly filled by their cocks and their seed. His skin flushed a delicate crimson, his eyes glassy with the euphoria pooling in their depths. The choker from Phainon left faint marks on his throat, while Kevin’s garter hugged one muscular thigh.

He was theirs.

Theirs.

“You take our cocks so well. Feels good, doesn’t it?” Phainon purred.

“Ah—!”

Phainon knew he was wicked for thrusting suddenly without warning.

Kevin was no less cruel, following with a brutal snap of his hips.

They were downright vile for grinding against Mydeimos’ prostate in unison.

“…Slower, please… it’s too much…” Mydei sobbed, tears streaming. Damn it, they’d gone too far. What if their beloved’s eyes swelled from crying? He babbled through the haze of pleasure. If Kevin weren’t holding him so tightly, he’d have collapsed. His hips were impossibly full—those two bastards.

From behind, the Kaslana stroked under his endearing feline’s chin, his draconic tail tightening around Mydeimos’ waist.

“Hold on tight. It’s about to get intense.”

They had no intention of showing mercy.

None whatsoever.

His last memory of that night was being fucked into oblivion, possibly even after slipping into unconsciousness.

By noon, he awoke cocooned between two oversized, fluffy white Samoyeds on the bed, both men having reverted to their human forms.
Recalling the events—not just of last night but well into the early hours—Mydeimos deemed Phainon of Aedes Elysiae and Kevin Kaslana nothing short of beasts, white wolves masquerading as innocent pups.

He wanted to thrash them.

But his body betrayed him; he could barely lift a finger. His hips ached relentlessly, his abdomen heavy with the lingering sensation of their thick release. Trapped in the iron grip of these white-haired fiends, escape was impossible.

He could only lie helplessly in his nest.
He didn’t leave the bed all day.

When Kevin Kaslana and Phainon stirred, they plummeted into panic, devolving from fierce white wolves to oversized, repentant Samoyeds.

They’d gone too far.

Today, they clung to their beloved without pause.

“How do you feel, love? Are you okay?” The Kaslana asked, voice laced with worry.

“My Mydei, forgive me, please~” Phainon whined.

As one sat drying Mydei’s hair after bathing him and the other massaged his feet, the prince of Kremnos could only sigh.

But, honestly, watching his two foolish husbands, brimming with guilt, make amends with heaps of aftercare and affection wasn’t half bad, was it?