Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ride to the precinct was a mix of tension and the lingering intimacy of the morning. Fortunately, they arrived in time without any other mishaps. The two walked into their unit’s floor together, their arrival turning a few heads, but they ignored it and went straight to Aglaea's office.

She was waiting for them. Castorice was seated in one of the chairs. She looked at the arriving two, smiling gently as always.

And, for the first time, Anaxagoras was present in the flesh, not as a hologram. He stood near the window, arms crossed, his physical presence far more intimidating than his on-screen image.

"Good morning, you two." Aglaea said, her tone neutral, giving nothing away about their earlier phone call.

"Good morning." Mydei formally bowed at his seniors.

"Morning, Chief, Castorice," meanwhile Phainon greeted cheerfully, then nodded towards the forensic chief. "Professor Anaxa."

Anaxagoras's eyes narrowed into slits.

"Anaxagoras," he corrected, his voice a low, cold warning.

"Right," Aglaea interjected before Phainon could dig himself a deeper hole. "Let's debrief on yesterday's incident." She gestured for them to sit.

"First, the good news. The three Omegas are safe and secure. It's confirmed they were all abducted and being held at that location. The two who were unregistered and already agreed to enter the system, and we've already arranged for their full Omega Protection Service."

“About the two alphas that Officer Mydei captured,” Castorice continued, “they’re not the masterminds. But based on the ID we pulled and the command traces in their messages, they’re definitely higher up in the organization.”

“Unfortunately,” Anaxagoras added, “both are still unconscious. It might be a while before we get answers from them.”

Mydei shifted slightly. “I need to clarify something. I wasn’t the one who apprehended them.”

Aglaea’s eyes narrowed. “Go on.”

Mydei’s voice was steady. “Flame Reaver appeared. He intervened. Beat the two of them unconscious before leaving the scene.”

That silenced the room for a moment.

“Just like that?” Anaxagoras asked, frowning.

“Just like that,” Mydei said calmly. “He appeared when I was cornered. Handled them like they were nothing, then left.”

Aglaea looked unconvinced. “And he didn’t say why? No demand, no explanation?”

“No.” Mydei shook his head. “I asked him the same. He said they hurt me and he couldn’t allow it. That was all.”

Anaxagoras took a seat, lips pressed thin. “He’s erratic. It’s dangerous that he’s choosing to act like a vigilante.”

Aglaea leaned forward, her gaze intense. "Mydei, are you absolutely certain Flame Reaver wasn't working with those two Alphas?"

"I'm certain, Chief," Mydei replied firmly. "They seemed just as surprised by his presence as I was."

Aglaea sighed, running a hand through her hair. The case was getting more convoluted by the minute.

"Alright. We'll take a note for now. Phainon," she said, turning to him, "I'm officially granting you clearance to access the sealed records regarding your father's case files. Find out what you can about your brother, quietly."

"Roger that."

"Since we have nothing else to work on, I suppose we'll have to do the routine again. For now, this meeting is adjourned."

As everyone began to file out, Mydei touched Phainon’s arm lightly. “Wait for me a bit,” he said, then quickly moved to catch up with Anaxagoras.

“Professor,” he called. Anaxagoras glanced back, one brow raised.

“I’d like a moment, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Anaxagoras said, and together, the two stepped into the nearby reception room, quiet, neutral, bathed in morning light filtering through the blinds.

“What is it?”

Mydei hesitated for a moment before his lips parted, "I have a hypothetical question regarding the fated pair bond. Is it possible for an Omega to be... attracted to a different Alpha, even if a Dominant Alpha is certain that Omega is their fated mate? Dominant Alpha seems to believe the bond is real, but the Omega feels their connection is with someone else?"

Anaxagoras raised his eyebrows. “That’s oddly specific.”

Mydei’s expression didn’t budge.

"Nonetheless, that's an interesting anomaly," he mused. "Pheromonal bonds, especially fated ones, are absolute and reciprocal. I have not encountered a documented case study matching your parameters, but I can help you and look into the theoretical literature if you wish." He then paused, his gaze turning sharp and direct. "But this is no longer a hypothetical, is it? Did Flame Reaver claim you as his fated pair?"

Mydei shifted uncomfortably, giving a small, awkward nod.

"I see," Anaxagoras said, processing this new data point with unnerving calm. "Fate, as a concept, is a bond between two entities. If Officer Phainon also believes you are his fated mate, as his unusually pheromonal reactions would suggest, then one of them must be mistaken. Given that Flame Reaver is a wanted criminal with a potential god complex inherited, the most logical conclusion is that he is the one who is operating under a delusion."

Mydei felt a wave of relief that he heaved a deep sigh. It was a logical, clean explanation that could he easily believed.

But then Anaxagoras added, his tone remained flat, "However. A special case might apply, if you happen to be a Dominant Omega."

"Why?" Mydei asked immediately. "What would that change?"

"My research into the subject is ongoing and mostly theoretical, as the government has made accessing data exceptionally difficult," Anaxagoras stated. "But there is a recurring hypothesis in the suppressed texts. It suggests that a Dominant Omega's pheromones have a naturally potent calming and stabilizing effect on anyone in their proximity, be it another distressed Omega an agitated Alpha. Even the beta, who usually unaffected, can get easily influenced by it, just like how a dominant Alpha could manipulate them. In some texts, it's described almost like a 'universal tranquilliser,' a biological agent of peace, if wielded correctly."

Mydei roughly sighed, brows furrowing. “So you’re saying someone could mistake that effect for fate?”

“Potentially, yes,” Anaxagoras replied. “Especially someone unstable or someone who’s never experienced peace before.”

Anaxagoras watched the play of emotions on Mydei’s face while his own expression remaining impassive.

"Let's continue the hypothetical," he said. "If we assume you are a Dominant Omega, then the situation becomes significantly more complex. Even if Phainon is your true fated mate, theoretically, you would still be the only person capable of exerting any meaningful control over Flame Reaver, unless another Dominant Omega we are unaware of exists." He held up a hand to forestall a question. "Regardless of a fated bond, the theory stated that a Dominant Omega's pheromonal structure can influence a Dominant Alpha to a certain degree."

He paused, a hint of frustration in his tone. "Of course, this theory is still very much up for debate among the few scholars who even have clearance to discuss it. After all, finding a Dominant Omega is said to be thrice as difficult as finding a Dominant Alpha, and they are already considered nearly mythological."

Mydei remained silent. His knuckles were faintly pale from where he clenched them at his sides.

The weight of this new, impossible responsibility seemed to settle on Mydei’s shoulders. He was conflicted, his mind reeling from the possibilities.

Was he fated to Phainon, the man who made him feel safe?

Or was he somehow tethered to Flame Reaver, the monster who wore similar face?

And now, was he also supposed to be some kind of key to controlling him?

Anaxagoras stared at him for a moment, let out a quiet, weary sigh, a rare crack in his logical facade.

“I’m sure you’ve heard about me and Aglaea,” he said. “So I won’t pretend to dance around this. Let me give you the only piece of practical advice I can, based on personal observation."

He stepped forward just slightly. “Fate isn’t something anyone else can define for you. Not Flame Reaver. Not Phainon. Not even me. No test or theory can give you the final answer. Only you, alone, will be able to tell. Who will know who it is when the time comes. And when you do, you’ll feel it, not through logic or pressure or fear, but through realisation in clarity.”

Mydei lifted his eyes at last, the conflict flickering like a storm behind them.

“So take your time,” Anaxagoras said, softer now. “Swallow it all. Sit with it. Because even though they call it 'fate,' it is still something you will need to fully understand, and more importantly, accept, before you can move on to the next phase."

There was a long pause between them.

Mydei processed the heavy advice, his gaze still holding a trace of his inner turmoil. "How was it for you, Professor?" he asked quietly, the question deeply personal. "How were you so sure Chief Aglaea was your fate?"

Anaxagoras turned to look out the window, his posture turned rigid, as if recalling the memory was a clinical dissection of his own past.

"I didn’t believe in fate pairing. Sounded like chemical manipulation dressed in poetic nonsense. A biological anomaly to be studied, perhaps, but not something to be... experienced."

He let out a short, mirthless huff. "I tried to ignore it. And I’ll admit, I was insufferably cold to Aglaea. Probably still am." He shrugged. "Nevertheless, I fought it with every logical fiber of my being. It was a constant battle. Aglaea and I argued about nearly everything. But even when I disagreed with her, I still listened. I’d remember the cadence of her voice. The way she laced logic into instinct. The way she didn’t flinch in a room full of egos.”

Anaxagoras took a soft breath, a thin smile danced on his usually stern visage.

"Since the day we met, she was always present, in my mind. An unwelcome variable. I could find her in a sea of people just by turning my head. I could sense her presence in a room before I even saw her. Her voice would carry in my mind even hours after she left the room. And the strange part was...” He paused. “It felt like we had shared something before, even though I’m not one to entertain past life fantasies. But her mannerisms, her way of thinking, even her habits... Those were things I understood on a level that made no sense. The familiarity was infuriating." He shook his head. "These were all illogical sensations, so I tried to push them away with logic, with distance, with professional antagonism."

"I, see." Mydei clutched his own chest without realising. "What made you stop fighting?"

"A near-death experience," Anaxagoras said, his voice was devoid of any dramatic flair. "Death always has a way of clarifying one's priorities. We were on a huge case, the 'Alchemist' poisonings. A serial killer was using a complex, delayed-action neurotoxin. I was performing a solo analysis late one night in my secured lab on a piece of evidence the killer had left behind. It was a trap. I triggered a secondary compound hidden within the sample, a fast-acting variant of the same poison. The lab went into immediate lockdown, communications jammed. I had maybe five minutes of coherent thought left."

He fell silent for a moment, lost in the memory. "In that sealed room, with my own death a statistical certainty, my life didn't flash before my eyes. My work didn't. All my theories, all my logic... it all faded into meaningless noise." His gaze softened, losing its sharp edge.

"What I thought of was Aglaea. Her stubbornness. Her infuriating belief in the 'human element.' Her strength. I thought about how much I actually, truly respected her, even when I was arguing with her. I realized that my hostility wasn't intellectual superiority. It was a clumsy, pathetic defense mechanism." He let out a quiet sigh.

"I remembered the exact rhythm of her footsteps in the hall. How I knew what mood she was in by the way she sipped her coffee. I thought about her snide remarks. Her leadership. Her scent, of all things. I thought of all the things I didn’t say. All the ways I respected her and maybe adored her, though I didn’t dare admit it at the time.”

Anaxagoras turned back to Mydei. "That’s when I realized. If I was dying, and the last thought I had was her... then maybe fate isn’t just about biology.”

He looked down, flexing his hand once.

“Maybe it’s about who your soul chooses to reminiscent, when everything else is stripped away.”

Anaxagoras’s voice dipped, thoughtful, like he was still somewhere in that past.

“And you know, she came to get me.”

Mydei raised his eyebrows. “Chief Aglaea?”

Anaxagoras nodded. "She didn't wait for clearance or for a hazmat team to deem the area safe. I heard her voice first. Yelling through the comms. Telling me to hold on.” A flicker of something rare, something reverent, touched Anaxagoras's eyes.

"I found out later she broke three departmental protocols and directly countermanded a superior's order to stand down, all to override the lab's lockdown. She’s the last person I ever imagined breaking rules. You know what she’s like, procedure first, emotion compartmentalized. But that day, she tossed it all aside. Got herself suspended for it, too.”

He paused again, his sigh sounded heavier.

“She stayed. The whole time I was under observation. Didn’t leave my bedside once. Brought her tablet, tried to work, but her hands were shaking. She didn’t cry. Of course she didn’t.” His voice softened with a chuckle. “But her jaw clenched the way it does when she’s trying not to lose control. Her eyes...”

He looked away past the window, almost as if trying to relive the moment.

“That’s when I really looked at her. I’d seen her every day, heard her every week, argued with her every assignment. But I’d never really seen her. Not until then.”

He exhaled, barely a sound.

“The woman I had always perceived as so unmoving, almost heartless in her pragmatism, she looked so incredibly soft. Vulnerable. There was a tension in her shoulders, a haunted look in her eyes that told me she was about to lose something she couldn't bear to part with. Like she was seconds away from breaking if I didn’t open my eyes.”

He gave the ghost of a smile, a small lift of the lips.

"And that," he concluded, finally turning his gaze from the window to meet Mydei’s, "was when I chose to give in. Not because fate had dealt me a hand I couldn't refuse. Not because I was drowning in pheromones or some inescapable biological urge. No." His expression was clear and his logic, for once, directed at an emotion. "I was fully sane. My system was clean of any toxins. And in that state of absolute clarity, I looked at her, and I thought I want to be with her. I want to keep her safe so I never have to see that look of fear on her face again. It was a choice. My choice."

A rare, small smile touched Mydei’s lips. The story, so intensely personal, had given him a new, clearer perspective.

"Thank you, Professor," he said, his voice sincere. "For sharing that with me. I will think about everything you've said."

Anaxagoras gave a curt nod, his usual impassive mask settling back into place. "Good luck, Mydeimos," he said. Then, a flicker of dry humor entered his eyes. "And hopefully, for your sake, your conviction won't require a near-fatal dose of neurotoxin to become clear."

The unexpected, bleak joke made Mydei laugh softly. "I'll try to avoid it," he replied, before excusing himself and stepping back out into the main office area.

He found Phainon leaning against a wall, just as he'd left him. One hand in his pocket, the other lazily toying with his phone, and his earpiece was in. Mydei walked up and gently poked him in the arm to get his attention.

Phainon shoved his phone into his pocket almost immediately. A bright, welcoming smile replacing his serious expression. "Hey, you're back. Everything okay?"

"Yes," Mydei confirmed, a newfound resolve settling in his shoulders. "What's the plan today, senior?"

Phainon stretched, back arching slightly before rolling his shoulders. “Reference room,” he declared. “Time to start digging through the skeletons in my family’s closet.”

“Your past?”

“Mmhm,” Phainon hummed. “Let’s go see what kind of legacy I’m actually carrying.”

Mydei gave a small nod. “Then let’s unearth it together.”

Their steps fell in sync as they headed down the hall toward the quiet corners of the precinct.

Phainon led the way around the back side of the Okhema police station, where the main compound ended and a narrower, less-frequented corridor opened up between concrete walls. Compared to the sleek glass architecture of the front, this side looked older, sturdier. Fewer windows, more cameras.

Beyond a short walkway, nestled between the station’s utility wings, stood a separate three-story building. A small plaque on the reinforced steel door simply read: ARCHIVAL DIVISION.

"First time, right?"

Mydei nodded. “Didn’t think it’d be this quiet."

“Yeah, it’s not flashy for a reason,” Phainon said, placing his ID card over a scanner. The screen blinked red once, then green. He typed in a personal passcode, then waited as a security cam above the door moved with a mechanical whir to center on his face. A dull tone confirmed the facial recognition. He stepped aside.

“Your turn.”

Mydei followed the same routine: card, code, scan. Another beep. Then the door gave a soft clunk as the magnetic lock released.

The warm, bustling energy was gone, replaced by a cold silence. The only sound was the low, constant hum of the massive climate-control system, keeping the air crisp, dry, and cool.

It felt less like a records facility and more like a high-security prison for forgotten records waited to be remembered.

Long, identical hallways stretched out before them, lit by stark, humming fluorescent strips that cast no shadows.

Lining the walls on either side were rows upon rows of heavy, reinforced doors, each one identical to the next, each bearing a small, glowing digital plaque and its own security panel.

The plaques detailed the 'inmates' held within: Homicide Division - Cold Cases, Sector Gamma (Years 70-80), Organized Crime - Active Physical Evidence, Cyber-Crimes - Archived Digital Drives, Omega Affairs - Sealed Incidents, Pre-Legislation.

There were hundreds of them. Thousands, maybe.

Each door was a vault, imprisoning the countless tragedies, triumphs, and dark secrets of Amphoreus. Every file represented a life altered, a crime committed, a mystery solved or left to fester.

“This place looks like it hasn’t changed since the last decade,” Mydei muttered.

“It hasn’t. Most of it is still analog for a reason,” Phainon explained. “Digital files exist, yeah, but things like biological evidence or restricted documents, they’re here without any change. Only high clearance gets you through, and you need two officers to unlock access to any high-security vault.”

Phainon led them past the clearly marked sections, his steps sure and purposeful, down a less-traveled corridor to a door at the very end.

Unlike the others, this one was completely blank. No digital plaque, no sector designation. Just a flat, grey expanse of reinforced steel and another security panel, identical to the one at the main entrance.

They went through another set verification process: ID cards swiped, facial and retina scanned, thumbs pressed against the cool glass. With a final, heavy thunk, the magnetic locks disengaged.

Phainon pushed the door open, and they stepped inside.

The room was vast, larger than Phainon had expected. One wall was lined with towering, rolling shelves packed to the ceiling with thick binders and heavy evidence boxes, all sealed and marked with cryptic case numbers.

The other side of the room was more modern, a long bank of computer terminals and data storage units, their small lights blinking with silent, dormant energy. The sheer volume of information, physical and digital, was staggering.

A dry, humorless chuckle escaped Phainon's lips as he surveyed the massive collection of files dedicated to a single man.

"I always heard my father was a criminal ever since I became a policeman," he murmured, his voice echoing slightly in the quiet, cavernous room. "I just never thought they'd need an entire library for all his crimes."

"Are you alright, senior?" Mydei asked, fully realised this wouldn't be something so easy.

"Nah, I'm fine." Phainon took a deep breath, the stale air of the archive feeling heavy in his lungs, and gestured towards the bank of computer terminals. "Digital first, I guess. It'll be faster to search."

Mydei nodded, and they each took a seat, the quiet clicks of their keyboards echoing in the cavernous room. 

Phainon typed in the name he had tried his entire life to forget: Kharion.

"That's his name?"

"Yeah."

The screen flooded with redacted files, case numbers, and cross-references.

It was, as he’d morbidly joked, a library.

One by one, they began to open the sealed records, and the true, terrifying scope of his father's past came into horrifying focus.

It wasn't just crime; it was a reign of psychological terror. The reports were filled with phrases that sounded more like something from a horror story than a police file: "mass hysteria", "spontaneous psychic collapse", "pheromonal subjugation".

Many of the reports were brief: locations, casualties, field agent names redacted in thick black strokes. But others were more detailed. As they opened more reports, the picture began to form.

Case XX — “Mirrorhouse Incident”

> Location: Sector D-12, outer district

A syndicate hideout was raided. No physical injuries recorded. No gunshots fired. Yet when backup arrived, every person inside had collapsed—catatonic, eyes wide, lips moving with no sound.

Ten survivors. All with identical symptoms: shallow breathing, excessive sweating, nonresponsive to external stimuli. EEG scans showed irregular activity in the amygdala, like they'd seen a trauma on loop.

One regained lucidity two days later. All he said was:

“He didn’t speak. He just stood there. And I couldn’t scream.”

Case XX — “The Baylock Cleanse”

> Location: Crescent Beach

Surveillance footage recorded a single figure walked into the beach. One man.

Thirty-six people. Twenty-nine caught in mental breakdown. Seven attempted to flee, three jumped into the bay despite not knowing how to swim.

No weapons discharged. A survivor whispered:

“Because it felt like my spine was turning into glass. If I moved, it’d shatter.”

Case XX — “Okhema Prison”

> Location: Detention Center

Kharion entered for interrogation. Within five minutes, two officers resigned on the spot.

One prisoner, a high-ranking enforcer known for killing a dozen alphas in custody, begged to be relocated.

He said Kharion stood in front of him without touching anything.

“It was like being submerged. I couldn’t breathe. My scent glands went cold.”

Case XX — “Scientist Breakdown”

> Location: Underground research lab

No one knew how Kharion got in.

Audio logs recorded melodious humming, low and continuous. When staff went to investigate, they found five lead scientists curled in fetal positions.

Only one word repeated in the logs:

“He’s not human.”

Lab sensors picked up massive spikes in ambient pheromone density. Not measurable in known units.

Phainon slid to another report.

It wasn’t another case file. It was a personnel alert, an internal warning, flagged in red.

RE: KHARION.

CLASSIFICATION: ACCESS OVERRIDE BREACH

Mydei frowned. “This one’s different.”

Phainon opened it slowly. This one listed some attacks on government buildings. Private clubs. Embassies.

Subject bypassed four-level biometric lock at Ministerial Research. No recorded entry authorization. Surveillance unable to capture entry method.

Three members of the Okhema noble chamber resigned within twenty-four hours of direct encounter. Two relocated overseas. One institutionalized.

Civilian disturbances reported within residential zones following appearance. Reports include hallucinations, spontaneous fainting, scent-triggered aggression among untreated alphas.

Advised avoidance radius: 400 meters.

There were pictures, too blurred, in grayscale. And then one, crystal clear.

Kharion stood tall and unmoving, his posture almost sculptural.

Hair long and white, loose with two narrow braids framing his sharp face. Skin ashen, like marble kissed by winter. His eyes were the worst part, glowing faintly gold under the flash, as if the camera had caught something it wasn’t supposed to. They weren’t just intense. They were ancient.

He looked like someone who should be carved into a palace wall, not walking among the living.

Yet there he was. Expression unreadable. Not angry. Not gloating. Just neutral.

Phainon’s fingers hovered over the photo.

“He didn’t change at all from what I had in memories."

He clicked on the next page—testimonies from civilians. The kinds who weren’t supposed to even know someone like Kharion existed.

"He was outside the museum. Just standing. I looked at him for three seconds and couldn’t breathe.”

“I was with my family. We were going to dinner. I thought I heard singing, and the next thing I remember was lying on the pavement with blood in my mouth.”

Mydei’s grip on the edge of the desk tightened.

“This isn’t just about dominance,” he murmured. “This is fear as a weapon.”

Phainon sat back, eyes were wide open but distant.

“...How do I come from that?”

Mydei placed a hand on his shoulder.

“You don’t,” he said quietly. “You came from yourself. That’s what matters.”

But even as he said it, Phainon’s eyes stayed on the image.

And Kharion, even in stillness, yet he looked like he was watching them back.

Phainon felt a cold knot of dread in his stomach. This was his father. Not just a difficult man, not just a criminal. He was a force of nature, a living weapon who didn't need to throw a punch to shatter the world around him.

His finger moved almost of its own accord, clicking open a sub-file attached to the Crimson Hand syndicate case. It was labeled Visual Evidence - Aftermath.

The images that filled the screen were grotesque. Not of his father, but of what his father’s presence had wrought.

Blood on walls. Eyes wide open on a man whose body looked like it was trying to crawl away even in death. A woman whose jaw had been dislocated not from impact, but from screaming too hard. Children hidden under tables, eyes blank, frothing lightly at the lips. Bodies lay twisted in unnatural positions, victims of their own colleagues in a sudden, paranoid frenzy. The looks of stark, absolute horror frozen on their faces were more terrifying than any wound. This wasn't a crime scene; it was a picture of minds that had been violently, irrevocably shattered.

Something inside Phainon snapped.

The air in the cold, quiet archive suddenly felt too thick to breathe. His throat constricted, and a sharp, choking sound escaped him as he shoved his chair back violently, the legs screeching against the polished floor.

The room seemed to tilt, the long shelves of files threatening to crash down on him. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The words on the screen swam, the grotesque images burned behind his eyelids. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think.

Suddenly, another presence was there, blocking the horrifying images on the screen. Mydei's palm on his eyes. He didn't say anything at first. He just crouched down in front of Phainon’s chair and, without hesitation, wrapped his arms around him, pulling Phainon’s head forward to rest against his shoulder in a firm but gentle hug.

"Phainon," Mydei’s voice was a low, steady murmur against his ear, cutting through the rising panic. "Breathe. Just breathe with me."
Phainon couldn't answer, could only gasp, his body trembling.

Phainon tried to breath but his throat fought it.

“It’s okay,” Mydei whispered, guiding him. “Don’t think about the files. Just focus on me.”

There was that scent again.

Mydei’s.

That soft, steady pomegranate aroma. A scent that naturally made people stop and breathe deeper without even noticing.
And for Phainon, it was thread that held his sanity together.

He focused on it, inhaling deeply, letting the clean, sweet scent chase away the phantom stench of blood and fear from the photographs.

Slowly, shakily, his own ragged breathing began to even out, syncing with the calm, steady rhythm of Mydei’s. The roaring in his ears subsided, and the feeling of the walls closing in began to recede. The shaking began to slow. Not all at once. But little by little, his lungs remembered how to work. His fingers loosened, and he felt Mydei’s arms circle around him, secured. Just enough to remind him he wasn’t alone.

“I...” Phainon rasped. “I thought I knew. But seeing it. What he did...”

“Shh.”

Mydei stroked along his back, lips near his temple.

“You don’t have to keep going right now. We can stop. Rest. Just say it.”

Phainon shook his head slowly. “I need to... I need to know. But...”

“You need to breathe first,” Mydei said, with the smallest, gentlest smile. “And maybe close the files. Just for a bit.”

Phainon took another deep, steadying breath of Mydei’s calming pomegranate scent before slowly pulling away from the comforting embrace. Mydei’s hands lingered on his arms for a moment, his gaze was locked on Phainon’s face.

“Do you want to continue?” Mydei asked again. “We can come back later. No one's rushing us.”

Phainon shook his head, resolve settling in his eyes. The panic had receded, leaving behind a cold, burning determination.

"No," he said, his voice firm. "We need to do this now. We need to see it all."

Mydei nodded in understanding and let him go. They returned to their respective seat, the silence in the room now charged with a different kind of tension.

They sifted through more files, the details blurring into a nightmarish pattern of Kharion’s terror: more incidents, more subjugated victims, more minds shattered by his mere presence. It was a chronicle of a monster.

Finally, they reached the last file in the main directory for the overarching case. This one was titled differently, simply labeled 'Associated Personnel'. 

Phainon clicked it open.

He expected to see another grainy photo of his father, another list of his crimes. But the face that appeared on the screen was not Kharion's.

It was his own face.

No, not exactly his. Softer. The jawline was less sharp, the features more delicate, but the resemblance was staggering. It was a woman. Short silvery blue hair framed a delicate face. Her posture was straight. She wore a regulation uniform, too big on her slight frame, and smiled with the restraint of someone trying her best to appear professional. Her eyes mirrored Phainon's, the same gentle shade of clear, bright blue.

Beneath the photograph, a name was written: Melione.

Phainon gasped, a sharp, choked sound. He stared at the image, his heart hammering against his ribs for a completely different reason now.

"My mother," he whispered, his voice cracking. "She's part of police...?"

He knew her face intimately from the few precious photographs his grandmother had kept, but he had never seen this one. Never in a police uniform.

His mother had passed away giving birth to him and his brother; that was the bedrock truth of his entire life. He had no memories of her, only stories told by his father in his rare, lucid moments, or by his grandmother in hushed, sad tones. He’d never known her personally, and he certainly had never known this.

Phainon clicked on the next file. It was her official Okhema Police Department profile. The details were sparse.

Name: Melione
Rank: Entry-Level Officer (Probationary)
Affiliation: Public Security Division
Origin: Aedes Elysiae (Rural Sector)
Service Record: Stationed in Aedes Elysiae for one week. Subsequently transferred and promoted to Okhema Central Precinct.
Status: Deceased.

And then, a final, frustrating wall.

All further case files and service details relating to Officer Melione are sealed.
Higher Level Clearance Required.

Phainon stared at the screen, his mind reeling. 

"Why?" he whispered, more to himself than to Mydei. "Why would her files be classified?"

Driven by a desperate need for answers, he navigated to the sealed file number listed on her profile and tried to access it with clearance Aglaea had just granted him. He placed his thumb on the scanner beside the terminal. The system processed for a moment, and then a stark, red banner flashed across the screen.

ACCESS DENIED. INSUFFICIENT CLEARANCE.

He tried again, thinking it was a mistake.

ACCESS DENIED.

"It's locked," he said, his voice hollow with disbelief and frustration.

"Then we ask for a key," Mydei stated simply, his own expression grim. He immediately tapped his comms link, routing the call to Aglaea’s private channel.

"Chief, it's Mydei. We're in the archive. We found something unexpected. It’s about Phainon's mother." He quickly explained what they’d found, the basic profile, the status, and the sealed files. "The rest of her records are locked behind a security wall. We need higher clearance."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. When Aglaea’s voice came through, it was tight with a confusion that mirrored their own.

"Mydei, that's not possible."

"We've tried twice, Chief," Phainon interjected, his voice strained. "It says insufficient clearance."

"No, you don't understand," Aglaea clarified, a note of dawning shock in her own voice. "The clearance I gave you two to access the files is my clearance level, far higher than what's standard for this division. There are very few files locked above that." She paused, the weight of the implication settling on all of them. "If you can't open that file, it means your mother's records are sealed by someone who is even higher than mine."

"What? But, why..." Phainon gritted his teeth, confusion swirled in his head.

Aglaea took a small sigh before she continued. "I'll put another request of clearance for you two. For now, try to find something else."

The silence in the room was heavy with the weight of the new mystery.

A rookie officer from a rural town with files classified higher than their own Chief. It made no sense.

Then, Mydei’s expression shifted.

"Wait," he said, moving to one of the other terminals. His fingers flew across the keyboard, his movements precise.

Phainon didn’t say anything, still staring at the inaccessible file.

A moment passed before Mydei exhaled, leaning back slightly. “It’s locked too.”

“What is?” Phainon asked, moving closer.

“I searched for ‘dominant alpha’… the official research or data regarding it. Not even case files, just internal documentation. Everything’s locked under restricted access. Again.”

Phainon let out a dry laugh, the corner of his mouth twitching. "So we can't learn anything about my mother, and we can't learn anything about what kind of being my father was. We can't start anything if the two most important puzzle pieces are locked in a box we can't open."

Mydei turned from the screen, his expression thoughtful. "I will ask my father about it later," he stated. "While we request official clearance through Chief Aglaea, perhaps a more direct inquiry will be faster."

Phainon nodded, grateful for the suggestion. "Right."

They spent another hour sifting through the accessible files on Kharion. They also lingered for a bit longer, quietly combing through more physical files and old record drawers. Dust clung to the edges, the scent of aged paper thick in the air. But after over an hour of sifting, the results remained the same.

Nothing.

The reports of his terror, the mass mind-breaking incidents, all of it stopped abruptly around the time his mother, Melione, would have been transferred to Okhema. After that, his trace went cold in the official records, replaced only by sealed files.

Seeing the trail run dry, Phainon stood up, a new resolve on his face. The official route was a dead end for now. They needed another way.

"My grandmother," he said suddenly.

Mydei looked at him, confused.

"She never spoke much about my father, and she always got so sad whenever I asked about my mom... but she must know something. She has to know who her own daughter was." He met Mydei’s gaze, a new plan forming. "We should go visit her."

Mydei considered this. It was a tangible lead, away from the locked doors and redacted files of the precinct. He nodded. "That’s a good idea."

"I guess I'll call her. She lives at Elysiae, though. We'll have to tell Aglaea too since we'll take days for travel."

"Alright. Let's see the Chief."

Aglaea’s office was as cold and clinical as ever, the type of space that swallowed warmth whole. The only sound was the faint hum of electronics and the quiet click of a stylus in her hand as she scrolled through her screen.

Phainon stood straight, hands behind his back, but his gaze flickered, restless.

He and Mydei had already briefed her about what they found in the archive: the string of psychological carnage left by Kharion, the sealed profile of Melione, the disturbing lack of information beyond her basic file, and how everything simply stopped after their union.

But most notably, they told her the plan. Phainon wanted to visit his grandmother. The only remaining thread, the only one who might’ve known Melione before she was erased by history and buried by the name of her husband.

“The journey might take a while,” Phainon said, trying to keep his tone calm. “The town is in Aedes Elysiae. We’d need at least a week.”

Aglaea didn’t respond right away. Her gaze pinned both of them with sharp focus, her fingers steepled as she leaned back. The silence stretched, not tense, but calculating.

“I’ll sort out the paperwork,” she finally said. “You’ll be listed under special investigative leave, flagged as related to your ongoing case.” Her eyes flicked to Mydei next. “You’re going too, I assume?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Mydei answered simply.

That got a brief exhale from Aglaea, maybe the closest thing to a sigh. “Good. Watch over Phainon for me."

"Hey, I'm the senior!" Aglaea just briefly smiled at Phainon's protest. She then tapped something on her screen. “For now, finish your rounds. Patrol, report, and start preparing. I'll get both of you out before the weekend.”

Mydei nodded. “Understood.”

Phainon offered a quick salute—half-formal, half-playful. “Yes, Chief!"

They stepped out of the room together, the door sliding shut behind them. 

Aglaea sighed as she lowered herself into her chair, the synthetic leather creaking beneath her weight. She opened her laptop, the screen flickering to life with a muted glow. Her fingers hovered above the keys for a second, lost in thought.

Then Cipher’s voice, as playful as always, echoed from the embedded speaker system in her desk. “Are you sure you want to send them?”

Her fingers resumed the motion unbothered. “Why shouldn’t I?”

There was a slight pause before Cipher continued. “Because protocol is clear. Anyone with direct ties to the suspect must be recused from the investigation. And Phainon—”

“Is exactly who they put on this case,” Aglaea cut in, sharper. “And do you know who ‘they’ are, Cifera? The same council who wrote that regulation.”

A beat of silence followed. Then Cipher’s voice returned, chuckling yet there was no mirth, only sarcasm.

“Woah, they sent not only a son of notorious terrorist but the brother of the current criminal, and also a possible fated pair for one of the victims. That’s messed up."

“Tell me again. I tried to interrupt,” she said flatly. “Filed a formal objection, escalated through the internal board. Not only was it dismissed, it was locked. I wasn’t even allowed to see the rejection note. They just told me to put Phainon on it and that was all.”

Cipher’s system hummed softly as if he was thinking.

“That’s not normal.”

“No,” Aglaea said, sitting back in her chair. Her face was drawn, lit dimly by the screen’s light. “It isn’t. That’s why I’m sending Mydei. If anything goes wrong... If Phainon went spirals...” Her voice softened, just slightly. "...he’s the only one who can stop him.”

"Still, it's so weird. They put Phainon in but locked most of the important stuff. I wonder if they aim something else."

Aglaea sighed, exasperatedly. "I suppose so. It seems like we're just a piece of their grand plan."

Cipher was quiet again, then finally murmured, “Then I suggest we prepare ourselves. Because this reeks of something worse than just an oversight."

Aglaea shut her laptop, her expression was unreadable. “I already am.”

Phainon and Mydei left the precinct, slipping into the patrol car. This time, Mydei took the driver’s seat, hands steady on the wheel. Phainon didn’t argue. He climbed into the passenger side without a word, his eyes remained distant as the engine purred to life.

They rolled out of the station’s lot and into the flow of the city’s peaceful traffic.

Mydei glanced sideways, the way he always did when Phainon was too quiet for too long. “You’ve been staring at that dashboard for five minutes now,” he said calmly, tone light but probing. “What’s on your mind, senior?”

Phainon didn’t answer immediately. His gaze stayed fixed ahead, but something in the slope of his shoulders and the set of his jaw gave his inner turmoil away.

Phainon sighed, his focus slowly returning from whatever distant memory he'd been lost in. "I was just thinking about my parents."

Mydei stayed silence, letting Phainon confide.

Phainon's fingers idly tracing invisible patterns on his thigh.

“I used to think they met by chance,” he began, voice softer than usual.

“Grandma told me it was random. That my mother, she was just taking a walk in the capital one day and bumped into him. And my father, back when he still had moments of sanity, once said it felt like one of those ridiculous scenes from a drama. You know, when you see someone and something just tugs at you. He said seeing her for the first time left a permanent mark on his heart."

He shook his head, doubt clouding his features.

"I always thought it was a romantic story. A bit tragic, but romantic." He turned to look at Mydei, his blue eyes clouded in confusion.

"But now... now I know she was a police officer. An entry-level rookie from Aedes Elysiae, a small town hundreds of kilometers from here, who gets transferred to the central Okhema precinct after only a week on duty." He let out a dry, humorless scoff. "What are the odds that a chance meeting was really just... chance? It feels like it was all planned."

He sighed, his chest tightening. “And if it was planned, then how much of me is born from something arranged?”

The spiral of suspicion and doubt was threatening to pull Phainon under. Seeing the dark turn his thoughts had taken, Mydei reached over from the driver's seat, his hand covering Phainon's where it rested, tense, on the console. He gave it a firm, reassuring squeeze. A gesture Phainon recognized with a pang in his chest, because it was the same one he always offered Mydei.

"Don't jump to any conclusions yet," Mydei said, his voice calm and steady. "Our own meeting was coincidental. So was Chief Aglaea's and Professor Anaxagoras's. By his own account, neither of them were aware of the other's existence."

"But that's just it, isn't it?" Phainon retorted, his voice tight with a rising paranoia. "The Okhema Police Department. All of us. We all met here. What are the chances of that? Amphoreus is a huge nation, Mydei. For all these supposed fated pairs to just happen to end up in the same city, in the same police force... it can't be a coincidence."

He was unraveling, his voice growing thinner. “I didn’t even know my father was a criminal until I met Aglaea. She broke the news to me. I thought that was all but the more I dig about him, the more mystery popped up. Why didn’t anyone tell me? And why does everything feel like it’s just laid out before me, like some damn puzzle I didn’t ask to solve?”

Mydei slowly pulled the car to the side of the road and parked. He turned in his seat, not saying anything at first. He took Phainon’s other hand, too, holding both gently but securely.

“You’re confused,” he said softly. “And that’s okay. But you’re reaching too far, too fast.”

“It feels too perfect,” Phainon muttered. “Like I’m just reenacting someone else’s plan. Like my whole life was built around whatever the hell my father started and now it’s circling back through me.”

“I get it,” Mydei said. “You’re starting to connect things that don’t make sense, and when we don’t have all the answers, our heads fill the gaps with worst-case scenarios. But not everything is a setup, Phainon. Some things just happen. Like how I met you. I was the one who chose to be in the unit, no one told me to.”

Phainon finally looked at him, still looked shaken up.

Mydei continued, “You said you wanted to find the truth. Then let’s do that. But we’ll do it slowly, calmly. Don’t let what-ifs decide your reality before we even get there.”

Phainon exhaled slowly. He didn’t speak for a moment, but his fingers tightened around Mydei’s.

“...You always do that,” he finally murmured.

Mydei raised a brow. “Do what?”

“Bring me back to the surface when I start sinking.”

Mydei’s voice was quiet. “Because I won’t let you go under.”

Phainon smiled faintly, almost sheepish. “Sorry. I got too emotional.”

“It’s understandable,” Mydei said, still holding his hands. “You’re human.”

“Unfortunately,” Phainon quipped, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.

Mydei snorted, gently letting go of one of his hands and nudging his shoulder. “Alright. Let’s get moving before we end up explaining to Cipher why we’re parked like this during work hours.”

Phainon chuckled again and shifted back into his seat. But he kept one of Mydei’s hands, holding it loosely as they drove back into motion.

The rest of the patrol passed without incident. No calls for backup. No urgent distress signals. Just the steady hum of tires against asphalt and the occasional beep from traffic sensors. They grabbed snack and meals together, enjoying the peaceful day like nothing traumatic happened few hours ago. Now with the windows slightly rolled down, the late afternoon breeze filtered into the car as they retraced their way back to the office.

“Okay,” Phainon said, stretching a little in the passenger seat and glancing at Mydei. “Serious question.”

Mydei didn’t look away from the road. “Go on.”

“If you were a cat...”

“No.” Mydei cut in flatly.

“...what breed would you be?”

Mydei exhaled, defeated. "Do I have to answer?”

“Obviously,” Phainon grinned.

Mydei tilted his head slightly. “Fine. I’d say Angora. Quiet, not interested in anything unless it's on my terms.”

Phainon snorted. “You’re more like a Maine Coon.”

Mydei side-eyed him. “Why?”

“Yeah, kinda intimidating, majestic but actually gentle. You also like being petted and very affectionate.”

“Nonsense." Mydei scoffed. "And you’d be what?"

“Samoyed,” Phainon answered proudly.

“That’s not even a cat.”

“I transcend species.”

“Of course you do.”

The sun had long since dipped below the towering skyline by the time they returned to the precinct, the city now a glittering tapestry of night. After dropping off the patrol car and signing out, they walked together onto the street.

"I'll walk you home," Phainon insisted, falling into step beside Mydei.

"That’s unnecessary, senior."

"Nope, not taking no for an answer," Phainon said cheerfully. "A good partner sees his colleague home safe. It's in the rulebook somewhere."

"You made it up."

“Still. Let me be your bodyguard for the night. I’ll charge you just with few head pats.”

“Are you really a dog?” Mydei muttered but didn’t walk away.

They were mid-banters when a obnoxiously luxurious black car pulled to the curb. Tinted windows. Minimal sound. No emblem. The kind of car that didn’t want attention but commanded it anyway.

The tinted rear window slid down with a soft whir, revealing an older, stern-faced man in a chauffeur's uniform.

"Young master," the man said, his voice flat and formal. "Please, get into the car."

Phainon’s easygoing demeanor vanished, replaced by a sharp scowl as he instinctively stepped a little closer to Mydei. Mydei’s expression tightened. He leaned towards Phainon, his voice a barely audible whisper.

"It's my father. He's in the back seat."

Phainon’s gaze flicked to the dark, tinted window of the back door. Straightening up, he put on his professional face, offering a polite and respectful nod towards the unseen figure.

"Commissioner Eurypon, sir. A pleasure to meet you."

There was no response. The window remained dark, the silence from within the car absolute and dismissive.

Mydei sighed faintly, an apologetic smile formed. “Sorry, I'll see you tomorrow.” He murmured under his breath, then stepped forward, opened the door, and got into the car without another word.

The door closed softly. The window rolled back up. And just like that, the car pulled away into the traffic, vanishing between the blur of headlights and shadowed corners.

Phainon stood alone for a moment.

Then, slowly, he pulled out his phone, eyes steady as he navigated the screen. A soft chime buzzed in his ear as he slipped in an earpiece. The device blinked green, connecting.

He started to walk, listening for any sound he could pick up.

Inside the car, the silence was as thick and suffocating as the tinted, bulletproof glass that separated them from the city.

Mydei sat perfectly still, his hands resting on his knees, his gaze fixed on the blurred lights passing by. The easy warmth he’d shared with Phainon just moments ago felt like a distant memory, replaced by the cold, familiar tension of his father's presence.

"Are you getting along with your new partner?" Commissioner Eurypon’s voice finally cut through the quiet, devoid of any warmth or genuine curiosity. It was the question of a superior officer assessing a subordinate, not a father asking after his son. He didn't even look at Mydei. If anything, he scowled and had a handkerchief covered his nose.

Mydei didn't turn to look at him. "He is a great senior," he replied, his own voice professionally level, offering nothing more.

There was no reply.

The silence returned like a weighted blanket. Neither of them made an effort to fill it. Mydei didn’t try. His father didn’t ask more.

The luxury car wove through the twilight streets of Okhema, passing under bridges and blinking advertisements, through areas which most likely not open for public. Eventually, the buildings thinned, and space widened.

Then, past a wrought-iron gate guarded by uniformed men, the car rolled onto a polished stone driveway and stopped.

The Castrum Kremnos family residence stood tall and untouched by time.

A mansion. Pale gray stone covered its façade, trimmed with black metal and etched glass, rising three full stories high with balconies overlooking a private garden. Well-trimmed hedges lined the outer edge. Water flowed from a modern fountain in front, casting ripples of light onto the sculpted pavement. The windows were large, but most were dim, as if the house was used sparingly, with too much space for too few people.

The estate was built for a dynasty. The kind of place that didn’t have a nameplate because everyone already knew who lived there.

The car slowed to a stop beneath the front overhang. A uniformed attendant opened Mydei’s door before he could reach for it himself.

He stepped out, his suit feeling suddenly constricting. As he walked into the entrance hall, the sheer scale of the place threatened to swallow him as always.

The ceilings were three stories high, a colossal crystal chandelier hanging above his head. The floors were polished white marble that echoed his every footstep with a sharp, lonely click. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint scent of cleaning solution. It was decorated with expensive sculptures and abstract art, yet possessed all the warmth and personality of a museum's lobby after closing hours.

It was a palace of intimidating emptiness.

As soon as they stepped inside, the commissioner’s voice broke the silence. “Go see your mother.”

Mydei nodded once, his steps soundless against the marble floor. He didn’t need direction, he knew the way all too well. He climbed the grand staircase, bypassed the drawing room, and stopped in front of a familiar door at the end of the eastern hall.

Two towering guards in black stood on either side of it, hands clasped in front of them, faces impassive.

They moved aside the moment they saw him.

Mydei opened the door.

The room beyond was beautiful. It had once been called a lady’s sanctuary. Cream wallpaper with silver ornament, velvet drapes drawn halfway open, crystal chandeliers glittering above, pale marble floors softened by thick rugs. A grand dressing table stood in one corner with ornate brushes and designer cosmetics. The bed was enormous, with silky sheets and carved mahogany posts.

But none of it could hide the truth.

The windows were lined with iron bars, masked by sheer curtains that only partially concealed their purpose. Cameras nestled discreetly into the corners.

It was a cage gilded with luxury.

Gorgo sat on the edge of the canopy bed, her back straight, hands resting on her lap, dressed in a flowing nightgown the color of winter skies. Her hair was long and golden like Mydei’s but softer, cascaded down her shoulders in gentle waves. She stared blankly at the wallpaper, as if lost in a place far from here.

Until he spoke.

“Mother.”

Gorgo’s head turned at once. Her eyes lit up, those same warm amber hues as Mydei’s, only dimmer, like light behind fog.

“Mydeimos,” she breathed. "Oh, Mydei. Come here, dear. Come closer."

In an instant, she stood, arms open. Mydei crossed the room in a few strides and let himself be embraced. She smelled of soft jasmine and something nostalgic, like the first warmth after a bitter winter. Her arms were delicate, thin as if they might break, but she held onto him with all her strength.

“I missed you,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “So much. I thought... I thought he wouldn't let you come anymore.”

"Did you hurt yourself again, Mother?"

"No. I didn’t. I promised you."

“Right. Thank you for keeping your promise. " Mydei said, quietly. He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes fluttering shut.

"I was so worried. I heard what happened to you. I knew it, I always knew he would let something bad happen to you." She pulled back, her hands gripping his arms, her expression shifting from relief to a familiar, frantic fear. "Oh, Mydei, I'm so sorry."

Mydei quietly led her back to bed, to sit down and let her lean onto his shoulder.

"It's alright, Mother. I'm fine."

"No, no. Listen to me, my sweet boy." Her eyes darted around the room as if the walls themselves were listening.

"He's a devil, Mydei," she hissed, her grip tightening, her knuckles went white. "He keeps me in this pretty cage, not to protect me, but to own me. Like one of his sculptures. He smiles when he hears of others' misfortunes. He offers kindness like a spider offering a web. I see the coldness in his eyes, Mydei, even when he pretends to be the perfect husband in public. It never leaves him." Her voice dropped to a terrified whisper. "He enjoys having this power over us. The fear, it excites him."

"I understand, Mother," Mydei said, his own voice a low, soothing murmur as he gently held her trembling arms. "I know. It's okay. We'll be fine." He tried to calm her, a painful, familiar routine he’d known his entire life.

But her eyes remained clouded in panic, locked onto his. “You mustn’t forget who your father is,” she whispered, eyes flickering toward the ceiling as if there were ears there too. “You must remember, Mydei. He is evil. A poison dressed as power. His words, his warmth, they're all lies. Don’t fall for them. Don’t you dare.”

“I know,” Mydei said softly, brushing her trembling hands with his. “I remember.”

“No!” she snapped, then immediately flinched, like she'd startled herself by shouting. Her voice dropped into a harsh whisper. “You must never trust him. No matter what he says, no matter what he gives you, don’t let him in. He’s watching. He always watches.”

Mydei’s gaze lifted, toward the corner of the ceiling where the small camera lens blinked red. He hesitated for only a second, then carefully adjusted their position, moving to sit beside her with his back turned just enough to shield her from the camera. His hand rested lightly over hers.

“I won’t trust him,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I swear to you. And someday, I’ll get you out of here.”

Gorgo’s eyes welled with tears, her lips parting in disbelief. “You don’t understand, dear. He’ll never let me go. I’m part of the story he tells himself, and if I leave... then the whole thing breaks. And when it breaks, he...”

Gorgo choked, her trembling fingers tightened around Mydei’s as if she feared he might disappear the moment she blinked. Her breath grew ragged again, panicked yet she no longer cried. She had cried too much already, her tears dried into the fine cracks of her voice.

“I don’t care what he does to me,” she whispered, her voice was rough, almost broken. “He can keep me here, feed me silence, call it love, let him. I’ve made peace with being caged. But you...” Her eyes turned to him again, wide and frantic. “You, Mydei. I don't want anything happened to you.”

Gorgo stroked every space of Mydei's face, as if trying to make sure there was no blemish on her precious son.

“I can feel it,” she said, then clutching his wrist tightly. “Something's going to happen. Something terrible. He’s watching you too closely now. You’re not safe anymore. I want to lock you here, keep you inside, away from the world. But this house...” She swallowed hard, her throat convulsing. “This house is even more dangerous than anything outside. I know it is. I live in it.”

She gripped his arm tighter, almost shaking. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to trust anymore. Who can I ask to protect you, when I can’t even protect myself? What if he... what if he...” She didn’t finish the sentence. The words stuck like knives behind her teeth.

Mydei could only pull her into his arms again, hiding her trembling frame against him, pressing her to his chest like he could shield her from her own thoughts. Her pulse was erratic beneath his hand. Her breathing fast. Her fear was more than paranoia, it was instinct, sharpened by years of survival.

“Shh,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do anything, Mother. I’ll be careful. I’ll survive.”

"Oh, my son, you're always so strong. But it won't be enough." Gorgo gritted her teeth. A dangerous, forgotten fire sparked in her eyes. "Mydei, get me my lance. He definitely put it somewhere near him. Find it and I'll burn his entire empire to the ground. Even if my hands tremble, even if I die the next day, I’ll set you free.”

“Mother,” Mydei whispered sharply, placing both hands on her shoulders. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it.” Her tone turned fierce, a contrast to her frail body. “I’ve been useless for too long but I haven’t forgotten how to kill. Not for myself. But if its for you...”

“Enough,” he said quietly. “Please.” And she flinched, blinking up at him.

Mydei glanced toward the security camera in the corner of the ceiling. Its lens still blinked silently. He shifted subtly, lowering his voice until it was nearly a breath.

"Please, wait for a little more. I beg you, don’t do anything that will unleash his fury. Please, Mother..."

Gorgo exhaled shakily, her hands finally loosening their grip. Her voice, barely audible, carried the weight of years buried alive.

“Promise me you’ll be careful, Mydei. Promise me you’ll survive.”

"I promise, Mother." He put a smile. "And you don't have to worry about me. I'm not alone out there." He paused, a flicker of a different emotion crossing his face. "I've found someone. Someone nice. My senior partner."

Gorgo looked at him, her frantic energy momentarily forgotten, replaced by curiosity.

"He's an idiot," Mydei began, and the corner of his own mouth twitched. "Infuriatingly cheerful, all the time. He’s loud. Always has something to say, even when no one asks. Talks nonstop about absurd things. He picks fights with people stronger than him, pulls insane stunts during missions, and still acts like nothing happened. He talks too much. Laughs too much. He jokes through everything. Even pain. Especially pain. He’s the kind who’ll limp through a broken rib and tell you a pun on the way to the ambulance. He’s annoying. Completely unreliable at being serious." Mydei shook his head

Gorgo had her eyes on Mydei, gently. Listening to each story with interest.

"His desk is a catastrophe," he continued with a new complaint. "I'm convinced he uses a random number generator to file his reports. I had to spend an hour last week reorganizing his case files just so we could find a single witness statement. He just grinned at me and called me a 'lifesaver' as if he hadn't created the problem himself." Mydei softly chuckled with fond tinted exasperation.

She smiled. “And yet here you are. Talking about him like he’s the moon you keep pretending not to watch.”

Mydei’s ears flushed faintly. “He has his uses.”

“Oh?”

“He’s still dependable, I guess,” Mydei muttered. “He's always... obnoxious, overconfident, ‘I’ll do everything myself’ way. The kind of idiot who’ll try to carry the whole world on his back without telling anyone, and then act surprised when his knees give out.”

Gorgo was quiet, her expression softening. “And you care for him.”

Mydei didn’t answer right away. His fingers lightly brushed her wrist, grounding her as much as himself. “It can't be helped. He rarely listens so I have to look out for him. And when he finally listened, he really put his all,” he said quietly. “When I don’t want to talk, he waits. When I do, he never makes it a big deal. He just lets me be.”

He let out a breath. “And the worst part is, when I’m frustrated or tired, he somehow always knows. He’ll bring a meal. Or say something dumb that makes me laugh. Or he’ll just sit next to me, pretending it’s for him finishing whatever he had, when I know it’s not.”

There was a long, tender pause. Then Gorgo reached up and cupped his cheek gently.

“You really like him, hm?”

“Yeah,” Mydei said. “Maybe I like him more than I want to admit. Maybe I think about him when I’m supposed to be focusing. Maybe I want to punch him for getting under my skin. And maybe I want to see what happens if I let him stay close to me. I feel much at ease around him.”

“You’re smiling,” Gorgo whispered.

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Just a little. Right there.” She tapped the corner of his lips with her thumb.

Mydei exhaled through a faint smile. “He’s ridiculous.”

“And he makes you happy,” Gorgo said. Her voice was almost wistful. “Maybe fate doesn’t always come with fire and chains, my dearest son. Maybe sometimes, it comes with bad puns and a peaceful company.”

Mydei leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together briefly. “I’m still evaluating him.”

“I’m your mother and I know he passed the test with flying colour,” she murmured. “You like him so much. Even if he makes terrible joke and has a messy desk.”

"It sounds troublesome."

"But you like taking care of people, right?"

And for a moment, there was warmth in that cold, barred room. A flicker of laughter in a house built on chains.

Mydei stayed by Gorgo’s side until her breath had evened out, the lines of worry on her face softening into the peace of sleep. He gently adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek with practiced tenderness. Then he stood, casting one last glance at the security camera in the corner before quietly exiting the room.

Outside, the head butler already waited and gave a small nod.

“Master is expecting you, Young Master. In the reception room.”

Mydei just nodded and made his way down the grand staircase to the museum-like room on the ground floor.

His father, Commissioner Eurypon, was seated in a high-backed armchair, a data-slate in his hand. He didn’t look up as Mydei entered. Mydei didn't speak either. He simply stood in the center of the vast marble floor, waiting.

After a long, tense moment, Eurypon set the slate down, the quiet click echoing in the silence. He stood up, his movements silent and controlled, and walked closer until he was standing directly in front of his son.

Then, without a word, his hand shot out, slapping Mydei hard across the face. The sound was sharp, brutal, a violent crack in the stillness of the room.

Mydei’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. A faint red blooming on his pale cheek, but he didn’t stumble. He didn't cry out. He remained perfectly still, his gaze fixed on a point on the far wall, his expression blank, as if he had known it was coming, or perhaps, he was simply used to it.

Eurypon looked his son up and down, his nostrils flaring slightly in disgust. He pulled a fine silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and began to meticulously wipe the hand he had just used to strike Mydei, as if he had touched something filthy.

"You reek," he said, his voice a low, contemptuous hiss. "Drenched in the scent of some lowbred Alpha. Control your pheromones, Mydeimos. Your condition is a biological weakness to be managed with discipline and suppressants, not an instrument for soliciting attention. Do not embarrass the family by behaving like an animal in heat, broadcasting your pathetic needs to anyone who happens to pass by."

His cold eyes raked over Mydei again. "I trained you. I paid for the best tutors, the best inhibitors, medical control, psychological conditioning and yet you let your body take the reins like some backalley omega begging to be mounted.” He tossed the used handkerchief onto a nearby trash bin. "I had hoped you could at least manage to be a discreet disappointment. But even that, it seems, is beyond your capacity."

He straightened his suit jacket, his gaze merciless. "Let me warn you one last time. If you ever bring this kind of shame to my name again, if I ever hear of another incident that highlights your weakness, you will not leave this house again. You will stay here, where you can no longer tarnish our reputation. Do you understand?"

"I understand, Father," Mydei replied, his voice a flat, toneless monotone. "It will not happen again."

Mydei thought to excuse himself but he was reminded of something.

"A moment, if I may?"

Eurypon glared at him but there was no other word so Mydei daringly continued.

"I will submit an official request for expanded clearance regarding a sensitive investigation. I hope you will consider it favorably."

A cold, dismissive smirk touched Eurypon's lips. "The likes of you should learn to know their place, Mydeimos. Your role is playing police while waiting until I get you a mate to breed with. Don’t try to pry into matters that don't concern you."

Mydei's jaw tightened at the insult. "My apologies, Father," he said, his voice remained stoic despite the bubbling irritation.

“Leave,” he said coldly. “You’ve polluted enough.”

Mydei gave a stiff, formal bow and turned to leave. As he walked away, his cheek stinging, he heard his father speak to the butler who had just re-entered the room.

“Disinfect the entire room. Burn the drapes if needed. I don’t want the stench lingering.”

Mydei’s steps did not falter. But in the hallway, the weight on his spine felt heavier than before.

The heavy, ornate gates of the estate clicked shut behind him, and Mydei was finally alone on the quiet, manicured street. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

The stinging on his cheek made a dull, familiar throb. He felt drained, the encounter with his father leaving him with a hollow exhaustion. There was too much to think about, all a tangled, heavy knot in his mind.

He pulled out his new phone to hail a taxi. As he waited, his thoughts, seeking some sort of refuge, drifted back to the night before.

He remembered the easy laughter in the kitchen, the warmth of Phainon’s hand in his, the soft, adoring look in his eyes after they’d played the piano. He remembered Phainon’s stupid, brilliant smile. The memory was so vivid that for a moment, the dull pain on his cheek seemed to lessen, overshadowed by a different, warmer ache in his chest.

Funnily enough, he could almost certainly say that he missed Phainon right now.

As if fate itself were playing along with his thoughts, his phone buzzed in his hand. The screen lit up with a name: Senior Phainon.

He answered, tucking the phone between his ear and shoulder. “What?”

“That’s how you answer your senior’s call?” Phainon sounded mildly offended. “Rude.”

Mydei sighed. “I’m always rude. What do you want?”

There was a small chuckle. “Just checking in. You okay?" Phainon’s cheerful voice came through, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence of the mansion he’d just left.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Mydei retorted.

There was a slight pause on Phainon’s end. "I was just worried," he admitted, his voice softer now. "You said your relationship with your father wasn't so good. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

The simple, honest concern made the tightness in Mydei’s chest loosen. "I'm okay now," he said, and this time, it was the truth.

"Good. That's good," Phainon sounded relieved. "So, where are you?"

"I'm still at my parents' house. Waiting for a taxi outside," Mydei replied.

"Oh," Phainon said. "Right. Is it... Is it too much if I want to see you now?" his voice sounded hesitant, almost shy.

Mydei thought of his exhaustion, of the mountain of things he needed to process, of the sheer audacity of Phainon asking to see him again after they’d spent the entire night and morning together.

"It is too much," he said honestly, then let out a small, quiet sigh. "But, it's fine."

A bright, audible grin entered Phainon’s voice.

"Great! There’s a little cafe near the train station to your apartment, the one with the blue roof. Meet you there in twenty?"

“Alright,” Mydei replied, as his taxi finally pulled in.

The call ended, but the warmth remained. And somehow, the bruised sting on his face didn’t feel so sharp anymore.

The café was quiet, tucked in a side street near the station, lit with soft orange bulbs that flickered faintly against the night. It smelled like cinnamon and roasted beans, and inside, Phainon sat by the window with two mugs already on the table. One his usual, the other, something sweeter.

He spotted Mydei right away and lifted a hand, waving with that signature grin, half sunshine, half mischief.

Mydei raised his brows at the enthusiasm but walked over without a word, sliding into the seat across from him. He didn’t even get the chance to say hello before Phainon’s brows furrowed, and a hand gently reached across the table to touch his cheek.

"Mydei," his touch incredibly gentle as his fingers brushed against Mydei’s cheek, where a faint, angry red mark bloomed. "What happened?"

Mydei just shook his head, his gaze dropping to the tabletop. But he didn't pull away from the touch. If anything, he leaned into the warmth of Phainon’s hand for a brief moment.

"It's nothing," he murmured. "Don't worry about it."

Phainon let out a sigh, his thumb stroking softly just below the mark.

"I am worried," he said honestly. "But, if you don't want to share, then it's fine." He reluctantly pulled his hand back and flagged down a passing cafe staff member. "Excuse me, could we please get a small ice pack?"

Phainon didn’t sound mad, maybe exasperated but he accepted. Mydei was grateful for it, even if he couldn’t show it well.

A moment later, the staffer returned with a cloth-wrapped pack of ice. “Here,” he said, sitting again. “Lean a bit.”

Mydei gave him a look. “I can hold it myself.”

“I know you can,” Phainon said, already shifting in his seat to lean over the table. “But let me.”

With the same care he gave delicate things, birds with broken wings, or maybe bruised hearts, he gently pressed the ice pack to Mydei’s cheek. Mydei winced a bit, his eyes were looked at him, at the unwavering sincerity and concern in his blue eyes, then finally relented with a quiet sigh, leaning more to the ice.

They stayed like that, the room moving around them, baristas calling names, cups clinking against saucers, someone laughing in the far corner. But at their table, it was quiet. Phainon only talked once, when he offered the caramel macchiato he already ordered to Mydei's side.

Mydei let out a soft sigh, eyes half-lidded.

“You really are something, senior,” he murmured.

Phainon tilted his head. “Handsome?”

“No,” Mydei said flatly. “Insufferable.”

“Same difference.” Phainon chuckled. “You know, you’re not the best at accepting comfort.”

“And you’re not the best at offering it,” Mydei muttered, though he still hadn’t pulled away.

“Really?” Phainon smiled. “Then we’re perfectly matched.”

Phainon finally pulled the ice pack away when Mydei quietly murmured, “It doesn’t sting anymore. You can stop now.”

“Aw,” Phainon said with exaggerated pout, setting the pack aside. “I was starting to enjoy my role as nurse.”

“Then change your career path,” Mydei muttered, sipping his drink.

Phainon grinned, then rested his cheek on one palm as he looked across the table.

“What’re you doing around here anyway?” Mydei asked after a moment. “This café’s way closer to my place than yours. You stalking me?”

“I could be,” Phainon said, “but I’m not.” Then his smile softened a little. "I was at the gym."

"The one that one block from here?"

"Yeah. Police got discount membership. haha."

"I see."

"Anyway, I actually called you to bring a news. Just got answer from my grandma. She said she is okay with us coming this weekend."

"Great. So, we only need waiting for the paperwork." Mydei fell into a brief silence, his gaze dropped to the glass. "About the clearance, I'm afraid I can't help. My father refused."

Phainon heaved a soft breath, his palm moved slowly to cup Mydei's chin and led him to look upwards.

"Hey, it's okay. Thank you for asking." Phainon grinned. "If Chief also failed, we can also ask Cipher. Bet she got one or two tricks under her sleeves."

Mydei nodded, a thin smile adorned his visage. "Neither legal, I assume."

"Well, yeah, but we gotta try."

They lingered in the cafe longer than intended.

Talking, teasing, just slowly sipping through their drinks until time seemed to roll past unnoticed. Somewhere in between bantering about drink choices and Phainon telling a story about his failed attempt to deep-fry dumplings in a rice cooker, Mydei let out something dangerously close to a laugh.

Time passed easily. When their cups were empty and the night had fully settled over the city, Phainon stood up. "Come on," he said, his voice soft again. "I'll walk you home."

This time, Mydei didn't argue. He didn't protest or say it was unnecessary. He simply nodded, and they left the cozy cafe together, walking in a comfortable, shared silence through the vibrant Okhema night.

The journey was quiet, filled only by the ambient sounds of the sleepless city and the soft rhythm of their footsteps on the pavement. Felt too soon when they were standing before the gleaming, imposing entrance of Mydei’s skyscraper residence.

Phainon stopped, turning to face Mydei under the soft glow of the building’s entrance lights.

"Well," he said, his voice gentle, "this is you." He gave a small, warm smile. "Have a good rest, Mydei."

Mydei stopped in his tracks, his brows furrowing slightly. His fingers twitched at his sides as if hesitating between walking away and staying rooted there. “Wait.”

Phainon blinked. “Hm?”

"So," he began, hesitant. "Does... does the offer still stand?"

Phainon tilted his head, genuinely confused. "Which offer?"

Mydei looked down for a moment before meeting his gaze again, a faint blush on his cheeks.

"The one from the yesterday. You said if I felt the room was too silent that you would visit me, or something."

Mydei braced himself, fully expecting Phainon to make a teasing joke, to grin and poke fun at him for bringing it up.

But Phainon didn't. His expression softened completely, all trace of playful mischief gone, replaced by sincerity.

"Yeah," he tenderly answered. "That offer always stands. Anytime you want. No question asked."

Mydei took a quiet breath, the vulnerability in his eyes was as clear as day. "I guess I need it now," he said, the words barely a whisper.

Phainon didn't hesitate. He simply nodded in understanding and offered his hand. Mydei looked at the outstretched hand for a moment, then placed his own in it.

Phainon’s fingers closed around his, warm and secure, and together, they walked past the respectfully silent doorman, into the opulent lobby, and towards the lift that would take them up to Mydei's penthouse.

The penthouse greeted them with its usual quiet luxury, warm lights casting soft glows across the open space. The night had deepened, but in this silence, time felt suspended.

Mydei loosened his tie as he stepped in, his movements automatic, the exhaustion in his shoulders too heavy to hide. He glanced over at Phainon, who had closed the door behind them.

“Take a seat, senior,” Mydei said, voice subdued. “Want anything to drink?”

Phainon didn’t answer.

Instead, he opened his arms.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t say anything clever. Just opened his arms, like an anchor in a storm.

Mydei’s breath hitched. All the fight, all the brittle anger from the confrontation with his father, seemed to shatter at once. He didn’t say a word either. He just closed the distance between them and walked directly into Phainon's embrace, burying his face in the warmth of his chest, drowning himself in a safety he was so desperately craving.

Mydei buried his face into Phainon’s shoulder as if he could vanish there, vanish from everything that clawed at his chest. The moment he breathed in, the familiar scent wrapped around him. Phainon consciously let his own pheromones out, not with the possessive fire of passion, but as a soft, gentle wave meant only to soothe. 

“Just breathe,” Phainon whispered, stroking his back in slow, steady circles. Then he pressed a soft kiss to the crown of Mydei’s head, lips lingering longer than they needed to.

Mydei sighed, a long, shuddering sound, and inhaled deeply, greedily, as if the very scent was the only thing keeping him sane, the only thing holding the fractured pieces of his composure together.

"Come on," Phainon whispered in a gentle rumble. "Let's get you to bed. You're exhausted."

Mydei nodded, barely. He didn’t trust his voice.

The bedroom lights were dimmed to a golden hush, casting soft shadows over the sheets as Mydei drew Phainon into the quiet sanctum of his private world. The door clicked shut behind them, muffling the hum of the city far below. In this high-up space, removed from everything, the air felt still. Quiet, almost sacred.

Mydei’s coat slid off his shoulders and dropped onto the chaise without grace. He tugged his tie free with a single hand, the silk whispering against his skin as he carelessly threw it aside. His shirt hung loose on him, half-unbuttoned, exposing the pale curve of his collarbone and the faint lines of tension across his chest.

Phainon stood nearby, watching, not with desire, but with concern, tenderness stitched into every quiet breath.

Mydei turned to him and met his gaze, eyes soft and tired. Then, wordlessly, he reached out.

Phainon opened his arms again, and this time too, Mydei fell into them like gravity.

The embrace was instinctive, like fitting a puzzle piece into its place. Phainon’s arms encircled him tightly, hands firm at his back, anchoring him. Mydei’s face tucked into the crook of Phainon’s neck, forehead brushing against his skin, breath landing warm and ragged against his throat.

Then it came, his scent.

Mydei's natural pheromone, usually restrained behind layers of suppressants, flickered in the air like something instinctive breaking free. It was faint at first, like honeyed smoke. But it was there, undeniable, and it mingled with Phainon’s to fill the air.

Phainon let his own pheromones roll out for more to meet it, warm and gentle, like summer wind and rain-soaked earth. Where they touched, the air shimmered faintly with resonance. It was more than scent. It was memory and feeling, an echo of everything Mydei couldn’t say out loud.

Phainon could feel it like it was something physical.

He could taste the bitterness weight in Mydei’s chest. The way conflict twisted beneath his skin like knots that wouldn’t untangle. Fear. Shame. The phantom sting of a hand across the cheek. The fear. Of losing control. Of being trapped again.

But under it, there was something else.

Loneliness.

Bone-deep, aching and bitter loneliness.

It was the scent of a soul that had been fighting too hard, for too long, on too many fronts.

Phainon’s grip tightened. His hand found the back of Mydei’s head, fingers threading into the soft blonde hair there as he held him closer.

“It's okay,” he whispered into the quiet, his voice low and steady against Mydei’s ear. “You'll be fine. I'll be here with you.”

Mydei didn’t answer.

But his arms curled around Phainon’s back, slowly, firmly. His fingertips gripped the fabric of Phainon’s hoodie like he was afraid to let go.

Their pheromones clung to each other now, twining in the air between them. It was a language only they could hear.

They soon climbed into the bed like it was the most natural thing to do. Mydei pulled Phainon down, and they fell together onto the sheets, sinking into the mattress in a shared exhale. No need for words. No need to explain.

Phainon slipped in, drawing Mydei closer against his chest. He pressed a kiss to the bare skin of Mydei’s chest and rested his hand over the steady beat of Mydei’s heart. Mydei took one of Phainon’s arms and looped it over his own waist, nuzzling closer until they settled into a perfect fit.

In the hush of the room, surrounded by warmth and quiet, Mydei breathed in Phainon again and this time, he let it fill him like light. The ache in his chest dulled. Not gone. But not so sharp now.

“I’m here,” Phainon murmured, once more. "I won’t leave you alone."

Mydei remained silence. He only pressed his forehead to Phainon’s chest, and let himself stay.

Tranquility filled the space again. Only faint rustle of sheets and the slow breath of two hearts wrapped close in the dark were the only sounds between them.

After a long while of breathing in each other's scent, Mydei finally spoke, a low murmur against Phainon’s chest. "Aren't you going to ask again?" he asked. "About what happened."

Phainon shifted slightly, pulling him closer, his palm spread warmth across Mydei’s back. “I want to,” he murmured, lips brushing against the shell of Mydei’s ear. "But if you don't want to talk about it, that's okay." He pressed a gentle kiss to Mydei’s hair. "I'm not going anywhere, eitherway."

A long, exasperated breath slipped from Mydei’s lips, a soft as the hush of wind. And he pressed in closer, his face tucking tighter into the crook of Phainon’s neck. His nose brushed gently over the edge of skin there, breathing in deeply, almost greedily.

Phainon shivered. Not violently, just a subtle tremor, like a ripple across still water. His heart kicked a bit too fast as Mydei’s breath warmed his skin, and he instinctively tightened his hold around the omega.

“You know what effect you cast on me, don’t you?” he muttered, half-joking, though his voice had frayed at the edge.

“Sorry,” came the reply, muffled against his neck. “I just... felt like I wanted to drown... I want to drench myself in your scent."

The words struck straight through him, molten and tender. 

Phainon swallowed hard. Mydei’s tone wasn’t teasing, it was aching honesty. And yet there was something about the way he said it with his husky breath sent a low thrum through Phainon’s spine.

He could feel Mydei’s mouth hovering at his throat, the barest brush of lips ghosting along his pulse point. The air between them thickened, ripe with pheromone, mingling sweet and earthy, tinged with yearning and exhaustion. Mydei's scent unfurled like a song without words, an aching plea and Phainon's body responded in kind, his own pheromones blooming to meet and cover it in kind, like a blanket pulled over trembling shoulders.

He let out a soft laugh, brushing his fingers against Mydei’s nape with slow affection.

“You don’t realize how sexy your line sounded, huh?” he whispered, his voice a shade more husky than before. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re trying to seduce me.”

Mydei didn’t pull away. Instead, he lingered just where his lips touched skin and murmured, “What if I do?”

That low confession curled around Phainon’s ribs like heat, blooming through his veins and down his spine. His hand slipped higher along Mydei’s back, the pads of his fingers dragging slowly up bone and muscle until he could cradle the nape of his neck.

“Then I’d say,” Phainon whispered, brushing a kiss just beneath Mydei’s jaw, “you’re very, very good at it, even when you're not actually trying."

Mydei let out a small chuckle, breath brushing against Phainon’s neck.

“You know,” he murmured, “I don’t think I’ve ever needed someone’s company like this before.”

Phainon blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his voice. “Is that your way of saying you’re getting clingy, Officer Mydeimos?” he teased gently, brushing his fingers through Mydei’s hair.

“Maybe,” Mydei replied, a corner of his mouth lifting, “or maybe I’m just admitting you’re more useful than I gave you credit for.”

Phainon snorted. “Wow. High praise. Should I put that on my resume?”

Mydei laughed, softly. It made Phainon smile, his heart felt so full at the sound.

“I mean it,” Mydei said after a pause, his voice dropping low. “Thanks for being here.”

Phainon leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, lingering there with quiet affection. “Always,” he whispered. “Now rest. It’s been a long day.”

But instead of letting go, Mydei tugged him downward by the collar, slow and deliberate.

Phainon followed easily, and their lips met again. Just the warm press of mouths finding each other in the dark, quiet world they’d made. Mydei's hand curled around the back of Phainon’s neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened, slow and coaxing, all heat and breath and longing.

Phainon responded in kind, one hand sliding up Mydei’s ribs, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath his shirt. The taste of him, familiar now, was addictive, sweet like candy, sharp like longing 

Their pheromones began to bleed into the air, delicate at first, then getting stronger. It clung to Phainon's senses like honey, pulling him in deeper, making it hard to focus on anything but him.

They didn’t rush. The kiss smoldered between them, steady and unrelenting. A careful exploration of mouths, lips parting and meeting again, as if they were memorizing each other in case the world burned down.

Hands wandered. Phainon’s fingers brushed along Mydei’s waist, while Mydei’s own hand rested against his jaw, anchoring them in the moment. They breathed each other in, tangled in each other’s scent, in no hurry to come up for air.

Phainon pulled back just slightly, breath still mingling with Mydei’s. He smiled, eyes flicking down to Mydei’s lips, now redder and parted.

“I've been thinking about,” he murmured, “how you’re such a great kisser.”

Mydei blinked, half-lidding his eyes. “Hm. Is that your subtle way of asking for more?”

Phainon huffed a laugh. “No, I mean it. You kiss so good.”

There was a pause. Then Mydei tilted his head a little, still pressed close, and said casually, “That rundown shack kiss? That was my first.”

Phainon’s smile faltered. “Wait, you remembered everything?”

Mydei just shrugged nonchalantly.

"Hey, seriously. You remembered and that was your first? Answer me, Mydei."

Mydei chuckled, finally nodded. “Told you, my life was curated. Down to how I walk, talk, what I eat, who I meet. There wasn’t space for any experiment.”

A slow, tender smile spread across Phainon's face. "Wow, I guess you're just a natural-born kisser, then." His smile then faded into a look of sincere regret. "I'm sorry, though. That your first kiss was, well, me basically crushing your mouth, biting while we were both running on pure adrenaline."

Mydei reached up and brushed his thumb against Phainon’s jaw. “It’s fine.”

Phainon frowned. “No, serious...”

“But the next one,” Mydei interrupted, a softness in his tone, “made up for it. So stop apologizing.”

Phainon smiled, touched. He leaned in, resting his forehead against Mydei’s.

“I’ll keep making it up to you anyway,” he whispered.

Mydei brushed his knuckles against Phainon’s cheek, studying his expression in the dim light.

“Well,” he whispered, “I’m sure this isn’t your first.”

Phainon didn’t look away, only chuckled as he nestled a little closer, nose brushing along Mydei’s jaw.

“It’s not,” he admitted, lips just grazing skin as he spoke.

“But,” He pulled back a breath, searching Mydei’s gaze. “I’ve never been this close with anyone before. Not like this. Not when it means something.”

Mydei didn’t answer right away. His expression softened, eyes lowering. Bashful, maybe, or trying to hide the way that line dug deep into his guarded chest.

Then Phainon leaned in again, lips brushing the shell of Mydei’s ear.

“So, if this is all new for both of us,” he whispered, voice just low enough to vibrate, “we should take our time. Figure it out together. Learn where it feels good, how to make it better. Well, I've learned some this morning, though. Like, here..."

Phainon slid his hand to Mydei's spine, giving his thoracic a gentle thumb press. Mydei's breath was held at bay. The shiver that ran down his spine was electrifying.

"See? You have lots of sensitive spot."

"I'm ticklish."

"It's different type of tickle. I mean, your mouth is also an erogenous zone."

He turned his face, their noses brushed and as if to prove Phainon's point, their mouths met again. Mydei’s lips parted with ease, like instinct, letting Phainon deepen the kiss, tongues sliding and curling with a shared breath that trembled through them both.

Phainon’s hand slid into the cloth, knuckles grazing over bare skin, resting flat against the line of Mydei’s ribs, feeling each breath hitch and slow beneath his palm.

Mydei’s hands weren’t still either. One slid into Phainon’s hair, tugging slightly when the kiss grew deeper, more searching. The other ghosted down along Phainon’s spine, fingertips just barely touching skin under fabric. He felt Phainon’s breath catch, felt the warmth that pooled between them now grow hotter, thicker, impossible to ignore.

Still, even as it deepened, the kiss didn’t turn rough. It remained something soft but scorching, like they were burning slowly from the inside out.

By the time they parted, their breaths were shallow, their eyes a little glazed, lips flushed and glistening.

"Mm, you always had this look after a good kiss." Phainon smiled, swiped his finger along Mydei's lips. "Beautiful."

Mydei tugged his lips upwards then he opened up, just enough to lick Phainon's digit. And it was enough to make Phainon grumbled, holding his urge to shove his finger in.

“What happened to ‘one step at a time’?” Mydei teased.

Phainon groaned quietly, dramatic and endearing, dropping his forehead against Mydei’s collarbone. “You make it very hard to take steps. You got me leapt off a cliff this morning.”

"You're the one who did... everything."

"Yeah, that because you kept tempting me."

Mydei’s laughter was a low rumble against Phainon’s cheek. “Sounds like a you problem. Maybe you’re just too weak to temptation.”

Phainon lifted his head, narrowed eyes gleaming in the shadows. “Weak? Me?” He reached up, fingers trailing from Mydei’s throat to his jaw with exaggerated worshipping. “You’ve got the face of an angel and a mouth that ruins men like a demon. And you think I’m weak? You're too strong, Mydei. That's why!”

Mydei shook his head with a snort, amused. “You’re so dramatic.”

“And you’re not?” Phainon quipped, but he was already pulling Mydei closer, guiding him gently to snuggle close with him again.

"Now, sleep before I fall even lower and then, there'll be no more step left."

Their bodies shifted and settled with a quiet grace, the sheets rustling around them like a lullaby.

Mydei exhaled softly, his forehead brushing Phainon’s as their legs tangled naturally under the covers. Their breaths fell into the same rhythm, warm and slow, like a private conversation in silence. The light was soft, the world outside dimmed down to the rise and fall of their chests and the gentle brush of skin against skin.

Phainon’s hand found Mydei’s again, fingers lacing with ease, like they’d done it a hundred times before. Their joined hands rested on Mydei’s chest, over the steady thrum of his heart. Phainon shifted just enough to press a kiss there, soft and wordless.

The scent of them lingered, mellowed now, no longer clashing but entwined—like dew and earth, warm spice and something sharper, a harmony that belonged only to them. Mydei nuzzled into Phainon, content in a way that was rare and unfamiliar, like some tight band around his chest had finally loosened.

Phainon murmured something unintelligible, already drifting. Mydei didn’t reply, only squeezed his hand and let the silence wrap around them like a second blanket.

Night rolled by and left two people breathing in the same space, holding on as if the world couldn’t touch them here. And in that peace, that perfect tranquility, sleep finally came like a soft whisper.

The living room was bathed in soft afternoon light, golden and slow. A faint breeze stirred the sheer curtains, casting lazy shadows that danced across the floor. In the center of the room, the carpet was strewn with scattered crayons and a picture book, opened wide.

Phainon lay on his stomach, chin propped on one arm as he filled the sky of his page with long strokes of blue. A small, hummed tune slipped past his lips, off-key but energetic.

And there was a flutter of movement.

Behind one of the hallway pillars, a smaller figure peered out.

Phainon didn’t lift his head.

“I see you,” he said with a grin, still colouring. “Come on, don’t hide there.”

█████ stepped out, clutching the edge of his shirt. His silverish hair was tousled, sleep-flattened on one side. “Are you busy?”

“Nuh-uh,” Phainon said, finally turning his head and patting the space beside him. “I’m colouring. Come here.”

█████ knelt down slowly. “Did you draw this?”

Phainon pushed the coloring book so it was centered between them. “Nay. I think teacher draw this." He flipped the book and stopped at clean page. "This one’s a bunny. Wanna try?”

█████ bit his lips, a little hesitant. “I’ve never done that before.”

“Then now’s your first time,” Phainon said firmly, pushing a pink crayon into his hand. “Here. Try it.”

They settled onto the floor, lying on their stomachs side by side, heads close together over the shared book. █████'s small fingers fumbled, his grip awkward. He was fisting the crayon like a stick.

“Not like that,” Phainon gently reached over, his small hand covering his twin's. “Look.” He carefully adjusting his brother’s fingers until they held the crayon correctly. “Thumb here. Fingers like this. See?”

“Like this?” █████ asked, tilting his head.

“Yeah! You got it!” Phainon beamed and patted his head. “You’re good at this.”

A tiny smile tugged at █████’s lips. “What colour is a bunny’s ear?”

“Whatever colour you want,” Phainon said wisely. “This is your bunny so you can choose any colour.”

“Okay, then I'll use this.”

█████ began to tentatively fill in a ear with strokes of pink and Phainon nodded in approval.

"Ah, it's messy, Phai. I colour out the line."

"That's okay! When I first colouring, I made the whole page red! You did good for fitst time."

Relieve crossed █████'s visage, now trying to carefully do the rest as Phainon chose the page on his front to colour.

They both fell quiet, the only sounds being crayon scritch-scratching against paper, and their little hums that fell into harmony like a lullaby.

“Did you go to kindergarten today?” █████ asked suddenly, peeking at Phainon’s face.

“Yeah. We made dragons out of clay.” He held up his crayon proudly. “Mine had three heads.”

“Three? That’s scary.”

“But I made them smiley. One of them was sticking out its tongue.”

█████ giggled, covering his mouth. “I wanna make a dragon too...”

“I'll ask grandma to buy clay later.”

"Mhm."

There was another silence until █████ leaned in slightly. “Did you eat snacks?”

“Uh-uhm. Milk and cookies. But not the good milk.” He made a pouty face. “Just the plain ones.”

“Aww, the chocolate is more delicious...”

“I know.” Phainon reached into the pocket of his shorts with a conspiratorial grin. “You reminded me. Here!”

From a tissue came a slightly squished chocolate cookie.

“For me?” █████ whispered, eyes dilated. "Is it okay?"

“Duh. You’re my brother. Of course it's okay! I saved it for you.”

█████ took the cookie like it was a treasure, holding it with both hands. 

“Thanks...” He bit onto the cookie, his smile spread once again. "This is delicious."

"Right!" Phainon nudged him. “Next time, we’ll both go to school and get cookies.”

“But... I can’t leave.”

“Not yet,” Phainon said, returning to his page. “But someday.”

They kept colouring in silence for a while, the air between them peaceful and warm.

After a moment, █████ murmured, “Do you have friends?”

“Mm. A few. One kid keeps climbing trees. Teacher gets mad.”

“Do you climb trees?”

“I tried. Fell.”

█████ gasped. “Did it hurt?”

“Only a bit,” Phainon grinned. “But don’t worry, I didn’t cry. Everyone laughed.”

“I wouldn’t have laughed if you did,” █████ mumbled. “I’d help you up.”

Phainon smiled at that.

"Hehe, you're so nice, █████."

They both filled in another page. This one had a flower field and a rainbow overhead.

Two small voices were humming the same simple, contented song together in the warm afternoon sun.

Suddenly, Phainon stopped humming. He rolled over slightly to face his brother, his eyes sparkling with a new, mischievous light.

“I got an idea,” he whispered, leaning in close.

█████ tilted his head. “What is it?”

Phainon cupped a hand around his ear and whispered the plan. █████’s eyes grew wider, a mixture of shock and excitement on his face.

“Can we do that?”

Phainon gave a single, confident nod, his grin widening. "Just leave it to me," he promised.

For a moment, they just looked at each other, mischief blooming on both their faces. Then they turned back to their books, crayons moving faster now. Excitement bubbling just beneath their identical grins.

Two boys. Side by side. Dreaming something only they could understand.

And in that moment, the world felt small, safe, and full of colours.

Flame Reaver jolted awake, breath caught in his throat.

It took him a moment to recognize where he was his darkened penthouse, the hum of machines in the background, and the dull glow of screens that hadn't slept. His hair clung to his skin, damp with cold sweat. He stared ahead, not at the monitors, but at the lingering feeling that clawed up from the edges of sleep.

A dream.

A strange one.

He rarely dreamed, never of that. Of a quiet hillside and his twin voice as though the world had never known for its cruelty. He rubbed his chest, where something ached. Familiar. Distant. Unwanted.

"Why now?"

His gaze drifted to the array of monitors. The timestamp glared back at him. Footage looped silently, camera angles fixed on a familiar figure.

Phainon, approaching Mydei’s penthouse.

Again.

Flame Reaver’s jaw tightened.

This was the second night he entered, and the second night he didn’t come out even after the sunrise.

Flame Reaver sat still for a moment, staring.

He tapped at the keyboard, but there was nothing new. No feed. Nothing at all.

Flame Reaver quietly lamented his lack of access. Mydei’s penthouse had no networked cameras he could breach, no smart devices he could turn into his eyes and ears. He was blind. All he could do was watch the entrance, like a common stalker.

His gaze settled on a clear, high-resolution image of Phainon’s face from the lobby camera, captured just a few hours ago.

Usually, the sight of that face, his face, on his own brother filled him with rage.

But tonight, tainted by the dream, something else stirred. The anger was there, but it was muddied, confused. He reached out, his fingertip hovered over Phainon's frozen face, almost trembling.

“You didn’t wear a scarf,” he said quietly. “It gets cold at night... You caught flu so easy, you have to stay warm.”

His eyes traced the curve of Phainon’s jaw. His voice barely above a whisper now.

“You didn’t skip your meal again, did you? You always forget when you get caught up in things.”

He exhaled, resting his palm against the cool glass. The flickering image of Phainon didn’t move, but Flame Reaver watched him like he might. Like the inanimated was temporary. Like Phainon was only waiting for the right moment to speak.

“Are your hands still trembling?” he asked, softer. “Does the cold still make them numb?”

“You haven’t been getting headaches again, right?”

"You're always so reckless. You didn’t hurt yourself, right?"

The questions came in a trickle, like he couldn’t stop them.

“Are you still running your hand on your nape when you’re nervous?”

“Do you still forget your umbrella?”

“Are you sleeping well?”

“Are you...”

His voice cracked.

He swallowed.

Then finally, with a smile that barely concealed the ache behind his eyes:
“Did you smile today?”

He leaned forward, forehead gently pressing against the screen. “Did someone make you laugh?”

His hand pressed lightly against the glass. “Did Mydei hold your hand? Did you rest your head on his shoulder the way you used to do with me, back when we're still...”

He cut himself off.

His throat clenched around something unspeakable. He looked down. Away. But his fingers remained on the screen, gently following the curve of Phainon's cheek, as though that would let him trace something long gone. Or maybe something he never had.

The warmth in his voice was brittle, barely holding together.

"Are you happy out there...?"

Then it came back. A high-pitched whine, barely audible to the world, but splitting sharp through his skull. The sound wasn’t from any speaker.

It came from his inside.  Like claws against the bone, a hideous feedback loop scraping at the inside of his skull, trying to tear that fragile, warm memory to shreds.

Flame Reaver flinched. He staggered back from the monitors, grabbing his ears with both hands, shaking his head violently.

“No. No, no, not now.”

But the noise only grew louder, static breaking into harsh fragments, whispering things in no language at all, just agony.

He slammed into the edge of the table, knocking loose tools and glass and everything to the ground in a single chaotic motion.

"STOP!" his voice cracked, as he stumbled across the room, barely registering the blood on his palm or the way his shoulder slammed into the wall.

And then...

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

His forehead struck the concrete again and again. Not hard enough to bleed. Just enough to feel. To silence. To drown the noise.

He growled. “It’s his fault... his fault...!”

He slid down the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the tenderness he’d felt just moments ago completely gone, submerged by the familiar, roaring tide of pain and rage.

“Why did you leave me?”

His hand fell to his side.

His chest heaved.

"Why did you betray me?" His voice trembled with spiraling emotion.

And the screen, still frozen, showed Phainon mid-step, with a thin smile on his face.

"█████... It's hurt... It feels more painful than falling off the tree."

There was no answer, only a persistent buzz of incoherent speech in his head.

"█████..."