Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The days that followed blurred into a rhythm that felt almost too peaceful. If not for their uniforms and sidearms, Phainon might’ve convinced himself they were just two people falling into the comfort of routine, not officers tangled in a case larger than either of them.

Their patrols stretched from early morning into the pink hues of late afternoon. The heat baked off the pavement in waves, and the streets of Okhema bustled with their usual noise, horns, chatter, the occasional street vendor trying to haggle a deal. 

Sometime, Phainon drove. Some other time, Mydei would take the wheels. When they patrol on foot, Mydei walked with dignity, straight back, cautious yet still so elegant, while Phainon often strolled just half a step ahead or behind, depending on his mood.

Sometime, they bickered over the route they should take. Phainon insisted on detouring past the best smoothie stand, while Mydei claimed the quickest path back should always win.

The banter was light, the one that drew smiles even when they tried to hide it. Mydei would roll his eyes with a dry comment, and Phainon, in turn, would grin like he’d just scored a victory.

“We're on patrol. Can't always stop for snack." Mydei reminded him when Phainon decided to buy some oranges.

"But buying from small stall also help the community, Mydei."

"You bought those oranges because the lady called you handsome."

"I’m just a man of simple joys."

"She said that to every man who passed by."

"Please don't ruin my happiness."

And that simplicity soon extended beyond work hours.

When the sun dipped down and they were off-duty, Phainon would often nudge Mydei and ask, "Wanna get dinner?"

Sometimes they ate out at random places Phainon knew, or somewhere upscale that Mydei somehow always had a discount at. 

Other times, they ate at Mydei's apartment. Mostly, Mydei cooked. Phainon mostly sat on the kitchen island, swinging his legs and sneaking bits of ingredients when Mydei wasn’t looking.

"Stop stealing the ingredient," Mydei muttered once, when Phainon stole a slice of goat cheese.

"I need to make sure everything is safe to consume."

"And risking your own digest system?"

"Sacrifice, Mydei. Don't you fall over heels for my noble act?"

Mydei stuffed a slice of mango onto his mouth to shut him up.

Afterward, they'd settle on the couch. Their shoulders brushing close, sometimes tangled together in half-sleep with soft murmurs of nothing.

The skinship became natural. Familiar. Mydei no longer frowned when Phainon leaned into him. And Phainon, he no longer questioned the small glances Mydei cast when he thought Phainon wasn’t looking. 

After long days, Phainon didn’t hesitate to drape himself over Mydei’s back while he tried to sort through reports. Mydei never told him to stop. Instead, he’d hum low in his throat and let Phainon melt the knots of stress away with his warmth.

“Tired?” Mydei asked once, when Phainon leaned his forehead into the crook of his neck.

“Mmh. You smell like coffee and pomegranate,” Phainon replied.

“That sounds like an absurd combination.”

Phainon chuckled. “Smells like home.”

"Your home is absurd, then."

"Don't slander my beautiful home like that."

They didn’t talk about the case. Not Flame Reaver. Not Kharion. Not even Melione.

Not because they didn’t care but because they understood. There would be a time for that.

Thus for now, they carved out space for each other in a world that felt like it was perpetually ready to collapse.

Phainon started to stay over at Mydei's apartment at least once in three nights, like it was a natural thing to do. On one evening, after a long patrol shift, Phainon threw himself on Mydei’s couch like a ragdoll, sighing dramatically. "I might never move again."

Mydei stepped over his legs and unbuckled his utility belt, tossing it aside with a metallic thud.

"You say that every day."

"Yeah, but this time it’s real."

“Right.” Mydei picked up Phainon’s ankle and sat beside him, letting the leg rest over his lap. Without a word, he started rubbing circles into the calf through the uniform fabric, then it shifted into full gentle leg massage.

Phainon blinked, then smiled lazily. “You’re spoiling me.”

"I know."

"You like me way too much."

Mydei gave a small, sarcastic smile. "Don’t let it go to your head."

Phainon stretched out, sitting and he scooted closer. “No promises.” He whispered before landed a chaste kiss on his temple.

And yet, even with the ease between them, there were nights when Phainon looked out the window a little too long.

Nights when Mydei caught him lost in thought, eyes narrowed as if trying to piece together a puzzle in his head. When that happened, Mydei didn’t speak. He’d move closer. Maybe wrap an arm around his waist. Or just rest his forehead on Phainon's back and breathe with him until whatever storm passed.

Other times, it was Mydei who fell silent, trembling with exhaustion or old memories he couldn’t quite shake. And Phainon would fold him into an embrace that held no judgment. Just quiet, comforting presence.

On particular night, after a double shift, they would share the jacuzzi, more to soothe sore muscles than anything else. More than once, Phainon had dozed off against Mydei’s chest, lulled by the warm water and steady heartbeat. Mydei let him sleep for a moment, fingers combing gently through pale blue strands.

They didn’t name their relationship yet. Maybe they never would. But in the spaces between patrol and paperwork, between laughter and silence, between the scent of pomegranate and the echo of soft footsteps in the hall, something was blooming and neither was trying to fight it.

The morning had passed in an undertone of anticipation, like the pause before a held breath.

Aglaea called them in. She was on her desk, remained as composed as always.

"You’ll be deployed to Aedes Elysiae starting tomorrow," she had said, folding her hands above the neat stack of files on her desk. The overhead light pooled gold on the floor, but it did little to warm her unshaken stoical approach. "All paperwork has been cleared. You’re both to investigate on-site under joint duty."

Phainon, leaning just a little too far back in his chair like a student trying not to care, immediately brightened. "So we're finally good to go? About time. I was starting to think you were stalling and I already ran of excuse to give my grandma for the delay.."

"My apologise. Somehow it took longer than I anticipated." Aglaea said, didn't take the words as offense. "Also, you’re being granted early clock-out today to prepare. Use it wisely."

Then, her eyes shifted to Mydei. "Be careful and make sure you have a good look on him."

Phainon straightened. "Again?! Excuse you, Chief! I’m the senior. Shouldn’t you be asking me to look after him?"

Mydei didn’t laugh, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

Still, his tone stayed level when he replied, "I understand. I’ll do what I can."

There had been something in Aglaea’s gaze when she dismissed them, a shadow tucked behind professionalism. Mydei didn’t mention it aloud. He didn’t need to. The message had been clear.

Not wasting long time, they went on separated way to pack and meet up again at the station.

After stuffing all the necessities into his suitcase, Mydei stepped out of the penthouse. The automatic doors whispered shut behind him. The late afternoon sun painted the skyline in amber and soft mauve, and the distant hum of the city was a steady companion to his thoughts.

He adjusted the strap of his sling bag and checked his phone. A new message glowed on the screen.

[Phainon, 16:13]
Got us tickets. Window seats, obviously. I know you like your tragic main character moments.

Mydei huffed a quiet laugh, thumbs flying over the screen.

[Me]
And you like staring at me like you’re in a music video. Who’s the dramatic one now?

[Phainon, 16:14]
We are. Already at the station, btw. There's this cat here sitting in front of me. Named it Meowdei. It looked like it hated the crowd but secretly wanted head pats.

[Me]
You miss me that much already?

[Phainon, 16:14]
Obviously. Hurry up. The cat won’t flirt back.

A rare softness crept into Mydei’s chest, warm and undeniable. He exhaled slowly through his nose and tucked his phone away. Then, he began walking, dragging his suitcase.

The street was quiet around this time, only the occasional passerby murmuring into their phone or lost in their own bubble of routine. Mydei’s mind was already halfway at the station, picturing the inevitable wave Phainon would throw the moment their eyes met.

But fate, ever fond of cruel timing, had other plans.

It happened in a flash. A firm hand gripped his wrist, too sudden, too strong. Instinct kicked in, but before he could twist out or retaliate, he was yanked into the alley between two tall apartment structures. His back hit the cold wall.

The crowd blurred behind him, replaced by the muted, suffocating hush of bricks and narrow shadows. A gasp caught in his throat, his instincts flaring, until he was pinned.

He lifted his head, ready to push, to fight, when the scent hit him.

That scent.

Sharp and scorched, edged with iron and faint traces of musk, yet underneath it all, there was something sharper, cold, something familiar.

A scent Mydei tried to forget. A scent that once wrapped around him like smoke.

Flame Reaver.

The arms that pinned him didn’t shake with aggression, but desperation. The strength behind them wasn’t meant to hurt, not this time. Mydei tried to move, his shoulder twitching to shove the man off, but Flame Reaver spoke first.

"My head. It hurts. Just, just give me a moment."

The words cracked against Mydei’s ears, unsteady and breathless. The tremble in his voice didn’t match the usual steel he carried. 

His grip tightened for a second before slackening. Flame Reaver didn’t lean in to intimidate, only to rest his forehead against Mydei’s shoulder like he was trying to escape himself. Like he was drowning and Mydei was the only shore he could reach.

Mydei should’ve shoved him away. Should've called backup. Should've drawn his weapon and thrown the bastard to the ground.

But something in the way Flame Reaver breathed, in that guttural, shaking way, like a wounded creature finding sanctuary, stalled him. He didn’t return the embrace, arms stiff at his sides, but he didn’t push him away either.

The silence in the alley was filled with the rhythm of uneven breath and distant traffic. Then Flame Reaver spoke again, his voice muffled by the fabric of Mydei's coat.

"Your scent, it's the only thing that makes it stop."

Mydei stiffened, his jaw tightening.

"It chases the noise away," Flame Reaver murmured, pressing his nose lightly against Mydei's neck, inhaling deep. Mydei could feel the faint tremble of his breath, like the inhale of a man desperate for peace. "When I’m near you, it quiets. All of it."

The contact, though gentle, singed through Mydei’s nerves. His skin crawled with unease, heart pounding with everything he should’ve done and hadn’t. His scent glands pulsed, releasing calming pheromones involuntarily, reacting to the proximity and Flame Reaver’s desperation.

For a brief second, Mydei wondered if Flame Reaver could hear how loud his own heart was beating. It pounded in his chest like a drum, unsure if it should sound the alarm or mourn for the soul wrapped around him. Mydei swallowed, his eyes fixed ahead. All he could do was feel.

Feel the tense line of muscles under Flame Reaver’s coat. Feel the almost imperceptible tremble in the man’s arms, born not of weakness, but of restraint.

Feel the heat and sharpness of a dominant Alpha who was on verge of out of control, and yet, for this second, so vulnerable it almost hurt.

His own scent had begun to rise in defense, but it wavered now. The mix of their pheromones hovered between them like a fragile truce. It was dizzying, clashing and blending, oil and water forced to co-exist.

Mydei exhaled slowly.

“That kid...” Flame Reaver muttered. Not a name. Not even the insult. And surprisingly, his voice was trembled. “Does he eat well?”

Mydei blinked.

“Did he sleep alright last night? He always has trouble of sleeping, you know. He hates nightmares. He needs someone to hold his hand...”

The questions came, quiet, frantic, laced with a tender urgency that did not belong to a criminal. They were the worries of a brother. The one that came when you knew you couldn’t ask directly. When all you could do was hope someone else had eyes on them when yours were shut.

"Did he complain about his headache? Did he... did he smile? Like really smile? Or is he just putting on that fake one again?"

"...So, you care about him," Mydei said quietly, not moving.

A pause. Then, a low scoff.

"Even if he betrayed me," Flame Reaver muttered, lifting his head. His voice didn’t carry any poison.

Only something aching. Wounded. Tired.

"He’s still my only brother."

Mydei's eyes narrowed. "What betrayal did he done, actually?"

Flame Reaver didn’t answer. He slowly stepped back, granting Mydei space, the shadowed wall now between them once more.

His expression relaxed into something unreadable, not cold, but distant. There was a faint smile on his lips, wistful and bitter all at once.

"Doesn’t matter now," he said. "You won’t believe me anyway."

Mydei squared his shoulders. "Try me."

"You’re going to Aedes Elysiae, aren’t you?" Flame Reaver shot a question rather than answering.

And it instantly made Mydei frowned.

"Don’t," Flame Reaver said simply. "Don’t go digging into that place. Stop digging into the past. It's dangerous."

The air between them shifted.

Mydei frowned, eyes sharp. "How do you know I’m going?"

Flame Reaver only shrugged, his arms falling back to his sides. "I told you. I’m always watching."

A chill ran through Mydei's spine. But he braced it, scowled, stepping forward now. "I’m still going."

A chuckle. It didn’t carry menace. Only the resigned air of a man who expected it.

"I know."

Then Flame Reaver leaned in once more, not threatening, not overwhelming, just close enough to plant a featherlight kiss on Mydei’s cheek.

"Be careful of every person you see," he whispered, right into his auditory.

The words slithered under Mydei’s skin.

In a burst of instinct, Mydei swung his fist, aiming for the side of Flame Reaver's face. But he dodged easily, slipping back with a step and a low laugh.

"See you later," he said, and then he turned, disappearing into the folds of the city before Mydei could chase him.

A buzz in his coat pocket. Mydei pulled his phone out, heart still pounding.

[Phainon, 16:35]
Where are you? The trains won’t wait forever, y’know.

Mydei stared at the message. He looked back toward the end of the alley where Flame Reaver had vanished, tension still wound tight in his shoulders.

Then he exhaled slowly, slipping his phone back into his coat.

[Me]
On my way.

He stepped out of the alley and toward the station, toward Phainon.

The weight of the warning still pressed into his skin like phantom fingers. But he didn’t look back.

The soft clatter of suitcase wheels on polished tile echoed faintly across the wide platform, mingling with the low murmur of the crowd and the hiss of the waiting train. Mydei stepped through the automated gate with a quiet sigh, his coat brushing past his knees, sling bag slung neatly over one shoulder and another hand dragging his suitcase. His steps slowed just slightly as he caught sight of Phainon ahead, standing tall beneath the high glass roof, grinning.

Phainon lifted an arm and waved with the same enthusiasm he always did, brightness that didn’t fade with time or fatigue. But the moment Mydei stepped within reach, that brightness faltered. His grin softened, and then dropped entirely. He stepped forward without hesitation, eyes narrowing as he reached out and gently cupped Mydei’s cheek with his palms.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quiet enough that only Mydei could hear over the platform bustle. “You smell like him.”

The scent was unmistakable. Sharp ozone laced with something burnt and metallic, threaded through with Mydei’s own sweeter, calmer pheromones like a memory trying to overwrite itself.

But Mydei didn’t flinch. He didn’t draw away or slap the hand aside. Instead, he leaned into the touch, as if chasing the warmth that bloomed from Phainon’s skin. His eyes fell closed.

“I’m okay,” he murmured, and even though the words held little conviction, the way he exhaled into Phainon’s hand told a different story like he needed this moment to believe it himself.

Phainon frowned, his thumb brushing the red mark just beneath Mydei’s eye, debating whether to press the subject. His lips parted but before anything could be said, a chime rang overhead. Clear, brisk, automated.

“Final boarding call for Aedes Elysiae. Train departs in ten minutes. All passengers, please proceed to Gate 4.”

The moment wavered like a breath caught between seconds. Phainon looked up at the platform display, then back down at Mydei, the protest on his tongue swallowed by practicality. He dropped his hand, eyes lingering on Mydei for one beat longer, then gestured toward the train.

“We’ll talk later,” he said.

Mydei gave the smallest nod and followed beside him. Neither said more as they crossed the final stretch to the car.

The train waiting for them gleamed beneath the high arched canopy of the station, its nose sharply aerodynamic. Like a bullet forged from brushed silver and tinted glass, the engine hummed with suppressed velocity. Inside, their car stood apart from the standard cabins, Business Class, with wide automatic doors that opened in a quiet sigh.

The corridor welcomed them with warm lighting and near-silent floors. As they stepped inside, the atmosphere shifted from city bustle to serene hush. The cabin stretched in a spacious layout, two seats on either side of the aisle with ample legroom, the upholstery plush in cool neutral tones of slate blue and ivory. Overhead storage compartments recessed cleanly into the ceiling, and each seat came with a small adjustable reading lamp, touchscreen control panel, and reclining features made for long-distance ease.

Large panoramic windows framed the capital beyond the station, soon to be replaced with the blur of speed once the train departed. The air held the faintest scent of polished wood and citrus cleaner, fresh without being sterile. Phainon smiled, handling their belongings and loaded it to the top compartment. Mydei slid into his assigned seat next to the window and Phainon sat beside him, still watching him, not with suspicion, but with concern that simmered just beneath the surface. He didn’t speak, and neither did Mydei.

The doors hissed shut with a soft click. Moments later, the train lurched forward with barely perceptible motion, and outside, the city began to slip past in slow streaks of motion. The hum beneath their feet had settled into a rhythm too subtle to notice unless one was searching for silence.

Phainon turned toward Mydei, the corners of his eyes shadowed by concern. He slowly grasped Mydei's hand, loosely holding it with his thumb brushing quiet circles against the back of Mydei’s fingers. Carefully, he reached out with his free hand and cupped Mydei’s cheek, the touch feather-light.

“So, what happened?”

Mydei exhaled. “He ambushed me,” he said.

Phainon didn’t flinch, but he frowned breath held between his lips.

“He didn’t hurt me,” Mydei continued, leaning ever so slightly into the warmth of Phainon’s palm. “Just, said his head hurt. Something about noise. He looked in pain. Like he was barely keeping it together.”

Phainon made a low, thoughtful sound. He didn’t comment right away. Instead, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Mydei, drawing him close without asking. Mydei blinked, startled, and instinctively tried to pull away but then he caught it.

The scent.

Warm, faint musk, and something clean like fresh air before rain. Phainon’s scent, subtle but relaxing, filtered softly into the air like mist. It curled into Mydei’s lungs before he could think to resist it, and whatever strength he had left to fight this, he let it go.

“I’m erasing his scent,” Phainon whispered into his ear. “I hate it. Smelling someone else on you.”

Mydei closed his eyes and sighed, nodding his head. He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he just stayed there, letting himself breathe in Phainon in return. Something in his chest gradually loosened. The fog left behind by Flame Reaver’s presence was already fading, the ache settling into something gentler.

They sat like that for a while, shoulder to shoulder in the cocoon of their carriage. Beyond the windows, the world passed in broad strokes, green hills, fractured light on shallow water, flashes of distant rooftops. But between them, there was just only gentle tranquility.

"He asked about you, by the way." Myde said, slightly rubbing his nose against Phainon's neck.

"Me?"

Mydei nodded. “Yeah. Like… if you’re eating enough. If you’re still hurting.”

A strange expression flickered across Phainon’s face. Not surprise, but something gentler. Confusion, concern tangled in old wounds. “That's, weird...”

“I know.” Mydei tilted his head, watching him. “He still accused you for betrayal, though.”

Phainon’s brows furrowed, and he blinked slowly, as if struggling to pin those words down. “I really don’t know what he means by that,” he said finally. “I don’t think I ever have...”

Mydei’s gaze sharpened. “You’re not lying?”

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” Phainon said immediately, not defensive but with certainty. “I mean, yeah, we’ve been through things… horrible things, together. But I don't recall any betrayal...”

Phainon rested his arm on the padded edge between their seats, fingers lightly brushing Mydei’s as if grounding himself. A crease lingered between his brows, subtle.

“Is it okay if I ask,” Mydei murmured, voice low and unhurried, “how things were with him? Before you thought you lost him in the fire.”

Phainon blinked. Then nodded. “Yeah,” he breathed. “We were close. Real close.”

The words came slowly, measured, like stepping through a house of cards that might toppled if he breathed wrong. He kept his eyes forward, watching their reflections in the glass. “We used to do everything together. Had these little codes between us. Played dumb pranks. Hid in cabinets when it rained so no one could find us. He always had this weird habit of sneaking extra snacks in his pocket and saying it was for emergencies.”

A soft chuckle escaped him, but it didn’t last. “But then I started going to school more regularly. Joined extracurriculars. Met people. And, he started changing.”

The humor evaporated from his tone.

“Not overnight. Just bit by bit, he got angrier. Would lash out at dumb things. Snap when I had to stay out late or didn’t answer fast enough. Sometimes he would cry when I was away from his sight for too long. held my hand so tightly like I might disappear otherwise.”

His shoulders drew in slightly, like the words came with weight. “Maybe he felt I was leaving him behind. Maybe that was a betrayal for him.”

"I see. Maybe that is true..." Mydei murmured. "Speak of which, what is his name? I mean, real name. He said you stole his name and referred himself as Flame Reaver. Surely, he had a name, right?"

Phainon’s brow furrowed, the lines etching deeper. His eyes unfocused for a moment, drifting somewhere distant, like reaching for a photo half-burnt. He blinked. Once. Then again, slower.

“His name...?” he muttered, barely audible. His fingers clenched the edge of the seat. "Right, his name... He is..."

He tried to speak again, but no words came. Instead, a flicker passed behind his eyes, something faintly strained. His jaw tensed as his breath grew shallower. The recollection, once clear, now turned blurry, darkened like the light was suddenly cut off.

What was his name? Why couldn't he recall any other detail? He remembered went somewhere, walking down this cold damp hallway. But where had they gone that day? What had they argued about? A room flashed in his mind, blinding with light and too cold and someone shouting, laughing, but it was muffled, indistinct, swallowed by the thick fog curling around the memory.

He winced. A faint sound like nails grinding against glass scraped at the back of his mind. His hand jerked up instinctively, covering his ear. But it didn’t help.

The noise wasn’t from outside.

It came from within.

A low, internal screech, mechanical, primal, close to metal teeth sawing through bone. It spiked sharply, lancing through his temples. He gasped.

Phainon doubled slightly in his seat, free hand now pressing against the other side of his head, knuckles pale with pressure.

Mydei had turned to him, lips parted in concern, but Phainon barely registered it. His heartbeat thundered beneath his skin.

His breath hitched. The train, the seat, even Mydei beside him, all became dim silhouettes. That sound was growing louder, like it wanted to chew through everything soft in him and carve out what it thought he’d forgotten.

Shadows flickered along the corners of his vision, memories or noise, he couldn’t tell anymore. All he could feel was the pressure, the vibration of something wrong, something he had missed or wasn’t allowed to remember.

“Stop,” he whispered to no one, his voice strained.

Something had been carved out of his memory, clean but jagged at the edges, like it didn’t want to be uncovered. And behind it. static, the sound of something hunting him from within. He gasped with a short, involuntary jerk of his shoulders as if repelling a blow that never came.

He didn’t say anything. Couldn’t. It was as though some invisible vice clamped down on his skull, tightening with every thrum of his heartbeat. The seat beneath him felt too rigid. Too narrow. The cabin's filtered air suddenly turned acidic in his lungs. A tremor threaded through his hand, barely perceptible until it wasn’t. Until his fingers curled tight around the edge of his seat, knuckles pale, jaw clenched to keep in the sound clawing its way up his throat.

Then it started. The low thrum of his pheromones spilled into the cabin like a rupture, cracked open without warning. The scent was violent, carried weight, dense and pressure, as if the air had dropped ten degrees. Bitter ozone laced with copper. Some people were starting pick it up, noises gathered, some other started to hyperventilate.

And Mydei was already moving.

He leaned forward across the narrow armrest, one hand pressing firmly to the back of Phainon’s neck, the other around his shoulder as he pulled him in. A tight hug. Mydei’s cheek brushed against Phainon’s temple as he shielded him, as though if he let go, Phainon might actually split apart.

Then came his voice. Low, steady.

“Breathe. Phainon, breathe with me.”

Phainon’s lashes fluttered. The line of his brow slowly unknotted as he shuddered, his body slowly melting into the embrace like water finally finding a container. And there, slipping through the suffocating air of the train cabin, came another scent. A gentle bloom of sweetness, thick and golden like late-summer honey. Pomegranate. Ripe, lush, and oddly comforting. It curled around them, unspoken reassurance.

Phainon’s breath hitched again. Then finally, slowly, he exhaled.

Again.

And again.

His shoulders slumped. His fingers unclenched. His cheek pressed against Mydei’s collarbone, forehead resting just above the hollow of his shoulder, as he let himself be held.

A faint shuffle of footsteps came down the aisle. Then a voice, polite but wary.

“Excuse me, sir?” The attendant, a beta in uniform. “We’ve had passengers reporting active pheromone discharge. If you require it, we do have private quarter.”

“Yes, we're apologise for the trouble.” Mydei said, already shifting to guide Phainon up. “Can we use it?”

The attendant nodded. “Of course. This way, please.”

Phainon straightened, but shakily, his hand brushing over his face like he couldn’t quite gather himself. “I’m fine now,” he murmured, barely above a whisper.

“No, you’re not.” Mydei didn’t look at him, but his grip on Phainon’s wrist tightened, just enough to be felt. “Get up.”

Phainon didn’t argue.

They followed the attendant past the end of the car, through a discreet sliding panel at the back corridor. Inside was a narrow but room, more modern capsule than medical bay. Scent-dampening tech buzzed softly in the background, a low hum built into the floor vents. There was a single padded bed built into the wall, a fold-out bench, and a panel for emergency vitals.

The door hissed shut behind them.

The moment the door sealed behind them, Mydei guided Phainon with a gentle hand at his back, steering him toward the low padded bed. The soft hum of air filtration thrummed faintly in the background, the room’s neutral, sterile quiet a sharp contrast to the chaos that had nearly unraveled them outside.

“Sit,” Mydei murmured, fingers brushing down Phainon’s arm.

Phainon obeyed at first, sinking onto the edge of the bed with a weight that looked too heavy for his frame. But as Mydei lingered close, he looked up, brows knitting, the exhaustion in his eyes giving way to hesitation.

“I’m okay,” he said, voice low but steady. “Really. You can go. I’ll handle it.”

Mydei didn’t flinch. He folded his arms, tilted his head slightly. “No, you won’t.”

A huff of breath left Phainon’s lips, part amusement, part protest. “I mean it. I don’t want you stuck here watching me fall apart. If anything happens... If I lose it again—”

“I don’t know what might happen either,” Mydei cut in, quietly. “That’s why I’m staying.”

Phainon looked at him, searching for even a flicker of doubt. But Mydei didn’t waver. He was as composed as ever. Like he’d already made peace with whatever storm might come next. That was somehow more terrifying than if he’d shown fear.

Phainon exhaled shakily, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t even know what happened back there,” he muttered. “It’s like something crushed my mind. I couldn’t stop it. I didn’t even know my pheromone was leaking...”

He stopped. Words failed him. His hands flexed once on his knees, as though itching to grab at something to tether himself, but he didn’t reach.

Mydei knelt down again in front of him. He reached forward without permission, without hesitance, arms wrapping tightly around Phainon’s waist. His cheek pressed into his stomach, and the warmth of his body curled around him like silk wrapping around bruised skin.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured.

Phainon didn’t answer right away, just sighed and then folded. Slowly, his body curved downward, melting into Mydei’s frame. He dipped forward, arms sliding around the other man’s shoulders. Even with the choker, Mydei’s scent was still there, faint syrup-sweet with something ripe and velvety buried beneath. Familiar. Too familiar.

It made something in Phainon’s chest ache and settle all at once.

“I…” His voice was muffled, his finger brushing against Mydei’s neck, where he could vaguely felt the choker. “Can I…? Just for a bit.”

Mydei didn’t answer immediately. The tension in his spine stiffened, just a breath. Then slowly, he pulled back, just enough to meet Phainon’s eyes. The silence between them stretched, filled with the sound of breath and pulse and the soft whir of the air vents.

Then, Mydei stood up and he reached up, touched the side of his neck.

With deft fingers, he pressed into the hidden release along the choker’s invisible panel. There was a faint click, and the thin, seamless collar came loose. He slipped it off, setting it gently onto the table nearby.

The change was instant.

Mydei’s pheromone, no longer suppressed, flooded the room with a slow, deliberate tide. It wasn’t overwhelming. It wasn’t sharp. It came like a warm current through still water, rich, honeyed, deeply sweet, the scent of overripe pomegranates cracked open beneath the sun. It wrapped around them like a second skin, slow and saturating, until Phainon could feel it bloom in his lungs, behind his eyes, under his tongue.

He inhaled, deeply, greedily. Not like breathing but like drinking. As if Mydei’s scent were the only thing tethering him to his body. He stood, arms moved instinctively and fingers clenching on Mydei's clothes and pulled him close, close enough for him to drown his nose in his crook of neck.

“Mydei…” he whispered, reverent. He pressed his lips to the soft skin of his neck—once, twice—then again, slower, grazing the spot beneath his ear. “Your scent, gosh, it makes everything better yet wrecking me at the same time...”

Mydei didn’t move. Didn’t resist. Instead, he tilted his chin just slightly, the smooth line of his throat arching upward in quiet offering. Trust laid bare in a gesture as simple as exposed skin.

“You’re too trusting,” Phainon muttered, the edge of his teeth grazing along the thrum of Mydei’s pulse. “You know I’m still an alpha. I could lose it. You wouldn’t even stand a chance if I —”

“I know,” Mydei said simply.

Phainon blinked, lips still hovering above his skin. “Then why aren’t you stopping me?”

The answer came slower this time. Softer.

“Because maybe it’s not just trust,” Mydei murmured, his hands sliding up to cup the back of Phainon’s neck, fingertips threading through his hair. “Maybe I wouldn’t mind if something did happen.”

Phainon froze.

Then a laugh broke from him, low and stunned, his breath puffing warm against Mydei’s skin. He drew back just slightly, just enough to see the faint flush that colored Mydei’s cheeks. The calm in his eyes was real.

“Careful,” Phainon whispered. “That might be the most seductive thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

Then, he leaned down again, and his tongue swept slowly across the fluttering pulse beneath Mydei’s skin. Just once. Just enough to taste it, to feel the shiver that coursed through Mydei’s frame as the breath caught in his chest.

And still, Mydei didn’t pull away.

Phainon's hands slid beneath Mydei’s thighs with a practiced ease, and in one effortless motion, he led his steps until Mydei’s spine met the mattress with a muffled creak. The bed dipped under their weight, the scent-sealed room already warm with tension, and Phainon followed him down, his body stretched like a bowstring above him, hovering.

Mydei didn’t protest, just stared up, steady, his lips parted. Phainon could even see his own reflection on those golden oculi.

Phainon buried his nose against the curve of Mydei’s neck, where skin met collarbone, where the warmth pooled in quiet pulses. He inhaled deeply—again and again—as though drowning would be a blessing. His breath ghosted across Mydei’s throat, soft and scorching. His arms caged around him, but his weight never pressed down; it was restraint, carefully balanced tension in his limbs.

From somewhere deep within, Phainon’s pheromones began to unfurl again, unrestrained, blooming slow and heady like midnight smoke. It was different now, no longer erratic or distressed. This time it was smooth, velvety, laced with something dusky and musky, like cracked amber warmed by skin, coaxing, tempting. Seduction in scent alone.

Mydei shifted beneath him, his breath slowing, eyelids growing heavy with the atmosphere curling in his lungs. He murmured, voice dangerously sweet, “Now you’re doing the seduction.”

A chuckle reverberated low in Phainon’s chest. He lifted his head just enough to look at him, strands of silver-blue hair falling across his brow.

“Is it working?”

Mydei didn’t answer.

Instead, he reached up, fingers curling behind Phainon’s neck, tugging him down without force. And when their mouths met, the kiss was not tender.

It was heat.

Teeth grazed lips, mouths opening against each other with a raw kind of hunger that had no urgency, only depth. Mydei tilted his chin, lips parting further, inviting him in. Phainon tasted him, sweet and bitter like dark chocolate, like something stolen and savored. Their tongues met with friction, not clash, but a pressure that made breath shake in their chests. Mydei’s hands threaded into his hair, pulling him closer, until Phainon nearly collapsed on top of him, weight trembling with restraint.

Phainon moaned softly into the kiss, almost a whimper, the sound slipping out before he could bite it back. Mydei’s hands didn’t loosen, and the kiss deepened, slow, searing.

The bed creaked beneath them as Phainon shifted, one knee between Mydei’s legs, his hips just brushing, just barely touching. He shivered, the scent of Mydei’s pheromones threading into his own. Dizzying. Addictive. Their mingled heat pressed into the air like humidity, like a thunderstorm barely held at bay.

When they finally pulled apart, lips swollen and breaths staggered, Phainon didn’t move far. His forehead rested against Mydei’s, his eyes half-lidded, dazed. Mydei had a faint curve of smile on his visage, fingers stroked lightly along the nape of his neck.

The room was warm with the thick perfume of mingled pheromones, air heavy and slow. Tranquility wrapped around them like a silken veil, interrupted only by the quiet hitch in their breathing and the subtle creak of the mattress under them.

Then, slowly, reverently, Phainon leaned down again, to press his mouth to the corner of Mydei’s jaw. The touch was gentle at first, like a whisper. Then another, closer to the hinge of his jaw, trailing with a breathless murmur as his lips traced a line upward.

“Mydei,” he whispered, the name barely shaped between each press of his mouth. As if the sound itself were sacred.

He kissed the edge of Mydei’s cheekbone, warm and slow. Then the space under his eye. Then the tip of his nose. His hands cradled Mydei’s face with a trembling care, like he was memorizing it with every brush of his lips. One hand slid into his hair, thumb stroking against the curve of Mydei’s temple as he kissed just beside his eyebrow.

There was no rush to it, as gentle as unspoken praise.

By the time he reached Mydei’s throat again, Phainon had trailed down every soft point of his face like a map. His mouth found the edge of his jaw, then lower, to the vulnerable place where skin met tendon. He nuzzled there, breathing in deep.

Mydei’s breath trembled. His arms remained around Phainon, not pulling but anchoring.

Then came a bite. Gentle. Right where his pulse fluttered. Not enough to bruise, just enough to make Mydei’s fingers twitch in Phainon’s hair. The next kiss that followed was laced with a smile, playful, adoring. His tongue flicked out, soothing where he bit, and then he kissed lower, to the hollow of Mydei’s collarbone.

"Why are you so irresistible...?"

Mydei didn’t answer, but he tilted his head again, just enough to offer more.

And Phainon, helpless against it, kissed down the exposed line of throat once more. Each kiss slower than the last. Lingering. Like he was trying to leave something there. Not mark, but his presence.

When he returned to Mydei’s lips, the kiss was deeper. Less desperate, more intimate. Adoration than carnal desire.

He cupped Mydei’s cheek again, leaned into him fully this time, and whispered like a confession against his mouth.

“Let me stay like this. Just a bit longer.”

"Sure." Mydei nodded, gently stroked Phainon's spine.

Phainon let out a breath that trembled faintly against Mydei’s shoulder. His body slowly eased, tension unwinding as if Mydei’s words had untangled a knot inside him. Still curled against Mydei’s side, he gave a small nod, eyes closed, lashes brushing the skin beneath them.

“I'll be here,” Mydei murmured again, quieter this time, like a lullaby meant only for the space between them.

He shifted slightly, adjusting their positions so Phainon could lie more comfortably. The bed in the private cabin was narrow, but it didn’t matter; Phainon sought out every inch of warmth like he was heavily depended on him. He pressed his forehead to Mydei’s collarbone, their legs tangled loosely, one of his hands still clutching Mydei’s as though afraid to let go.

Mydei exhaled softly and raised his other hand, running his fingers gently through Phainon’s hair. He moved slowly, rhythmically, like combing through wind-loosened silk. Occasionally, his fingertips brushed against the nape of Phainon’s neck, and each time, the alpha let out a soft sigh, melting further into the hold.

A kiss was placed on Phainon's head, a warm, steady weight of reassurance.

“We still have a long ride,” Mydei whispered. “Use it to rest.”

Phainon made a sound of acknowledgment, too quiet to decipher, and curled in closer. His breathing began to even out, deeper now, the earlier edge of panic softened by Mydei’s scent still lingering in the air. The cabin was quiet, save for the muffled hum of the train gliding along its rails. Outside the tinted windows, the landscape sped past in a blur, but inside the compartment, time felt slower. Safe.

Mydei didn’t close his eyes. He stayed still, gently stroking Phainon’s hair, occasionally tightening his hold when he felt a twitch or sigh. His gaze wandered toward the ceiling, thoughts unwinding itself, waiting to get sorted.

( Phainon, Flame Reaver... ) He thought to himself. ( Seems like there is really something deeper in their identities... )

He softly exhaled his breath. Flame Reaver's warning hung heavy and he could only wish their journey wouldn't be as difficult as he feared.

The wardrobe creaked faintly as its doors slid open, the dim sliver of afternoon light casting golden lines through the dust floating in the air. Hidden among folded blankets and old coats, Phainon blinked up with a curious tilt of his head—then broke into a wide, gap-toothed grin.

“Heyyy,” he whispered, scooting over eagerly on the cramped wooden floor. “You’re back!”

█████ beamed, face flushed from running, his bangs sticking slightly to his forehead. He crawled in, careful not to knock over the small flashlight between them. “Yeah! I ran home as fast as I could.”

The doors closed with a soft click behind them, sealing off the outside world in their shared little secret place. Inside the wardrobe was warm, the scent of old cedarwood curling gently in the air. Their knees bumped as █████ settled beside Phainon, still catching his breath.

“So?” Phainon asked, nudging him with an elbow. “How was it?”

A bright spark lit up █████’s eyes. “It was so fun!” he chirped. “We had storytime and snack time and...oh! There was a big picture on the wall with a dog in a crown! I think it was for a play.”

Phainon’s eyebrows lifted in mock astonishment. “A crowned dog? What kinda kingdom is that?” he teased, then leaned in. “Did you talk to anyone?”

█████ nodded eagerly, the enthusiasm bubbling out in a soft giggle. “Mhm! There was a girl named Cyrene. She gave me her red crayon ‘cause mine broke! And then I spilled juice and teacher said it was okay!”

“You spilled juice?” Phainon grinned, wide and toothy. “Was it the grape one? That stuff stains like crazy!”

“I didn’t mean to!” █████ whined, laughing as he leaned his shoulder against Phainon’s. “I just… bumped into the table a little…”

Phainon shook his head with a playful sigh. “And here I thought you’d go a whole day without causing a disaster.”

“I tried my best, okay!” █████ argued, puffing his cheeks, then smiled again as he took out a paper from his pocket, showed a doodle. “Anyway, Cyrene is so kind. She said my drawing of the rabbit was cute.”

“It was a rabbit?” Phainon blinked. “Didn't you put a horn on it?”

█████ hesitated, then squinted. “...Uh, I was trying to draw unicorn but Cyrene said it was a rabbit, so...”

“Then let's call it Unibbit,” Phainon declared with a triumphant nod. “Very rare species.”

They both burst into giggles, muffling themselves behind small hands so the sound wouldn’t echo out of their little hideaway.

After the laughter died down, Phainon tilted his head and looked at █████ more softly. “Hey. Are you happy?”

█████ paused, the question lingering for a moment between them like a leaf suspended in midair. He blinked, then nodded. “Mhm. I was a little scared at first… but it was fun. You were right.”

Phainon grinned, nudging his brother’s arm. “Told you. See? It’s gonna be okay.”

There was a pause. Then, in a smaller voice, █████ mumbled, “Sorry for doubting you…”

Phainon’s eyes softened. “It’s okay,” he said gently, wrapping an arm around █████’s small frame and squeezing him in a side hug. “Now that you know, we'll do this again, okay?”

They sat like that for a moment, the silence warm and companionable. The wood creaked softly as the train passed far outside, rumbling through dream space. A patch of sunlight had shifted near the bottom of the door, golden and calm.

“So?” Phainon asked at last, voice light and bright with curiosity. “What else happened?”

█████ looked up, mouth already open to speak. Eyes glinting with excitement, cheeks puffed slightly as he prepared to tell more tales of juice disasters and weird animal drawings but the dream slowly began to dim. Their voices, once vivid and echoing gently in their wooden fort, softened like the end of a lullaby. The wardrobe's shadows stretched just a little longer. The flashlight between them flickered.

But the giggles lingered, two small boys tucked close together in a world that was only theirs, where everything was warm and simple, and anything unknown could be made safe as long as they were side by side.

The train pulled into the station with a low metallic hum, its headlights slicing the early morning haze. Outside the tinted windows, dawn hadn't yet broken. There was only a wash of deep indigo brushing the horizon, with stars still stubbornly clinging to the sky. A soft chime rang in the carriage and the gentle jolt of brakes rolling to a stop stirred the two men seated side by side.

Phainon was already awake.

He’d stirred not long before, quietly slipping away from Mydei’s side to wash his face, fix his collar, and pull his composure back over himself like a reliable cloak. His posture had returned to that familiar unshakable confidence, but a few faint creases lingered beneath his eyes. When he glanced at Mydei, still quietly blinking the sleep from his lashes, a smile tugged at Phainon’s mouth, gentler than his usual ones.

“We’re here,” he said softly.

Mydei let out a slow breath, raking a hand through his hair as he sat up. His coat was a bit wrinkled, his tie loose from earlier tension, but he didn’t rush to fix any of it. He just stretched, subtle and silent, before nodding and rising to his feet beside Phainon.

They gathered their things in silence. Each took their respective suitcases and bags. Mydei shouldered his with ease while Phainon slung his bag over one shoulder.

The doors hissed open.

A wave of cool, earthy air greeted them the moment they stepped down from the train platform. Not the chill of the city’s early hours, but a softer and richer, tinged with dew and the crispness of open land. Mydei glanced up at the platform sign above their heads: Aedes Elysiae, its name carved in wood, faded with time but still proudly hung under the rusted iron arch.

The station was small. It only had a single lane for the bullet train and one covered waiting bench with chipping green paint. An old vending machine humming in the corner. The station house looked more like a repurposed barn than any official transit building with stone walls, wide wooden beams, and a single flickering lamp that barely lit the narrow hallway to the exit.

Outside the station walls, the world felt impossibly wide.

The fields were endless.

Wheat, golden even beneath the pale moonlight, swayed like an ocean frozen mid-wave. It covered the horizon in every direction, their gentle rustle barely audible over the hum of the train. There were no buildings in sight yet, just patches of fog hanging low across the farmland and distant trees standing.

Phainon paused just beyond the threshold of the station door. His silhouette was quiet, outlined against the sleeping countryside. Then he tilted his head toward the fields, his voice light and laced with something almost wistful.

“I used to lie there,” he murmured. “Right out in the wheat. Watched the trains pass. Used to imagine every one of them was carrying someone interesting. Someone coming back.”

Mydei glanced at him. “You waited for someone?”

Phainon grinned, shaking his head. “No. I just liked pretending that I had something to wait every single day. It made the mundane life less boring.”

Aedes Elysiae itself was a small village, barely a dot on most maps. Small rows of modest homes with pale stone walls and chimneys with soft trails of smoke. A few barns dotted the outskirts. In the distance, windmills turned slowly, creaking under the weight of their blades, stirring the heavy scent of wheat and soil.

The horizon wasn’t obscured by skyscrapers, unlike Okhema. The roads were unpaved, dirt beaten smooth by tractors and footsteps. There were no neon signs, no car horns. Just the occasional crow of a rooster or a dog’s distant bark. A soft breeze carried the earthy aroma of harvest and wood.

Phainon stepped forward first, his boots crunching lightly on gravel. Mydei followed without a word, adjusting the strap of his bag as he let the air settle into his lungs. It was a place untouched by time, and in many ways, untouched by pain, at least on the surface.

“It’s quiet,” Mydei finally said, his tone unreadable.

“Too quiet,” Phainon glanced over his shoulder with a crooked smile. “I give you...mm, two days before you start missing the city noise.”

Mydei didn’t respond, but the faint upward curve of his lips betrayed him.

They passed a broken wooden sign half-sunk into the grass: Welcome to Aedes Elysiae, the letters nearly illegible. A faded wheat emblem sat beneath the text, chipped and weather-worn, like a forgotten seal. Further down the road, soft orange lights began to flicker on in windows as the early risers preparing for their activity.

“Still remember the way?” Mydei teased.

“Haha, I can't forget even if I want to,” Phainon said, eyes scanning the path ahead. “My place is on the north side of the town.”

“North side.” Mydei glanced left, toward the slowly lightening sky. “Wheat fields all look the same.”

“Yeah, but the shadows don’t lie.” Phainon pointed toward a silhouette of a taller structure. “See that? The tower's shadow leans a little to the north.”

"...Honestly, I don't know if you're joking or not."

"Hahaha, I will let you ponder upon it, partner"

Mydei raised a brow but said nothing more.

They walked onward, footsteps muffled by dirt, until finally Phainon's steps halted in front of a house.

It was a two-story structure with weathered shutters and pale clay walls with edges softened by time. Morning mist curled low around its compact courtyard, where potted flower plants lined the narrow path. A large, leafy tree filled the other side, branches creaking softly with the breeze. From one thick limb, dangled a worn rope swing that swayed ever so gently in the wind, as if it remembered the weight of childhood.

Phainon grinned as they stepped through the low wooden gate, nudging it closed behind them. He turned to Mydei, motioning toward the house with a sweep of his arm. “Welcome,” he whispered, “to the humble origin of yours truly.”

Mydei gave the house a once-over. It looked far different from his residence. No camera, no security, no ridiculously expensive ornament. And yet, this one looked far more comfortable, more 'homey'.

"You grew up here, right?”

Phainon nodded. “Yeah. After the fire, I moved here. This is the house where all my terrible habits began. I used to climb that tree when I was supposed to be inside doing homework. Broke the swing once, too. Don’t worry, I fixed it. Sort of.”

"Sure, I will remember to avoid the swing."

"I thought you trusted me, Mydei..."

"Well, I am not one to blindly trust, Senior."

They approached the front door and Mydei glanced toward the darkened windows. “Are you sure it’s okay to show up at this hour? Your grandmother’s probably asleep.”

“She is,” Phainon admitted, fishing a key out of his jacket pocket, “but it’s fine. I’ve got the key. She’s always been fine with me dropping in unannounced.”

He fitted the key into the lock and turned it slowly, mindful of the old hinges. The door creaked open into a warm, quiet entryway, lined with smooth wood paneling and carrying the soft scent of dried herbs and cedar. Phainon stepped in first, shrugging off the cold.

He stepped in first, glancing over his shoulder. “Hold on.” He crouched beside the door and pulled out a pair of indoor slippers, placing them neatly in front of Mydei’s feet. “For my precious guest.”

“You always this accomodating at home?”

Phainon smirked. “Only when I want something.”

Slipping out of his boots, Mydei stepped into the offered sandals.  “Thank you, most gracious host.”

“My grandma would love you,” Phainon said offhandedly, toeing off his own shoes and grabbing another pair of slippers. “You talk like a textbook.”

"Is that even a compliment..."

“Detail, detail." Phainon grinned. "C’mon. Second floor, off we go”

They made their way up the stairs, footsteps soft against the worn wood. Mydei’s eyes traced the decor. Handmade tapestries, ceramic figurines, old portraits of a younger Phainon beside his grandmother, some other had him with kids around his age or alone in fields. A smile slyly made a move on the surface of Mydei's visage.

At the top of the stairs, Phainon walked them past two closed doors. At the very end, he paused and turned to face Mydei, scratching the back of his neck. “So, uh… about the room.”

Mydei raised an eyebrow, waiting.

“There’s only one room. Technically, there’s a couch downstairs, but I doubt either of us wants to wrestle that antique into submission.” Phainon cleared his throat. “I mean, there’s no other room that’s not, like, grandma’s, and I’m not trying to be weird or suggest anything. I just...Err, this is really the only space I can offer. Just wanted to make that clear. Zero ulterior motives. Fully professional sleeping arrangements.”

“You’re rambling that now it feels so suspicious.”

“...I’m just trying to explain.”

“I’ve shared rooms before,” Mydei said after short chuckle and headshake. “It’s normal during operations.”

Phainon opened the door with a sheepish grin. “Right. But hey, we’re not exactly just co-workers, are we?”

Mydei looked at him before he shrugged nonchalantly before walking into the room.

The room was modest. Wood-paneled walls, a low bed pressed into the corner and a desk beside the window. A stack of books also leaned precariously in one corner. There was a round low table tucked next to the desk.

"Lemme roll the mattress." Phainon said, sliding the wardrobe open and then unrolled the mattress next to the bed. It wasn’t particularly thick, but not entirely uncomfortable. "You get the bed.”

Mydei sat on the edge of the bed, resting his bag and suitcase on the ground. “Nah, I’m not picky. Floor’s fine if you want the bed.”

“Nah. I do have seniority in floorboards so lemme take the floor for you.”

"Is this another attempt to charm me by putting me first?"

"Is it working?"

Mydei shook his head in a slow motion, like he was pitying Phainon instead.

After unpacking the essentials and brushing teeth, both of them too exhausted from travel. Phainon took the floor, stretched out with his hands behind his head, and kicked the blanket over his legs with a lazy motion.

Mydei took the bed without comment, settling beneath the blanket with a low sigh. He lay on his side, facing the wall, the scent of fresh linen mingling with the faintest hint of the old wood structure.

Phainon mumbled a “goodnight,” but it was too garbled by the pillow to be clear. Mydei didn’t respond, already on the edge of sleep.

Time passed in a drowsy blur, minutes melting into one another.

It was sometime later, hours maybe, when the floor creaked softly. Barely enough to be heard, but the slight shift in weight gave it away. The futon rustled, followed by a quiet exhale. Then the warmth of another body dipped into the mattress.

Mydei stirred faintly at the movement. His brow furrowed, eyes still closed, one hand groping sleepily beneath the blanket, only to find the familiar slope of Phainon’s hip.

A grunt escaped him, low and muffled. “What’re you doing...”

Phainon didn’t answer immediately, already curling against him. His body was warm, too warm actually but he settled in without shame, worming his way beneath the blanket like it was second nature. Mydei barely lifted an arm before Phainon had already claimed the space beneath it, nestling into the crook of his chest like he belonged there.

He tucked himself tightly, one hand pressed lightly over Mydei’s stomach, the other tucked under his own cheek. His forehead rested against Mydei’s collarbone, his breath slow and feather-soft against skin. He didn't speak, just shifted once, twice, until he was perfectly comfortable against Mydei’s side.

A moment passed. Then Mydei, still halfway adrift between sleep and wakefulness, let his hand fall gently to Phainon’s back. His fingers twitched once, like he was going to push him away but no. Instead, they curled loosely into the back of Phainon’s shirt, as though he, too, had forgotten to draw a line.

Mydei exhaled, long and resigned, voice little more than a mutter. “This bed is too small for us.”

But he didn’t move. Didn’t tell him to get off. He only shifted slightly, allowing Phainon to curl tighter, until the older man’s knees were brushing lightly against his own. In the quiet that followed, with only the sound of their breathing mingling in the space between them, Mydei let himself relax again.

The weight of Phainon’s presence was comforting, like a heartbeat against his spine. And as sleep reclaimed them, it wasn’t the bed or the silence that made the room feel safe but it was the steady rhythm of breath shared, the way Phainon’s hand never stopped holding on, and the way Mydei, despite everything, never once let go.

The morning unfurled gently over Aedes Elysiae, casting warm gold across the wheat fields and washing the modest house in pale light. Soft birdcalls echoed in the air, and dew still clung to the petals in the courtyard below. Inside, the house remained quiet, too early even for the morning chores to begin.

Except for one.

Delicate footsteps padded across the wooden flooring of the second floor. The creak of worn wood under light soles didn’t disturb much, but they were purposeful, rhythmic, and clearly familiar with the place. At the far end of the hall, a petite young woman with loosely braided pink hair came to a stop in front of the last door.

With a gentle knuckle, she knocked against the wood.

“Phai,” she called, voice gentle but amused, “don’t tell me you’re still asleep.”

No answer. Not even a rustle.

She sighed softly, brushing her fringe behind her ear. “Always the same,” she muttered, more fond than frustrated, her tone threaded with a kind of long-standing patience that made it clear this wasn’t new.

Without hesitation, she pushed the door open.

And paused.

The sight that greeted her was entirely unexpected.

Phainon tangled in the bed covers, arms loosely around someone else. A stranger, with blond hair tousled against the pillow, a half-asleep frown twitching on his face. They were close. Intimately so. And it was clearly not a fluke of sleep but a nest of comfort, shared warmth, and soft breathing timed in tandem.

Cyrene blinked, fingers still resting on the edge of the door. Her lips parted in surprise but then curled into a slow, stunned smile.

The stranger one stirred first.

Mydei, ever the light sleeper, cracked open an eye and immediately locked gazes with the girl standing in the doorway.

His instincts kicked in hard. He flinched, then scrambled upright with a grunt, the covers sliding off his shoulders. In his effort to sit up, he half-pushed the body beside him. And Phainon gave a low groan as he was unceremoniously nudged right off the bed.

Thud.

"Ouch, Mydei...” Phainon grumbled from the floor, voice muffled by a pillow he'd dragged down with him. He sounded more inconvenienced than hurt, still so groggy.

Mydei, already sitting, flushed. He rubbed the back of his neck, awkward. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to... There was someone at the door—”

Phainon squinted up at him. Then followed his line of sight.

And saw her.

The tiredness evaporated from his face like mist. His eyes lit up, his whole expression softening then brightening into a smile so wide, so earnest it outshone the morning sun flooding through the window.

“Cyrene?”

She leaned against the doorframe, arms now folded, one brow raised. Her voice carried amusement. “Well, good morning to you too.”

Phainon laughed, pushing himself upright. “You’re here!”

“Yes, grandma told me you're coming. I didn’t think I’d find you like this.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Mydei, then back to Phainon, smile curving into something sharp with teasing. “You didn’t mention you had company.”

Phainon glanced at Mydei and snorted, standing fully now and running a hand through his hair. “He’s my partner.”

“Mm.” Cyrene’s hum sounded unconvinced.

Phainon grinned, nonchalantly. “Work partner.”

She raised a brow. “Sure. Looked like you got a pretty cozy briefing in the morning.”

Mydei, by now, had finally found his footing again, both physically and socially. His composure returned, though a faint tinge of pink still dusted his cheekbones.

“Apologies,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “I didn’t realize someone else lived here.”

Cyrene tilted her head. “I don’t. I just drop by sometimes. And I always let myself in. So really, this is on Phai for not warning you.”

Phainon huffed a laugh and rubbed the back of his neck. “Fair.”

She stepped further into the room, arms slipping to her sides. Her expression softened as she looked between them. “Well. You’re up now, so come down when you’re ready. Grandma’s still asleep, but I started the kettle.”

She turned, braid swaying behind her as she stepped out with barely a sound.

Once the door shut, Phainon exhaled hard and dropped back onto the bed, covering his face with both hands. “Well. That's a surprise."

“She’s....?” Mydei trailed off.

“Cyrene. We grew up together. She’s practically a family.” Phainon let his arms fall, looking up at the ceiling with a groan. “And she’s never going to let this go.”

"Well, you're the one who climbed the bed all of sudden."

“I was cold."

“You were snoring.”

“I don’t snore.”

“You drooled a little.”

“Oh. Okay, now you’re just making things up.” Phainon smiled, approaching Mydei and casually circled his arms around his waist. “For what it’s worth… it was nice.”

Mydei raised a brow.

“Sleeping next to you,” Phainon added, quieter. “Being warm. I think I get used to it that it's hard not to search for you even in my sleep.”

"Don't get used to it." That was what Mydei said but he closed his eyes briefly as Phainon pecked his lips, a morning greeting that had became a habit as late. Such a hypocrisy that neither of them ever mind.

The steps creaked softly beneath their feet as they descended, pale morning light trailing after them down the hallway. Mydei’s movements were always silent, focused as if this were any other assignment. He wore a gray shirt that clung to his lean frame, collar still rumpled from sleep. The swirling red tattoo that climbed up from beneath his collar peeked along his neck and jaw, stark against the ivory of his skin.

Phainon trailed beside him in contrast, freshly changed into a pale purple hoodie that made his silvery blue hair look even more vivid, sleeves pushed up his arms, a yawn still pulling at his lips. His eyes were clearer now, though, and the easy smile was already returning to his face, too boyish for someone who kept cuddling a man in bed before sunrise.

The kitchen smelled like warmth and spice. Something was cooking. Cyrene stood by the stove, her petite frame barely reaching over the counter. Her pink hair was pulled into a messy twist at the top of her head, a wooden spoon in hand as she stirred something in the pot.

She turned the moment she heard them approach. “There you are,” she grinned, setting the spoon down. “I was wondering if you decided to have a bit more intimate briefing.”

“Nearly,” Phainon said, rubbing the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. “But then the mattress betrayed me and dumped me back on the floor.”

“Thanks for the hospitality. Sorry for the intrusion.” Ignoring Phainon's remark, Mydei stepped forward, as polite as ever, bowing after the pinkette. "My name is Mydeimos."

“Oh, it's totally okay, don't mind it,” she said, as sweet as syrup. “I’ve known Phai since we were in pigtails and crayons. He only brings home the special ones.”

Phainon groaned into his hands. “Cyrene, please.”

“You don’t get to beg for mercy before I’ve even started,” she said, returning to the stove. “Besides, I’m just saying what I see.”

Mydei stepped forward, already scanning the counter. “Can I help?”

“Oh, it's okay. Guest should sit down and relax.” Cyrene shook her head.

“Let him. He’s serious,” Phainon interjected, already reaching for the chopping board and nudging a bowl toward Mydei. “He gets cranky if he’s not allowed to contribute. Real control freak, this one.”

“Not a control freak,” Mydei said calmly, already slicing vegetables. “I just dislike inefficiency.”

“See?” Phainon beamed. “Total control freak.”

They moved like two gears in the same machine, a synchronicity that came from long repetition. Phainon stepping in to rinse greens, Mydei sliding a bowl over without needing to ask. When Mydei reached for the oil, Phainon passed it wordlessly. Mydei stirred the sauce, then a drop was taken by a spoon which he held sideways without a glance. Phainon leaned to tasted it, offered a suggestion, and Mydei adjusted without pause. They stood shoulder-to-shoulder but never bumped elbows. Where one moved, the other already made space.

Cyrene giggled as she looked between the two. “You cook together a lot?”

“Occasionally. Comes with working long shifts. You get used to sharing chores. Especially because he’s my senior at the precinct,” Mydei replied smoothly, as if that clarified anything.

Cyrene froze, then turned to stare at Phainon like he’d just confessed to running a black-market lemonade stand. “Wait. You’re his senior?”

Phainon slumped slightly, already bracing himself. “Yes. Why are you react like that?”

“Because I’ve seen you pour milk before cereal. You shouldn’t be in charge of other people’s lives.”

"That's rude! I'm a good senior, right, Mydei?"

"Well..." Mydei bit down on a smile, continuing his prep work without pause. “It has its challenges.”

Cyrene cackled. “I bet it does. That must be... character-building.”

“Painful,” Mydei corrected, tone flat.

“I’m right here,” Phainon said flatly, dumping chopped vegetables into a pan. “And I’m an excellent officer.”

“Sure, if submitting a report with sticker counts as excellence,” Mydei murmured, gently reached out and wiped a speck of flour from Phainon's cheek with his thumb.

"Well, you like those stickers, right?"

"I spent hours to rewrite everything so no, I don't like it."

Cyrene raised a brow watching their interaction. “So when you say that this," she gestured at both of them, "came only from a long shift, I should take that with... how much salt?”

“Whatever the legal minimum is,” Mydei replied with a light shrug of shoulders.

Cyrene hummed, low and delighted, stirring the pot again. “You two must make excellent partners.”

“In the field,” Mydei corrected immediately.

Cyrene didn’t glance up. “Of course.”

“I mean it,” Mydei added, as he leaned against the counter beside Phainon. “It’s professional.”

Phainon bumped his hip. “Mostly.”

Mydei didn’t move. “Don’t start.”

Cyrene giggled, light and satisfied, lifting a spoon to taste her broth. “You guys are adorable.”

Mydei sighed. “I doubt that's a compliment...”

They continued cooking together, shifting seamlessly from one task to the next. The air warmed with the scent of rosemary and browned butter, onions caramelizing slow and sweet beside a tray of seasoned potatoes and eggs. Phainon threw together a quick frittata in a cast iron pan while Mydei handled the toast, thick, crusty slices of sourdough layered with soft cheese and cherry tomatoes he blistered on the stove. Their rhythm didn't falter, even with Cyrene floating nearby.

The oven gave a final, satisfied beep. Phainon opened it and waved the heat away like a magician revealing a prize: crisped potatoes flecked with herbs and garlic, golden at the edges. Mydei passed him a towel before he could reach in barehanded.

They were just beginning to plate when a new set of footsteps sounded from the hall. Lighter, slower, with a steady rhythm that made both men glance up.

An older woman entered, wrapped in a knit cardigan that had clearly been mended at the sleeves, her hair twisted back in a loose bun. Her face was soft and finely lined with age, but the first thing Mydei noticed was her smile, unmistakably familiar. It crinkled her eyes just the same way it did Phainon’s.

She beamed the moment she saw them. “Oh! So this is the famous guest.”

Mydei set the serving spoon down and straightened, brushing his palms off on a towel. “Good morning. I’m Mydeimos. Thank you for having me.”

She stepped forward and patted his arm affectionately, her touch warm and confident. “Nefeli. Phainon’s grandmother. He talks about you all the time. His dependable junior, isn’t that right?”

Phainon, who’d just finished drizzling olive oil over the toast, quickly interrupted. “Ooookay, time to eat! Everything’s hot, let’s not waste it.”

Nefeli chuckled but letting it go, and helped them bring plates to the table. Cyrene slid in beside her, humming contentedly as she set down the last of the cutlery.

They gathered around the table, casual and close. There were mismatched plates, a chipped mug or two, and sunlight spilling over the wood. Nefeli said a quiet thank you before starting, and then the meal began with the soft clatter of cutlery, the sound of people who’d done this a hundred times before.

The conversation drifted easily, soft like morning light: a mention of the strange neighbor with the singing parrot, the ridiculous hat Cyrene tried to knit for the stray cat, Nefeli’s offhand story about mistaking a tourist for a long-lost cousin at the farmer’s market.

Mydei didn’t say much, he never did, not with new people. He listened, letting the sound wash over him, and picked at his food slowly. But he didn’t feel like an outsider. The reason was because whenever the conversation curved too far away, Phainon would pull him back in without making a fuss.

“What do you think, Mydei?” he asked when Cyrene brought up a movie that involved a tragic robot and too many plot holes.

“Didn’t watch it.”

“Tragic. You’re missing out on prime metal angst.”

“You said it was unbearable.”

“I did,” Phainon admitted. “But I want you to suffer with me.”

Later, when Nefeli mentioned her garden and the stubborn lavender that refused to bloom this year, Phainon nudged Mydei’s foot under the table. “Didn’t you read something about soil acidity and lavender? Go on, make them impressed.”

Mydei blinked. “...It was just one article.”

“And yet you remember it.”

Despite everything, there was no edge to the morning. Just warmth and familiarity. Like when Mydei passed the salt to the left, because Phainon liked to sprinkle it on after tasting. From how Phainon cut an extra slice of toast and set it near Mydei’s elbow, knowing he’d eat it even if he pretended not to want more. Everything unspoken still lived in the space between elbows brushing, eyes meeting across the table, and the light nudge under the table.

And through it all, Phainon kept smiling like the sun had decided to sit right there at their table.

The water in their only bathroom had stopped running a while ago, but Mydei hadn’t come out yet. The soft clinks of dishes being rinsed faded into the quiet once Cyrene done with the last bowl. Breeze tugged gently at the edge of the curtain in the living room window whilst Phainon sat on the couch beside his grandmother, legs pulled up halfway as he picked absently at a loose thread on the hem of his hoodie. 

Nefeli was sipping her tea, holding the cup in both hands the way she always had, as if the warmth might pass into her bones. She glanced at him now and then, smiling faintly the way she did when she was reading a familiar book or remembering something pleasant.

“So,” she said after a while, “how’s life?”

Phainon shrugged. “Busy.”

“That’s vague.”

He smirked, eyes still on the thread. “Well, I’m gainfully employed. Haven’t burned down the apartment yet. Mydei is being nosy about my diet, so I’d say I’m doing alright.”

“I bet you still can’t separate your laundry, colour or white, you will put it all in.”

He laughed. “It’s a lifestyle, Gran.”

The silence that followed stretched just long enough to grow weight, and when Phainon spoke next, he didn’t look at her.

“Hey,” he murmured, like it was just another small thing. “Do we have anything left from Mom?”

The shift was subtle, but her hands tightened slightly on the mug. “What kind of things?”

“Anything. I dunno.” He looked up now. “You see, I just found out she was a policewoman.”

Nefeli went silent, like every breath was being chosen deliberately. She didn’t look away, but she didn’t answer either. The line of her mouth was tight.

Phainon sat forward, elbows on his knees. “Of course, you knew.”

She lowered the cup to her lap.

“You knew and never said anything.” His voice wasn’t loud. Not bitter. But quiet in that unmistakable way that demanded truth. “Why?”

Nefeli’s gaze dropped, and she let out a breath so soft it sounded like surrender.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” she said finally.

“That’s not good enough.”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“You can’t protect someone from their own history, Gran.” He leaned back, dragging a hand through his hair. “Can you imagine how I feel to learn about my own mother from database than my only family?”

"...I'm sorry, Phai... I, thought it was the best if you didn't know."

Phainon sighed, deeply. “Then, you know about my father too? He was not just an ordinary jerk, ain't he?”

Nefeli didn’t answer right away. Her expression changed before her words, brows pinched, eyes tightening at the corners like she’d smelled smoke from a long-dead fire.

That was all the answer Phainon needed.

He sat very still, breath caught behind his teeth.

“Kharion,” he said, flat and hollow, "he was a criminal, a terrorist."

Nefeli’s hands clenched.

“You knew.”

She didn’t nod. Didn’t speak. But the way her eyes drifted slightly, away from him, from this room, from now, it said a lot. She had known longer than she wanted to.

“How long?” he asked. “Since I was a kid? Since I moved here?”

“Since before you were born.”

He laughed once, but it was dry. “So that’s the great family secret, huh?”

Nefeli set her cup down, but her hands hovered after, trembling just faintly.

“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” she said, barely above a whisper. “And when it should’ve been… you were already hurting so much. You were just a child, and I—”

“I’m not a child now.”

“No. You’re not.” She looked up finally, and there was something wounded and proud in her eyes all at once. “And I’m sorry I kept you blind for so long.”

He didn’t respond. Didn’t move. But his jaw was clenched like his whole face had turned into something heavier than bone.

Down the hall, the bathroom door creaked open, footsteps padding softly back toward the kitchen then Mydei passed, but he didn't say much and just climbed the second floor after a light nod and smile toward Nefeli.

Nefeli took a deep sigh, waiting the door to close upstairs. Slowly, she reached out and held Phainon's hand, gently, firmly. She parted her lips, quieter now, more cautious, like she was lifting a box she hadn’t opened in years.

“Her superior came to me after... after it all happened.” Her eyes didn’t meet his. “He said it was for safety. For protocol. That I needed to get rid of everything. Burn it. Like she’d never existed.”

The bitterness curled under her voice like something long fermented. Her lips twisted.

“I didn’t listen, of course. Damn bastard showed up like my only daughter was some sort of mistakes to get buried. Like erasing her would make the world better.” Her fingers twitched around his, then pulled back slowly as she stared into her tea, cooling on the table.

“I hid it all,” Nefeli went on. “Everything I could keep. Her badge. Photos. Her old notepad, even the ugly green scarf she wore until it unraveled. I couldn’t let go of it. Not then. Not now.”

She finally turned to look at him, face lined by time but fierce beneath it.

“You still remember the windmill, don’t you?”

Phainon’s gaze flicked up, and something cracked faintly behind his eyes. A breath left him that didn’t sound like relief or sorrow, just ache.

“Of course I remember,” he said. "You always scolded me when I went there..”

The old windmill, abandoned years before he was born, stood at the edge of the coastal cliffs like a stubborn relic. Phainon used to call it a castle when he was little, back when he and Cyrene would sneak there with stolen snacks and a flashlight. They couldn't break in but they loved stayed behind the structure. It was their hideout, their lookout, their fort until they outgrew the games but not the place.

Nefeli reached for his necklace, the slim silver chain that had hung around his neck for as long as he could remember. The small metal charm shaped like a compass had dulled with time, edges smoothed from wear. Her fingers worked gently at the clasp, undoing it with a familiarity that made her chest tighten.

She turned the charm over in her palm, then pressed a hidden notch. A quiet click answered her. The charm split neatly in half to reveal the small key tucked inside.

“Here, now you can enter,” she said.

He stared, the pieces of understanding falling together like glass. The chain. The windmill. The way she’d never let anyone else touch it when he was young.

She offered it like handing him a folded memory.

“Everything’s there,” she said. “There's a hidden compartment inside the wardrobe on the second floor. You’ll find what’s left.”

He took the key in silence. The chain coiled in his hand like a whisper from someone long gone.

“I don’t know what you’re looking,” Nefeli murmured, brushing his hair gently from his brow. “But I still believe this is what robbed her life. She didn't die from the childbirth. I'm sure of it."

His throat closed around her words, the air thick like seawater in his lungs.

"Why, you think so?"

Nefeli took a deep breath. "It's just my feeling. I think, there is something fishy."

"I, see..." Phainon held the key tightly. "I'll make sure to look for it. To bring the truth to light."

Nefeli shook his head. "No, dear." She stroked Phainon's cheek. "In contrary, I want you to be careful, very careful. Whatever happened, it was the past. Your safety is what mattered the most now."

Phainon nodded, but it clearly an empty one. He doubted he would just let everything buried again when he exactly knew that everything about him was not like how he believed in.

"I'll check with Mydei. You stay here with Cyrene. Don't be alone."

"Haha, being worrywart, aren't you?" Nefeli ruffled his hair. "Be careful, you hear me?"

Phainon nodded again then he rose, walked to the second floor. His mind was buzzing with thought. He walked absentmindedly, pushed the door to his bedroom open quietly. The weight of the key still warm in his palm.

And Mydei was already there.

He was sitting cross-legged on the edge of the bed, damp hair swept back from his face, a towel still looped around his neck. He looked up from drying his hands on it, golden eyes flicking up in that unreadable, easy way of his.

“You done?” Mydei asked. The question sounded simple, but the way he said it, gentle, a little low, like he had been waiting until he was sure Phainon was finished.

Phainon closed the door behind him.

“Yeah,” he murmured.

He didn’t bother with explanations. Mydei didn’t ask for one.

He walked over slowly, almost without realizing it, and by the time he reached the bed, his legs had folded without thinking. He sat beside him, then leaned sideways until his head found the crook of Mydei’s shoulder.

Mydei’s hand rose after a moment, carding through his hair with familiarity. A palm resting against his crown. A thumb brushing his temple.

Neither of them said anything for a while. The only sound was the tick of the old fan in the corner and the soft, steady rhythm of breath between them.

Mydei’s scent felt warmer with the steam from bath. Phainon let it settle around him without thinking too hard.

His fingers twitched once on Mydei’s thigh. Then, at last:

“We’ve got somewhere to go.”

Mydei didn’t ask where. He didn’t shift or tense. Just gave a light squeeze to the back of Phainon’s head, then dropped his hand to rest against his shoulder.

“I’ll get ready.”

The dry grass whispered beneath their steps as they walked across the field, the morning sun slanting long shadows behind them. Cicadas were humming in the olive trees, wind brushing over the wheat with a softness that didn’t quite match Phainon’s pulse. The windmill stood quietly at the far edge of the hill, a white husk against the blue sky, its broad blades turning with lazy indifference.

He hadn’t walked this path in years, but his feet remembered it better than his head. The rhythm of the slope, the sound of the soil underfoot, it was stitched into him. Muscle memory shaped by childhood summers, distant laughter, a long-ago voice calling him back when he wandered too close.

Mydei didn’t speak, just walked beside him steadily. One hand tucked in his jacket pocket, the other brushing away strands of blond-red hair when the breeze blew it into his face. He didn’t need to ask questions. Not when the tension in Phainon’s jaw already spoke loud enough.

The windmill loomed larger the closer they came, weathered white stone and a tiled red roof that still held its shape. The blades spun gently, creaking with age but never truly broken. Like they’d been waiting.

Phainon glanced up at them.

“I used to beg to get inside,” he said, half under his breath. “Grandma always said it was too dangerous."

Mydei looked sideways at him.

“Guess you’re finally big enough to handle it.”

That earned a faint, uneven grin, even just for a second.

When they reached the door, Phainon hesitated until Mydei gave him a gentle touch on the shoulder, as if a reminder he wasn't alone. The key pressed warm against his palm. He slid it into the lock. The old mechanism turned smoothly, like it had been oiled not long ago. He then finally pushed the door open.

The scent of old wood greeted him first. But no mold. No dust cloud. No damp air to choke on.

He blinked into the light filtering through the shutters and realized the floorboards were clean. Not just cleared of clutter but swept, wiped, maintained. Not a single cobweb in sight. The scent inside wasn’t rot. It was citrus, something fresh.

“She’s been taking care of it,” Phainon said aloud, stunned. “All this time.”

Mydei stepped in behind him, glancing around. “Doesn’t look like a place meant to be forgotten.”

The interior was sparse, just wooden furniture covered with white cloths, a low shelf, and a staircase curling upward along the curved wall. The furniture was old, but not untouched. It didn’t feel abandoned.

Phainon crossed the room slowly, fingertips brushing the edge of a covered table. His hand drifted to the staircase railing. The smooth grain of wood met his palm.

No creak when he tested the first step.

“She lied to me,” he murmured. “Said it wasn’t safe. Said it was full of spiders, rats and mildew.”

Mydei gave a faint, thoughtful hum behind him. “Listened to all your childhood crimes from Cyrene and your grandma this morning... Maybe you shouldn't blame her too much.”

"Hey, I was cute, alright? A healthy and curious boy is always good." Phainon responded lightly, but his grip on the railing tightened slightly.

Then, as if that settled it, he started climbing.

The second floor of the windmill creaked gently under their weight. Dust motes drifted lazily through the air, catching the sunlight that spilled through narrow slits between wooden slats. The attic space wasn’t wide, just enough to stand and turn, but tucked in the far corner, beneath the slant of the roof, was the old wardrobe Nefeli had mentioned.

Phainon stared at it. The thing was unassuming: worn oak with rusted hinges and one crooked handle. He knelt and reached behind the bottom panel, fingers searching until they found the edge of a false back. It gave with a low, wooden sigh.

Inside, nestled like a forgotten relic, was a dull leather suitcase.

“Found it,” he said quietly.

Mydei crouched beside him without a word. Together, they tugged it free. The thing was heavier than it looked, thudding onto the floor. The lock clicked open beneath Phainon’s thumb.

Mydei didn’t move. His gaze flicked to Phainon’s face. “You don’t have to rush.”

Phainon shook his head. “I’ve wasted enough time already.”

He flipped the lid open.

Inside: a neatly folded police uniform, faded but clean; a few old files bound with string; yellowed envelopes; a leather-bound notebook with a blue ribbon tucked between its pages. The scent of citrus was stronger here. His grandmother had placed freshener there as a charm. Maybe she just didn’t want it to smell like the past.

Phainon’s hand hesitated only once when it reached the thick envelope stamped boldly in red:

CONFIDENTIAL.
For recipient only.

He slipped his finger under the seal.

Inside, among the typed pages and reports, was a photo paper-clipped to the top.

Kharion.

Phainon stared. It was a black-and-white still, the kind used for internal records. Kharion’s face stared back at him, sharp and angular, with cold eyes and zero curve of expression. Something about it made his chest feel tight and hollow all at once.

He didn’t even get to flip the first page before Mydei suddenly tensed.

A quiet hiss. “Wait.”

Phainon’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Shh,” Mydei whispered, already shifting to his feet, toward the small dormer window tucked under the eaves. He leaned close, eyes narrowing.

Phainon rose and moved beside him, one hand unconsciously brushing Mydei’s lower back.

Down below, across the golden field they’d just walked through, several black figures were moving, stepping from the far tree line like shadows peeling from the earth. At least five, maybe more. Dressed in black from head to toe, masked with something tight like ski masks, their movements coordinated and silent.

One of them pointed toward the windmill.

“Oh,” Phainon muttered. “Well. I didn’t invite anyone else here.”

Mydei didn’t smile.

Neither did Phainon now.

There was no other exit. Just the single door they’d entered through and now it was trapping them.

Phainon’s gaze swept the space, scanning escape routes, but the narrow attic offered nothing but splintered rafters and the window, far too small for a person. His jaw clenched.

“They’re coming,” Mydei muttered.

“Yeah. Not exactly in a brunch mood either,” Phainon breathed as he knelt again and began to sort through the suitcase, swift but deliberate. He grabbed the notebook, the envelope with the confidential seal, and the letters tied in ribbon, tucking them into his bag with barely a sound. His fingers hovered over the uniform, he hesitated, then left it, folding the suitcase shut and stuffing it back behind the false panel.

He barely straightened before Mydei checked the slide on his sidearm with a clean, practiced motion. The soft click of metal settling into place echoed louder than it should’ve in the hush of the windmill.

“So,” Mydei said dryly, “not just paranoid after all. Carrying weapon is always a good countermeasure.”

Phainon gave him a guilty grimace as he slung the bag over his shoulder. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry for calling you paranoid. You get one free ‘I told you so,’ and I’ll even nod solemnly.”

“I want it in writing.”

“You’ll get it in colourful glitter pen.”

They pressed close behind the wardrobe. The attic was narrow, and the wardrobe bulky enough to cast a decent shadow. Their shoulders brushed, breathing light and careful.

Then, creak.

Footsteps on the stairs. One. Then a second, slower and heavier. And a third, deliberate. Hard-soled boots thudding against wood. Then silence.

Phainon tilted his head slightly.

(So, the others are waiting outside,) Phainon mused.

They couldn’t outrun that. Not in open daylight. Not with no cover.

He glanced sideways at Mydei, catching his sharp eyes already watching him.

The situation was grim and they both knew it.

Mydei pointed at himself, waving their only firearm in his hand, giving a silent direction. Phainon scowled. Mydei responded with frown, his chin motioned to his bag. Then Phainon finally sighed, nodded.

Mydei stepped out from behind the wardrobe first, gun lowered but ready, gaze sharp and locked on the figures just beginning to spread through the dusty windmill floor. Three of them. One standing directly in the center of the room, as if waiting. The other two flanked him, tense and silent, masked and broad-shouldered, clad in black from head to toe.

Phainon followed closely, wrench he found nearby was gripped in one hand, the bag slung tightly across his back.

“Police.” Mydei called out. "This area is currently under official investigation. I suggest you to turn around and leave."

The man in the center didn’t respond. Just tilted his head.

“We’re not looking for a fight,” Mydei went on, more force in his tone this time. “Leave."

Still nothing.

Then, suddenly, without warning, the man lunged.

Mydei barely had time to react.

He raised his arm just in time to block the swinging elbow aimed at his jaw. The blow landed hard, and pain jolted up through his forearm as he staggered back. The attacker pressed forward, swinging again. Mydei ducked, pivoted to the side, and slammed his shoulder into the man’s ribs but another one was already moving.

Phainon was on him before he could get close. He tackled the second man with a sharp grunt, both of them going down hard to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Elbows flew, Phainon caught one to the temple, felt his vision blur. But he held on, twisting, kneeing the guy in the gut until he groaned and shoved him off.

The third one came straight for Mydei.

There was no time. Mydei fired, not to kill, just to make a hole on the ceiling. The sound of the shot exploded through the narrow space, sharp enough to ring their ears, dust raining from the rafters as the bullet struck the beam above. The warning shot made the man freeze, recoil.

“The next one won't be a warning,” Mydei growled.

It didn’t matter, sadly. They didn't care at all.

The one Phainon fought scrambled back up, breathing hard through the mask, but this time Phainon didn’t wait. He threw a punch to the man’s gut, followed by a headbutt that made his own skull ring, but dropped the guy to his knees. Phainon’s cheek was bleeding now, scraped open against the rough wooden floor.

The one Mydei shot at tried to charge again. Mydei twisted aside and cracked the butt of his pistol against the man’s shoulder. There was a sickening crunch, a shout of pain, and he went down clutching his arm.

Another figure stormed up the stairs from below, unexpected. Mydei whirled, but this one was already reaching for him.

A blow struck Mydei’s side, sending him staggering into the wall. He grunted, breath knocked out, head spinning. Phainon threw the wrench with all his strength, it slammed into the attacker’s side with a solid thunk, and the man collapsed sideways.

“Are you okay?” Phainon called, wiping blood off his cheek, chest rising and falling with sharp, ragged breaths.

Mydei didn’t answer right away. He braced a hand against the wall, blood trickling down from his temple, before nodding once. “Fine. Move.”

They shoved past the last stumbling attacker and bolted down the stairs. The sunlight through the open door was blinding. They ran straight into two more masked figures.

Phainon threw himself into the nearest one, shoulder colliding with the man’s chest hard enough to knock him back into the outer wall. He didn’t even stop, just kept running, dragging Mydei by the wrist. Mydei fired another warning shot over his shoulder. That time, no one followed.

They sprinted across the field.

The trees thinned as they ran. Branches whipping past their shoulders, boots skidding in the mud. They didn’t stop. Not even when the burn in their lungs turned sharp or when the bruises from earlier ached with every step.

“We need cover,” Mydei muttered, eyes scanning the terrain.

“We need a damn vacation,” Phainon panted beside him, half-laughing, half-breathless, even as he stumbled over a root and caught himself.

The moment they hit the tree line again, the shouting picked up behind them. Phainon swore under his breath, leading Mydei by entwined their fingers through low branches and uneven earth, weaving deeper into the woods.

“I swear if we make it outta this, I’m building grandma a damn bunker,” he muttered, breath was ragged.

“We need to circle back, cut through the ridge, lose them near the creek.”

They didn’t get the chance.

A shadow moved up ahead then another. Figures slipped between trees like wolves circling a cornered deer. Boots on dead leaves. Their path was already blocked.

“Left!” Mydei barked, but Phainon skidded to a stop as more emerged from behind.

Trapped.

There was barely a beat between that realization and the moment the first one lunged.

Mydei’s reaction was honed: elbow up, side-step, then drove his shoulder into the assailant’s gut, sending the man crashing into a tree. Phainon grabbed the nearest attacker, wrenched his wrist sideways until the knife dropped, and kicked him hard in the chest.

“Seven. No, eight—” Phainon hissed, ducking a punch, then landed one of his own square into someone’s jaw. “Is it too late to politely ask them to leave?!”

Mydei pivoted, blocked a pipe strike with his forearm, then slammed his knee into someone’s ribs. “I already tried!”

Another grabbed Phainon from behind. Phainon twisted, gritted his teeth, slammed his heel down on the attacker’s foot and elbowed him off. They were being pressed, bodies closing in, fists flying wild.

Someone tackled Mydei from the side. He hit the ground hard, breath knocked out of him. The masked figure raised a steel rod, but Mydei twisted his body just enough to aim.

One loud, echoing gunshot cracked through the trees.

Not a hit.

Just into the dirt.

Another warning.

The man backed off instantly, but so did three others, startled. Enough of a pause for Mydei to kick up and scramble to his feet.

Phainon was panting, blood on his knuckles, crouched in a low stance. “You're cleared to shoot, Mydei."

“I know.” Mydei had just three more bullets left, definitely not enough but might useable. But there was something about this group that made him hesitating.

They barely had a second to breathe. One of the attackers stumbled back, shouted toward the trees. “Do it already!”

That’s when one stepped forward with something heavier in his hands.

Mydei’s stomach dropped.

It was a shotgun.

Rusty. Mismatched. But functional. And pointed directly at Phainon.

The air snapped still.

“Don’t move!” the masked man shouted, shaky like he didn’t expect to be holding this kind of power. “Just... stay right there—!”

Mydei stepped forward instinctively, gun still raised.

“Easy,” he said, low and calm, but the tension in his shoulders was tight enough to crack bone. “You fire that, you won’t be walking out either. There are better ways to—”

“Shut up!” the man barked. “Don’t come closer!”

His grip was shaking. Badly. It was clear now, what made Mydei felt something was off.

These men, they weren't anyone professional.

Mydei risked a glance at Phainon, who was still as stone, one hand subtly shifting to his side like he might lunge.

But unexpectedly, the shotgun began to lower just slightly. The man faltered.

“I—I can’t...my head—”

He made a strangled noise.

Then dropped the gun.

He staggered backward, hands flying up to clutch his skull. “It hurts...!”

The others gasped, like they were stripped of the rights to breath. One of them even choked on nothing.

It came.

It swept through the woods like frost spreading on glass.

An aura. A presence. A scent.

The sharp, bitter cold of burnt ozone and iron, like the air before lightning struck and beneath it, something darker. It slammed into them without mercy.

Mydei didn’t need to say it.

He smelled it.

So did Phainon.

The man with the shotgun screamed, fell to his knees. Another clutched his chest and thrashed, sobbing into the dirt. One ran and got no more than five steps before collapsing, twitching.

Mydei could barely breathe.

Phainon moved, grabbed Mydei by his jacket and yanked him close, arms locking around him like steel bars. “Stay still. It’s him.”

Flame Reaver.

The scent clawed into their lungs like frozen fire, sending every nerve on edge. Mydei could feel Phainon’s chest heaving behind him, could hear his heartbeat pounding like a war drum against his ribs.

The air had gone silent.

A soft crunch of leaves announced his arrival but none of the chaos accompanied him. No scream. No flash of violence. No blaring footsteps.

He stepped into view.

Hood pulled low, face masked, only his eyes visible: pale silver like moonlight poured into glass, emotionless and steady. He wasn’t rushing. He didn’t need to.

He stood among the crumpled, twitching bodies like a phantom stepping into his own haunting.

“Well,” Flame Reaver said, his voice muffled through the mask, but laced with something almost amused. “Didn’t expect much. Only came to pull you two out of the fire. But getting glared at as a reward? That’s cold.”

Phainon didn’t even lift his head from Mydei’s shoulder. His grip didn’t loosen either.

“Shut up,” he bit out, low and hoarse.

The masked figure tilted his head. He didn’t seem offended. In fact, he sounded amused.

Mydei’s pulse was still running high, ears ringing from the scent lingering in the air, from the echo of screams still fading in the woods. His own limbs were tense, trying to twist, but Phainon’s arms didn’t budge.

It wasn’t a hug anymore.

It was a confinement.

Possessive. Suffocating.

“Phainon,” Mydei said, his voice controlled, but not calm. “Let me go.”

Nothing, if anything, Phainon was tightening.

“Breathe. You’re leaking.”

Mydei could feel it. That hot pressure. The fierce, low thrum of pheromones slipping through Phainon’s skin like steam rising off scorched pavement. Intense. Erratic. Drenched in desperation. Like he was trying to fight off the frost with heat.

Flame Reaver let out a faint hum, cocking his head again.

“Careful now, little hero. I taught you better than that.” His tone was light, but there was something sharp underneath. “How to leash it. How to make others drop to their knees just from a flicker. Or have you already forgotten?”

Phainon’s jaw clenched. His arms tightened around Mydei, not enough to hurt, but close. “I thought you were dead,” he said, and there was something ragged in it. Grief barely buried. Anger dragging behind it like a shadow.

“Mm. Don’t bury me so fast,” Flame Reaver murmured. “You should know better than anyone. Corpses have a nasty habit of crawling back.”

Mydei inhaled tightly through his nose. “Phainon,” he said again, lower, firmer. “Let me go. I can’t breathe. You're hurting me.”

Phainon still didn’t move.

But his grip faltered, just a second. Just enough.

Mydei turned, pushing against his chest. Not rough, not cruel, just enough to force eye contact.

Phainon looked wrecked. Not physically but in the eyes. A bright storm behind blue irises. He looked like a man dragged to the edge, and now staring down at it, trying to decide when to take a leap.

Mydei reached up, lightly touched the side of his cheek, trying to gain his attention. “I’m not leaving,” he said, softer now. “But you need to come back to yourself. Right now. You're better than this, Phainon.”

And slowly, like something unclenching, Phainon exhaled as his eyes were dropped to find the gentle golden.

Flame Reaver, still watching, gave a quiet chuckle.

“So obedient,” he said. “I wonder, what else could you make him do?”

Mydei’s eyes snapped toward him, sharp.

But before he could say anything, Flame Reaver raised his hands in mock surrender.

“Don’t worry. I’m not here to interrupt your romantic getaway. Just a public service, really. Next time, when I say don’t open old coffins, maybe listen.”

“Why?” Mydei asked, still cautiously. "Why you are so sure there'll be danger?"

“Because the ground is warm,” Flame Reaver said simply. “Someone’s been digging too.”

He stepped forward slowly. The scent of his pheromones had begun to fade, but the residual chill was still there, like smoke after a fire. He crouched near one of the groaning men and tilted his head, observing the blood dripping from his nose.

“They would’ve killed you, you know.”

Phainon’s hand found Mydei’s again, less desperate now. Still tense as he murmured a query.

“Seems like you know them well. Who sent them?"

Flame Reaver rose to his feet, his silhouette stretched thin.  “Someone who wants their old god back.”

"God? Just what that even means?"

Flame Reaver’s eyes narrowed faintly above the black fabric, carrying unsettling calm that always felt like a cold breeze against the nape.

“Speak of which, you're so sure I was dead,” he said, almost like a remark to himself. Then his gaze locked on Phainon, sharp and unblinking. “Tell me, then, who do you think I am?”

Phainon scowled. “You’re my brother.”

A soft hum. “Who?”

“My brother,” Phainon repeated, getting impatient.

Without breaking eye contact, Flame Reaver lifted his hand, tugging the mask down in one unhurried motion. The cool air caught on his skin, revealing the line of his mouth, the familiar curve of his jaw, until the whole of his face was bare.

The likeness was staggering now they were facing each other. The same silver-blue hair catching the pale light, same bone structure, same piercing blue irises but there was a different weight in his gaze, a shadowed depth that Phainon’s never held.

The corner of Flame Reaver’s lips curled into a slow, knowing smile. He leaned in slightly.

“Who am I?”

Phainon’s breath hitched. He opened his mouth, the name right there, he knew it but it was as if an invisible wall slammed down inside his head. Something heavy and suffocating pressed against his thoughts, blurring the edges, pushing the answer further and further out of reach.

The first stab of pain lanced through the space behind his eyes.

His knees buckled, a groan tearing from his throat as the sharp pressure swelled, grinding like metal on metal inside his skull.

“Phainon!” Mydei was beside him in an instant, arm sliding around him to keep him upright. His other hand pressed firm and steady against Phainon’s temple, thumb brushing his skin as if trying to anchor him in place. “Stay with me. Hey, breathe.”

Phainon gasped, jaw clenching against another wave of pain.

Mydei’s glare snapped up toward Flame Reaver, sharp enough to cut. “What did you do?!”

Flame Reaver’s chuckle was quiet, almost indulgent. “Nothing,” he said, tone deceptively light. “Just doing my own digging.”

“Digging?” Mydei’s voice was a blade, but his grip on Phainon never loosened.

“Don’t worry,” Flame Reaver murmured, tugging the mask back over his face, his eyes never leaving them. “He’ll be fine, eventually.”

Phainon’s breathing turned ragged, each inhale a sharp, broken drag of air. His body tensed and curled against the pain, a guttural sound escaping between clenched teeth.

“Phainon...” Mydei’s arms locking tighter around him. The heat of his own heartbeat thudded against Phainon’s back as he pulled him in, hoping that sheer closeness could keep him away from whatever was tearing through his head.

And soon, without even realizing, Mydei’s scent began to slip into the air. Pomegranate, soft and honey-sweet, spilling over them like a warm current in winter, coaxing, steadying, a lifeline for frayed nerves. His words came in murmured fragments, pressing close to Phainon’s ear, threading through the pain. “Breathe. You’re okay... I’ve got you… just breathe.”

But the tremors in Phainon’s muscles didn’t ease. He gasped, hyperventilating. Until his weight sagged suddenly, head lolling forward as consciousness slipped away entirely.

“Phainon!” Mydei’s hand shot for his pocket, fumbling for his phone with one arm still bracing Phainon’s limp body. He had barely brought it up when another presence moved in.

Flame Reaver crouched down in front of them, shadow falling over the pair. His gloved fingers wrapped around Mydei’s wrist and peeled the phone from his grip and slid it into his own pocket.

“Don’t.”

Mydei’s golden eyes flared, sharp as he met that cold gaze. “He’s unconscious. He’s hurting. I’m calling emergency.”

A slow shake of the head. “This is what he has to go through. He’s fine.” Flame Reaver’s tone didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed just slightly. “He’s... bypassing it.”

“Bypassing what?!” Mydei’s voice rose, tight with both anger and confusion. “Stop talking in riddle!”

Flame Reaver cut him off, his head tilting toward the wheat fields swayed. “We need to move. The thugs will wake up soon.”

Without waiting for agreement, he reached down, his hand sliding under Phainon’s limp left arm with a smooth motion. His gaze flicked to Mydei, giving a brief, silent nod toward Phainon’s other side.

The unspoken instruction was clear. The moment Mydei’s grip shifted, they lifted in unison, the weight of Phainon’s body hanging between them as the faint scent of steel and cold air from Flame Reaver lingered close.

Mydei adjusting his hold on Phainon every few steps to keep him steady while Flame Reaver moved without a wasted motion, eyes scanning their path as though tracking invisible markers. His directions came in clipped murmurs: turn here, keep straight, left again, threading them through narrow lanes until the fields gave way to a small, shadowed clearing.

A lone house stood there, modest and weathered, its windows dulled with a thin film of dust. The wind toyed with the loose edges of the roof tiles, a low creak sounding as if the place itself sighed in its sleep.

Flame Reaver didn’t bother with the handle. His boot connected with the door in one sharp motion, wood groaning as it swung inward without resistance. The faint smell of stale air and dust spilled out to greet them.

They crossed the threshold, Mydei following only because he didn’t want to loosen his hold on Phainon, the unconscious weight pressed against him still warm but unmoving.

Flame Reaver led them to the nearest room with a bed. The sheets were slightly rumpled and together they lowered Phainon onto the mattress. Phainon was still unconscious but his chest rising in shallow, steady pulls of air.

Mydei straightened, his golden gaze sharp on the masked man. “Whose house is this?”

Flame Reaver shrugged without hesitation. “Dunno.”

For a moment, Mydei just stared at him. But as the words slow to sink in, his eyes widened. “You’re telling me we just broke into someone’s home?!”

Before his voice could rise further, Flame Reaver’s attention flicked around the room. 

“Abandoned,” he said simply.

The way he noted it wasn’t a guess, it was observation.

His gloved hand brushed along the shelf, leaving a clean streak through the fine dust.

“Look at this,” he said,  “Layer’s thick, hasn’t been disturbed in weeks. Even where you’d normally see smudges from daily use? Nothing.” He gestured toward the table, where a fine, even coat dulled the wood’s surface.

He moved toward the window, tapping a finger on the window, at the letters on the box. “Postmarks on those are five, six weeks old. Nobody’s picked them up. Edges are curling from the sun.”

Crossing to the small kitchenette, he opened a cupboard and let it swing shut. “No food smell. No residue. Last time someone cooked here was long enough for the oil to go rancid, but it hasn’t been cleaned either.”

Finally, he tilted his head toward the air inside the room. “And the scent? Completely neutral. No pheromone trace, no detergent, nothing human. Place has been empty for at least a month, maybe two.”

His gaze returned to Mydei. “So, no, we’re not interrupting anyone’s sleep.”

Mydei’s gaze drifted to the doorway, to the threshold they’d just crossed without a second thought. “What if the owner comes back?”

“Then we apologise,” he said, like it was as simple as returning a borrowed pen. The faintest curl tugged at the edge of his voice, not quite humour, not quite mockery.

The answer was too flippant to argue with, and Mydei didn’t have the energy to try. He exhaled, low and steady, and stepped toward the sink in the narrow corner of the room. The metal handle groaned under his grip, coughing out a stream of murky water. He let it run, watching the clouded brown give way to something clearer, the thin stream against the basin.

A sleeve seam tore under his fingers with a muted rip. He twisted the strip into a rough cloth, dipped it into the bowl until the fabric drank in the cool water, then carried it back to the bed. Phainon lay still, chest rising in shallow rhythm, skin damp with fevered sweat.

Mydei pressed the cloth to his forehead, tracing along the hairline before dragging the coolness down over flushed skin.

From the chair in the corner, Flame Reaver’s gaze followed the movement. The tilt of his head caught what little light there was, and behind the fabric mask his tone carried a subtle curl, like he was testing the weight of each word. “You’re good to him,” he murmured. “Makes me... jealous, almost.”

Mydei didn’t bite at the bait. Instead, he kept his focus on the slow drag of the damp cloth over Phainon’s temple. “Did you follow us here?”

Flame Reaver’s head tilted just slightly. “Followed you, yes.”

Mydei’s gaze sharpened. “Why?”

The answer came without pause. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” A faint hum slipped through the mask. “You’re my fate, after all.”

The cloth stilled against Phainon’s skin. Mydei’s golden eyes narrowed, the edge of a scowl pulling at his mouth. “I’m not your fate.” His other hand sought Phainon’s, fingers curling over knuckles still damp with fever. “He is.”

Surprisingly, Flame Reaver only chuckled, soft, low, like it was an answer in itself. “Then all the more reason to believe you’re mine.”

A dozen questions stirred at the back of Mydei’s tongue, but they scattered when Phainon’s body jerked, legs kicking against the mattress, breath hitching in a choked groan. Mydei leaned over him immediately, the urgency in his voice sharp as broken glass. “Give me my phone back. Or call emergency, he’s hurting.”

Flame Reaver’s steps were soundless as he came closer, stopping just behind him. His gloved fingers found Mydei’s wrist, guiding it gently until his palm rested flat against Phainon’s overheated forehead. “I’ll teach you something.”

“I don’t have time for—”

“Close your eyes,” Flame Reaver murmured, the words brushing against the back of Mydei’s neck. “If you want to save him. You’re different than others, Mydei. You can do this.”

The insistence in his tone was strange, not a demand, but a certainty. Against his better judgement, Mydei obeyed.

“Think of your pheromone like air,” Flame Reaver whispered, softly, gentle guiding. “Something you can shape. Something that you can control with your breath. Try exhaling first, follow me. Inhale, now slowly exhale. Do it again.”

Mydei drew in a breath, uncertain. The tension in his shoulders refusing to ease but he followed Flame Reaver's direction.

“Now,” Flame Reaver continued, “imagine a thread. Any colour.”

At first, Mydei saw nothing but dark. Then, faintly, a coil of red began to twist in the space behind his closed eyes. It was blurry at first but getting vivid the more he focused on it.

“Wrap it around your breath,” the voice coaxed. “Let it sway with every inhale. Every exhale.”

Without realizing, Mydei’s lungs began to fall into the rhythm. The thread curled and uncurled with each breath, swaying like it was caught in a tide. His muscles loosened. Heat softened into a steady hum, and something deep in his chest opened just enough for the air, his air to carry the pomegranate sweetness outward in slow, deliberate waves.

Flame Reaver’s breath brushed warm against the base of Mydei’s neck, a low, unrestrained sound slipping past the mask. “Good... keep doing that,” he murmured, the cadence almost coaxing. “Let it go... but not too far. Wrap the thread around him.”

The phrasing made little sense, but Mydei didn’t need the logic. Something deeper than thought moved his body, guiding the flow without resistance. The air between them thickened with the pomegranate’s honeyed curl, drawn close, contained, circling back over Phainon like a looped tether.

A hum of satisfaction vibrated from Flame Reaver’s chest, his nose tracing lazy, deliberate passes along the edge of Mydei’s nape, as if mapping the scent. The tickle was subtle but enough to make Mydei’s shoulders shift. He opened his eyes. Phainon’s face had smoothed, breath no longer stuttering, the sharp lines of strain softening into quiet.

“Tie it,” Flame Reaver whispered, voice low, close. “Knot it.”

Again, the words were strange, but instinct moved first. Mydei drew the thread inward in his head, winding it in tighter, letting the knot hold. Slowly, the sweetness in the air thinned, retreating until the space felt lighter.

The brush of fabric and breath stayed at his nape. “Now you can control it,” Flame Reaver said, softer, as if confiding a secret. “Your own pheromone. Something any other omega would only dreamt of.”

Mydei kept his palm braced against the mattress beside Phainon, golden eyes still watching the faint rise and fall of his senior's chest. Only when the tension in his jaw eased did he lift them to Flame Reaver.

“What was that?” The question came low, even, but it carried the weight of something he didn’t want to admit. He’d felt it, the shift, the way the air bent to his will without his conscious command.

Flame Reaver didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached out, brushing a loose strand of blond hair aside. “That,” he finally murmured, “is what a dominant omega can do.” His voice was growing huskier between his deep inhale. “Just like me, you can take someone apart without a single touch. Guide them, coax them, make them yield without even realizing they’ve done it. If you wield it right, it can be an aphrodisiac or a balm for a mind in pieces. Or you can make anyone to do whatever you wanted, in exchange of your intoxicating scent.”

His fingers shifted, finding Mydei’s jaw. The grip was light, coaxing rather than forcing, tilting his chin just enough to bring him close. There was no hurry in the movement; if anything, it felt like a ritual meant to test boundaries. He leaned in, letting the shadow of his hood and mask frame the moment, and pressed the faintest kiss into the crook of Mydei’s neck where the hidden choker rested against skin. His breath was warm there, threaded with words that slid under armour. “You wouldn’t even need this thing again.”

The subtle push of Mydei’s elbow was firm, more refusal than retreat, creating a sliver of distance between them. Flame Reaver didn’t chase it. He only straightened slowly, amused by the resistance.

“Did you always know?” Mydei asked, eyes narrowing just enough to sharpen the gold into something molten. “That I was a dominant omega?”

Flame Reaver’s response came with the calm certainty of someone who’d never once doubted his own perception. His gaze didn’t stray, didn’t blink. “Your scent,” he said, voice dropping to something quieter, more personal, “is the only one that’s never disgusted me.”

Mydei’s gaze stayed fixed on him, gold catching the muted light in a way that made it hard to tell whether he was curious or quietly furious.

“Then, do you know anything about Kharion?” he asked, voice even but carrying weight. “Your father.”

Flame Reaver tilted his head, the hood casting a shadow over his eyes. His shrug was slow, deliberate. “Don’t care about him. Never did.”

The answer was too bare, too dismissive. Mydei didn’t let the moment pass. “Then tell me what happened in the fire. And why there are so many secrets buried around you two.”

Flame Reaver’s gaze slid toward the warped glass of the window, where faint daylight fractured into uneven strips across the floorboards. “Get Phainon out of this,” he said finally, voice clipped, certain. “This isn’t something either of you should be touching.”

“That’s not an answer.” Mydei’s voice was steady, but the air between them felt heavier. “Tell me what you know.”

Flame Reaver looked back at him, eyes narrowing in the same way he had when baiting him earlier. “No.” The refusal came almost lightly, like tossing a coin onto the table. “If you want it, make me. Force me to talk. You can do that, Mydei. Make me kneel for you.”

For a moment, the temptation clawed at him. The thread of his pheromone, still fresh in his mind, pliable, obedient. It was right there if he chose to wield it. He could pull, coax, unravel whatever Flame Reaver kept locked away.

But he shook his head, firmly. “I wouldn’t do something like that.”

A low, amused cackle rolled from Flame Reaver, his gaze sharpening even as his tone turned almost warm. “You never stop surprising me,” he murmured, leaning forward just enough to close the air between them. “And you keep making me fall for you... even deeper.”

“I don’t care about your feeling.”

The words left Mydei sharp and steady, without even the courtesy of hesitation.

Flame Reaver let out a low chuckle, as if he'd expected nothing less. “That’s hurtful,” he mused, not sounding hurt at all. “But fair enough.”

He shifted his weight just slightly, shoulder brushing the cracked edge of the wall behind him. “Tell me, Mydei. Do you even know why I’m here in the first place?” His tone wasn't mocking, but there was something faintly amused under it, like he was watching a clock tick down. “Why they sent you to look deeper into Kharion?”

Mydei didn’t answer right away. His golden eyes narrowed at the so-called criminal. “It started with you. You launched a psychological attack on a civilian.”

Flame Reaver gave a hum of approval, like a teacher pleased with a student’s first step. “That I did.”

“You’re dangerous,” Mydei added, curtly.

There was a flicker of something close to pride in the way Flame Reaver’s lips tugged into a grin. “I’m flattered.”

Then, he said, “But even if that’s true, is it normal to send my brother and someone I’ve shown interest in after me?”

Mydei hesitated for the first time. Not because he didn’t have the answer, but because the answer tasted too strange in his mouth. It was also something he had been wondering for so long.

“No. It’s not common. People of interest aren’t usually given authority over the case they’re tied to.”

Flame Reaver nodded, slow, deliberate. “Exactly. So then, what do you think about all this? The setup. The sudden ambush.”

There was no taunt in his voice now, just a guidance, like he believed Mydei would arrive to where he was now.

Mydei didn’t reply. Not immediately. His eyes flicked downward, deeply in thought. He dragged his mind backward, through every flag he hadn’t had time to name.

The documents locked behind layers they weren’t supposed to bypass. The way they’d been “forced” to come here for scraps of information no one seemed too eager to protect. How no one had stopped them, no one tried to take them away from investigation even after Mydei's last heat incident.

Aglaea’s voice echoed in his head, always calm but repeating the same reminder over and over: Be careful. It had felt excessive at the time. Now it felt like warning layered in cloth, like even she could feel something was not normal.

And the thugs. The ambush that had come too suddenly but something had been wrong. They weren’t trained. But they came in like they were ready, like they’d been told exactly when to be there, and yet they lacked the discipline of real killers. They didn’t fight like soldiers. They fought like pawns. Like bodies that could be thrown away.

His heart didn’t race, but something sank in his gut.

“It wasn’t about the investigation,” he said quietly. “Phainon and I... We were the bait.”

"Now you know." Flame Reaver’s laugh returned, softer this time, more thoughtful. “I suppose I’ve been hiding too well,” he then said, almost to himself. “Maybe they’re getting impatient.”

Mydei’s head snapped up. “They? Who?”

Flame Reaver shrugged, eyes half-lidded as he leaned back against the wall. “Just a theory.” He sounded too casual. “Someone inside the police force’s been working overtime to find me ever since the incident. Could be one person. Could be more.”

He them let his gaze slide back toward Mydei. “I wasn’t trying to start a manhunt. Told you, I only wanted to draw you out.”

Mydei’s brows pulled together. “That’s why you did it there. On my patrol route.”

A nod. “Exactly.” Then, a faint smirk. “But someone else was watching. Someone else took the bait.”

“And that was... people who wanted to resurrect the god?” Mydei phrased it slowly, like he wasn’t even sure if he believed the shape of the words.

Flame Reaver gave a brief nod. “That’s my first guess.”

Mydei’s fingers curled slightly on the edge of the table. “Is it the one Kharion created? The group that believed in some alpha messiah?”

Flame Reaver let out a sharp cackle, louder than it should’ve been in the cramped, half-ruined space. “Freaky fuckers,” he said, shaking his head with something between amusement and disdain. “Not a single one of them’s in the right mind. And that’s me saying it.”

Mydei looked over at Phainon, still asleep on the mattress. Mydei’s chest tightened.

Everything made more sense now and yet none of it did. The pieces fit together, but the picture they made only raised more questions. Who was the real threat now? Was it Flame Reaver, who had chosen to run, to warn? Or the ones still hiding in plain sight, setting traps with throwaway bodies?

He didn’t realize his stare had drifted until Flame Reaver’s voice broke the silence.

“I gotta go.”

Mydei turned. “Where?”

Flame Reaver was already near the door, gloved fingers brushing against the peeling frame. His expression changed just before he spoke, a flash of grin: genuine, too wide, boyish in a way that made Mydei freeze.

It didn’t match the man who tore through traps and shadows. That grin reminded him of someone else. Of Phainon. Of the way Phainon smiled when he was trying to impress someone, or when he wasn’t thinking too hard about how much he gave away.

Flame Reaver jerked his chin toward the open street. “Got some digging to do. You be careful.”

Mydei raised an eyebrow, watching Flame Reaver started to walk away.

“If it gets bad,” Flame Reaver added, “use your pheromones. Shield, not weapon. Yours is strong enough. You know that.”

However, before Flame Reaver could slip completely out of sight, a voice broke the quiet.

“Wait.”

Flame Reaver slowed, but didn’t turn back. His boots kept moving until the voice came again, softer this time. “Wait, Phainon.”

Mydei’s head turned toward the sound. Phainon—no, the man lying on the mattress—was awake, eyes hazy but focused. There was a faint, vulnerable curve to his lips, a smile that looked like it cost effort. His gaze found Mydei’s, and with the smallest tilt of his head, a silent cue that he would explain everything later.

Meanwhile, Flame Reaver finally looked over his shoulder. “You remember everything now?”

'Phainon' shook his head. “Not yet but now I know who am I. I’m sorry,” he said, just a little under his breath. “I didn’t know... or I don’t know how I forgot it. But I really thought you died in that fire. There was a body there—” his voice caught, “—a child’s body.”

Flame Reaver’s expression shifted for a fraction of a second, hesitation before he turned back toward the door. “Rest. I’ll come again later. You're not in condition to talk.”

He paused at the sill, the wind pulling faintly at his coat. “And Khaslana—” the name fell deliberate, weighted, “—stop acting reckless.”

With that, he stepped out, disappearing and leaving only the creak of the old frame behind him.

Silence settled thick over the house once Flame Reaver’s footsteps faded away.

Mydei didn’t break it. He stayed where he was, listening to the steady rise and fall of his partner's breathing, giving him the space to gather whatever strength he had left.

When the voice finally came, it was quieter than before.

“So, I guess I should explain it, right?" He chuckled, breathlessly, pathetically. Mydei didn't answer, only locking his gaze on.

"Maybe you can guess it already. I’m not Phainon,” he said. “My name is Khaslana.” His eyes flickered, drowned in the swamp of muddy memories. “I’m the older twin. The one kept out of sight, hidden from the world. For reasons only Kharion would know.”

Mydei’s gaze didn’t move from him, steady and unblinking, waiting without interruption.

Khaslana spoke again, the words heavier this time.

“I don’t know why I forgot or how. But now, I remember. Phainon and I... We used to trade places. It was his idea. He pitied me being locked inside, never allowed to go anywhere.” A faint, almost bitter smile ghosted his face. “We were just kids, but we planned it. Changed clothes, copied each other’s way of speaking, of moving. We fooled everyone. Even him.” His eyes darkened at the mention of their father. “We were good at it. Too good. No one find out. We hid inside the closet, sharing information to the smallest detail to keep our appearance as one person.”

His hand came up to his temple, fingers pressing in as if to hold his skull together as he grunted, softly. “I want to tell you everything, really. But it still hurts. Like something’s been wedged in my mind, keeping the memories out. Not letting me remember. But, piece by piece, it’s coming back... Still a mess, though.”

He lowered his hand, looking at Mydei with an expression that carried more guilt than pain. “I’m sorry, Mydei. For dragging you into this.”

Mydei shook his head, a smile faintly adorned his visage. “What do you want me to call you?”

That brought a small, tired chuckle from Khaslana. “Better stick with Phainon. For now. I want to be myself. I have to return it because as Phainon said it, I stole his identity, somehow, but...” His eyes drifted away. “I’m not sure how to start. Not until I’ve had a real talk with him first.”

Mydei nodded slowly, not breaking eye contact. On the surface, it was understanding, but somewhere beneath, his thoughts churned in a way he didn’t let show. The pieces he had didn’t fit neatly, yet he could see that Khaslana... Phainon was just as unsteady.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

A faint shake of the head. "Heavy... my head feels like it’s carrying stones.” He paused, his eyes unfocused as if he was looking at something far away. “I felt awful. Like walking through darkness with no path... no sense of where to go. It wasn’t just around me. I was part of it.”

He drew in a shaky breath. “I thought I was going to die there.” His gaze shifted to Mydei, and a faint smile broke through the weariness. “But then I sensed you. Somehow... you were there. You led me out of that tunnel.”

A soft chuckle escaped Mydei, more relief than amusement. He reached up, brushing back damp strands of hair from Phainon’s forehead, his thumb catching and wiping away the sheen of sweat. “Then you owe me. A lot.”

That earned a breath of laughter from Phainon, quiet but warm. He leaned in, resting his temple against Mydei’s shoulder, the contact lingering.

“I do,” he murmured. “And I really feel guilty for dragging you into all this. My family, the lies... everything. You don't deserve to be a part of this mess.”

Mydei didn’t move away, letting the silence hold them as he gently stroked Phainon's head.

Phainon’s voice dropped lower. “But I don’t know what I’d do without you here. I’m not sure I’d find my way out again.”

The room stayed still, nothing moving but their breaths, the warmth between them speaking more than either of them tried to say aloud.

**