Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You grow up with eyes perpetually upturned to the sky.

Before you lived in Okhema, before the Black Tide came and engulfed the entire landscape and stripped it bare, you grew up in a moderately-sized city within walking distance of the ruins of the once-great city of Janusopolis. There, your mother made a living with her piano skills, making sure to send you to the finest schools to bolster your education.

But no matter how many workbooks she put in front of you, or how many hired tutors chastised you to pay attention to your studies - your wandering gaze would always go back to the heavens, a hand reaching out as if you could pluck the moon itself from the heavens.

My little star-child, your mother would call fondly. What treasures do you think lie beyond the clouds for my darling to be so distracted from what is right in front of you?

Back then, barely tall enough to wrap your arms around your mother’s waist even on your tip-toes, you give the most wondrous, fantastic answers that only very young children are capable of coming up with.

“I’m looking up at the angels, mama! They have beautiful horses with rainbow wings that pull golden chariots across the sun!”

“I had a dream last night where I was sailing high up in the air with the gulls…they tickled me with their feathers and we could see the whole of Amphoreus. It was so windy, and cold, but the gulls kept me warm and safe…”

“That’s where the whoooole world was born! That sparkling star, right there! A billion, trillion miles away! Everything came from that star, including me! I’m going to fly back up there when I’m older, and I’ll bring you back a hundred shooting stars so they’ll shine when you play!”

The adults in your life smile at you indulgently at your responses, shaking their heads and stifling laughter. You develop a reputation as a bright, yet easily distracted young girl, always running after groups of kids to tag along on their adventures.

However, their amusement fades with each passing year. The growing stress of food shortages, invading soldiers, and the Black Tide wear away at their patience. They tell you in increasingly harsher reprimands to stop with the nonsense talk, especially your comments about flying among the stars.

Later you learn about the worsening conflicts and uneasiness surrounding the Titan deities that your city has worshiped for millenia. That one of the three Titans of Foundation - Aquila, god of the Sky - has been punishing those who seek what’s beyond the clouds. Countless people have died, shot out of the air, crashing down onto the rocks like Icarus after flying too close to the sun in one of your storybooks.

(You always loved the story of Icarus - imagining the freedom of wings fluttering behind you as you fly higher and higher - but the heat of the scorching sun melted the fragile wax holding the whole illusion together, sending him plummeting down to his death.)

Hushed whispers and suspicious eyes begin to follow you and your mother. You see the increasing worry in your mother’s eyes, the wrinkle in her brow as she quickly shuttles you out of earshot whenever a neighbor grumbles about your “fanciful nonsense” or advises you to get your head on straight. The number of performances your mother is invited to drops steadily. She’s careful to never give any signs of her concerns in front of you, but children see and understand far more than adults assume.

At such a young age, you don’t understand why your beloved neighbors - those who have indulged you for so many years - suddenly seem to punish you for the same behavior you’ve always had. Hurt, you eventually learn to keep your hopes and wishes to yourself. You never quite lose your wanderlust, but for the sake of your mother, you learn to stay quiet.

And it works.

They smile at you again, when you talk instead about wanting to learn music composition and languages. They fawn and flatter over your meticulously completed workbooks, with perfect scores. Patrons who are hosting weddings and parties extend their invitation to your mother again for her services. Your mother, once almost sick with worries about her dwindling savings, laughs genuinely again and celebrates by making your favorite dinners.

Their approval makes a warmth light up in your stomach. It’s slightly bitter with the thought of having to hide such an integral part of yourself, but it’s worth it to see their relieved faces. Anything that you, a child still, can do to help ease their adult troubles, brings you a simple joy.

(My kind little one, your mother croons gently as she tucks you in for the night. Still so young, but with such a noble heart.)

So in the end, you grow up, as all children do. You become less idealistic and more realistic. A touch of cynicism to round it out, as more and more cities are destroyed and then one day, you are eventually forced to move from all that you’ve known to one of the last safe bastions in this world - Okhema.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

When your mother breaks the news, you stare up at her blankly from your seated position on the living room floor. The two Dromas plushes in your hands, previously engrossed in a thrilling battle between two rivals, drop to the floor.

Bustling over, your mother absentmindedly brushes her sleeve over a cheek, rubbing the dirt off from where you fell earlier. Did you fall running after those silly boys again? she chides, clucking her tongue softly. Her other hand comes up to comb through your silky hair, making it more presentable.

I didn’t fall, you insist with cheeks puffed out. That dumb jerk Octavius tripped me. He even laughed! Stupid, stupid! Why does he have to be so mean? His friends should…should just banish him! You emphasize that last part with pride, using one of the new words you’ve learned from a tutor recently.

She laughs softly, pulling your hair back to tie it in a low ponytail. But then her hands drop to rest on your shoulders. When they don’t move, you look up questioningly. Mama…? you call out.

What you see stills the words in your throat. She looks tired (though who doesn’t these days) and unhappy. Biting her lip, she meets your gaze and rubs small circles into your thin shoulders.

Things have…changed recently, my star-child, she murmurs soothingly. Her hands are warm and familiar, and you relax into them, trusting her with every fiber of your being. Every day the Black Tide comes closer to our borders. We’ve tried everything to push it back, but now it’s gotten to the point where we need to move. In three days, you and I will start a new chapter of our lives in Okhema.

Okhema? you ask, curious. The Holy City that never goes dark?

Yes, love. It’s a beautiful place where we’re going. Now - help me pack up your books and clothes. We have to be ready when the time comes.

So three days later, your mother neatly packs up your whole childhood into several boxes and hires movers to secure them onto a rented Dromas. You learn from the handlers that her name is Sophia, and you shyly pat her long neck in thanks.

Then, there’s nothing to do but make the slow, lengthy journey to your new home. You travel in a group of people, so there’s no shortage of playmates and adults to run around, but as the days pass you become more aware than ever of how different you and your mother are.

As a child, you naturally find yourself drawn to those who are similar in age. But none of the others have Dromases to carry their luggage, or to ride when they get tired. Most of the other children are either forced to hitch a ride on a couple of ancient donkeys or to walk on foot.

And when the caravan stops at night to sleep, you notice that the rich stews and hearty meat skewers you eat are downright luxurious compared to their meager rations. Oftentimes you feel their burning, envious stares as you try to eat as fast as you can, huddled behind your mother.

It certainly makes it uncomfortable for you to be around the others, to say the least. You may not know what poverty or class differences are just yet, but you are aware that your fortune is different. Better.

It gets to a point where you hesitate each time you approach the others, quaking inside at the thought of their glares, angry at you at circumstances out of their control. But you offer them what you can - flasks of water, delicate baked wafers, and blankets. You are not able to change their luck, but you can help.

Most of the time, the other children snap at you, defensive about accepting charity. But they always take your gifts in the end - even if they don’t let you stick around long afterward.

Your mother always greets you with wide open arms when you return after these outings, shaken and discouraged. My precious star-child, she welcomes you back. Your kindness is your greatest strength. In this world, where there is such an absence of it, it is needed more than ever. Please - never, ever change.

Young and trusting, you relax into the warm circle of her arms. The tension drains from your body. Of course, mama, you sigh happily. I like being nice. Even if people don’t always seem to like me.

Delicate hands comb through your dark locks, smoothing out the tangles. And why’s that? she asks softly.

Because being kind makes me feel good! When I’m mean, I feel bad and sick inside - like I’m going to throw up. So I don’t do it! And you both laugh, you at such a silly question and her at your innocent honesty. That night, you fall into a dreamless sleep, counting down the days to when you’ll finally arrive at your new house.

An unintended consequence of being ousted from your peers’ social group is that you end up spending more time with the adults. Reading old books and staring out at the treetops gets dreadfully boring after a while, so you seek out company whenever you can.

Around the halfway mark of the journey, the group celebrates with a bonfire feast. The roaring flames mesmerize you and soon the sizzling of cooked meat makes your mouth water. That night, everyone is able to relax for the first time in weeks. Alcohol flows freely, and soon raucous laughter fills the air.

As you do every night, you turn your small face up to see the starry skies. Marvelling at the brightness of the constellations, you almost miss what some of the adults are saying.

Word is, some of the scouts have seen other groups of refugees headed toward Okhema, a heavyset woman with a decorative amethyst hairpin says, sitting down near the fire with a groan. The person next to her hands her a wooden goblet filled with ale, and she nods her thanks. Their clothing marked them as Kremnoans.

At that, an uneasy murmur goes through the group. Tearing your eyes away from the moon, you see that everyone straightens up at those words.

A quick glance shows that your mother is absent. Perhaps she retired early - she seems more tired these days. You mentally remind yourself to save a lamb skewer for her, in case she hasn’t eaten yet.

Kremnoans? Really? calls out a grizzled man. Racking your brains, you recognize him as Alexei, a man who always seems grumpy and irritated. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him with a smile on his face.

(You also vaguely remember he’s that jerk Octavius’s third uncle or whatever. Your opinion of Alexei instantly plummets on principle alone.)

Alexei takes a deep gulp from his mug, throat working as he swallows. Look, I know we’re all in the same boat. No telling how many places have fallen victim to that cursed Black Tide and its monsters. But Kremnoans, of all people? After what all their army did to countless surrounding villages? Most of the villages Castrum Kremnos attacked had no soldiers or weapons. They were annihilated by those bastards.

You don’t know what that word means, but based on the pale faces of the others, it can’t mean anything good. (You also gasp slightly at the swear word.) You shuffle forward silently, eager to hear more. Everyone is so captivated by Alexei’s words that no one notices your approach.

Mark my words - those brutes can pretend all they like to hide their claws and fangs, act like they’ve changed, but they can’t change their nature. The only good Kremnoan is a dead one. They will never be accepted, not fully.

A wave of irritation rushes up your spine, mad at Alexei on the unknown Kremnoans’ behalf. Before you realize it, you’ve leapt to your feet and run right up to the circle of adults.

But I heard that the Kremnoan groups that are going to Okhema don’t even have any warriors! Your voice pierces through the night, and all heads turn to focus on you, startled.

The people who left everything behind - like all of us --you gesture at everyone seated around the fire-- were tradespeople; cooks, potters, and teachers! How can you say they’re all evil?

Indignation still burns in your chest, but Alexei narrows his eyes at you and clicks his tongue. A thunderstorm brews on his face, bushy eyebrows drawing down sharply.

Mind your words, girl, he spits out, eyes hard as two pieces of steel flint. I’ll excuse your ignorance due to youth just this once. A few of the others let out nervous laughter, eyes flitting between the two of you.

At this you flush in embarrassment, a muscle in your cheek twitching. Before you can speak, Alexei barrels over you.

You haven’t grown up to see your neighbor’s house set on fire and destroyed, their livestock slaughtered, children murdered in their beds…by the very same people of the nation you’re trying to defend right now. Have you ever struggled to scavenge your next meal after the Kremnoan army burned everything for miles around? Or been forced to put someone out of their misery after they got gutted clean through the stomach with Kremnoan spears?

Cruelty is in their blood, forged in war-fire and paid for with innocent lives. Castrum Kremnos brought war and destruction to millions. They speak of honor and glory, but King Eurypon descended into cowardly madness and spent his last years sending his soldiers to destroy everything in their path. Every last man, woman, and child. He even threw his own infant son into the sea due to his paranoia.

Tell me, girl - do you think they deserve absolution when they gleefully sent their victims to Thanatos’s domain?

No, there will always be those who will never forgive anyone associated with that cursed, monstrous city. No amount of polishing or pretty words will wash the blood from their hands and swords. And I guarantee there will be many in Okhema who feel the same.

So I suggest that you grow up and abandon your childish, stupid fantasies. The sooner you learn that there are people who are irredeemable, the better off you’ll be.

Silence falls at his last words, the only sound the crackling flames. Hot, humiliated tears well up in your eyes, blurring your vision. Your cheeks flare hot with shame.

(At the edges of your peripheral vision, the woman with the hairpin shifts guiltily, shooting you an apologetic look.)

Alexei takes another deep swig of his alcohol.

Now get out of my sight, girl. I can’t stand ignorant brats like you.

Your mother is startled from her sleep when you burst into the shared tent, flinging yourself onto her cot.

Wha-- she croaks, voice stiff with fatigue. Stifled sobs wrack your body as you bury your way even closer to your mother’s warmth, wordlessly seeking comfort. After a second, her hand comes up to rub comforting circles on your back.

Oh, my love. She murmurs softly, pressing feather-light kisses on the crown of your head. You’re okay. Whatever happened, you’ll be okay.

She hums bits of lullabies and melodies you recognize as some of her most popular performance music. Slowly, your tears subside. Her hand continues to rub your skin before it eventually falls softly back to the mat. Soft snores reach your ears.

Giving one last sniffle, you wipe your eyes with the wool blanket. A wave of exhaustion hits you and you lift the covers and curl up in your mother’s loose embrace.

A hand comes up to grasp the hem of your mother’s nightgown. In the darkness, your eyelids droop lower and lower.

One person, you promise to yourself that night, breathing in the flowery perfume your mother loves. If I can find at least one person from Castrum Kremnos who is kind, then that proves the entire city isn’t evil. That they’re not all cruel, mindless brutes. Yeah, I’ll show that stupid, mean Alexei…prove him wrong…

Eventually, you fall into a restless slumber. Your last thought is a regretful dang it, I forgot to get the lamb skewers…

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

One day, while strolling through the main street you stop and realize that it’s been years since you arrived at the Holy City.

For the first few months, you were constantly walking down the wrong path, still used to the layout of your old (now destroyed) city. Your feet wanted to take you to the river, but in Okhema’s layout, you found yourself in front of the bath house.

Nowadays, you never get lost anymore and you’ve walked around the city enough times to know the shortest route between any two points. It does make finishing all your chores a lot easier.

Hefting up your grocery bag, you cut across the gardens to head to your last stop of the day, but make a quick detour for one of the many Titan’s offering fountains scattered throughout Okhema.

One of the first things you learned after arriving in the city is the tradition of rubbing the stone basins for good luck. There’s one for each of the Twelve Titans, and many people have a preference for a certain deity compared to others. For example, Kephale’s fountain is always crowded, while Zagreus’s rarely sees any foot traffic.

The fountain you stop by has a small plaque indicating it honors the Reason Titan, Cerces. Given her popularity, it’s not uncommon to have to wait for a turn. But luckily, today there is no one present.

Humming softly, you set your bag down on the floor and step up to the basin. Cool, clear water bubbles softly, throwing out dazzling sparkles of light. You’re just about to slide your fingers across the cold granite when a flash of brilliant blue catches your eye.

Curiosity gets the better of you, making you lean closer. Just underneath the basin edge rests a radiant sapphire butterfly. You marvel at its jewel-like color, wondering where it came from. It must be a rare species because you’ve never seen one before.

After a few seconds, you realize that its wings are sluggish and waterlogged. Tiny legs scrabble weakly on the stone. Before it can fall, you quickly and carefully cup your hands underneath it.

“Come on, little one,” you call softly. “Let’s get you over in the sunlight so you can dry out. Did you almost drown? Poor thing…”

As if in response to your words, the butterfly crawls onto your palm - it’s so light! - and shivers. Quickly, you walk towards the balcony where the sunlight is brightest.

The warmth of Kephale’s Dawn Device washes over you both, and you enjoy a light breeze that ruffles your clothing. Inside your cupped hands, the butterfly trills softly. If you strain your ears, you think you can almost hear the faint tinkling sound of bells.

You take a closer look at it, admiring its iridescent sheen. Words don’t really seem to do it justice to describe its beauty.

Sufficiently dry, the butterfly flaps its wings once, then twice. You smile and are just about to set it down on a nearby flower, but then its edges seem to g̥͛li̫̊tc̱̉͒͜ẖ͕̌̀ into fuzzy static.

Huh?

Blinking rapidly, you watch as it turns its beady eyes toward you.

And then, it speaks.

“Crrk-- huh. You’re a new one. Haven’t seen you before.”

You almost fall backwards, catching yourself just in time. “Did you just talk??” you ask incredulously, raising your hands to look at it more closely.

The butterfly wiggles its antennae in response. “Of course I did,” it says. “Haven’t you ever seen a talking Creation Nymph before?”

“No,” you reply dumbly. You suddenly realize if anyone were to see you right now, they’d think you lost your marbles talking to a bug. “So…you’re a Creation Nymph? You look just like a blue butterfly.”

Even though the Nymph has no expression, you can feel its exasperation. “Goodness, you humans certainly don’t have an eye for detail, do you? We’re not butterflies. We’re Nymphs! The one who stands before you is the Nymph of Reason.”

After a moment of thinking, you suppose that makes sense. Why wouldn’t creatures of Cerces gather at her fountain? Though you’re still not sure what a Creation Nymph is, exactly.

You feel a faint buzz of static in your palms, and once again the Nymph’s outline turns fuzzy and soft. A split second later, it dissolves into tiny blue cubes of light.

“Crrk-- be careful, there. Denial isn’t just a river, you know.” (⌒_⌒;)

As it vanishes, you catch the faintest hint of something burning (ozone). For some reason, the smell suddenly reminds you of thunderstorms.

After that truly bewildering experience (you’re still not sure if the whole thing was just a fever dream), you wander back to the fountain to pick up your groceries. The time is drawing close to the Parting Hour, so you want to hurry back home to start preparing dinner. Your mother hasn’t been feeling too well lately, so it’s fallen to you to make sure she gets three square meals a day.

Maybe Okhema is home to talking bugs, why not, you think. After all, there are the chimeras and the Dromases and the Verax Leo statues. Why not also throw in a bunch of talking, sparkly Nymphs that can also write out facial expressions?

You’re just about to turn the corner onto the street where your house lies at the very end, when for the second time that day your eye catches a flicker of deep blue and silver.

Stopping in your tracks, you find the source coming from the rooftop. In a tucked away corner sits a white-haired man with one long leg hanging off the side. There’s an unsettlingly blank look on his face.

It’s Phainon.

Of course you instantly recognize him. Who wouldn’t?

You’ve spotted him around the city several times, always at a distance. His handsome appearance is striking, with his silver hair, clear blue eyes, tailored clothing, and magnetic presence. Always with a smile, thinking nothing of helping others when asked. Many times, you watch with awe as his kindness inspires you.

(You can’t help it. You’re drawn to others with kindness. It’s been in your nature ever since you were a child.)

Before you can turn around and continue on your way, he spots your figure. For a split second, you think about leaving anyway. What can you offer the Deliverer of Okhema? He has adoring fans, wonderful comrades, and surely he also has no shortage of admirers. Though you’ve never heard of him having an official lover, it wouldn’t be surprising if such a handsome man had someone precious to him.

But…his empty expression tugs at your heartstrings. It doesn’t evoke pity, exactly, but a feeling of wanting to help him, if you can.

I’ll try, you think resolutely to yourself, nodding slightly as you ascend the stone steps to the roof. If it’s not what he needs, then I’ll just go back to what I was doing before. No harm, no foul.

Time seems to both drag out and go by quickly, and in what seems like no time you’re standing next to the most famous person in the city.

Before things can get too awkward, you crouch down a respectable distance away and mirror his posture, letting your left leg dangle off the rooftop. You can feel his gaze on you, but avoid the temptation to look back. At least, for now.

A beat of silence passes. A light breeze ruffles both of your hair - his white, yours dark. Idly, you think it is interesting how such a young man has such light hair. And to be honest, you’ve never really seen anyone else with hair as dark as yours. Even your mother’s hair is only a deep chestnut brown.

“So…come here often?” you quip, then instantly regret it. Titans, what are you doing? Flirting? Ew. You don’t do that, especially with people you don’t even know. Why does anyone even let you out in public? Embarrassment colors your cheeks pink.

However, apparently the other finds it funny enough to let out a bark of laughter. To your surprise, it sounds scratchy and raw and honest. Not like the perfectly curated laugh you’ve heard him give to the public.

Phainon coughs, hand reaching back to scratch the back of his neck. “Honestly, not really,” he says. “I came up here to…gather my thoughts, really. It’s been a pretty long day for me.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen you around. Uh, not in a stalker way, I swear - it’s just…you’re pretty popular, so of course everyone knows you. Hero of the people, and all that. I guess it can get pretty exhausting talking to so many citizens every day, huh? And I hear you go on a lot of missions…”

Phainon hums, shoulders relaxing a fraction in your peripheral view. It encourages you to continue, tongue loosening as you feel less pressured to say the ‘right thing’.

“And I’ve seen you escort people to safety, help rebuild broken storefronts, even buy some sweets for kids. I’ve heard a lot about you of course, but I didn't want to have any preconceived notions. I’d rather form my own opinion after talking with you.”

Phainon stays quiet for a moment, swinging his leg back and forth. “And what have you determined so far, if I may ask?”

Smiling, you answer. “You may. And my conclusions are…well, I think you’re a very kind person. I guess…um…I just wanted to let you know that I admire you a lot for that. My mother once told me that there’s not a lot of kindness in this world, so it’s all the more precious when people have it.”

He shifts his weight, tiles creaking underneath his thighs. “...kind? Ha ha, that’s some high praise. Especially coming from someone like you.”

After a while, a natural silence falls again. Thankfully, it’s companionable and not awkward.

“Why’d you come up here, anyway?” he asks. He sounds a lot closer than you expect, and you whip your head around only to startle back when you see how close he’s gotten. When your head turned, Phainon was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his face. From this distance, you can see how his pupils are ringed with gold.

The instant your eyes meet, Phainon’s pupils dilate alarmingly. He goes unnaturally still. His response causes you to freeze in uncertainty, but thankfully he looks away, breaking the awkwardness.

(Distantly, you think you catch a faint whiff of ozone before the breeze washes it away.)

Seeing how nothing else happens, you allow your shoulders to relax. However, you do notice that Phainon doesn’t make any effort to move away. Discreetly, you inch away slightly to create some respectable distance again.

You clear your throat, which has suddenly dried up. “Well, to be honest, I wasn’t going to. I saw you up on the rooftop and figured you must have been taking a lunch break or something. Or just wanted to be by yourself. I get that feeling too…as much as socializing is fun, too much and my energy level drains too fast…but…then I figured I’d see if you were feeling okay.”

“Me? Feeling okay?” Phainon asks, tilting his head. Ever since he made eye contact, he seems a little more animated. The intensity in his eyes is startling. It’s almost as if he recognizes you from somewhere - but that’s impossible, isn’t it? After all, this is your first time meeting each other. “That’s a strange question. Why do you ask?”

Helplessly, you shrug. You don’t even know why you asked it, to be honest. You don’t know Phainon, you haven’t even called out to him in passing like so many citizens do. But a gut instinct whispers that he’s not okay. Not really. And you can’t just pass by someone like that, not without at least checking on them.

“You seemed…sorry if this seems pretty blunt, but…like you were missing something you didn’t know you lost in the first place.”

Phainon catches your gaze again. His eyes are very wide and blue. Licking his lips, he murmurs, “That’s quite specific. Care to explain?”

So you talk honestly, which always comes more naturally to you than half-truths or outright lies. You tell him how sometimes you blot out the light from Kephale’s Dawn Device with your hands, pretending that dusk is about to fall and darkness is on its way. And then you’ll be able to see the moon, and more importantly the stars. Something you haven’t seen in more than a decade.

(Sometimes, when the nights - or at least, the periods of rest in Okhema’s eternal golden light - are quiet and the loneliness becomes almost unbearable, an ache flares up deep in your chest. Just below the sternum, it throbs like an unwelcome toothache. In snatches of half-forgotten dreams, you find yourself running through inky blackness, hands reaching out blindly for something you can’t quite remember.)

(You feel homesick so badly you think you might throw up, but thankfully those are fewer and farther between these days.)

You tell him about the nickname your mother gave you, and Phainon laughs softly. “Cute,” he says with a small, genuine smile. Your traitorous heart flutters a bit in the light of his radiance. “Star-child, huh? It sounds pretty. Shall I call you that, too?”

You balk. “Um…er, well it’s not that I don’t like the name itself, it’s special - it’s just…”

He waits patiently for you. “Just what?”

“Well…I find part of it…I mean…I’d rather not be called a child, now. I’ve been an adult for several years now, and would rather be called something more appropriate.”

Phainon hums, leaning back to rest his weight on his palms. “Actually, speaking about that…I don’t think I ever caught your name, miss. Would you give me the honor?”

“That seems a little old-fashioned,” you tease, but agree easily enough.

“[Reader],” Phainon says carefully and slowly, making sure to place emphasis on the right syllabus. It’s shockingly intimate, the reverence with which he holds your name in his mouth. You can see his tongue roll across the flat of his teeth as he murmurs the individual syllables.

You don’t think anyone has ever said your name with such care, like it’s a precious jewel to be hoarded. The burning in your cheeks intensifies, and you turn your head away to hide the flush.

But based on Phainon’s smile just before you turn, he’s already seen it. Damn it. You cough in embarrassment.

“[Reader],” Phainon repeats with the same care. “I’ll remember that.” he says with all the weight of a solemn promise.

(Then, so soft you can barely hear it, he whispers, “I finally found you again.”)

“But as a nickname,” he says cheekily, the mirth in his voice compelling you to face him again. “Stars seem to suit you. They’re a light in the darkness, brilliant and warm - yet so far out of reach.” A large hand comes up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “But if you reach out, and if you’re very, very lucky…one might come to you and fall into your hands. Like a shooting star.”

For a second, you can only stare at Phainon. The heat from his hand ghosts across your cheek as his fingers still at your temple.

How could you have ever imagined his eyes as empty? When they look at you, they sparkle like the clear blue sky. A faint smile tugs at his lips. He looks…at peace, for the first time in ages.

Then you have to ruin it by opening your dumb mouth. “Are you flirting with me?”

Phainon blinks, then grins wider. “I mean, I certainly hope so,” he says. His hand shifts slightly, the back of his knuckles rubbing your cheek. “Are you?”

Your mouth feels like cotton. Despite people commenting on your features, how they admire your dark, shiny hair, eyes, and graceful height, you don’t…you’re not really someone desirable. Too much time spent practicing music and staying up late to devour the latest mystery novels have not been overly kind to your complexion. You put on a bright front, trying your best to get along with others, but always feel a little awkward in the end.

And yet…Phainon seems to look at you like an oasis in the desert, and he’s been wandering aimlessly for years.

“How about Starlight?” You snap to attention, startled out of your racing thoughts.

“Huh?”

“As a new nickname, from me. It’s similar to your previous one, but I’ll respect your wishes. It’s been a long time since either of us were carefree kids, right? We were both forced to grow up far too soon.”

Hesitantly, you reply. “Starlight, huh…I mean, it’s beautiful, but I don’t really know if it…suits me, to be honest.”

At that, Phainon tilts his head to ask, “Why not?” His tone sounds genuinely curious.

“Well…such titles should be reserved for people who live up to it, right? Someone pretty. Like…Lady Aglaea or Lady Castorice.”

(Children can be ruthless, especially whenever they see someone who appears different. In your early years, you were often teased for your looks - after all, the kids in your city all had either light brown, blond, or red hair. They’d laugh and point, jeering at your features.)

(“Eww - why are her eyes and hair so dark? Maybe she was spat out by the Black Tide! Hey, no one get close to [reader] - she’ll infect you with it! She’ll summon monsters to eat you up! Run away!”)

(You’re all grown up now, but the pain from their phantom verbal barbs remains. Just childish superstitions and mean accusations. Ridiculous.)

(...you know you’re not ugly, per se…but you definitely don’t fit the classic beauty standards. And that’s fine. It’s fine.)

At that, Phainon’s face seems to darken slightly. But he doesn’t seem angry at you - rather, he appears upset that you think so lowly of yourself.

“Shame,” he says softly. “Because I think you’re beautiful.”

“...” Once again, you turn away, face flushed. What can you even say to that?

“Ah, did I make you speechless? I guess I’ve still got it, managing to charm such a pretty girl.” You hear clothes rustle behind you as he scoots even closer - close enough that you can feel his body heat.

A leather-clad hand touches yours. At that, you turn to meet his dazzling blue eyes. Phainon’s mouth opens, and then he says something you’d never expect, not in a million lifetimes.

“I really like you, [reader]. Would you like to grab dinner with me sometime?”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Being with Phainon is simultaneously the best and the most anxious you’ve felt in your whole life.

You’re pleasantly surprised to learn just how down-to-earth he really is. For all of his public hero persona, he never puts on a front with you. He’s surprisingly quick-witted and loves to make you snort ugly laughter with his puns and dad jokes. Like an idiot, you fall for it every time and then smack his shoulder in exasperation.

He’s terrible in the kitchen. You’ve personally seen him somehow burn pasta, that’s actively submerged in water. Whenever he tries to cook, it ends up with airing the windows to let the smoke escape and you two getting takeout instead.

Phainon’s hobby of appraising techniques brings you to Theodoros's antique shop every so often to view the new wares. The white-haired man babbles endlessly about how to spot genuine inscriptions from carefully made fakes, and where the best ruins are to scavenge artifacts. The shopkeeper always asks Phainon if he’d like to purchase any new wares, but most of the time Phainon declines with a sheepish smile.

“I’m saving up for something these days,” he says apologetically. You’re totally absorbed in sifting through a basket of newly arrived lacquered stones that you miss his glance towards you as he speaks.

Several times, you try to surprise him by walking quietly up behind him to cover his eyes with your hands. However, each time you do so he immediately turns around before you can get within reach. You learn that he has extraordinarily good hearing - especially as you naturally walk almost silently. A lifelong habit of walking by rolling your foot smoothly from heel to toe.

He also has incredible eyesight, able to pick out people from miles away. He also uses it to his advantage whenever he wants to find you - his ability to zero in on where you are, even in such a dense crowd in the marketplace, is startling.

“Are you a hunting dog or a falcon? Does being a Chrysos Heir give you super vision?” you ask him teasingly one day, after he uses his senses to effortlessly snatch you up after you tried (and failed) to hide from him. He simply laughs and gives you that endearing, crooked smile that shows off his dimples.

And the craziest part of it all, is that Phainon likes you. Phainon, someone who has the entirety of Okhema laid out at his feet. He could have anyone at all - in fact, he often gets several gifts and letters every day from admirers - all of which he turns down gracefully.

He likes you.

Sometimes, you have to pinch yourself to make sure you’re not having an elaborate dream where you’re the main character in one of those trashy romance novels that Phaoresius loves reading. You don’t really see why Phainon is so enraptured, but you don’t question it anymore. Whenever you asked him, he frowned so severely at you that you backpedaled immediately.

“I wish you wouldn’t sell yourself short so much, Starlight. People would have to be blind to not see how stunning and important you are to me.”

His casual but devastating sincerity never fails to make you blush and feel light-headed.

But as a busy influential Heir, his time with you is unfortunately limited to what he can spare outside of constant missions, official duties, and of course regular spars with the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos, Mydeimos.

Phainon is always so apologetic whenever your time together is cut short, turning huge watery eyes your way and promising to come find you as soon as he’s finished. You wave him off, lightly chiding that you’re more than happy to wait for him, and to not stress so much. The fact that you already spend so much time together is amazing enough - but for Phainon, he gets increasingly annoyed whenever someone interrupts.

Most of the time, Mydeimos comes to pry Phainon off you whenever they’re assigned missions together - which is more often than not. Even as a spectator, you know that the two warriors have amazing synergy, and you’ve seen their casual “spars” absolutely demolish the practice grounds.

Phainon becomes surprisingly childish in front of his rival, shamelessly latching onto you or throwing his arms around your body to delay leaving for as long as possible. It usually ends with a swift armored fist to Phainon’s side as the other runs out of patience.

That’s how you first meet Mydeimos - “tch, call me Mydei instead” - and you learn, much to your shock, that he has a surprisingly immature side as well.

It’s one thing to listen to Phainon whine about how petty Mydei is for making him foot the bill for lunch or blatantly cheat in their Titankin killing counts. But seeing Mydei actually plant a boot in Phainon’s back when they are racing from one end of Okhema to the other is certainly…something.

(You have to stifle your laughter when Phainon face-plants, because the instant the sound leaves your lips he whips his head around and looks at you with the biggest expression of betrayal you’ve ever seen.)

(You’re forced to make it up to him later that night, with him stubbornly throwing himself on your lap and refusing to move for hours. He refuses to look at you but pouts so hard his cheeks puff out. Eventually you appease him by running your hands through his hair and massaging his scalp, and he melts. If he had a tail, it would definitely be wagging.)

Things aren’t always so easy-going. Even though you’re basically glued to the hip with the most popular Chrysos Heir in the city, you never forget that Phainon is a target.

And that, in extension, makes you one as well.

Most of the time, it’s just petty stuff that can be brushed off. Phainon’s admirers don’t go away once you two are officially together. Harmless verbal jabs that you’ve long learned to tune out, harkening back to your childhood. Comments about your hair or eyes rarely bother you for more than a second, these days.

But there are others who really seem to get under your skin. Those who - instead of attacking you - question loudly about Phainon’s standards. Talking about how he should be with someone of the same social standing or class - someone more deserving.

Now, it’s not as if Phainon is a prince and you are a pauper - to the contrary, you’re solidly middle-class thanks to your mother’s income. But you are still seen as an outsider to Okhema’s natural citizens, no matter how long you’ve lived in their city. Despite making friends, some days still make you feel like the little girl who was always left out.

A harsh blow to your shoulder with someone’s own sends you reeling, making you drop your carefully selected groceries to the ground. Though you’re able to keep your balance, you flush in humiliation as the other sneers at you.

“Watch where you’re going,” a well-dressed and popular socialite jeers, her expensive jewelry sparkling in the light. “Is this clumsy oaf the best that Lord Phainon settled for?” She sniffs, tossing her unfairly beautiful hair behind her. Closeby, a group of similar dressed ladies snicker.

“...” You don’t bother replying, simply kneeling down to pick up your scattered purchases. It’s not worth getting into a fight. Besides - you have to hurry back to cook for your mother, who’s been working so hard lately. It’s the least you can do for her.

The socialite lets out a scoff, clearly annoyed at your lack of response. Luckily, she doesn’t seem to want to stick around. “Come on, girls,” she calls airily to her group. “No use wasting our time with one of the commoners.”

You don’t look up as you carefully dust off a head of lettuce. It’s unfortunate that the outer parts are unsalvageable, but you’ll wash it when you get home and peel off the top layers. You can still use most of it. The clacking of fashionable heels fade into the distance while you scan the area to see what’s still missing.

Ah - there. A wrapped package of beef a few feet away. Thankfully, it’s covered in sturdy butcher paper so it’s still edible. You silently thank Phagousa for small mercies as you stretch out your arm--

A large callused hand grabs it before you can reach it, then its owner comes into view as he crouches down to your level. Blinking, you stare at Phainon as he offers the parcel to you.

“Hey, Starlight,” he smiles, tilting so his bangs fall across his forehead. He’s unfairly handsome. “What are you doing down here? Come here often?”

An undignified snort escapes you before you stifle it. Damn Phainon for making you laugh so much at his stupid jokes…though you can’t help your smile as you recall the same line you used when meeting him on that rooftop, all those months ago.

You accept the package and place it carefully on top of the other groceries. Phainon scoots closer to peer into your bag, curious. His chin rests on your head, and you shift to adjust for the extra weight.

“No, really,” he says as you tie the bag to prevent further spills. “What are you doing crouched on the ground? Did something happen?”

Humming, mood already improved with the thought of getting home soon, you shake your head slightly. It makes Phainon’s chin move a little. “Nah, I just…it’s nothing. Don’t worry about it, Phainon.”

You can feel his pout as he playfully digs his chin harder into you. “That’s not fair,” he whines. “Here I am, helping you pick up your precious food out of the kindness of my heart, like a true gentleman. Only to be rebuffed by my one true love. Ah, Titans, fate truly is too cruel!”

For the second time in minutes, you burst out into laughter. “Phainon!” you shout, only pretending to be mad. “Stop making me-- ahahaha --laugh, you idiot!”

Your lover simply wraps an arm around you, encouraging you to lean on him. You oblige, trusting him to carry your weight, which he does with ease. “Now why would I stop doing something that I love?” he murmurs into your hair.

His body heat feels good, making you relax and release all the tension in your shoulders. Sighing, you press a chaste kiss to his exposed collarbone, causing him to shiver.

After a moment, Phainon says, “Hey. Won’t you tell me what happened, Starlight?”

You struggle internally for a moment, debating whether or not to bring up your unpleasant encounter. You give in eventually, like you always do around Phainon. “Ugh…earlier, I was walking home and minding my own business when someone bumped into me on purpose. Made me drop everything. She started talking about how I’m too clumsy and not enough for you, even though she clearly ran into me…”

Words trail off as you feel Phainon tense around you. Hurriedly, you rush to say, “But it’s fine, you know? People like that, they just don’t have anything else to do but gossip all day and cause trouble.” You rub his arm soothingly. “Really, thank you for helping me, Phainon. I appreciate it more than you know.”

“Mmm.” Phainon’s still tense, but marginally less so now. “So who was it that was so bothersome?” There’s a faint growl underlying his words.

Sighing, you mutter out the name of the rich socialite. “As much as I love you, Phainon, I really have to get going soon…I still have to prepare dinner for my mother, I can’t make her wait too long.”

Phainon nods and stands, before offering you his hand. Taking it gratefully, you find yourself pulled to your feet effortlessly.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow or whenever you’re free again - I heard from Theodoros that you’re going on a super secret mission so you’ll probably be pretty busy-- mmph--?!”

White hair suddenly fills your vision as Phainon surges forward to kiss you. You scramble for a moment, one hand coming up to grip his shoulder pauldron while the other clutches your bag close. After a few seconds, he pulls back. A string of saliva connects your mouths.

You gape up at him, face flushed.

Cerulean eyes gleam around his golden pupils as he looks down at you. There’s a fiercely determined look on his face. “She won’t ever bother you again,” he states. “I promise.”

A whisper of unease shivers through you at his stony expression, but you brush it off. Phainon is strong, but you’ve never seen him turn that strength onto anything but monsters and Mydei during their spars.

(He wouldn’t do anything…rash. Right?)

You reach up to tweak his nose, causing him to look cross-eyed at your fingers. There, that’s the lovable, kind man that you fell in love with. “Down, boy,” you tease. “No biting or barking. She’s harmless - it’s easy enough to ignore her. I’ll be on the lookout so I don’t have to run into her again. We don’t have to stoop to her level.”

Phainon simply stares at you, eyes blazing like the sun. “I’ll see you when I get back,” he replies.

You almost forget all about it, but a few days later you’re out again near the marketplace. With dread, you spot the socialite from before, clad in finery that likely costs the same amount as a regular Okheman’s salary. Upon seeing her, you’re about to turn to walk the other way. However, she spots you before you can do so.

You’re braced for her to throw out another jeer, insult, or even turn up her nose - but she pales upon eye contact and quickly sprints out of the shops. Behind her, the owner yells and holds up a handful of bags which she left behind.

Huh?

Maybe something came over her and she suddenly realized she had to do something. Or was late to an important appointment. After a moment of confusion, you shrug and continue on your way. You’re just thankful that you don’t have to deal with her today.

Life settles into a routine, as it is wont to do. Waking up, making breakfast, taking a stroll throughout Okhema, stopping by the library, petting the Chimeras in the garden, feeding the Dromases - life is cyclical, a little monotonous, but you are content.

(Okay, you have been a little miffed recently because your friend Phaoresius failed to show up to a meetup that he arranged to discuss the latest light novels he’s obsessed with, making you wait like an idiot for hours in a cafe during peak lunch hours. The owner eventually gave you a dirty look and you quickly paid your bill and left. When you see him again - he’s not even answering his texts, the damn coward - you’re going to give him a stern lesson on standing people up.)

A shock of blonde hair in your peripheral vision makes you pause, and you see Mydei casually leaning on a stone pillar near the library. He meets your eyes and straightens up. Curious, you walk up to him to chat. You’ve seen him a few times - mostly whenever you’re with Phainon - but this is a rare occurrence when the Deliverer isn’t around.

He gives you a stiff nod, but says nothing. You try not to feel too awkward - surely Kremnoans have different social customs when it comes to greetings - and mirror his posture by leaning on the pillar next to him.

Silence falls, and both of you watch various people enter the library. Some of them throw puzzled glances your way - at the Kremnoan prince, mostly - but hurry inside.

Idly, you imagine the two of you as a pair of cats sitting close by but utterly ignoring each other like the strays you sometimes find in the back alleys. You’re just about to open your mouth to let Mydei know about your brilliant thought when he beats you to it.

“Hey, [reader].” You startle, looking up at his sharp leonine eyes. Golden irises watch you intently.

“Y-yeah?” you squeak out. No matter how familiar you are with him, Mydei’s gaze is always a little intimidating. “What is it?”

Mydei says nothing for a moment, seemingly trying to find the right words. “You’re always next to the Deliverer - I mean, Phainon - these days. Have you…noticed anything strange lately? Anything at all?”

Your first instinct is to brush it off - because seriously? Phainon? Being strange? Sure, he’s a little odd at baseline, a little protective, but mostly a wonderful lover and friend. Opening your mouth, you’re about to verbalize your thoughts…but then a little voice that’s been grumbling quietly in your head suddenly pipes up.

(The times where Phainon abruptly bared his teeth for a split second when one of Aglaea’s messengers came to fetch him for a last minute mission. Or the icy, empty expression on his face when he thinks no one is looking.)

(Phaoresius has been missing for a week. Didn’t a guard mention offhand that he was with Phainon the last time he was seen?)

(Phainon promising you that the socialite would never bother you again. And she didn’t. But what did he say to her, what did he do--?)

No…surely not. You’ve known Phainon for less time than Mydei has, but surely you would be able to tell if something was wrong.

“No,” you reply, avoiding Mydei’s gaze. “I haven’t noticed a thing.”

You can feel the weight of Mydei’s stare. Clearly he doesn’t believe you.

(That’s okay. You don’t really believe yourself, either.)

“Are you sure?” the prince asks. “Nothing at all comes to mind? Really?”

Squirming, you flick your eyes across the pavement as you struggle to come up with a response. A flash of brilliant blue next to the library’s entrance reminds you of that strange Creation Nymph you ran into once.

“Nothing,” you say firmly. “Phainon has been a little stressed out lately, I suppose, but I can’t imagine anyone - Chrysos Heir or otherwise - who isn’t worried these days. With everything going on. You know - the prophecy, the Flame Chase, and the whole Black Tide thing.”

Mydei gives a soft grunt in acknowledgment, before tapping one of his clawed fingers on the pillar. “Fair enough. But…it’s just, a few days ago…Phainon came back and his clothes were…”

He trails off, which is rare enough for you to look at him again. While the Kremnoan prince is fairly taciturn, it’s not often that he finds himself at a loss for words.

Mydei’s eyes are clouded over, as if he’s remembering something unpleasant.

“His clothes…?” you prompt, now confused more than ever. Since when did Mydei care about Phainon’s fashion sense?

The other snaps out of his deliberation, shaking his head. “Never mind,” he says abruptly. “Forget it. It’s not important.” And with that, he stalks off.

You’re left gaping at his back. What was that? What is he talking about?

(Oh, please. Denial isn’t just a river, you know.)

Suddenly, you get the distinct feeling of someone watching you. Whipping around, your eyes scan the area, but other than a few patrons exiting the library with a stack of books, there’s no one else there.

Faintly, you smell the barest whiff of ozone, like the air just before a thunderstorm.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Even though you knew it would inevitably arrive, the day you lose your mother to illness nearly blindsides you with grief.

You’ve been in denial for a while, stubbornly avoiding the obvious. The half-eaten meals, the growing listlessness, and her worsening memory. Towards the very end, your mother not only grew so weak that her once graceful fingers failed to play a single note on her piano, but she also no longer recognized you.

(The first time your mother asked you feebly, “Who are you?”, your heart shattered. She remembered and forgot in waves, but it never got any easier to be treated like a stranger.)

Now, when the coroner leaves after declaring her time of death, and your neighbors depart after offering their sympathy, you’re left alone in the house you’ve spent the greater part of your life in Okhema - with the dead body of what was once your only living family member.

In the quiet house, every movement feels too loud and obtrusive. Slowly, you sit down on a chair next to the bedside and clasp your fingers in her cold ones. You bow your head on her stomach, whispering prayers and apologies.

After some time passes, you straighten up and detach your hands, leaning over to move a bucket of water and a washcloth closer to you. It’s rose-scented - sprayed with your mother’s favorite perfume - and the smell of it almost makes you burst out crying. Again.

Burial customs vary throughout Amphoreus, but you refuse to perform any other rites than the traditions from the city you were born in.

Dipping the cloth into the water, you wring it out so that it’s only slightly damp. Then you gently dab at your mother’s forehead, closed eyes, cheeks, and lips - making sure to change the water out often.

You continue from the head down, perfunctorily adjusting your mother’s burial shroud to preserve her dignity.

The smell of roses is overwhelming now, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

After a while, you finish and your mother’s body is freshly cleaned. You wipe off the remaining beads of water with a fresh towel - the softest one you own.

Next is the anointing oil, contained in a heavy glass vial that cost a small fortune. Uncorking it, the heady scent of sandalwood fills the room. Carefully, you allow a few drops to coat your fingers, which you then draw over her forehead in the pattern of a six-pointed star. Then you re-seal the bottle, setting it aside.

Finally, you pick up the elegantly crafted laurel from the bedside table and place it in your mother’s hair. You make sure that it sits perfectly symmetrical, then take a step back to observe your efforts.

Your mother looks beautiful.

The sight of your mother - gorgeous and relaxed in death - is what finally breaks you again. You weep, head in hands, as you finally say goodbye to her in your heart.

Your mother’s funeral takes place on a beautiful, sunny day.

Under the light of Kephale’s eternal Dawn Device, your mother’s body is dressed in her finest clothes and jewelry atop a stone altar. Wreaths of flowers and ribbons line the edges - gifts from her friends and many fans.

Only you offer libations, pouring aromatic red wine that splashes over the ground. Your mother had no lover other than your long-deceased father at the time of her death, so only blood relatives have the right.

Next to you, Phainon is a steady, grounding presence. The gravitas of the procession gives him a solemn look. Without him, you feel like a battered piece of shipwreck drifting in the sea. You’re desperately grateful for his support during what is possibly the worst day of your life.

(The worst day of your life…so far.)

He stays with you throughout the prayer, the blessings given by the priest, the well wishes from your mother’s acquaintances, and the musical performance from her colleagues.

Finally, it’s time for the burial - but just before she’s lowered into the ground, you step up and press a heavy obol coin in her mouth. A token of payment for the dead, in Thanatos’s realm.

“Goodbye, mother,” you whisper softly. “May you have a wonderful rest, and may we meet again someday where the west wind dwells.”

As the funeral bearers start the burial, Phainon draws you into a full-body hug. Your arms come up to clutch at the back of his coat, damp eyelashes pressed into his sun tattoo.

“My condolences, Starlight. I’m sorry for your loss,” he murmurs. For some reason you can’t explain, the way he says it causes chills to run down your spine.

But with the overwhelming day, you chalk it up to simple exhaustion and let it go.

Phainon tries his best to lift your spirits afterward, which you appreciate, but you end up listlessly picking at the food from the post-burial banquet. It feels wrong to eat such a lavish meal after your mother is buried just a few feet away.

After watching you poke at the same piece of roast chicken for five minutes, he abruptly grabs your arm and stands up. Surprised, you look up at him with a question on your face.

“Let’s get out of here, [reader],” he declares. “I think we’ve spent enough time today dealing with such heavy stuff. And it doesn’t seem like the food here is palatable to you. Why don’t we go out to a restaurant? My treat.”

You perk up a little at that, which makes Phainon smile. “Oh really?” you muse, mind already focused on what you’ve been craving lately. And you would like to get away.

A corner of your lip turns up as you decide to tease your lover a little. “Then how about Sol et Stella?” You name what is probably the most expensive restaurant in Okhema, where a single entree costs roughly an average person’s monthly salary. You expect him to sputter and backtrack before you offer your actual suggestion of deliciously unhealthy, greasy lamb flatbreads from a rickety old food cart.

To your surprise (and slight horror), Phainon doesn’t blanch at your suggestion. He only nods and adjusts his grip on your hand. “Sure, let’s go! I heard it’s a really high-quality place. What are you thinking of getting?” And he actually starts pulling you in the direction of the building.

“Wait wait wait--!” you dig your heels into the ground in an attempt to get him to stop. Of course, given his physical strength and height advantage, this does not slow him down at all. “I was just joking! You don’t have to take everything I say so seriously, Phainon!”

You tug at his hand, finally getting him to turn around. He’s smiling, but the look in his eye reveals he knew what you were doing all along. You flush, embarrassed at being caught.

“Heh, now there’s the smile I was waiting for all day,” he says, a warm finger coming up to press on your cheek. “Even if you wanted to go to all the restaurants in Okhema today, I wouldn’t mind. I’ve gone on hundreds of missions and get paid pretty well - and I do like antiquing but like I said…I’ve been saving up these days. Anything for my little Starlight.”

You shake your head, exhaling out a small laugh. Already you’re feeling much lighter than you have been all day. “Oh, my Phainon,” you sigh, not missing the way he visibly brightens at your possessive words. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Come with me to eat delicious food, of course!” he says happily, walking again. You quickly fall in step beside him, and soon head towards the scent of sizzling meat and vegetables.

Later, as you both sit on the wooden barstools in front of the stall and stuff your faces, you can’t help but look up at the skies again. In Okhema, the sun never sets, and the stars are never visible. Your sense of homesickness never fully goes away - it’ll always be a dull ache in your chest - but when Phainon is next to you, it simmers to the point where you can pretend it’s just a phantom pain.

Phainon shines as brightly as the sun, radiant and warm and he is always, always there. Aren’t you just so lucky that he loves you?

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You’re a fucking idiot.

Panic robs you of your rationality, making you stumble down the gravel path out of Phainon’s house. A misstep causes you to fall and scrape your knee, but you instantly push yourself up to keep moving.

Distantly, you realize that you’re in shock. Your fingers feel ice-cold and you’re panting so hard you think you’ll pass out soon, but your mind races on a continuous loop, recalling those damning words in Phainon’s diary.

I caved.

The restraint I fought to maintain finally tore. I’ve done something irredeemable, and yet I ████ █. perhaps that makes me ██. But if loving [name] this fiercely is madness, then let me descend into it without apology.

It began with my injury. She came to the infirmary, just as I hoped. The sight of her standing by my bed — so gentle, so beautiful — was almost too much to bear. I asked where she was headed, because obviously, she dolled herself up. I believed she’d say nowhere.

But no. She mentioned a meeting. A friend.

A friend.

████ █████████ ██ █████.

Something cracked inside me then. Who gave her permission to give her time — my time — to someone else? ████ ███ Who was that man, to think he could occupy the thoughts and laughter that should belong to me alone? ████ █████████ ██ █████

I found him. Of course i did. People like him are easy to track — even easier to silence.

I don’t remember much — the moment is a blur, as if my mind repressed it from the sheer disgust for that intruder. Only the sound remains: a dull, heavy thud as his body hit the ground. After that, there was stillness.

He’s gone now. That’s all that matters. [Reader] is safe — untouched, unspoiled by others. ████ █████████ ██. She is mine.

A pained yelp escapes you as your shoulder crashes into a wall. It’ll probably be bruised to all hell tomorrow.

You force yourself to keep going, past wide-eyed civilians who stare at you in confusion. Not willing to take the long way, frantically cutting through alleyways and back roads in an effort to get away as fast as possible, back to your home.

How could you have missed this? How could you have been so wrong about someone? About Phainon?

(You always knew…or at least had your suspicions. Now you can’t deny it anymore.)

After what seems like an eternity, you finally reach your front door and jam a shaking hand into your pocket to retrieve your house key. It takes three tries to finally insert it correctly into the lock, and then you twist it so hard it nearly breaks off.

Shoving the door open, you quickly slam it and activate the locking mechanism. As the door’s mechanics whir, you then collapse onto the floor as your strength finally gives out.

Your chest aches, more than it’s ever had in the past. The familiar feeling of homesickness rises up in your like the tide. But there’s also an overwhelming sense of heartbreak, as well, and you think it’ll overwhelm you so much you’ll die right here on the cold tiles.

You want to go home.

(But I’m already home, a small, confused voice pipes up in your mind. We’re in our house. Where else could we go?)

(You don’t have any answer to that. You wish you could see the stars again, just once.)

You shiver on the floor for hours, unable to get up. And eventually, when exhaustion drags you down in its clutches, you fall into horrible nightmares that last until you wake up again.

Chapter Text

You wake up with a scream locked behind your teeth, eyes startling open in an instant. You can’t see anything and panic for a second, thinking you’ve gone blind - but then your eyes adjust slightly to the dim light.

Heart pounding, you become aware of the terrible crick in your neck and that your cheek is pressed against something cold. Wincing, you push yourself up from the floor, head spinning so much you fear you’ll vomit up the contents of your stomach right then and there.

Eyes dart around the room, and you finally realize that you’re lying on the living room floor of your house. Based on the way your body is screaming at you in discomfort, you apparently spent the whole night passed out on the floor.

Ugh. You hate sleeping anywhere other than your bed or your couch, and you can already feel your joints pop as you adjust to a sitting position.

The events from yesterday come slamming back into focus, and you start shaking uncontrollably you remember--

That diary. The terrifying confession, the truth behind your friend’s disappearance (murder).

Phainon.

Did you ever really know him at all?

Your eyes dart towards the front door, and you exhale a sigh of relief when you see that it’s locked. It’s not going to do much against someone who’s really determined (Phainon) but at least it’s a barrier between you and the outside.

Suddenly the dryness in your mouth becomes unbearable, and you stumble towards the kitchen to grab a cup, twisting the faucet to fill it with water. Once it’s full, you bring it to your lips and drain the whole thing in one go. Then you let out a deep sigh.

You suppose that you’ll have to deal with…everything, eventually, but you figure you should focus on what you can do right now.

For example, you should really take a closer look at the shoulder that’s absolutely killing you. Ramming into a stone wall at almost full speed yesterday and sleeping on the floor did not help.

A hand runs through slightly greasy locks, snagging on some tangles. You should probably take a shower, too. With your mind made up, you trudge over to the bathroom and hesitate before taking a look in the mirror.

It’s…not pretty.

Your hair is an absolute mess. Large bruises decorate your eyes from a poor night’s sleep. Your shoulder is black and blue from bruising, and moving it hurts like hell.

Might as well clean up.

Turning on the tap, you reach for your toothbrush and squeeze a generous amount of toothpaste on it, before sticking it in your mouth. Brushing vigorously, you then gather your supplies for a long, hot shower.

There’s just something about standing under a scalding hot stream of water that makes you feel human again, especially when you’re feeling grungy. Your hair is also freshly washed with that expensive orange-scented shampoo you love, so you’re in a much better mood as you step out. As you open the bathroom door, a large cloud of steam wafts out and you even hum a little. Maybe you can--

“Good morning, Starlight! Did you sleep well?”

The blood crystallizes to ice in your veins as you stare uncomprehendingly at the person who’s sitting at your kitchen table. Like he belongs there.

Two plates and sets of cutlery are set on the wooden surface, and Phainon is rummaging through several bags. He’s taking out wrapped sandwiches and drinks. At your entrance, he turns around and smiles winningly.

Your mouth falls open before you can stop it. “What the fuck are you doing here?” Get out, you think, but don’t quite have the courage to say out loud.

As his expression takes on a crestfallen look, sudden realization hits you in the face like the wet towel around your shoulders.

He has a key to your house. Are you stupid or what? How did you forget that you gave it to him when you started dating?

Well, to be fair, it was a really fucking long day yesterday, you refute weakly in your head. Fuck. You’re going to have to change the damn locks. Is there anyone who can come over today for a rush job?

Then you mentally slap yourself - you’ve seen Phainon’s terrifying strength in action. Lifting an entire cart full of provisions with ease and swinging his massive greatsword around one-handed barely causes him to work up a sweat. You once saw him crack open an entire watermelon with his bare hands. What can a simple door and deadlock do against him?

Still, it’s the principle of it. And probably a placebo effect. Certainly you would feel better with even a piece of paper between you and a predator instead of nothing.

You don’t move from the bathroom doorway. Phainon pouts, the normality of it all messing with your head even more. “What do you mean? I was worried, so I wanted to check up on you. Look - I even got those egg sandwiches you really like from Kyrgios’s shop, with extra sauce! You always complain how he always skimps on that. I made sure to get some just for you.”

Growling from your traitorous stomach fills the kitchen, causing the other to laugh. “Guess your body can’t lie, despite what your mouth says,” he smirks. “Now come on - let’s eat. I’m sure you’ll feel better after a meal. I know I always do!” And then he has the nerve to laugh, likely thinking back to his Grove days where he got the nickname ‘Phangry’ for always eating in class.

You’ll be damned if you take what he’s offering though. Not after yesterday. Stepping forward, making sure to skirt around the table, you rummage in the cupboards before taking out a packaged granola bar. Your stomach wails in protest when there’s a feast of delicious baked goods right there, but you tell it to shut up.

Phainon makes a face at your actions, clearly unhappy about your subtle rejection. However, you rapidly find yourself caring less and less. A bitter feeling stews in your chest as you look at his familiar face, but the fondness you usually have for him is soured by the latest revelations.

“Phainon.” He perks up at his name, but stills as he sees your grim expression. “What are you doing here?”

Metal scrapes against the plate as he spears a forkful of roast potatoes before popping them in his mouth. He seems to think carefully for a moment, eyes flickering up and to the left before settling on you again.

“You were in quite the hurry yesterday,” he starts, appraising you. “Don’t you remember? You got caught in the rain and stopped by my place. You must have gotten a cold or fever from the rain, because you ran out all confused and yelling stuff that didn’t make any sense. I’m glad to see that you got home safe.”

You just stare at him, disbelieving. That first half is true, you remember escaping in a panic - but what the hell is he talking about with the other part? You surreptitiously press the back of your hand to your forehead - your skin feels warm from the shower but not burning. And you don’t have any of the telltale signs of sickness.

Why is Phainon saying this?

(He’s lying to you, the tiny voice in your head mutters. You’re more inclined to listen to it, as ignoring it seems to have put you in this situation in the first place. You can't afford to keep denying it - it’ll get too dangerous not only for yourself, but for those around you.)

“Do you think I’m stupid?” He blinks innocently at that. “Phainon, don’t you dare take me for a fool. You think I would just forget about what happened? You think you can gaslight me into believing something that’s a lie? Stop lying to me!!”

You’re furious at the sheer audacity of this man, this hypocritical liar. Your pride won’t allow him to do and say as he pleases, not now.

Phainon simply stares at you, expression blank, before he curls his lips into a rueful smile. “Guess it was worth a shot. Figured I might as well try it once.”

For some reason, those words chill you to your core. But before you can fully process it, he continues, “Please don’t misunderstand, [reader] - I don’t think you’re stupid. You’re the last person I would think of that. Can’t get anything past that sharp brain of yours, huh?”

(̭“̣I̢̘’̠͙l̘̱l͈ ̨͇j̠u̥s͇t ̡̲h̪͢a̫̙͚v͚̼e ̧̮t̹ọͅ ̰̗k̡e̤͍e̟ͅp ̭̣y̗o̪͍u̲̫r̺͜ ̞iṉ͎tel̨͉l̨i̪g̫e͓̻̜n̠c͈͎e̦̱̰ i̠͙n̪͕ ͇̬̫mi̫n̗ḑ ̘͙͚i̘̲n ̞t͕h̝e̬̮ ̝̟̭f͎͍ṳ̢͢t̪͚u̥̠r̰e.̧̲̹”)̮

Then, abruptly, he changes the subject again. “Like I said, I came to check up on you. Wouldn’t any devoted lover do the same?” And he presses a hand to his heart, as if to showcase his sincerity.

You don’t even bother responding to that last part. “Fine. So you came to check on me. As you can see, I’m still alive. Now get out.”

At that, he twitches slightly, mouth turning downward. He pops the last bite of food into his mouth before wiping his hands with a napkin. “Why are you being so mean?”

At that, you have to stop and let your brain reset for a hot minute before you explode and do something you’ll really regret. Like stab him in the neck with a knife.

Is he being serious? Surely he is not so delusional that he’s asking you why you're mad that you found out he’s an obsessive stalker and murderer.

“Are you even hearing yourself right now?” you shoot back, eyes widening in disbelief. You feel like you’re going insane at the domesticity of it all, having breakfast with a killer masquerading as a protector of the Holy City.

“No, I hear you. I just don’t understand why you care so much about him.” The venom he injects in that last word sends you reeling.

“Him? Who—“ then your thoughts snap back to recent events. Of course - Phaoeresius. Your chest aches as you tear up slightly.

Phainon continues to jab his fork at his plate with excessive force. “Yes, him. What did you even see that idiot in the first place? What could that fake—“ at that he crushed the fork with so much force the metal warps in his grip— “ever hope to offer you? He wasn’t real, not like us.”

You can’t believe that Phainon can be so jealous of a platonic friendship - in terms of relationship status, of course you and Phaoresius weren’t a real couple, for Titans’ sake. You just got together for meals and to discuss novels! He even had a crush on one of the librarians!

Did Phainon think you were…cheating on him with Phaoresius? The thought is so absurd that you can’t even comprehend it. And why would you ever cheat on someone you were in a relationship with? You would just break up with the other person instead of sneaking around.

“And you think that-- that justifies, what? You killing Phaoresius--?”

“̦̉D̠̈́ŏ̹n͗͜’̯̈ṯ̛ ̪̓s̻͋ạ͂ÿ̮́ ̮̓a͍͝n̲̑o̱̚t̞̀h͓̀e̜̒ȑ̯ ̛̗m̿͢à̳n̜̿’͎̔ś͍ ̼̾n̝̔a̾͜m͍̚ȅ̺ ͉͋i͗͢n̮͡ ̘̊f͍̽r̫͞õ̼ṉ̇t͖̆ ͚̄ǫ̓f̹̊ ̼̄m̹͠e͓̊ ͇͘ŝ͕öͅ ̹̂c̖͋a̩̚s̯̋ų̋ȁ͟l͍͂l̘̿y̝̐.̡͆”͖̋

He stares at you for a moment, then smiles gently. Looking like the very picture of the charming Deliverer so many know and love. “You’ll make me jealous, Starlight. Well…more than I already am.”

Through the spike of fear, the nickname makes you grimace. All of a sudden, you can’t stand any affection coming from him.

Plastic crinkles as you unconsciously grind the ration bar in between your fingers. You want to lash out at him more, but your anger fizzles out in the face of his unpredictability.

And honestly, what can you even do against a Chrysos Heir, any Chrysos Heir? Let alone the strongest one in the whole city? He’s unarmed, but has the ability to summon his claymore at a moment’s notice.

You’re so caught up in your jumbled thoughts that you don’t realize that Phainon had moved towards you until he’s almost on top of you.

A shadow is the only warning you get before you’re pressed back against the countertop, cold granite digging into your lower back.

He’s so tall, looming over you and blocking out the light. Normally the height difference makes you a little giddy and flustered - but now all you can think is how much longer his reach is than yours, how much faster he is, and that overwhelming, terrifying strength coiled in his arms, legs, and core.

Said arms come up to land on the countertop on either side of you, forearms almost as thick as one of your thighs. His own leg slots in between yours. The heat coming off his body is immense.

The eclipse of his shadow covers you completely.

In the face of the prophesized Deliverer, you feel like a sacrificial lamb, led to the altar.

Your animal hindbrain screams at you, yelling that you’re trapped in a corner and need to get away from him. He’s not quite touching you, but he’s so close, boxing you in - where can you even go?

Eyes jitter around to try to focus on something, anything to ground you, but you’re overwhelmed by your nerves and his presence. He smells like fresh sword oil and metal, unsurprising given his warrior training…but there's also an underlying whiff of something more organic.

The lingering scent of burning ozone.

“You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me in this cursed life,” he whispers softly. His large hand cradles your face, and it would be romantic if not for the fact that he murdered a man (your friend) with absolutely no remorse. Probably with the very hands that are currently brushing your cheek.

(You don’t smell any blood, but that doesn’t mean his hands aren’t stained with it.)

“The life of a Chrysos Heir is destined to be marked with loss and tragedy. I’ve given everything to the Flame-Chase journey, and I’ll continue on despite it to bring the salvation of Era Nova. But what’s here today could vanish without a trace tomorrow. You once told me that kindness is rare, so when people have it, they should hold onto it forever.”

Your heart aches at the familiar words once echoed by your late mother, but…that’s not…entirely true. The first part is, but…Phainon seems to have come up with the second part all by himself.

He tilts his head down towards yours, and the grip on your chin keeps you still. Just before his mouth meets yours, he stops. Your vision is filled with his piercing blue-and-gold eyes. The pointed stars of his irises burn into yours.

“In Aedes Elysiae, we have a tradition regarding promises. They’re rare and not lightly given, so when they are, they’re sealed with a kiss.” Shared breath mingles between your lips, scant inches apart. “Those who give such vows will never go back on their word, even upon death.”

You stare at him, paralyzed. A growing sense of dread in your stomach as you realize Phainon is not delusional. In fact, it’s the exact opposite.

He’s completely sane.

But he just doesn’t care about who he hurts with his actions. Not if the ends justifies the means.

“So, Starlight, believe me when I say this…”

A callused thumb parts the seam of your lips.

“I promise that I will never let you go.”

And then, inevitably, like how the ocean crashes over the tide, he kisses you deeper than you’ve ever been kissed before. The taste of herbs and wheat is overwhelming.

But this time - instead of all the previous times where you feel like you’re flying - you feel like you’re drowning as you clutch his arms.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

The next few days pass for you mostly in a confused daze.

To be honest, you’re still kind of shell-shocked by the sheer scale of lunacy that you’ve been forced to intake - but another emotion is rapidly growing stronger.

Titans, you are pissed.

Furious. Enraged. With every passing hour, the urge to march down to Phainon’s stupidly large house and throttle his neck (possibly with his own choker) grows like a parasite inside you. How dare he do this to you? How dare he put all this responsibility and stress on your shoulders? For Kephale’s sake, just a week ago you were none the wiser about all this, and now you have to deal with all this.

(In a dim corner of your mind, you faintly acknowledge that he himself is under a tremendous amount of pressure as well, given he is the Deliverer of prophecy responsible for saving the entire world…but that doesn’t stop you from wanting to drop-kick him off a cliff.)

Luckily, or unluckily, given that your mother’s funeral was so recent, many people assume that you are staying inside to mourn. They give you a wide berth, and when you open the doors occasionally you find that they have dropped off packages of home-made meals or flowers at your doorstep.

However, you’re unbelievably leery of actually talking with any of your neighbors given that Phainon drops by your house at all hours of the day.

You…don’t think he would do anything rash if you were just talking to them, but given the shitshow that is your life lately, you can’t take that chance.

You can’t risk someone’s life on that.

And Phainon comes by every day, sometimes even up to three to four times before the Action Hour. It’s really throwing you off, because you’d like to simply bury this chapter of your life and leave it behind you forever. To be honest, you’d prefer to move to another city or planet, but fat chance for that given Aquila’s grudge against humanity and the general hellhole that is Amphoreus outside of Okhema.

The other major thing you’ve debated endlessly with yourself is actually reporting Phainon to the authorities, but then you run into an even bigger problem.

Who the hell would you even report him to? And what the hell would you even say?

(Oh yes, hello, I am a very concerned citizen of Okhema here to report a serious crime. For who? Oh, of course - you know Phainon, right? The Deliverer? The man who singlehandedly rescued thousands of starving refugees from enemy territory and recruited Castrum Kremnos’s crown prince to our cause?)

(Well, I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but there’s definitive proof that he admitted to viciously killing a man in cold blood. And he’s possibly done the same to a number of other folks, given the recent jump in missing persons cases. Would you kindly arrest him so he is no longer a public calamity? You would? Oh, wonderful!)

(And I would also like to file the strictest restraining order you have against him, because he’s batshit crazy and horrifyingly obsessed with me for some reason. Thank you so much! Have a great day!)

(Yeah fucking right. You’d be laughed out of the building before you could even finish. Who would believe you over Phainon?)

Obviously, the first person that comes to mind is Aglaea, who’s basically his boss. No matter what Phainon is doing, whenever a messenger comes to fetch him for her, he always goes (although with increasing reluctance lately). And Phainon is her de facto protege, someone who’s being molded into her successor, is he not? You can’t imagine any of the other Chrysos Heirs stepping up to lead in her absence. No one else has the influence, charisma, and popularity.

The entire prophecy - the entire world - hinges on Phainon’s shoulders.

Talk about pressure.

Would his mentor turn on him - jeopardize the entire Flame-Chase journey they have been advocating tirelessly for - for you? For one person?

You’d like to be optimistic and say yes, but the hushed whispers of Aglaea’s diminished humanity and morals say otherwise.

Okay, maybe not Aglaea then. Perhaps you can talk to someone else who holds a high position in Okhema. You rack your brains whenever you get a spare moment, trying to think of who might be the best option.

For a very short time, you consider requesting a meeting with the Councilors. After all, apart from the Chrysos Heirs, they hold the most power over the city. But then Phainon’s voice pops into your head, reminding you of how the Council regularly sent assassins (“the Cleaners,” he informed you in the past) to dispose of previous Chrysos Heirs and dissenters.

But can you trust Phainon’s word? You don’t know any of the Councilors personally, is it possible that this is another of Phainon’s lies to cut off your options?

But, what if he’s telling the truth? What if you spent all your effort to meet with Councilor Caenis or Lygus, and then they simply decide you’re too much trouble and get rid of you?

There’s too much uncertainty with the Council; you can’t take risk their involvement without getting more information, at least.

(And, in a quiet place in your heart that you’re desperately trying to ignore, the thought of the Council focusing their wrath and assassins on Phainon, coming after him full-force when he’s vulnerable or alone, wounding him or even killing him…makes you hesitate. For everything he’s done, you can’t fully separate him from the man you used to love.)

Who else, then? You try to think of who else has influence, specifically over Phainon. Surely he would at least listen to someone he respects. And maybe if you present a strong enough case, you can even get an ally to help you convince Phainon to back off, maybe even confess his crimes and repent with community service.

Which is a ludicrously light sentence for murder, but you don’t even want to imagine the fallout if Okhema learned its celebrated Deliverer was a criminal.

The first person that comes to mind for that is Mydei, of course. You think back about your meeting with him outside the library, and regret that you didn’t speak up when he relayed his suspicions to you. But you’ve seen the light now! Surely he would listen to you. Surely he would help you - somehow.

With that, you stand up, more determined now that you have a clear goal in mind. The previous days have been spent spiraling and racing between half-formed plans and uncertainty, but this is something that you can actually go and do.

You hastily throw your hair up into a quick ponytail, shrug into a light jacket, grab your keys, and lace up some practical sandals. Mydei usually hangs around several different areas in Okhema, so you’ll start with those and work your way down. He’s surprisingly docile and tolerant among the children, so your first stop is the garden, where they tend to hang out after school.

A smile breaks across your face for the first time in what seems like forever, and you eagerly throw open the door to start the day.

The smile freezes as the door opens to reveal Phainon right there on your doorstep. Like he was waiting for you.

Fuck.

Before you can turn away or even change your expression, Phainon lights up when he sees your face and wastes no time throwing his arms around you.

“Erk--” you squeak out pitifully, lungs compressed in an instant in his bone-crushing hug. With the height difference, you get a direct mouthful of one of the metal accessories on his chest. His various belts and buckles dig into your skin, making you squirm uncomfortably.

“There’s that smile I’ve been missing,” he says happily, sunshine warmth leeching into you. “I know the last few days have been…rough…and you’ve been adjusting, but…I’m so glad you’re happy again.”

…

…

…

What. Is he high on drugs or something. How can one man be such a pain in your ass.

Frustration bubbles up in you again, carving its acidic edges into your bones like an old friend. Your hands twitch at your sides. You want to shove Phainon off you and out of your personal space, but you’d sooner have more success lifting a Dromas over your head.

You rest your head on his sternum, which only seems to encourage him and put his chin atop your hair in response. Biting your lip, you make an executive decision to finally voice what you’ve been holding in for days.

“Phainon,” you say gently but firmly. For a split second you consider lifting your head, but it’s a lot easier to talk to his chest without meeting his eyes.

“Look, I…there must be some others out there that are better-suited for both of us. You, especially - there’s no shortage of admirers. Surely you can’t be blind to their intentions…I mean, you get 10 letters of confession a day, for Titans sake…”

He doesn’t reply.

“You must know by now that whatever we have…whatever we had…it wasn’t real. A relationship can’t be built on lies. It was never going to be sustainable.”

No response.

“With all this, Phainon, I don’t think we can do this anymore…so, let’s just stop here. Lying to ourselves will only make things worse… and you need to tell someone…what you…did…because you…murdered…someone....”

You started out strong, but your voice falters into silence as Phainon’s body tenses up incrementally. His large frame is still around you.

Suddenly, you realize there’s an utter absence of sound. Even the insects and gulls that normally drive you crazy with their nonstop chirping are silent.

You can only hear two things - the quick, ragged breaths coming from your mouth, and the deep, measured ones coming from Phainon’s.

The realization that you and Phainon are the only people in what must be at least a 50 foot radius washes over you like a bucket of ice water. Your house, located at the very end of your neighborhood, once seemed comforting in its privacy.

Now, it feels like a liability.

What little water is left in your mouth evaporates. Simultaneously, a cold sweat breaks out on your skin, despite the warm weather. “Phainon--” you start, attempting to say something - anything - to de-escalate and get back on familiar ground.

But you don’t get the chance as he barrels forward, forcing you back inside and slamming the door shut. Your back hits the wall, and he’s instantly there, caging you in with his legs. He suddenly clasps your face in between his burning palms, staring at you with such a pitying expression.

“Oh, Starlight,” he exhales, shaking his head before leaning to touch his forehead to yours. This close, you can count his individual white eyelashes.

“I don’t want anyone else.”

(You want to close your eyes and shut everything out, but some primal instinct screams at you not to take your eyes off him for even a second.)

“It’s cute that you think a little bump in the road will get you out of this relationship,” Phainon jokes, but you feel like it’s not a joke at all. “And this relationship…is probably the only real one on this entire planet.” He doesn’t elaborate despite your confused look. Instead, he just tilts your face up to his own.

“We’ll get through this. I see that you’re still adjusting, but that’s okay. People can get used to anything, given enough time. Did you know that it takes an average of two months to fully adapt to a new habit?”

(The shadows seem to warp and twist in the corner of your eyes.)

“Soon we’ll look back at this, years from now, and laugh over how worried you were.”

(…Years?...)

“I promise you, Starlight, that we’ll see the Flame-Chase journey to the end and witness Era Nova together.”

Another soft kiss presses against your mouth, deliberate and achingly sweet. Another promise, laced with tradition from the last survivor of Aedes Elysiae.

Although you’ve been an adult for years now, you suddenly feel small and insecure again. You wish you could be in the arms of your mother one last time, instead of Phainon’s.

Mother, I miss you so much…if you were here, what would you do? What should I do? Please…someone tell me what I should do.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Given recent developments, you make another executive decision to fast-track a meeting with someone who might be able to help you. Your original plan of talking with the Kremnoan prince seems solid, but for some reason you cannot find any trace of him in the entire city. You even attempt to sneak in the Hero’s baths on the top floor, but are quickly shooed out by a scandalized attendant.

Okay - well, then it’s time to pivot. You mentally go over a short list of targets, before deciding to put in a request to talk to Aglaea. Might as well start from the top and go directly to Phainon’s boss. You don’t have the highest hopes for success, but at least you can start somewhere.

So on a gorgeous, sunny, breezy day (the same as any other day in the eternal sunlight of Okhema) you march to the third-largest building in the city and ask to meet the Goldweaver right then and there.

Of course, life doesn’t work that way.

Instead, you find yourself waiting for over 30 minutes in a chair while the secretary “works” to find the correct form for you to fill out. The incessant ticking of the gigantic wall clock behind you grates on your nerves more than you care to admit.

Titans, you’re so freaking bored. There’s not even any interesting reading material laying around - only thick pamphlets regarding Okhema’s legal code. You fiddle with your teleslate, but there’s only so many Dromas and chimera fun facts of the day you can swipe through before having to focus on something else.

Sighing, you readjust in the chair as it creaks alarmingly. You’d think that a government building would have furniture that didn’t seem a light breeze away from collapsing, but perhaps the budget is being spent elsewhere. Probably lining some politician’s pockets. Classic government inefficiency.

Fingers drum on the armrest, tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. You glance up in time to catch the secretary close yet another drawer in her desk and open another with the slowest pace known to man. Seriously, you’re sure that paint would dry faster than this.

As you shift your hand, a glint catches your eye. What the…? You look closer and can just barely see gossamer-like golden threads looped around your wrist. They’re so light in both color and weight that you would have never noticed if you hadn’t been looking so closely.

With curiosity, you wave your wrist back and forth. The threads sway a little, but otherwise stay put. Now that you’re searching for them, you can just barely make out the thousands of other golden strings that criss-cross Okhema. Most of them simply vibrate and glide past objects and people as they move.

But why are you the only one who’s attached to them?

Another question to ask Aglaea then, when you meet her. Everyone knows of the Romance Demigod’s mastery over threads.

Your opinion of Okhema’s officials rapidly nosedives as you stare at the secretary incredulously. She had finally called you over to fill out a blank form to request an audience with Aglaea, and she had the audacity to tell you it would take up to three months for it to be processed?

“Can’t you fast-track this?” you ask, disbelief clear in your voice. “This is an emergency!”

She looks at you over the rims of her frameless glasses. Her expression screams disinterest. “Ma’am, we understand your concern and will do our best to escalate your request to the proper channels, based on its priority.”

You recognize it as a bland, generic customer service line which was totally bullshit when it was first coined and is still bullshit now.

Begrudgingly, you take a pen from the countertop and write down all the information, then slide the paper back to her.

You’re so over wasting your time in the most inefficient manner known to humankind, so you mumble something about checking back in a few days and start walking away.

“Ma’am?”

Confused, you turn back when she calls out. She holds out the paper you just filled out, shaking it slightly.

“Did you mean to fill out Form 345-A or 345-B to meet Lady Aglaea for an emergency matter?”

You gape at her. Huh? “What-- are you being serious right now? There’s a difference?”

She looks at you with thinly veiled disdain. “Of course there’s a difference. The first form is only for emergencies involving matters directly associated with the Black Tide. All others need 345-B.”

You dart back to snatch up the form you just turned in, groaning as you realize. “Ugh - fine! I’ll fill out another one!” And you hold out your hand expectantly.

“I’m sorry,” she says with the un-sorriest tone you’ve ever heard. “Those forms are within the administrative office. You will have to get the 345-B form there, then bring it back to the front desk for processing.”

“Isn’t this the administrative office?!” you sputter while gesturing at the room, eye twitching. Your eye has been doing that a lot, lately. “And why is Form 345-A here but not 345-B? Why are there even 345 forms in the first place? Are you telling me there are over three hundred different ways to request a meeting with Aglaea?!”

She looks at you with an expression that just screams ‘lady, I just work here’. “Ma’am, the frequently asked questions are answered on Okhema’s official telewebsite, so I suggest you peruse that first. And it’s Lady Aglaea to you.”

“Goddammit - fine, fine! Where’s the administrative office, then?” you throw your hands up in the air, the now-useless paper crumpled in one fist.

As if she’s recited it a hundred times, the secretary points to your right with a manicured finger. “All the way down that hallway, take a left, a left, another left, and then it’s the fifth door on the left. Ask for Charlotte.”

(You later realize that the directions she gave you were just the long way around to the double doors directly behind her. Instead she made you waste 20 minutes of your life stomping down multiple hallways. Cerces, what a prick. Are all government workers this petty? You hope that she forever has a pebble in her sandals and her drinks are always at room temperature.)

The secretary adjusts her glasses and then states, “If you need additional help, please move to the back of the queue. This is a new inquiry, and as you can see--” she sweeps a hand past you, where a line of citizens have somehow formed in the meantime. “--there are others who require our assistance.”

Your jaw drops. You’ve already been here for over an hour, and your soul withers as it appears you’ll be here for hours yet. A middle-aged man brushes past you, laying down a thick stack of paperwork. From a quick glance, it’s full of projected earnings for a prospective new restaurant.

“Lady Aglaea is an extraordinarily busy woman, and she appreciates each citizen’s patience when dealing and addressing urgent matters,” she says, already shuffling through the legal documents. God, it sounds so canned and practiced. “Please allow for five to seven business days for any updates to your request. Of course, Lady Aglaea is open to any feedback to better serve Okhema, so please feel free to fill out a comment card while you wait.”

You’re sure steam is coming out of your ears now with the way you’re feeling like you’re going to explode. With supreme effort, you refrain from having a complete meltdown in the middle of Okhema’s largest government building and snatch a feedback card from a side table.

Walking down the richly decorated hallways and using the pen you swiped from the table, you write in uneven letters about how disgustingly inefficient this whole process has been, a strongly worded complaint to hire more people to cover all the seemingly infinite bureaucratic processes, and a colorful insult on the deplorable state of the furniture.

The card says all entries are anonymous, after all; you might as well use it to vent your frustrations. It’s not like you really have anyone else in your life to do so with.

Spitefully, you daydream about Aglaea being so shocked about such poor criticism of her precious golden boy that she immediately puts him on garbage duty for a whole year.

You eventually arrive at your destination, only to be thwarted by no one even present in the room when you walk in. Your eyes twitch violently as you spot a paper taped to the center desk saying the staff are currently on a three-hour lunch break…that just started.

Reaching your limit, you barge over to the desk - uncaring of the consequences at this point - and start opening drawers at random. Most of them are locked, but you hit the jackpot with the very bottom one, snatching up that blasted 345-B form like ill-gotten treasure.

You quickly scan it to make sure it’s the right one - it is, thank Kephale - then quickly jot down your information. It goes faster this time now that you’ve already done it once.

Of course, your luck being what it is, you can’t just turn in the form to the secretary. Never mind that it would only take two seconds at the most. No, you’re required to line back up in the queue and wait. Again.

One eternity later, you step back out into the bustling administrative district and let out the biggest sigh of your life. Even though you didn’t even do anything physical, your whole body feels exhausted.

You’re about to head straight home when a run-down and shabby stone basin catches your eye. It’s tucked away in a hidden corner, behind a row of chest-high bushes.

Curiosity gets the better of you once again, you wander over to see it more clearly. Time and weather have eroded away much of its decorative carvings, and the small plaque on its surface is mostly illegible. You squint, trying to make out the name of the Titan the basin is dedicated to.

N █ k a d █ r

Color you surprised. Why does Okhema even have a dedicated altar for Nikador, the Mad Strife Titan? Aren’t Kephale and Nikador sworn enemies? Though you suppose that this statue might have been made before the current strife between their respective nations. And the fact that it’s so run-down and abandoned is a testament to the overall sentiment toward Kremnoans.

A brilliant flash of crimson and gold draws your gaze, and with a faint feeling of deja vu, you lean over to spot another Creation Nymph underneath the stone lip.

It’s just as iridescent and beautiful as Cerces’ patron, but its design is more angular. Whereas the Nymph of Reason was beautiful in its soft edges and graceful wings, this one’s figure is elegant in the way a blade catches the light.

Just like before, you instinctively hold out your hands so the Nymph can rest in your cupped palms. It alights on your fingers without a moment’s hesitation and rustles its wings.

“Hmm, this is new,” it speaks in a surprisingly deep voice. You’re not surprised like you were last time, but it’s still a little jarring to hear human speech from what looks like a butterfly. “You must be the human that she’s been talking about.”

“Oh! You guys…talk to each other?” you ask somewhat lamely.

“Of course, human.” The Nymph turns in a half circle so that it’s facing you. “Humans have never been able to see or interact with us before, so when Reason started talking about someone who could, well…let’s just say everyone’s curiosity was piqued.”

That makes you pause. Are you the only one who can see these creatures? Does everyone else just see a blank space?

Before you can ask, the red-and-gold Nymph shivers and glitches slightly. Instinctively, you bring it closer to you.

“I am known as the Nymph of Strife,” it says perfunctorily. Again, it makes sense for Nikador’s follower to be at his altar. “Although I don’t know how much longer I can be here. Okhema certainly has no love lost for Nikador’s kin.”

“Can you blame them?” you respond, somewhat glum. Growing up, you’ve heard of the bloodthirsty war campaign that spanned the globe from the aforementioned city, but the Kremnoans in Okhema today have been nothing but courteous to you. It’s all very unfair, but it’s not like you can change peoples’ minds.

The Nymph of Strife falls silent. You both stand there for another moment, before it finally dissolves into reddish black cubes. Before it fully dissipates, it leaves you with a few words.

“Anger is self-immolation. He who angers you, conquers you.”ヾ(`ヘ´)ﾉﾞ

It’s well past the Parting Hour when you finally arrive home. You kick off your shoes, strip off your outer layers and drop them on the floor as you stumble to your bedroom. It ends with a bellyflop onto the sheets, and you pull a silk pillow to your face so you can scream into it.

It makes you feel marginally better, but then it’s immediately ruined when your room door is slammed open by an overly enthusiastic Phainon.

Gods, does he just sit around waiting for you to come back to your house before barging in? How the hell does he always know when you’re home?

Before you can even lift your head up from the pillow, Phainon flops onto the bed as well, making you bounce slightly. Then, he rolls over so his whole body on top of yours, flattening you into the mattress like a pancake.

The only positive about this is that he’s already removed his coat, shoulder pauldrons, and boots beforehand, so no metal contraptions dig into your back. You think if he dared to get on your bed with those on, you’d actually have throttled him - consequences be damned.

The bad thing about him trespassing into your house, uninvited, like the utter dog he is, is that he’s considerably heavier and bulkier than you, and you’re starting to lose your ability to breathe as he acts like dead weight.

He covers your entire body, cramming into your personal space like he belongs there. His arms slip under your stomach, which causes you to flinch slightly - you’re a little ticklish there. Sighing in contentment, he nuzzles into the back of your neck. You can’t help how your shoulders hunch up to your ears from the warm air.

A little frantically, your hands flail around before flattening against the bed to try and push Phainon off you, but you’re basically trying to do a push-up with over two hundred pounds of Chrysos Heir on your back. Not surprisingly, you fail miserably and collapse back down.

Okay, now your lungs are starting to hurt. You finally turn your head to the side to glare back at the white-haired man, who simply has been taking deep breaths with his mouth open, digging his chin onto your shoulder.

“Get off, you fat oaf, you’re crushing me,” you snap, tolerance dangerously low. Your fists grab handfuls of the sheet below, just barely managing to hold yourself back from ripping them apart.

He pouts. “That’s so mean. I’m not crushing you.” To prove his point, he generously shifts so that one of his legs moves off you and to the side. The rest of his body remains firmly attached to yours, like the world’s sweatiest barnacle.

“Phainon!” you finally shout, the simmering frustration finally boiling to the surface. You buck sharply, and the force of it actually manages to lift the other enough so that when you roll your body, Phainon slides off the rest of the way. He lets out a short breath of surprise.

“I’ve had a very long day--” understatement of the year-- “which is rapidly getting worse, so I don’t need any of your bullshit on top of it! And what do you think you’re doing--?!”

You choke slightly as his warm hands start to wander lower, finally resting on either side of your pelvis. Blunt nails scratch lightly at the skin there.

You gulp, suddenly extremely nervous. You and Phainon had fooled around a little…before, and gotten intimate in the past, but that was before all this. Since then you have not initiated a single thing, not even a kiss. And while Phainon has been pushing it recently with his incessant clinginess, he has not insisted on anything further.

Yet.

(You’re terrified if there will be a day where he will no longer be satisfied with chaste skin contact or lukewarm affection. You try not to think about it too much.)

“Phainon,” you say carefully, injecting as much firmness as you can. It works because he pauses, tilting his head towards you. “I’m tired. Please, can we not do this tonight?”

The only answer you get is a sigh puffing across your cheek. But thankfully he doesn’t go any further with his hands, other than pulling you back flush to his chest to spoon you. He tucks his knees against the back of your own and curves his spine over you like a weighted, heated blanket.

“Okay, Starlight,” he murmurs into your hair. “Let’s just go to sleep. You’ve had a long day, talking with all those people, haven’t you?”

A sudden wave of exhaustion crashes over you, and you nod absently as your eyelids droop. The last thought that floats across your mind before you fall asleep is how did Phainon know what I did today? Wasn’t…he was out on a mission…?

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You check back everyday with the Okheman administrative office, but each time the secretary blandly replies that your inquiry is still “in process.”

You ask when it will be finished processing.

She requests that you check back in 5-7 business days.

With all the politeness you have left in your body, you emphasize that 5-7 business days have already passed. A vein pops in your forehead as you once again remind her it’s an urgent matter that needs to be addressed right away.

She blinks slowly at you over her practical eyewear like you have brain damage, and repeats her recommendation to check back next week. She also tacks on that you can leave feedback with the comment cards, if you wish.

(By this point you’ve already submitted at least a dozen of them, but given the shitshow of inefficiency this has been you wouldn’t be surprised if the suggestion box was dumped out every day to be shredded for the chimeras’ litter boxes.)

(You notice that you’re swearing a lot more these days, but given your circumstances you don’t really give a shit. Who’s going to come after you, the morality police?)

Out of desperation, you attempt to accidentally ‘run into’ Aglaea in the open and slot yourself into a conversation. You know she occasionally stops by the tailor shops to discuss business and new garment designs. But your luck continues to be shit, and she’s nowhere to be found.

Okay to be fair, she must be the single most busiest person in Okhema by far and have endless meetings with the Council, Chrysos Heirs, and civilians - but to not even see a glimpse of her for a whole week? What the hell is she doing?

You do still see her golden threads, though. A hand comes up to once again try to remove the strings wrapped around your wrist, which only seem to materialize on you whenever you step outside your house. As always, the threads don’t budge.

Hot, tired, discouraged, and with the beginnings of a killer migraine in your temples, you head back home.

In the safety of your home, you sink into your couch with a groan, rubbing your eyes so hard that black spots dance behind your eyelids. You feel stuck and in limbo. Anger and frustration build up underneath your skin, familiar yet unwelcome.

At least the house is quiet and cool. You send a quick prayer up to Talanton for small mercies. The cushions underneath you are soft and inviting, so you idly consider taking a midday nap. Your arm shifts to cover your eyes to block out the light.

You’re just about to nod off when you hear the unlocking mechanism of your front door activate, and grit your teeth so hard you feel your jaw pop. Only one other person can get into your house without breaking in. Hell, only one other person bothers to visit you these days.

Three guesses to who it is - and the first two don’t count.

Arm still slung over your eyes, you feel the couch dip as Phainon settles his considerable bulk down next to your legs. A callused hand traces the fine arches of your leg and stops at the ankle. Warmth radiates into your bones at the point of contact.

You don’t respond, even as he starts massaging the tense leg muscles. Maybe if you pretend he doesn’t exist, he’ll get bored and leave.

It’s wishful thinking, but suddenly the last thing you want at the end of this shitty day is having to talk to another person. You feel sensory overloaded.

“What’s gotten my little Starlight so worked up, hmm?” Phainon asks teasingly. “I saw you wandering around a lot in the city, flitting around like a busy little rabbit. Did you have fun?”

“What do you think?” you ask snidely, shifting your legs as he digs a thumb into the thickest part of your calf. You wince slightly, but then try to relax as much as you can. Your calves are killing you from all that walking you did today.

“Oh? Is my [reader] talking to me more today? It’s about time, you know, I’ve been so patient waiting for you to come around. You really made me wait, but that’s okay - I’ll always wait for you. But you seem to be getting used to things now, yeah?”

Your bare foot twitches in his grasp. Irritated, you try to block out his words and will yourself to fall asleep right this second to avoid this conversation, but his incessant yapping never lets up.

Please. Stop talking. I don’t want to hear your voice right now.

Unfortunately Phainon is not a mind reader so your annoyed thoughts don’t instantly make him shut up. The worst part of it is, Phainon does have a nice voice, calm and soothing and reassuring. If the whole Chrysos Heir thing doesn’t work out for him, you’re sure he could make a living narrating audiobooks or something.

“--and Castorice mentioned something about some of the new refugees recently, they’re a bunch of stragglers from a small fishing village near the Grove--”

All of a sudden, something seems to snap in your brain and you violently kick at his hands to get them off you. You’re overstimulated as hell and the combination of him talking and touching you is suddenly unbearable.

He grunts as your heel strikes his arm, looking at you all wounded and hurt. But you can’t even bring yourself to feel a smidge of regret as you sit up against the armrest.

“That’s enough!! Will you stop this already?! I don’t even know why you’re still here, when clearly our relationship is over! It’s been over ever since you fucking killed Phaoresius! And you probably killed some other people I don’t know about, because why the hell are there suddenly ten new people all listed as missing in the past two weeks?!”

“You keep talking about what’s real and what’s fake, but nothing between us was ever real from the start! You’ve got everyone in the city fooled - oh, there goes our precious Savior and Deliverer, so brave and noble - when you do shit like-- like that when nobody’s looking!!”

“I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! You make me so angry I swear that I’m going insane! Fucking-- LEAVE ME ALONE! Get out of my life Phainon, and DON’T EVER COME BACK!!!”

Harsh, jagged gasps fill the room. Tears bead at the corner of your eyes from the force of your screaming, and you wipe at them angrily. Despite your best efforts, confrontation always makes you too emotional, and you’ve always been an emotional crier.

Wallowing in pity for yourself, you don’t bother looking at Phainon until you hear his own breathing hitch slightly.

When you turn to face him, you’re stunned to see tears dripping down his cheeks.

Suddenly, you feel irrationally guilty for making him cry, but then the voice in your head pipes up that it’s the least he deserves for what he put you through. But you hesitate long enough that you don’t resist when one of his hands reaches down to slowly rest on your right ankle.

You clear your throat awkwardly, wiping the last of your tears away. “Phainon--”

He simply rubs a slow circle around your heel, a far-away look on his face. You don’t know if he even heard you.

“Um, Phainon…” you press on, unsure. You haven’t really had anyone cry in front of you for a long time, let alone a man, so you’re out of your depths on what to do now.

Phainon shakes his head slightly, and his other hand moves to wrap strong fingers around your foot. He just holds it there, for a moment.

Then he murmurs, “Sorry about this.”

(Sorry about what…? )

And then he slams your ankle down to pin it against his thigh, and uses his other hand to wrench your foot up, up, up so that it’s forced backwards at an unholy angle, toes almost touching your shin.

Explosive pain in your right ankle and heel has you clawing up and shrieking from the sofa before you even realize what’s going on - you’re just desperate to relieve some of that agonizing pressure Phainon is exerting on your tendon - you try to jerk yourself out of his grip but it’s useless, he doesn’t even move--

He’s going to break it, he’s going to BREAK IT--!!

Nails dig into Phainon’s shoulders as you all but throw yourself into his lap in an attempt to get more leverage, but that relentless force on your heel makes lightning bolts of agony race up your calf. “Please--” you blubber, all of your anger evaporating in the face of such unbelievably excruciating pain, “Phainon, please, please stop, it hurts it hurts it HURTS--!!”

Dimly, you can feel something down there tear inside your foot and you scream in pain and terror. Your foot was never supposed to bend so far that way.

“PLEASE!!” you beg, throwing away your pride and sobbing into his chest, soaking his shirt with your tears. “Phainon, PLEASE, IT HURTS!!! I’M SORRY, I’M SORRY, I’M SORRY!!”

For a wild moment you think that he’s not going to stop, that he’s going to twist your foot clean off the bone with his massive strength - but then the pressure relents the tiniest bit. It’s enough to allow you to breathe again, and you collapse into gasping sobs. You huddle into his broad chest, a small part of you hating to take comfort from him but also too scared of further pain to care.

Phainon’s chin comes to rest atop your head, a familiar gesture. You can’t help yourself from flinching away from it slightly, but force yourself to keep still, tiny tremors running through you. Your heartbeat hammers rabbit-fast in panicked anxiety.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he releases your foot while still keeping an iron grip on your ankle.

Even as he releases it, you can feel it drop unnaturally, something too loose and tender in the back of your heel. You only glimpse it for a second before you turn away, quietly retching.

Phainon rocks you back and forth, shushing you. “You’re okay, you’re okay,” he mutters. You’re definitely not okay, but all your energy is currently focused on not aggravating your foot.

After a few minutes, he gently lifts you and places you back on to the couch, propping a pillow under your head. You just let him, dully looking at the ceiling and trying to breathe as your right ankle throbs in tempo with your pulse.

It hurts like a motherfucker.

He’s gone for long enough that you start to think he’s gone home, but your relief is short-lived as he returns with a glass of water and several pills. You stare at him suspiciously.

“Don’t be like that, Starlight.” He places the objects on the side table and helps you sit up to lean back on the arm rest. Your bad ankle catches slightly on the gap in between the cushions, and a sharp hiss of pain escapes you before you can stop it.

Phianon’s large blue eyes watch you with concern. One hand reaches out to take a pill, then crushes it in between his fingers before bringing the resulting powder to your lips. At your skeptical look, he explains, “It’s a painkiller. Stronger than the stuff you can get over the counter. If you crush it, it works faster than if you swallow it whole.”

And with that, he unceremoniously shoves his fingers into your mouth, making you gag slightly. The powder tastes horribly bitter, saliva pooling in your mouth in an attempt to wash out the taste. You want to spit it out, but the medicine dissolves in your mouth before you can.

“Here.” The glass of water is pushed against your lips, and you attempt to take it - but Phainon just shakes his head and presses the rim against you more insistently. His intention is clear, which makes you flush in humiliation. Reluctantly, you allow him to feed you a gulp of water and another pill.

In just a few minutes you feel your eyelids drooping and the pain in your ankle receding to manageable levels, though it’s still exquisitely tender. You feel a little nauseous, and have to close your eyes to keep the room from spinning. Weakly, you turn your face away from Phainon and press it deeper into the cushions in a small act of defiance.

Of course, Phainon doesn’t make it easy for you to ignore him. Arms position themselves underneath your back and knees, and you startle, eyes shooting open as he picks you up effortlessly.

“Can’t sleep here, silly,” he chastises you while walking to the bedroom. “You’ll get a terrible crick in your neck.” The resulting dizziness makes you press a hand to your mouth.

In no time, you’re gently placed on familiar sheets and pillows. All that movement has unfortunately awakened the pain again, and you whimper in distress. Phainon stops, running a hand through his hair and looking at you with a troubled look on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he says again. The worst part is, he actually sounds like he means it. “You’re still hurting after the medicine…but I can’t give you any more right now. In a few hours you can have another pill but…”

He trails off, coming to sit by your prone form. The mattress dips slightly under his weight. Then, after a moment, he says, “I think I can distract you from the pain in a different way. You want to feel good, don’t you?”

You don’t bother replying. You’re in too much shock and agony, but the gentle lull of sleep is beckoning you into oblivion.

“I’m sorry, Starlight…I didn’t want your first time to be like this…I promise I’ll make it up to you next time…”

(…Huh? What is he…)

“Pha…Phaiiiinon,” you whine out, panting. The fuzziness from the painkillers makes your brain slow and syrupy. The agony in the back of your foot has subsided from a roar to a weak throb. “Wha…are you doing…?”

He doesn’t answer, but you can feel him align himself behind you, one long line of heat against your back. One hand drags down to cup the back of your right knee and lift it up off the bed, careful to not jostle the ankle (it’s dangling, it shouldn’t hang like that, you think you’re going to be SICK--)

He rolls the two of you onto your sides. His left hand snakes between your body and the mattress, wrapping around to your front to ruck up the hem of your chiton, resting on your underwear.

Alarm bells blare in your mind, waking you up. Your eyes widen as much as they can under the medication’s influence. “Ph--” you whisper out, squirming in discomfort. An arm that seems to weigh a thousand pounds clutches at his hands, but he simply pushes it out of the way.

“I know, I know,” he hushes you, forehead pressed against the back of your neck. Harsh gasps turn the back of your clothes damp with condensation. “I know it hurts, and I’m sorry, but you just wouldn’t listen to me…don’t worry, I’ll make it feel better…just relax…”

Even though you’re lying down, the vertigo doesn’t subside and you desperately will yourself not to throw up. You’re so focused on taking deep breaths in through your nose that you don’t realize that he’s pushed the fabric out the way and slipped two fingers inside you until he starts moving them.

“Ugh-- wh--” you stammer out, face instantly becoming hot with embarrassment and desperation. “Stop-- Phainon, stop!”

He does not stop. He continues, pressing in until he’s knuckle-deep. “I’ll make you feel good,” he says again, and the realization of what’s happening - what’s going to happen - slams into you like a sledgehammer.

You open your mouth to vehemently refuse, but then another violent wave of nausea has you clasping a fist to your mouth. His hips rut into you, and you can feel him down there, hot and huge and terrifying, against the curve of your ass.

A whimper escapes you - you and Phainon have fooled around before, and even tentatively gotten each other off with your hands and mouths, but you’ve never gone this far. You just assumed as time went on, your relationship would naturally progress into real sex, but that was before you had all these revelations. That had been a real libido-killer for you, but not for Phainon apparently.

“No, please…” you groan out, hands grabbing the bedsheets. You attempt to pull away, but you don’t even move an inch before his arms tighten around you warningly.

The outlines of the room become fuzzy as you’re hit with another wave of fatigue from the medication. Distantly, you hear cloth ripping as Phainon tears your poor underwear to shreds.

You seem to be both aware and not aware of what’s going on. It’s almost as if you’re floating outside of your body, looking down at the bed.

(This can’t be happening-- this can’t be happening to me. Where did I go wrong…?!)

Phainon crowds impossibly closer, still propping up your right leg but pulling your thigh flush against your stomach to pin you in place. He groans loudly in your ear, panting like a starving wolf. You desperately wish he would stop, get off of you, just leave, but of course he doesn’t do any of those things. You hear buckles unfastening as he finally presses up against you with his dick, which twitches slightly against your entrance.

Tears are falling freely now, and you struggle against his arms. “Please,” you eke out, heart jackhammering. “Please don’t--”

The rest of your words dissolve into a muffled scream as Phainon lines up and shoves in. You’re not ready for this, oh god, you’re never going to be ready for this and Phainon-- he just--

His breathing and hips stutter at the same time, and he gasps out your name. “Titans, you feel so good,” he moans, pressing feverish kisses down your spine. “Don’t worry, I’ll make you feel good too, it’ll be so good for you, just let me--” he shifts so he hits something deep inside you that makes you spasm, “--there, found it, that’s the spot--”

You feel too full, like he shoved a damn curtain rod up there, you can feel him in your stomach, what the hell--?!

Everything feels too hot and sweaty, you gasp as he hits that spot again and again, making you writhe against your will. It does feel good, sort of - but you never wanted this, not like this, and Phainon goes faster and faster as he chases his release, groaning into your skin like a devout worshiper.

His hand rubs against your clit, stroking it in time with his thrusts and you spasm even more, back arched as much as it’s able to in his tight grip. Your head feels like it’s going to explode, your thighs are shaking with pleasure, and you can’t-- you’re going to--

Something suddenly snaps in your core and you shake through your forced orgasm, tightening around Phainon unwillingly. He gasps at the pressure change and snaps his hips erratically, ignoring your whimpers of overstimulation before he finally comes as well, sudden warmth pooling inside you.

Blackness overtakes your vision as your body finally begins to shut down after the endorphin crash. You don’t even have enough strength to protest as Phainon turns your head to lay a kiss on your lips.

“Gods, Starlight…you just make me so crazy. I swear I’ll never hurt you again, not unless you try to leave me. Don’t ever leave me. If you do, I’ll chase you to the very ends of the universe.”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

A tremendous crash resonates as you throw the last of your ceramic dishes at the wall. The delicate plates shatter into a thousand pieces on impact, shards of dark blue and silver scattering to the floor.

Three days. It’s been three days of waking up in pain from the fire in your now swollen and bruised ankle, taking the painkillers that Phainon left on your bedstand, limping over to the bathroom and kitchen, and collapsing back into bed to pass out.

The only saving grace throughout all this is that Phainon only checks on you briefly throughout the day and never stays long. You don’t think you could stomach having him in your house for a second longer, not after--

Not after what he did to you.

Three days after, you’ve finally recovered enough to shakily pull yourself up and test the waters by slowly putting some weight onto your right ankle, but the instant you put more than the tiniest amount of pressure your leg instantly collapses. It’s only the fact that you made sure to try right next to your bed that you don’t smash into the floor.

Getting around has suddenly become ten times harder than before, and you’re forced to awkwardly skip or lean against anything you can hold onto to make progress. You do not want to fall and potentially break a bone - that would doom you to weeks of bedrest.

Once the lingering amounts of drugs leave your system, and you’re able to finally process everything that happened, you find yourself going out of your mind in anger.

Gods, you’re so enraged at everything, and the worst part is that you can’t even do anything about it. Not really. Phainon has made sure no one visits you, and now you can’t even walk out of your house by yourself, let alone run. You don’t dare contact any of your acquaintances in fear of what might happen to them if Phainon found out.

So the only thing you can do - the only thing you have control over - is to channel your boiling resentment on inanimate objects, nostalgia be damned. Those plates were carefully brought over to Okhema by your mother all those years ago, from the city you were born in, and normally you would be horrified to see even a tiny scratch on them - but now? Now you hurl them into the wall with vicious satisfaction.

Once they’re all smashed to pieces, you throw open the cabinet doors and grab everything you can, hurling glasses and forks and bowls as well.

You don’t stop until all the drawers are empty.

Chest heaving, you finally collapse into a kitchen chair and lay your head onto trembling arms. Your throat burns from screaming at the top of your lungs earlier in frustration. You wish you had a cup of water, but then belatedly realize that all of your glasses are now in pieces on the floor. Fuck.

Jagged fingernails dig angry red lines into your forearms, dragging down from elbows to wrists. Similar red marks are already scabbing over on your neck and chest, with the most prominent ones covering the meat of your thighs.

It’s…a bad habit that you’ve picked up recently. You’ve also been sinking your teeth into your arms, deep enough to leave bruising imprints. Pain grounds you, and allows you to focus when the medication makes your brain more sluggish than you’re comfortable with.

Phainon doesn’t like it - he frowns whenever he sees the blood - and gives you this forlorn look whenever he catches you clawing at yourself. Whenever that happens, he grabs your arms in his hands and holds you down until you exhaust yourself struggling.

So you learn to do it when he’s absent.

Screw it. Who is he to police your body? Yeah, it’s probably not the healthiest coping mechanism out there, but it’s what you got. You can scratch up your body if you want to. Not like you can do any worse than him nearly tearing your foot off. Bastard.

Like a harbinger of calamity, Phainon enters your house once again, the familiar unlocking sound of your door grating in your ears. You’re so sick of hearing it because every single time it means that he’s about to introduce another element of bullshit in your life.

“Good morning, [reader],” he greets you softly. You hear a crinkling sound. “Whoa…looks like you made quite the mess here, huh?”

His boots crunch against the glass shards on the floor. You hope they slice his feet into ribbons, but you already know that his footwear is made of super impenetrable leather. Even a direct stab from a knife would have a hard time puncturing all the way through.

You don’t reply. Not even the smell of meat skewers makes you move an inch from where you slump face-down on the table.

More crinkling as he places the take-out bag down. You sense him moving around and stopping right next to you. From your position, you can see the polished tops of his boots.

Fingertips trace the red divots on your arms, making you jump slightly. You curl up a little tighter, shoulders hunching. Phainon sighs.

“Again?” he says, disappointed. You bite your tongue to hold back a scathing remark - you don’t want to give him any ammunition or encouragement.

The sound of a chair scraping on the floor. Phainon settles his weight onto the seat, then starts taking out food containers. “Come on, [reader], we’ve got a big day ahead of us. You should eat something to keep your strength up.”

And at last, that gives you enough pause to finally ask a question. “...what are you talking about?”

Phainon chews a mouthful of vegetables and meat before replying. “Pack up your stuff. You’re moving in with me by the end of today.”

…

…

…

“Excuse me?” you ask slowly, finally lifting your head. He sits at your table, elbows on the table and a skewer poking out of his mouth.

You take a slow glance around your house, as if confirming it’s still there and hasn’t vanished within the past few minutes. “And why, pray tell, would I be doing that? I live here. This is my house.”

“Not anymore. Someone else bought it yesterday, so we need to move out.”

(What?)

“What?” you say dumbly. Phainon picks up another skewer and pulls off half the contents in one go. You ignore your portion of food sitting in front of you. “What do you mean someone else bought my house? I never agreed to sell it.”

“Well, yeah,” Phainon replies, unbothered. “I listed it for sale on the market and people reached out to me. I even got a really good deal for you - you should check your bank account later. Seems like they really wanted it.”

“Wh-- huh? When did you even do that? Never mind, I want to know why you even did that! Phainon, that wasn’t your decision to make!! This isn’t your house! You can’t just say someone else’s house is for sale!” you shout, hand running through your hair in agitation.

Phainon just looks at you calmly. Unbothered. “Can’t I?”

His casual statement takes the wind out of your sails. “No,” you reply slowly. “You can’t.” But his confidence makes you uneasy.

He shrugs, his metal pauldron shifting up and down. “Sure I can. A few strings pulled with the right people, and boom. Fast-tracked.” Phainon crumples up a stained napkin. “One of the nice things about being a Chrysos Heir is that very few people tend to question what I do. Isn’t that neat?”

Then his face shifts in alarm as you slam your hands on the table, attempting to stand up. “Whoa, hey, hold on a second there - your ankle is still probably pretty weak, you should calm down and--”

“Don’t you fucking tell me to calm down!!” Distantly, you’re aware if anyone who didn’t know was watching they’d think of you as some hysterical snubbed wife or lover. Oh, if only they knew.

“I’m sick of you telling me what to feel and what to do and to just take it!! I know you’re a Chyrosos Heir and the prophesied Deliverer, but what right does that give you to do all this?!”

“But Starlight, I love you--”

An inarticulate scream of rage tears out of your throat, so harsh that you feel something tear. “Stop LYING TO ME!!!” With shaking hands, you snatch up a decorative flower vase and throw it at his head. It misses, crashing into the wall next to him, but he doesn’t even flinch. He just looks at you with that steady, pinched expression.

“If you loved me you wouldn’t have killed--” You can’t even say his name because otherwise it’ll just make it more real and drive you even crazier. Was it only a few days ago you were cursing your friend’s existence for standing you up? You didn’t know he was dead. God, where even is his body now? You buried your mother with all the processions and customs of royalty, but Phaoresius’s family haven’t even found what remains of him. Will they ever get closure?

A sharp throb of liquid fire rips through your ankle, agonizing and unbearable. It feels like there’s rusty nails pierced through the muscle and tendon. You finally explode, letting weeks of desperation, fear, and rage crash through your body. “IF YOU LOVED ME, you wouldn’t have-- have HURT ME, FORCED YOURSELF ONTO ME LIKE THAT, YOU FUCKING MONSTER!!!”

“WHO ARE YOU?? WHO TAUGHT YOU THIS WAS LOVE?! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

The only sound in your house is your ragged sobbing. Your head pounds as the sudden burst of anger and violence leaves just as fast as it came, leaving you exhausted, trembling, and vulnerable.

You hate confrontation, you hate arguing, you hate how you can’t help yourself from tearing up like a child every time. Angrily, you wipe away bitter tears with the hem of your sleeve. It’s unfair that Phainon is always so composed and in control. Why do you always have to be the emotional one?

“[Reader.] Please. I love you. We can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

“Fuck off, Phainon, there is nothing between us anymore, just get out and don’t ever contact me again, shack up with one of your fucking groupies for all I care, torture some other poor sucker dumb enough to fall for your lies, be miserable with someone else you piece of shi--”

Your nose is suddenly flooded with the bitter smell of chemicals, a soaked rag pressed firmly against your face. It only takes you a split second to realize what’s happening, and you immediately hold your breath and your hands fly up to grab at his wrist. His other arm snakes around your chest to pin your back firmly against his own.

Fingers scrabble and scratch uselessly at the leather of his bracers. As your lungs start to burn, you give that up as a lost cause and instead grab at his other forearm in an attempt to dislodge you. It’s the wrong decision again - you’re overpowered and you have no leverage.

(Just like when he tore your ankle apart.)

As black spots start to bloom in your vision, you try one last thing - slamming your good heel down onto his boots. You only manage to land one hit before Phainon grunts and hauls you up so that your feet are dangling in the air.

He sighs, as if dealing with a petulant child. It makes a fresh wave of black resentment bubble up, that fucking expression on his face like you’re the one being unreasonable.

“Guess the hard way it is,” is the last thing you hear. Dimly, you think you feel the soft press of lips on your own, burning fever-warm, but darkness overwhelms you and you sink into oblivion.

“Let’s stay miserable together, forever.”

Chapter Text

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Waking up in darkness is always disorienting, no matter how much sleep you manage to get. Your circadian rhythm normally runs around eight or nine hours, but without natural sunlight you always feel adrift.

For a moment, you lie quietly in the bed to allow your eyes to adjust to the dim gloom. Phainon keeps the entire house cool and the shades drawn, but the bedroom in particular is always a touch too cold for your comfort.

There’s only one other source of heat in this room - and it’s lying directly behind you.

Though your front is cold, your back is warm where it’s pressed up against the defined planes of Phainon’s chest muscles. His strong arms are wrapped around you loosely. Distantly, you hear the chirping of birds outside the window.

If you had to guess, it’s fairly early - you estimate that the Entry Hour is still a quint away. Phainon normally wakes later in the day, but you’ve been here long enough to recognize the signs of him joining the land of the living.

The mattress shifts the tiniest bit as Phainon hitches in a breath and tightens his arms around you. Then, he lays a faint kiss to your temple.

“Good morning, love,” Phainon murmurs, voice rough with sleep. He holds you close, sweeping you deeper into his chest like a worshipper.

You don’t reply except for a half-hearted grunt. He’s really kind of cutting off your air with those massive arms, and you don’t feel like passing out. So you wiggle and tap your fingers against his hand, indicating you want to be let up.

He chuckles slightly but obliges. Bracing one hand against the mattress, he sits up, letting the sheets fall away. Even in the darkness, the golden outline of his sun tattoo and collarbone tattoo shines with a faint light. The same can be said for his cerulean eyes.

(You once wondered if all of the Chrysos Heirs’ eyes gleamed in the darkness - perhaps it is another evolutionary advantage blessed for this world’s heroes. But then, after waking up to the same sight everyday for the past two months - you wonder if it’s just Phainon.)

You can’t fully repress a shiver as he pulls back, the cold air rushing in between your bodies. Phainon always goes to bed in minimal clothing - just a pair of boxers or sweatpants. You, in contrast, always go to bed in an oversized sweater and pajama pants. One, because you get cold at night, and two, you want as much between you and Phainon’s bare skin as possible.

(You would go to bed in a full wool onesie pajama suit, but that’s too much insulation even for you and you would be the one to overheat and be miserable all night. How is that fair? Phainon would probably just laugh and squeeze you all night like a koala regardless, ignoring your complaints.)

(It’s bad enough that you’re forced to sleep next to your captor, but often he slips a hand underneath your clothes and lays a hand possessively over your stomach.)

(Sometimes you swear he does it on purpose - but what can you do? He’s already forced you to move into his house after he snuck behind your back and illegally sold yours. But after thinking about it, you really doubt there’s anything you can do about it. His supreme confidence when he told you that day made you pause and really consider just how much influence he has over not on the Okheman citizens, but the officials as well.)

Most of your stuff he hastily packed up (while you were unconscious from him drugging you, your mind snarls) are just the basics - toiletries, clothes, makeup, trinkets, old books. Only recently has he been able to get your beloved piano over, but that’s because it required some delicate maneuvering. Putting it carelessly on a Dromas's back was just asking for it to fall off and shatter into a million pieces.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you ease your legs off the side of the bed. As always - you take extra time to make sure your right leg doesn’t hit anything on the way down.

The bandages around your right ankle are tight, clean, and well cared for.

You suppose the same could be said for you.

Phainon takes care of you. He makes sure your every need is met, bringing you mouth-watering delicacies from the market and showering you with affection. He talks endlessly about his day after work, filling the large house with conversation. And there’s no shortage of books, art supplies, and musical recordings.

Cynically, you think the only thing you’re missing is what you need the most these days. Company other than Phainon.

Your jailer. Your captor.

Nevertheless, you push those thoughts away before gently lowering your feet onto the wooden floor. The coldness makes you wince slightly, but it helps wake you up more. You hold your breath as you prepare to stand up.

Keeping a death grip on one of the bedposts, you manage to get up with only a little wobbliness. Putting too much pressure on your right ankle would make you collapse, but you’ve been compensating but leaning more heavily on the right and walking very slowly.

The bedsheets rustle as Phainon maneuvers behind you, leaning his chin lightly on your shoulder. The proximity of his hair tickles your face, making you shiver. “I can carry you, no need to push yourself,” he offers.

You can’t help the involuntary spasm that crosses your face at that, and it takes effort to hold yourself back from lashing out at him. You do not want him to touch you. “It’s fine,” you reply in a measured voice, taking deep breaths through your nose. “I can do it myself. Besides, I need to keep moving around to let it heal. Remember?”

Two months. It’s been two months since your whole life was uprooted for the second time. The first, when you and your mother left everything you knew to come to Okhema. And now…

Phainon told you people can get used to anything, and that it takes an average of two months to adapt to a new habit. In fact, he’s counting on it.

(You don’t want to, though. Please, you don’t want to get used to this. You can’t.)

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

You’ve had some time to adjust, but the very first time you woke up in Phainon’s house you immediately tried to punch him in his stupid face.

Of course, it failed to land as the sedative in your system was still coursing through your body, and anything less than a frying pan to his head wouldn’t even cause the Chrysos Heir to flinch. But it’s the principle of the matter.

“Wha…what…the fuck,” you slur, eyes unfocused. The two Phainons in your vision blur and overlap nauseatingly.

“Hey, don’t hurt yourself, [reader],” he replies, gently pushing at your shoulder to lie back down. You resist, but it’s like trying to push a boulder up a mountain. Your back lands softly against the cushions. “You’ve been out for a while. Want some water?”

You groan, pressing the back of one hand to your mouth. Don’t throw up. “I want to go home.”

He frowns slightly at that, but comes over to sit down next to you. You can’t quite hide the flinch as he settles down near your head, but you’re too dizzy to do much else.

Gently, he raises your head so that it’s lying on his muscular thigh. It flexes slightly to accommodate your weight. A hand comes up to run through your hair. You just grit your teeth and try to at least enjoy the sensation…even if the person causing it wants to make you snap.

“Starlight, you’re already home.”

Ah. Of course.

“This isn’t my home,” you reply tersely, eyes flicking up to meet his briefly before turning away. “This is yours. You dragged me here after drugging me, again.”

Phainon has the audacity to sigh like he’s broken-hearted. “I knew this wasn’t going to be easy,” he says, not stopping his hands. “But I want you to be happy here. You can have a good life, with me.”

More than anything, his genuine sincerity as he says this makes tears well up in your eyes. “Phainon,” you choke out, and he immediately presses his whole body closer to you. “You don’t have to do this. Please, why are you doing this to me?”

You cut him off before he can answer. “And don’t say it’s because you love me, for Mnesta’s sake!! There must be some other reason! You owe me that, at the very least, after everything that you’ve done to me!”

The moment the last word leaves your lips, you cringe away from Phainon, suddenly fearful of how he reacted the last time you screamed at him. Your bad ankle throbs at the reminder, and you brace yourself for pain.

The unexpected feather-light brush of his lips against your brow startles you. Plucking up your courage, you look at him again.

It’s too much to see that familiar, soft concern in his eyes. The line between Before and After is drawn like a clear boundary in the sand - but in your soft heart, something still aches as his expression falls in sorrow.

“I wasn’t lying, before,” he sighs into your hair. There’s a far-away look in his eyes, as if remembering a painful, distant memory. “In this cursed life, you are the only light in my world. My Starlight, mine. I can’t let anything take you away from me.”

He looks so haunted. Were there always such dark bruises under his eyes? You’ve heard of the tragedy of his hometown in hushed whispers, but it’s rare that he talks about it himself. He’s let you know bits and pieces, but you know the weight of his past haunts him more than he lets on.

He continues, eyelids fluttering. “You’re a kind person, too kind sometimes. Too kind to me. But it’s too late…I can’t let you go. I won’t. Please, in this wretched world…let me have this, at least. For everything I’m asked…no, burdened to do.”

A little while later, Phainon sits you down on the sofa and informs you of his new house rules. Specifically, new rules that you will have to follow - starting today.

Momentarily stunned, you just stare at him as he talks about curfew and instructions like you’re a grade schooler again.

“One,” Phainon says while holding up a finger. “I won’t stop you from going wherever you wish in Okhema. But going outside the city is off limits. It’s too dangerous, you know? Even regular citizens need special clearance and protection when leaving the borders.”

Not that you were planning on spending time out in the wilderness, but his words make you chafe. “But you go outside Okhema all the time,” you counter weakly. Your hands fidget with the hem of your shirt.

He shakes his head. “Yes, I do,” he says, “And so do most of the Chrysos Heirs. But we’re trained fighters. We know how to handle weapons, how to bring down Titankin, and how to survive off the land.”

He leaves the unspoken, you don’t, hanging in the air. With a pointed look towards your wrapped ankle.

Flushing in embarrassment, you look down as well. It’s still so tender and sore, even though it’s been months. Aren’t injuries supposed to heal faster than this…? What’s wrong with your foot? You haven’t gone to see a healer for it, as you’ve been laid up in Phainon’s bed for the majority of the past few weeks.

(“It’s healing,” Phainon insists when you grumble about seeing a doctor. “You even said it doesn’t hurt as much these days. If you need more medicine, I can get it for you - just stay inside and rest.”)

“Well, whose fault is that?” you mumble under your breath. Phainon twitches slightly - his sharp hearing picking up on your words - but he decides not to comment. Small mercies, you guess.

“Two,” he continues as if you said nothing at all. Prick. “You have to come back home before the Curtain-Fall Hour.” Your jaw drops. Is he actually giving you a curfew, like some snot-nosed little child? “If you don’t, then I’ll have to come and find you…and then discipline you.”

At that, your indignation boils over. You jerk your hands away from your lap and cross them over your chest. “Discipline me?” you screech, eyebrows climbing to your hairline. “Okay, this is seriously ridiculous. Do you think of me as some irresponsible kid? You may be older than me, but not by that much!”

Whatever you’re about to say after is cut off by the sudden bark of harsh laughter. You stare at Phainon as he throws his head back and holds his stomach, like you just cracked the most hilarious joke.

“Oh͆ͅ, ͘͜S̨͝tarlï͓gh̰́t̰͆,̉…I̒ͅ r̘̈́ẽ̘á͇ll͕̒ÿ̤́ ki̮̿n̡̓d ̲̊o͔̿f ̩̉á̤m.̉͟ ̙̚M̩̆ơ̩r͎̽ě͕ ͋͢t̚͟h̪͋ä̰́n̼̾ ͉̄you̘͊ ̡͊kń͖ǫ̃w̦̿.”

“Anyways,” he barrels on, “I suggest that you don’t test me on these things. I know a lot of stuff has changed for you recently, but I’m not going to budge on these rules. They’re for your own safety, after all.”

“Third…you probably know this already, but don’t try to get any sympathy from others to try to get out of this. Come on, where would you even go?”

Just like that, the bitterness wells up in your mouth again. He’s right, of course - which you hate - but where could you even go?

Before you can stop yourself, you snip back with a comment that you’d just stay at a friend’s house, on their couch. Sure, you’d be slumming it in comparison to Phainon’s luxurious private house, but at least it’s an option.

“Wow, you must really not care about your friends, huh?” Phainon yawns, one of his hands reaching up to scratch at his neck, just above his choker.

“…what?”

He shrugs, pinning you with a lazy gaze. Despite his relaxed posture, his eyes are as alert as ever.

His next words chill you to your core.

“Putting them in the line of fire like that. Like lambs to the slaughter.”

You have a foreboding inkling of what he’s implying.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter to me - although Lady Aglaea might be a little peeved. But in the grand scheme of things, what’s one or two more civilians?”

Your mouth dries up. “Phainon…”

“I don’t like to take care of dirty business inside Okhema…but I will if I have to.”

You don’t want to think about it, but your mind can’t stop imagining more people - more of your friends - going missing. And how they would meet their end.

(You still don’t know how Phainon killed Phaoresius. And at this point, you’re not sure you want to know.)

Phainon seems to read your thoughts on your face, because he cracks a satisfied smile. It’s gentle.

“You’re kind.” It’s a statement, not a suggestion. “You wouldn’t involve innocent people.”

He’s right.

Damn him.

Phainon knows you too well.

“Are those all the rules, master?” You say through gritted teeth with the maximum amount of sarcasm you can put in your tone.

Grinning with all his teeth, Phainon ruffles your hair. “Just one more.”

You resist the urge to snap at his hand like a rabid dog. “And what would that be?”

And here - he pauses for the first time. He seems almost hesitant and lost, totally different from his smooth confidence just seconds before.

As if he has the right to look so bewildered. After everything he did to you.

Licking his lips, he slides one hand down to hold yours. You’re about to jerk your hand out of his, but his grip tightens so that you can only wiggle your fingers in protest.

“Don’t…don’t reject me.”

It’s said so faintly you have to pause to process it. But when you do, you have to look at him in disbelief. Reject him? That’s what you’ve been doing ever since…

But…

Gloomy blue eyes peer down at you sadly, soft and vulnerable.

“It’s weird,” he laughs wetly. You’re sort of horrified to see that he’s about to cry. Again. The last time he cried while holding you…

(The tearing agony in your heel, the blinding pain, the drugs, the violation--)

It takes a supreme effort to remain still, but you manage. It seems to be the right choice, as Phainon seems to relax the smallest fraction.

“I can endure anything in this world, it seems. Stabbing, poisoning, exhaustion, assasination attempts, the burden of everyone's expectations…ever since I found out I was a Chrysos Heir, was labeled the Deliverer…all of that doesn’t bother me. It can’t. At least, nothing I can afford to show.”

(Ah. Here he is. The real Phainon, the honest Phainon, flawed and full of doubts no one else can see. Lest their faith waver. Lest he become less than perfect in their eyes.)

“But you…everything in this godforsaken world has been taken away from me, hundreds of times, thousands and millions of times, again and again and again…you’re the only thing I can’t afford to lose anymore. Never.. Everyone else? They’re not real, not like you and me and…well, someone else, but…Starlight, I can’t lose you. Not again.”

(...What is he talking about? ‘Again’? Why is he talking about cycles? You just don’t understand…!)

“If you run from me, if you reject me…I swear on my mother’s grave that I’ll burn every last person, building, and blade of grass in Amphoreus to the fucking ground to find you. I’ll tear apart this cursed reality and bring you back to my side.”

“Something’s changed this time,” he mutters, a frighteningly lucid gleam in his eyes. A hand rushes through his silver hair, distracted. “Something new. And now, I can finally make some progress.”

“We’re going to get out of here. I’ll show you the real world, when we can break free.”

The faint smell of ozone.

“Ẏ̰̞͛o̝̗͌̕ư͈̬͌’r̦̐ẻ̤ ̲̅m͖͎̽͡i̭͙͛̔nȇ͍̏ͅ, ̹̖͆̐[͇͍̐͆r̠̈́e̯̖͋͋á̮d̨͒e͖͉̅̿r̗̍].̻̫̏̃ ̱̼́̈I̾ͅn̖̏ ͚̾ẗ̙̫́͡h̛̠̻͑i̛̲̜͆s ̟͆l̠͐i͇͝f̣̐é̟̖̃,͉̺́̄ ̺̪̈́̑ȧ̡̛͖ń̠̞͌d̹̒ ̘̝̓͠t̝̽͛͟h̳̭̕͡e͍̺̓̔ ̢̩̎͌n̙̟͒͡e̪̓xt̛̲̱̚.̥̦͂̄ Ḁ̾ṉ̍d̥̎ ̈́͟ṯ̱͋͌he ̘̞͋͝n̫͉͒͞e̢̖͆̕x͉͇̐͡t͔̤̏͡. ̯̽A̢͇͂̍n̯̑d̫͐ ̧̝̾͐ẗ̞͚̐h̙̘̏̀e̙̮̅̈ n̢̈̈́͢e̖͡xt̖͖̎̀.̝̈́ ̙͇̍͑A̖͚͌̎n̡̉d̳̀ ̧̹̀́th̪͘é͖̲̃ ͚͉̎̉NEXT…̖͈̎̌”

”

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

This can’t be it. You can’t accept it. Not without a fight.

You send constant prayers to every Titan in the book. Surely someone can help you out of this nightmare.

Phainon’s warning about not soliciting others simmers in the back of your mind, but you’re going crazy with restlessness at feeling trapped and cornered. So, everyday, as soon as you wake up and get ready, you head out to the city.

Due to his house being on the very outskirts of Okhema, it takes you a very long time to actually get to the city, though. And that’s not accounting for your still fucked-up ankle, which easily doubles the commute time.

Fucking hell, you gripe mentally, resigning yourself to taking the fifth break of the day as sweat pours down your back. Despite you taping your ankle as best as you can, and wearing solid boots for support, the thought of how you used to be able to walk unimpeded drags you down like nothing else. Why did you ever take the ability to walk for granted?

Deep breaths, you tell yourself. A tear threatens to leak out of your eye, but you hastily scrub it away. You have a list of people you want to talk to. Maybe you could even bargain with them. Hell, people always love to barter, right?

Few people in Okhema are truly altruistic without any ulterior motives, but you do have something that sways most people over.

Money. Both from your late mother’s inheritance and from the forced sale of your house. The universal language that everyone speaks - at least it’s good for something.

You feel the tiniest bit of shame for basically bribing others, but then you squash it down ruthlessly. Phainon has given you no other choice, and he’s already cut off so many of your avenues - you have to use all the ones remaining to your absolute advantage.

One thing that most people - including yourself, when your affection for him blinded you to his faults - underestimate about the Deliverer is his intelligence. While it’s easy to take him at face value and assume his big heart equals naivety, Phainon often uses that to his own advantage.

If people underestimate him, it’s much easier for him to turn the tables later, when they least expect it.

Thinking back on it all, you realize that you did sweep a lot of his odd behavior under the rug. And while part of it can be explained by Phainon’s incredible acting skills, you have to admit that you leave a lot of blind spots for people that you trust (trusted).

Gravel crunches under your shoes as you make your way to the markets at a snail’s pace. At least it’s bright and sunny, and the pleasant breeze cools some of the sweat you’ve worked up. After spending so much time cooped up in Phainon’s house, you were going a bit stir-crazy.

And any exercise seems to help your ankle the tiniest bit. The concern of why it’s not healing as fast as it should still lingers in your mind, but you hastily push it aside. Focusing too much on negative things has a bad effect on your mental health.

After what seems like forever, you finally see more people as your destination gets closer. At this hour, most of the pedestrians are older women shopping for the day’s meals. Some of them wave hello to you, and you remember to wave back politely with only a little delay.

You’re about to continue forward, but one of the ladies hangs back to talk to you. You’re surprised, and a little hesitant, but after a few minutes of conversation - something you’ve sorely lacked with anyone other than Phainon for months - you eagerly continue talking.

“Oh, hello dearie,” she says affectionately, and with a start you recognize her as one of the Kremnoan women you met a while ago outside a restaurant. Her name is Hesperos. “Finally showing your face again? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever!” You grimace slightly at that, but she continues. “How have you been?”

“Erm…” you say awkwardly, staring at Hesperos’s carefully weaved braids before looking away. It’s not like you can say you were kidnapped by the most influential Chrysos Heir in history. You can’t put her in danger. Besides - Hesperos, for all her kindness, has very little actual influence in the grand scheme of things as a civilian. Let alone a former Kremnoan citizen. Unfortunately, the rampant discrimination against them still runs strong today.

“It’s been a little rough,” you acquiesce, rubbing a hand behind your head. “I’ve been fairly stressed out recently, and I have some things on my plate - but I’m trying to see what I can do to improve my situation.”

There. That’s vague enough that she won’t be overly concerned, but also troubling enough that she’ll understand.

Sure enough, her open face softens in sympathy. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologies, which you hastily rush to say she has nothing to be sorry for. “Everyone in Okhema sure has it hard, don’t they? Life has become such a struggle. You know, Ismene is struggling to earn enough for her son. There’s not just much demand for simple tailoring these days…not with the likes of Lady Aglaea’s designs and beautiful clothing…it’s difficult for refugees to compete.”

You both talk and walk (slowly, but thankfully Hesperos doesn’t seem to mind), catching up on the latest news. And while your mind is still preoccupied with plans to escape, some pressure lifts off your shoulders as you fall back into a soothing routine of socialization.

You’ve really missed other people’s company. You try not to show your pathetic gratefulness as you soak it all in.

Just then, one of Hesperos’s comments gives you pause. “I’m sorry, what was that?” you ask politely.

Hesperos, who has been rummaging through one of her pockets, replies, “Oh, I was just talking about the next Dromas transportation schedule. It’s been the talk of the town for several weeks - oh, I guess you wouldn’t know about that since you’ve been under the weather for a while.” “You know the Grove of Epiphany?” You nod, recalling hearing stories about the famed bastion of education, supposedly blessed by Cerces herself.

“Well, the students there occasionally do travel to Okhema, and vice versa. But they can’t go by themselves - it’s too dangerous in the wilderness outside the cities - so they go with several Dromases and bodyguards.”

An idea slowly starts to form in your head. “Go on,” you say eagerly, and Hesperos is only too happy to oblige.

“It’s mostly the students who use the services, but occasionally some merchants and tourists go as well. It’s pretty expensive, so not too many people go. The students’ fees are subsidized by the Grove, you know…”

“So…people just sign up for it?” you ask in what you hope is a casual manner. “And how often does the transport happen?”

She taps a fingernail to her mouth, lost in thought. “Yes. And maybe…once every two or three months? Are you interested, [reader]? I have to say, I can’t really imagine myself traveling out there - I’ve had enough of that lately - but if you are, you might be in luck. A few days ago there was a large sign-up sheet at the Dromas pens. I think there’s still a bit of time before the next expedition heads out.”

You’re practically vibrating with excitement. Mentally thanking Talanton for the sudden good luck, you jam a hand into one of your pockets, closing a fist over a handful of coins before giving it to Hesperos.

“For you and Ismene,” you explain as Hesperos looks at you in astonishment. “Use it to buy whatever you need - I have to go now - thank you Hesperos!” And then you rush off, as fast as you can.

Behind you, Hesperos shouts that you gave her too much, but you ignore her. You have a Dromas enclosure to get to.

Ten paces away from the Dromas pen entrance, a sudden flash of gold catches your eye. For a split second, you think it’s Mydei and turn to talk to him, but it’s not him. It’s not even a person.

Huh? You slowly approach the object, which is somehow suspended perfectly in mid-air. It’s metallic and smooth in the shape of a goat’s head, with great curved horns. A faint blaze of purple fire atop its head gives off a faint radiant heat.

The skull is also split perfectly down the middle.

Curious, you circle it to see it from all sides. There are no strings or mechanisms keeping it afloat - you even wave a hand underneath it but feel nothing.

What’s even more interesting is that you have never seen such a contraption before - not in all your years of living in Okhema. Surely you would have heard of such a strange statue?

You take a quick glance around. The city is gradually waking up and becoming more busy, evident by the increased foot traffic. But while some people glimpse into the small alcove where you are, their eyes simply slide off the golden goat head.

As if it’s not even there.

Could it be like the Creation Nymphs? Something that people can’t normally see?

But you can. Why?

Absent-mindedly, your fingers stretch out to skin the golden surface to see it’s as smooth as it looks. But the instant you make contact, reality itself seems to warp.

What the—? You close your eyes as the shifting landscape makes you nauseous. Sounds become muffled and fade away. Eventually you can no longer hear the bustle of city life.

When you no longer hear anything, you cautiously peek open an eye. What you see hastily has you open the other to stare disbelievingly.

Gone are the buildings, the streets, and the entire city.

Instead, you stand in a void of inky blackness with only a mural in front of you. There’s a series of platforms and ladders, with an unlit fire cauldron in one corner.

A doorway materializes in the mural, and inside of it is a small figure with a golden goat’s head, holding a small flame.

Spindly letters manifest in front of your eyes as you stare in amazement. Is this another dimension?

Use the holy flame you bear to light up the altar and give light to this world!

Watch out! Your each and every move will be recorded by the shadows in the void. When fate's footsteps return to zero, an Enshadowed Version of You will manifest as an enemy and process along the fate you have etched into being…

The Enshadowed Version of You is a foe that will strictly follow your previous actions and advance accordingly until the recorded steps have ended. Remember: Do not make contact with them.

The Ancient Crystalline Controllers you find on the path can alter the state of the flooring that shares the same color as the energy. Use them to help you reach the altar.

Use the ladder to move up or down. You only need to take one action for each ladder, regardless of their length.

The path of destiny is not a smooth one... Should you fall, you will experience ẽ̥̦͘të̻ŕ̰̪͊n͍̚al̙͔͂̌ ̲̐d̯͍̓̚am̫̯͊͠n͚̉a̜̓̎͟t̗͋iȍ͚̼͋n.

While on the road of destiny, it is a tragic thing to be tethered by the past... Do not approach the Enshadowed Version of You.

A puzzle, huh? After reading the instructions a few times, it seems simple enough. At the corner of the mural, you notice a keypad consisting of inputs - up, down, left, and right. Next to it is a small rectangular block with five small squares in it.

The golden goat figure remains motionless in the doorway, awaiting your instructions.

Carefully, you press the left button and observe as the goat dutifully moves in that direction. Another press and it continues to move, dropping off the top platform onto a lower one.

After a few more inputs, a strange noise and a puff of black smoke accompany the sudden appearance of a similar figure - but this one is black with red eyes. This must be the Enshadowed Version.

As you guide your little avatar carefully around the mural, you see how the black goat follows in its footsteps. Each movement parallels the instructions you gave to the golden goat prior.

Mindful of the rules, you guide your golden creature safely to the bonfire without running into its dark counterpart. A melodious chime rings out as it drops the flame into the basin, which then lights up the entire mural into gold. The Enshrouded goat dissipates.

I did it! You think giddily, before you’re forced to close your eyes again due to the blinding light.

When you open them again, you’re back in Okhema like nothing happened.

The golden goat skull has now fused into one piece, and fiery streams flow out through the cracks. It’s beautiful. As in in a daze, you pick it up and cradle it in your hands.

Suddenly, a flash of pain races through your head, and you clutch it in both hands.

(Memories Visions of sitting in a cold metal chair, looking out at a window and only seeing darkness. There’s a girl next to you, petite in stature and snapping a piece of bubblegum. Her grey hair is tied in a high ponytail with a purple ribbon. “Pay attention,” she says in a bored tone. Her fingers run blisteringly fast across a keyboard, bringing up data sets and graphs faster than you can comprehend them. “This is important for your mission later. I’m not going to repeat this twice.”)

(And above all, the scent of fresh summer rain.)

Just as fast as those images pop up, they fade just as quickly. You stare at your hands, confused. What was that?

Maybe solving that golden goat puzzle had some unexpected side effects.

Shaking your head, you carefully tuck your prize into your bag. You’ll look at it more closely later.

Back to your original goal - the Dromas caravans. The low bellows of the gentle giants rumble throughout the courtyard.

There's a stone basin that’s clearly well-cared for just before the entrance, so you stop by it for good luck. Brushing off some minor specks of dust, you read the decorative plaque:

G E O R I O S

Oh, of course - the benevolent Earth Titan. It makes perfect sense that his altar is located near his patron animals, and well-maintained to boot. All of Okhema thinks highly of him.

You crouch down, and try to ignore the twinge in your ankle. Sure enough, a gorgeous purple Creation Nymph peers up at you. It hops over onto your outstretched hands as if it was waiting for you the whole time.

“You seem to have a habit of running into us,” the Nymph says in a surprisingly deep baritone.

“Is that a bad thing?” You ask, head tilted. Its amethyst wings sparkle in the daylight.

“Not particularly. It’s new, which is always interesting. You do seem to be quite the…intriguing human. You don’t even know what you started, did you?”

Staring at the Nymph in confusion, you try to rack your brains for what it could be referring to.

“Hmm. Allow me to explain, then. Your actions in this cycle have enabled an entirely new trajectory. A pathway that was previously nonexistent is now in motion, because of you. And you don’t even know it.”

You bite your lip. You feel like you’re missing something important, but not understanding what. Are all Creation Nymphs this cryptic?

“Child, I give you my thanks. On behalf of myself, and the other Nymphs.”

“Huh?” You refocus on it. “Thanks for what?”

“For ‘fixing’ us.”

It’s so incongruous that you take a moment to reflect. “Fixing you? Were you guys hurt?” Concerned, you lift up your hands to check over its body more carefully, searching for any injuries or broken appendages.

It bears your scrutiny with patient grace, only responding once you’re done. “You could say so, in a sense. Though we are Creation Nymphs, many also call us ‘bugs’. I find that term somewhat derogatory, though.”

“So you’re telling me…by interacting with you guys, I’m ‘fixing bugs’?”

The Nymph of Georios and Earth twitches its antennae. “Correct. Though by ‘bugs’ I mean something different than what you’re probably thinking. No it’s something in the…code.”

“Code—?”

Suddenly, its outline becomes fuzzy and soft. “Ah, perhaps I’ve said too much. You probably shouldn’t repeat that to anyone. Keep it between us, if you would.”

Before you can ask, it gently dissolves into hundreds of indigo cubes.

“Sacrifice is also a form of bargaining.” ( ; ~ ;)

The Dromas pen is absolutely packed with citizens today, and you carefully make your way through the crowd. A bump to your shoulder accidentally jostles your ankle, making you grimace.

You eventually find the line for sign ups, and settle in to wait in the queue behind a group of teenage girls. There’s a fair number of people ahead of you, so you pull out your teleslate to scroll through some news as you wait.

The line slowly inches forward. “Did you hear?” You look up at the high pitched voice. “I heard that he’s going to be the accompanying Heir to this week’s expedition!” One of the teenage girls squeals excitedly to her friends, who gasp and exclaim.

“Really? But I heard he never does that! I mean, I always heard it was just a boring platoon of soldiers that went with us…”

The girl waves her hands impatiently as the line moves forward. “Yeah, that’s what I heard too! Until recently! In fact, I heard that he signed up for every Dromas caravan trip - for the next year!!”

More gasps and enthusiastic chatter. You’re totally absorbed in the latest chimera video where a gray-colored one is doing backflips to a techno beat.

The girls quickly scrawl their names on the paper, then stand to the side as it’s finally your turn. Tucking your teleslate away, you pick up a pen and scan through the sign up sheets. It’s almost full, but you see some blank spots at the bottom.

You touch the pen to paper--

“--ahh, I still can’t believe Lord Phainon will be gracing us with his protection!”

You jerk the pen back so fast it rips a hole in the sheet. You stare at the girls for a moment, heart thudding in your chest. Then you quickly look back down to the documents, near the very end of the page.

There, underneath a box with the label “Official Guardian(s)” is Phainon’s signature.

And it’s a personal one, not a stamp or any mass-produced reproduction. He must have come here and signed it personally.

“Oh my Titans!!” A voice squeals directly into your ear, and you flinch away instinctively. One of the excited girls is right next to you, peering up with awe. Her sparkly green eyes make you very uncomfortable.

“Aren’t you Lord Phainon’s beloved [reader]?? Oh Kephale, you really are! What are the odds that I’d see you here?!” she whisper-screams so loudly that everyone turns to look at you both. Your shoulders hunch up to your ears in embarrassment, and you frantically shush her.

Unfortunately for you, she continues on with all the enthusiasm of a teenage girl gushing about her latest one true pairing. “Ohhh, you must have come here because he signed up for these caravans!! It’s all so romantic! Was he keeping it a secret from you? Are you going to come with us on the journey?” She gasps. “Are you…going to send him off, like a lover to her departing warrior??” Behind her, several of her friends squeal and whisper to each other.

Through the heady flush of mortification, you dimly wonder where she’s getting all these nonsense ideas in her head. Is that what kids are into these days? You suppose there are a plethora of new, trashy light novels coming out constantly, but this all seems a little extreme for real life.

You reach out and take a firm grip on her shoulder, before steering her off to the side. People are still staring at you, so you duck behind one of the zookeeper’s tents for privacy.

Not that you’ll really get it if this girl keeps squealing like that. “Hey, can you keep it down, please?” you grit out, embarrassed as hell.

The girl’s eyes widen, and her hands suddenly fly up to her mouth. “Oh!” she yells, then shrinks under your glare. She clears her throat, and says more quietly, “I’m sorry, miss…I was just so excited! To see you! Is Lord Phainon with you?”

You choke on your spit. “No,” you say forcefully. “Now it’s my turn to ask you a question. Why did Phainon sign up for all these transport missions? And you said for a whole year?”

She looks up at you, gaping. “Oh, I guess he really didn’t tell you, huh…it’s been the talk of the town! All over the Okhema telesocial media sites! Everybody’s been scrambling to sign up for the Dromas caravans ever since!”

There’s a rapidly growing feeling of panic in your gut as she keeps talking. How ‘Lord Phainon’ had gallantly swept (her words, not yours) into the Dromas pens one day and loudly proclaimed he would give his protection to the travelers. Humbly agreeing to sign autographs for his fans. Shaking the hands of the Dromas keepers and thanking them for their hard work.

Her glittery hair clips sparkle in the sun, and your eyes focus on them as your brain races in circles. At baseline, your mind constantly cycles through a vast number of possibilities and options for escape - whatever can work in your favor. It’s how you’ve survived this far, after all.

You realize with a dawning horror that Phainon’s mind must do the same.

He’s one step ahead of you, again.

(It’s dangerous to underestimate Phainon, because it just makes it that much easier for him to turn the tables on you later.)

You feel the metaphorical noose tighten even further. Another potential escape route, cut off before you even realized it was an option.

Suddenly, your mind flashes back to what Phainon told you that day after you found his diary.

“Please don’t misunderstand, [reader] - I don’t think you’re stupid. You’re the last person I would think of that. Can’t get anything past that sharp brain of yours, huh?”

(̭“̣I̢̘’̠͙l̘̱l͈ ̨͇j̠u̥s͇t ̡̲h̪͢a̫̙͚v͚̼e ̧̮t̹ọͅ ̰̗k̡e̤͍e̟ͅp ̭̣y̗o̪͍u̲̫r̺͜ ̞iṉ͎tel̨͉l̨i̪g̫e͓̻̜n̠c͈͎e̦̱̰ i̠͙n̪͕ ͇̬̫mi̫n̗ḑ ̘͙͚i̘̲n ̞t͕h̝e̬̮ ̝̟̭f͎͍ṳ̢͢t̪͚u̥̠r̰e.̧̲̹”)̮

You definitely screwed up by revealing your hand too early. If you had feigned ignorance or played along with his suggestions, he might have been more lax, and you might have been able to swing this.

But it’s too late now. Phainon himself said he’d never underestimate your intelligence…which makes it that much harder to outsmart him.

Fuck.

Vaguely, you’re aware of the starstruck teenage girl fumbling with her teleslate. She bites her lip before turning to you again. “Hey, um, I just want to say that I’m a big fan of you and Lord Phainon, could I possibly get a photo--?”

Oh, hell no.

You stammer out an excuse that sounds terrible even to your ears and duck out a side door, making a beeline back to Phainon’s house. It’s slow going due to your busted ankle, but you don’t want to be in the public spotlight for another second after what just happened.

Head down and cheeks red, you eventually reach your destination. You feel exhausted and approach the door, idly remembering that you don’t have a key to Phainon’s place. But your concern becomes moot when the door automatically unlocks at your approach. Like he programmed it to recognize you.

“Ugh,” you whimper, tired and miserable. At this point, you’re too tired and discouraged to care. You’ll deal with that later.

Limping inside, you let out a sigh of relief as the interior is significantly cooler than outside. Behind you, the door clicks shut.

Fortunately, it looks like Phainon isn’t home. He’s no doubt still performing his duties in Okhema, and you must have arrived before him.

You want to pace around while rearranging your jumbled thoughts, but stop by the cabinet to pop a light painkiller. Then you hobble over to the couch and sink down with a groan. Having the pressure off your feet feels amazing.

An hour passes in silence as you patiently wait for the medicine to kick in. The stronger painkillers make you overly nauseous (and give you too many bad…associated memories, to say the least), so you stick to the lighter ones.

You’re just about to get up and see what’s in the fridge when the front door unlocks again and Phainon bounds inside enthusiastically. When he spots you, he hollers at the top of his lungs, “Honey, I’m home!!”

Like one of those cheesy old-timey sitcoms with the husband coming home after a long workday. One of those that plays on repeat on the television. Phainon sure does think he’s hilarious, doesn’t he?

(Ok, to be fair, the first few times he did that you had snorted involuntarily because come on. It was pretty funny. But then you quickly cut yourself off because he’s an awful person. But his eyes lit up at your laughter so he continued doing it every single day without fail.)

(You hate how he still makes you laugh, despite everything.)

Phainon saunters over to the couch and takes a seat right next to you, close enough that your thighs touch. You startle at the skin contact, but just take a deep breath as he settles his weight onto the cushions. He looks at you expectantly.

Swallowing your complaint, you begrudgingly reply, “Welcome back.” You know he’d be over the moon if you called him with an affectionate nickname, but you’ve refused to do so ever since he forcefully relocated you.

Nevertheless, Phainon seems appeased.

You suppose that’s the best you can ask for, in this twisted version of domesticity. He seems happy to be living out his ideal cookie-cutter home life with you.

Callused fingers tap against your thigh before gliding up your stomach, chest, and then wrapping around your shoulder to press you directly against him. You shiver, closing your eyes and trying to just concentrate on the warmth of his body heat.

“It was another long day for me,” Phainon narrates, settling the both of you back into the cushions. It’s another habit of his - he likes to talk about what happened that day, filling in the silence with you as the dutiful listener. You make sure to interject some comments like “mm-hmm” and “oh, really?” and “I see” every so often.

Halfway through a story about him challenging Mydei to an eating competition, you start nodding off. Your own long day in combination with pain medication has you fighting to keep your eyes open.

“You really should have seen him, Starlight, Mydei was so focused on trying to beat me that he shoved three whole dolmas in his mouth and then started choking so hard rice came out his nose! And then I started laughing, but of course I wouldn’t do anything so undignified like that. I have to admit, eating got a lot harder when Mydei tried to strangle me, but I just pushed him off and eventually I won by two plates. He was super bitter about that, muttering something about ‘there’s no word in the Kremnoan language for loss’. With how much he says that, do you think there’s any words in that dictionary of his?”

Absently, you nod without really taking in any of his words.

“And then, he chased me throughout the entire bath-house. I thought Lady Aglaea was going to kill both of us, but Tribbios convinced her not to. We did have to clean up the mess left behind, which was a pain. And I heard something very interesting on my way back, you know...”

Your head lolls onto his shoulder. “That’s nice, Phainon.”

Warm knuckles brush your cheek. A hand comes up to grasp your chin, gently moving it so you’re facing him.

“You tried to escape today, didn’t you.”

Dark eyes fly open in shock, all the sleepiness in your body vanishing in an instant and leaving only pure adrenaline behind.

Out of instinct, you push away from Phainon to create some distance, but his arm tightens across your shoulders painfully. Heart pounding, you look at him with great reluctance.

He’s furious. A smile plays on his lips, but his eyes blaze with anger. Golden irises flash in the dim light of the house.

Still, his tone remains gentle and conversational as always. “Aha, cut off one of your escape routes before you even thought of it, huh?”

Realization is a bitter pill to swallow. Angry tears threaten to spill over, but you blink rapidly to clear your vision. You don’t answer Phainon, because he’ll know that you’re lying.

Instead, you push through and decide (perhaps foolishly) to see if you can bargain for more information.

“How did you find out?” It’s an admission - hopefully Phainon will feel like answering since you’re being honest. You’re getting better at reading his moods and preferences these days.

Sure enough, his expression cools ever so slightly. Still angry, but calmer. “Well, in addition to dozens of people basically shouting about how ‘Lord Phainon’s beloved’ showed her face at the Dromas pens and made a huge fuss of the caravans, there’s some fascinating gossip all over social media.”

You groan through your teeth. “That little brat,” you mutter. You should have known something like this would have happened. People can never seem to hold back from gossiping, even when they’re going through the apocalypse.

Phainon shifts, curling his arm around your shoulder even more so that you’re practically in his lap. “I’m still mad at you. Breaking one of my only rules, you know. Haven’t I been so good to you, Starlight?”

You don’t want to reply, but another thing you’ve learned is that when Phainon asks you a question, he expects an answer. “I think that really depends on your point of view,” you mutter.

A huff of quiet laughter across your temple. “I’m glad that you’re finally learning to be more honest with me. But you did try to escape.”

“Now…it’s time for your punishment.”

An involuntary sob catches in your throat, and you shake your head rapidly. Phainon’s hand comes up to stroke your hair, only making you cry harder. “Please, no…I’m sorry…” you whisper.

He simply hums, the vibration in his chest rumbling through you as well. “Do you promise that you won’t ever try to escape again?”

Agreement is on the tip of your tongue, but it dies out before it passes your lips. You’re a terrible liar, and Phainon has the senses of a bloodhound.

Lying will only make your situation worse, so you say nothing.

Phainon chains your ankle to the bedpost for a week. He remains deaf to your pleading, screaming, and futile attempts to claw the chain off with your fingernails.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

It’s amazing what people can get used to, given enough time.

You have a bad habit of dissociating these days. It’s not really your fault - after all, six months of sporadic isolation, living with your lover-turned-captor, and chronic pain would drive anyone a little crazy.

You hate being at home (Phainon’s home, your mind supplies weakly) any longer than you have to, so every spare bit of time you have is spent in the city.

Take today, for example. Strolling through the busy marketplace and shopping for various fruits and trinkets. Being around other people - even if you can’t really get too close to them - lets you feel at least somewhat normal.

“I really don’t think these fruits are anything noteworthy,” you exclaim skeptically, picking up a pomegranate to inspect it closer. “What makes these different from the ones from the other five fruit stalls here?”

The middle-aged dark-haired fruit vendor looks at you in fond exasperation. A weathered hand comes up to scratch under his battered straw hat. “You keep saying that, but for some reason you always seem to come specifically to my stall to complain about my wares. What’s the point if you don’t even buy anything, young lady?”

“I have money,” you reply defensively. But you pause for a moment - it is a bit odd why you go out of your way to visit this stall, and particularly Phaeton (the shopkeeper told you his name during a previous visit). Something about him seems trustworthy to you. Your banter with him seems nostalgic too, almost familial. And despite your teasing, he always regards you with a degree of indulgence, behind his gruff exterior.

Phaeton shakes his head. “All customers have money,” he remarks. “It’s their attitude that matters.” One of his fingers comes up to flick your forehead.

Scowling, you swat his hand away and hastily pat down your bangs. You pout at him, feeling uncharacteristically childish. “Hey! What was that for?” you demand.

For some reason, Phaeton’s eyes soften a bit as he looks at you. “That was for being a little punk,” he says half-heartedly. But then he continues, “And…because you kind of remind me of someone.”

Oh? Your ears perk up in interest. Then you deflate when he says, “Someone who’s a real brat.”

“Someone,” he murmurs, a far away look in his eye. “Who always gives me gray hairs, is head-strong, determined, and soft-hearted. Someone who I worried about a lot, but also brought me a lot of joy.”

You stay quiet. This vendor has always been in the market square, day in and day out, yet you’ve never seen him with anyone. He must work incredibly hard to set up his stall hours before anyone is awake, and to disassemble it after a full day of work.

“Whoever they are, they sound…” you trail off. Phaeton looks so sad, and you desperately try to search for some words that might cheer him up. “...wonderful.”

And you mean it.

Phaeton gives you a rueful smile, shaking his head. He seems to come back to himself a little. “My daughter,” he clarifies. “She’s long gone, somewhere I can’t reach her. I don’t know if I’ll ever see her again. But…maybe one day…”

A shadow falls over you as someone approaches. Hastily looking up, you see the visage of the Kremnoan prince, Mydei.

A moment passes, then Mydei gruffly says hello. You nod back, politely. A part of you is excited that you’ve finally found him after searching for so long, but another part is strangely miffed at him interrupting your conversation.

His amber eyes drift to the fruit you still clutch in your hand. A clawed finger taps the pomegranate’s skin, which gives way easily.

“That one is over-ripe. Also, the color is too dull. Look for a pomegranate with a firmer texture. It shouldn’t be rock hard, but have some give. If you bought the one you’re currently holding, you’re going to be unpleasantly surprised at the bitterness.”

A little surprised at Mydei’s insight, you focus on the fruit again, squeezing it slightly. True to his word, it’s a little too soft for your tastes. Dark red juice trickles through your fingers.

Giving the shopkeeper an apologetic smile, you place the pomegranate back on his table, along with a copper coin. “Actually, I don’t think I’m in the mood for such a sweet fruit today. Maybe another time.”

Phaeton merely sighs and waves you off, but not before giving Mydei a stink-eye. You muffle a laugh, then readjust your grip on your basket and continue on. However, it’s gotten a lot more crowded in the market square so someone bumps into you. Stomach lurching, you brace yourself for a fall.

It never comes. All of a sudden, the crook of your elbow is caught in a firm grasp. The sudden contact makes you flinch slightly, which Mydei of course sees.

He frowns at you, but at least he lets go as soon as you’re back on your feet. Looking at him is too overwhelming right now, so your eyes dart around the city, trying to distract yourself.

His hesitant voice snaps you back to reality. “Hey…is everything alright? I know that you and the Deliver are close--” ugh, you tremble a little at that, “but you seem kind of…jumpy. Be careful if someone tries to mess with you. Ask him for help. You don’t look like you have any experience fighting.”

Yeah, no shit, you think somewhat hysterically. You’re no warrior. The most experience you have with any type of blade is when you cut up vegetables in the kitchen.

Wait. Maybe this is your opportunity to get some help. Haven’t you been searching for Mydei for months now? And here he is, in the flesh. You open your mouth to respond, but a sudden flash of light reflects off your wrist.

Gossamer-fine golden threads.

Aglaea.

(Can you risk asking Mydei for help, when Okhema’s inhuman demigod is always listening? What if this gets back to Phainon?)

Conflicting emotions stir within you, but in the end you decide to not say anything. At least, not yet. You can’t be sure if you have any privacy right now.

Instead, you thank Mydei for his concern. He nods, then bewilderingly recommends that you treat Phainon right and that he’s a bit of a pushover. And that Phainon would go crazy if something bad happened to you.

It’s all you can do to stop from bursting into hysterical laughter. Is this guy sure he actually knows Phainon? For all the times they’re seemingly attached together at the hip, it seems that Mydei has missed a crucial, fundamental part of it all.

“Right,” you say hollowly. “Crazy. I’ll keep that in mind.”

Mydei isn’t the only Chrysos Heir you run into that week.

“Hey, hey, miss [reader]! We haven’t seen you around in a while! Would you like to try some of these new sweet-buns?” A tiny hand holds up a piping hot pastry, which smells divine.

You smile gently down at Tribbios, resisting the urge to ruffle her beautiful red locks. “Oh, well, if you’re offering, then how can I refuse?”

Flaky and buttery warmth explodes in your mouth. There’s a bit of cherry filling as well, flavored with extra sugar and spice. You and Tribbie sit next to each other, happily finishing off the sweets.

“That was good!” the little demigod sighs happily, dusting crumbs off her hands. Her short legs swing back and forth on the steps. “We feel like we really needed that today! And so did you!”

“Me?” you ask, tilting your head in confusion. You don’t often talk to Tribbie, Trianne, or Trinnon - mostly because the opportunity rarely comes up - but you have seen her in passing, and exchanged a few words.

Tribbie nods. “Yeah! If you’re sad, you should have something sweet! It’ll cheer you up in no time. And the bakery just came out with some brand new flavors today, so we’re lucky!”

A small laugh escapes as you throw your head back, looking up to the sky. Out of habit, you find yourself searching for the stars, but there are none to be found with the eternal Dawn Device always shining. “Well, consider myself cheered up. Thanks again, Lady Tribbie.”

She waves you off, unconcerned. “Oh, no need for ‘Lady’ this and ‘Lady’ that…just call us by our name! We’re just glad to see you again. Have you been doing well with Snowy?”

And just like that, the warmth from the sunlight and food seems to fade. “...”

Tribbie looks at you with concern. “[Reader]...” she tries, “...I know that our power has been greatly diminished over the past thousand years, but…is there anything we can do to help? You don’t have to tell us everything you’re going through, but please don’t lie to us. It may not do much, but we can listen.”

Curling your hands around your folded knees, you press them against your forehead for a moment. Has your life really come down to this? Seeking comfort from a child?

(You know that Tribbios is thousands of years old, much older than you - but her unfortunate curse has regressed her mind to that of someone so much younger. You can’t burden her with your troubles…and you can’t let her know what her precious ‘Snowy’ is really like, underneath it all. It would devastate her.)

You force a smile, but it must not be convincing as Tribbie scoots closer to pat your thigh. “I guess I’m not a very good liar,” you joke. She just patiently waits for you to continue. “...things have been pretty bad, I admit. I don’t really want to talk about it right now…sorry.”

She shakes her head, crimson hair flying back and forth. “Don’t be! Sometimes when things seem too big or too hopeless…we just have to take a step back and remember the good things, too. Like good food, and friends, and memories.”

The two of you sit there for a while, gazing at the daily crowds moving throughout Okhema. It’s busy, but peaceful.

Good friends, huh, you muse ironically. It’s too bad that you can’t really talk to anyone these days, other than Phainon and whoever he deems as non-threatening to you.

A small hand places itself in yours, and you look up in surprise. Tribbios wraps small fingers around your own, giving you a hesitant smile, as if asking permission.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat, you tighten your grip around her hand, squeezing lightly. You don’t let go for a long, long time.

Much to your surprise, the secretary at the administrative building tells you that Lady Aglaea has agreed to a meeting.

Your first thought is, finally. The second is, the fuck - did she really take six months to get back to me for an emergency request?!

But you’re given no time to think as she ushers you down a large hallway, which leads to yet another set of ornate double doors. She knocks twice, and at Aglaea’s soft “come in,” the unlocking mechanism activates.

The nervousness that flooded your body when you first realized you were going to meet the Goldweaver only intensifies as she turns around to face you. Cool, two-toned, and unseeing misty eyes seem to pierce into yours. The gentle chime of her golden threads resound in her office.

The secretary bows deeply before leaving, shutting the heavy double doors behind her. It slams closed with a sense of finality.

“Sit,” Aglaea offers, before doing so herself. Every move she makes is effortlessly elegant, which makes you feel ungainly and awkward in comparison.

You sit down gingerly in the chair positioned in front of her mahogany desk. Behind it, Aglaea steeps her fingers and rests her chin atop of them. “Now,” she intones, blank eyes fixated on you. “I heard that you specifically requested a meeting with me.”

Breath rushes out of you explosively as you rush to say everything you wanted to for the past half of a year. “Yes, Aglaea - I mean, Lady Aglaea - err, thanks for meeting with me although I’m pretty sure the secretary told me it would only be three months, but I mean, you’re very busy I suppose -”

Mentally slapping yourself for the verbal word-vomit, you take a deep breath and start again at a more controlled pace. “I…I wanted to let you know about one of Okhema’s missing person cases. I know who’s behind it. He needs to be arrested--”

“You’re talking about Phainon,” Aglaea states, matter-of-fact. She doesn’t sound surprised at all.

(…what? Aglaea knew?)

You stare at her with a gobsmacked expression. She just stares back at you with a placid one. “You knew this whole time? And you didn’t do anything?!”

A manicured nail taps against the desk. “Nothing in this city escapes my notice. Least of all any matter tied to the Chrysos Heirs.”

You’re on your feet before you realize it, wincing as you land too heavily on your bad ankle. “So then why is Phainon still walking around a free man? And I’m also going to charge him for assault--” you gesture wildly at your leg, “and also kidnapping!”

Her next words knock all the breath out of you. “So you have proof that Phainon killed someone, and committed other crimes. What do you have to offer in his stead?”

“...Excuse me?”

“Phainon is the Deliverer of prophecy. He’s also a Chrysos Heir, Okhema’s protector, its most prominent figurehead after me, a bastion of the city, and the greatest morale-booster. Let’s say, in a hypothetical scenario, he is arrested and put on trial.”

She continues, ruthlessly. “Not even counting whether the public would even believe you over him, who will fulfill all of his responsibilities if he is out of commission? And not only perform them, but do them as well and efficiently as he does? You? Tell me - what skills do you possess? What do you offer Okhema that is more valuable than Phainon?”

The room descends into silence as her words render you speechless. Much to your frustration, angry tears well up again. You’re furious, but underneath is a larger feeling of humiliation. You scramble to refute her questions, but what can you offer that could even come close to a fraction of what Phainon does?

Aglaea takes your bitter silence as an answer.

“I won’t lie to you, [reader]. The Chrysos Heirs have always been under a significant amount of pressure and scrutiny ever since Emperor Cerydra started the Flame-Chase. Centuries have passed in bitter conflict and strife. Millions lost their lives before you, and millions more will probably do so after.”

“Even in Okhema, there are wolves and serpents waiting for any moment to strike down those who possess golden blood. Any weakness, any fault - if they even sense something is amiss, they will take advantage of it. Assassinations are nothing new for the Chrysos Heirs - myself included.”

So, Phainon was telling the truth about the Council and the Cleaners. Not that you can say it makes you feel better now.

“So, that’s it, then?” Aglaea tilts her head, golden hair shifting slightly. “You’ll give him a political pardon for everything that he’s done? Everything that he’ll continue to do?” You bark out a harsh, bitter laugh. “And here I thought the Council was the most corrupt thing in Okhema. Turns out, I should have been looking much closer to home.”

The Goldweaver says nothing as you push yourself away from her desk, uncaring of the twinges in your foot. “I won’t take up any more of your time, then.”

She simply watches as you gather your things and walk over to the door. As it unlocks, the golden threads that are always present around your wrist tremble.

“No one in this world can live without sacrificing a part of who they are. You’re just making sure others can live long enough to do so as well.”

Much later, Phainon finds you listlessly watching a news program in the living room. He gives you his customary greeting, which you respond to on autopilot. When he insists on cuddling you, you don’t protest.

Your plans have ground to a halt given that every avenue seems to be blocked or dismantled. All you can do is just continue on, like you’ve always done.

But...one day, on a rare occasion where you decide to sleep in, you overhear something that makes your eyes snap open.

As Phainon quietly argues with Aglaea on his teleslate, you remain still under the bedsheets. He’s agitated and starts pacing, demanding to know why both he and Aglaea need to go up to Dawncloud in several days. He waits to hear her answer, then eventually hangs up with a curse.

Having both of them out of Okhema at the same time is unprecedented. Normally one or the other is always in the city.

This is your chance.

Your mind wakes itself from a sluggish crawl, and starts to plan.

─── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───

Anticipation is always the worst part of every plan - your latest one is no exception.

The days and hours leading up to Phainon leaving are nothing short of torturous. He’s obviously more jittery than normal, no doubt on edge at the thought of leaving you alone without Aglaea’s surveillance, but you do your best to appear casual and unaware. He shouldn’t know that you know what’s about to occur.

You build up your supplies when you can, always making sure not to take too much at one time. A few cans of preserved food from the cabinets, a forgotten compass from the back of the closet, a handful of hair pins from your cosmetic bag - all stashed in a worn, water-proof leather travel bag you purchased from a second hand shop. This you stuff into the last place you’d think Phainon to check - inside the toilet tank.

Some things you can only get on the day of escape, lest Phainon get suspicious. You just need to trust that you’ll be able to get them.

When the day finally comes, you try your best to act like it’s any other morning, shrugging off his arm to hobble over to the bathroom. It’s a little disconcerting because Phainon just follows you around, no matter what you do. Normally he lets you go about your daily routine, but today he seems reluctant to let you out of his sight.

Spitting out your toothpaste, you raise an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”

Phainon twitches, but then hides it with a grin. “Nothing for you to worry about, Starlight. Just a bit of work later today.”

He doesn’t elaborate, so you don’t push. Your nerves are jittery with the effort to maintain normality.

You both sit down at the table to eat breakfast, then you casually wander towards the couch and open a thick novel you’ve been reading recently. You flip the page every few minutes but you’re not absorbing the words at all - too busy keeping a surreptitious eye on Phainon.

Just before the Action Hour, he stands up and grabs his coat to shrug it on. Then he buckles the straps to his pauldron and his boots before turning to you.

Peering at him over the edge of your book, you watch him cautiously. “Yes?” you ask, shuffling backwards a little.

Phainon doesn’t say anything, which definitely raises your hackles. You attempt to scoot away further, but he’s on you before you can blink.

“Wha--” you get out, before yelping as he lifts you up and carries you to the bedroom. The book drops to the floor as an afterthought. Despite knowing that Phainon would rather kill himself than drop you, your arms come up automatically to circle his neck. “What are you doing?”

He hums, the sound vibrating through his chest into your own as he nudges open the door with his foot. “Just some precautions, love.” Setting you down on the bed, he keeps a hand on your thigh as he rummages under the frame.

You start to get a bad feeling, but force yourself to remain still. It’s only when Phainon emerges with a familiar chain in hand that you claw at his shoulder. “Phainon, don’t--”

“Hush,” he mutters. Kneeling down like this, it almost seems like he’s a prince helping a maiden put on her shoe, like in a children’s fairy tale. Except that he’s actually locking you up, instead. You grimace at the irony.

A soft click echoes through the room as he fastens the cuff around your good ankle. Frustration and uneasiness boil up in you. Really? He’s going to chain you up while he gallavants off to Dawncloud for a few hours? How paranoid can one man be?

(You already know the answer. Phainon is quite likely the most paranoid man on the planet, especially when it comes to you - but that doesn’t stop your annoyance.)

Trying a different approach, you say weakly, “But…but I’ve been good…why are you doing this?” Maybe you can convince him to just lock the doors instead of bolting you to the goddamn bed.

Of course, because you have the shittiest luck on the planet, Phainon just shakes his head. There’s a determined look in his eyes that never bodes well for you. “Just a precaution. Don’t worry, I won’t be gone long.”

You shake off his hands and rattle the chain pointedly. “Are you at least going to tell me why you’re chaining me up in the middle of the day, when I didn’t even break any rules?”

“Later.” He stands up, looming above to cast his shadow over you. He then leans down to give you a kiss, but you turn away from him.

It doesn’t stop him - he chases your lips with his own and takes a kiss, anyways. Your lips thin in irritation. “I promise I’ll be back soon. You’ll stay safe inside.”

When he glances at your face, his eyes soften. “It’s okay,” he soothes, cradling your cheeks in his palms. A thumb brushes against the bottom of one eye, wiping a stray tear. “I know it’s uncomfortable, and you have been good for me…I just need you to stay put for a while.”

You sniffle, looking away dejectedly. It’s not entirely an act - this does make it a lot harder for you to attempt an escape, but you might as well tug at his heartstrings to make him feel guilty. He deserves it, the prick.

You allow him to hug you for a minute before you slip out of his arms and lie down. Pointedly, you turn your back to him and pull the covers over your head.

Phainon sighs as he walks away. At the doorframe, his footsteps pause. When you don’t say anything, they resume towards the front of the house.

Your head stays glued to the pillow as you hear the front door unlock, then seal shut again. Only after you’ve counted to a hundred in your mind do you cautiously get up.

The chain rattles as you reach the bathroom and immediately take out your bag from its hiding place. It’s a bit wet, but thankfully the leather didn’t let the contents get soaked.

You take everything back to the bedroom. Settling yourself on the floor, you take a hair pin and carefully straighten it into a thin line. Then with all the precision of a bomb defuser, you insert it into the ankle cuff’s keyhole.

It’s incredibly tedious work, and several times the tumblers seem to catch but then slip away. You have to remind yourself to be patient, but the incessant ticking of the wall clock just serves to remind you of how much time you’re wasting.

(Every minute that goes by brings Phainon back faster.)

You want to scream when your fourth hair pin snaps. Shit, you really don’t have too much more of these, and if you run out then what are you going to use to pry open the metal? Sweat drips into your eyes as your hands start shaking.

Thankfully, thankfully your last hair pin manages to shift the mechanism and you’ve never been so happy to hear the cuff unlock. The instant it clicks open, you throw it across the room.

The broken hair pins are left scattered on the floor. Hands plunge into the bag to bring out a roll of medical-grade bandages, which you quickly tear off a lengthy strip to tightly bind your right ankle. It’s slowly healing, but you still need all the support you can get to bear weight on it.

You give it a few test rotations before deeming it acceptable. Next, you open the wardrobe and quickly grab a few sets of clothing before stuffing them into the bag. Not much - just enough to get you through the elements. You shrug on a large jacket and slip the hood over your head.

Walking down the dark hallway to the living room gives you a chill, but you quickly shake it off when you reach the fridge. A large bottle of water is snatched up. Then through the cabinets and drawers - miscellaneous items get swept into your bag.

The last thing you grab is a large kitchen knife, which you wrap carefully in a towel.

You don’t bother to close any of the cabinets; you’re not coming back here so what’s the point? Phainon can choke on the state of his kitchen for all you care.

Humming, you grab a pair of your sturdiest boots from the closet and slip them on. The air seems fresher, the darkness suddenly not so oppressing - you can’t believe that everything is going so perfectly! The front door unlocks with just a few touches. Impatience wins out as you dart through the gap as soon as it opens, smiling at the thought of finally having sunlight on your face--

You’re slammed backwards by an iron grip on your throat. Pure instinct drives you to claw at your neck in an attempt to alleviate the pressure, but your fingers just meet cold metal.

The sliver of sunlight is abruptly cut off as your assailant kicks the door shut. You can’t help but twist your head towards it - your only source of escape, no--!!

“I should have guessed that the Council would send their rats to interfere,” you hear with spots dancing in our vision. Fingers still scrabble against whatever’s cutting off your air supply. But why does the voice sound familiar?

“You damn vermin can never know when to give up, can you--!”

The voice falters as your hood falls backwards. Your wide eyes meet Mydei’s own, and for a moment the two of you just stare at each other in baffled silence.

(What the fuck is Mydei doing here?)

You want to ask him a million more questions but first he needs to take his damn hand off your throat.

“Let-- me-- go!!” you grit out, kicking at him for good measure with your good foot. Unfortunately, all that earns you is instant pain in your toes as you only meet more cold metal from his sabatons.

He doesn’t reply, but you see his leonine gaze drop to the bag you’re clutching in a death grip. Pinned against the wall, you have no leverage as Mydei snatches the bag from you and empties it onto the floor.

“Hey!!” you shriek, offended. You thrash against him, pushing off against the wall in an attempt to squirm away. “That’s my stuff! What do you think you’re doing?!”

A sudden tug behind your ankle throws you off-balance. Mydei uses your momentum to slam you into the floor, back-first. In an instant, all the air in your lungs is forcefully knocked out of you, leaving you gasping.

The Kremnoan jerk then plants his knee into your gut, which of course makes it even harder to breathe. You better not get brain damage from this, or you swear to Nikador himself that you’ll shave Mydei bald.

Hands feebly attempt to shove off Mydei’s knee, but of course it stays put.

The sound of him rustling through your belongings ignites your anger. You reach out to slap at him, but he remains out of reach because of how much taller he is.

As you fume underneath him, you gradually get your breath back. This allows you to think a little more, coming down from the sudden spike of adrenaline. Both of you seemed shocked at the other’s presence, so clearly he wasn’t expecting you here. What was he looking for? He mentioned “vermin,” didn’t he?

He’s been quiet for a while, other than rifling through your maps and clothes, so you attempt to talk to him. “Mydei, Mydei…hey, listen to me…I think we were both pretty surprised to see each other, but I need to tell you something.”

“Mydei, we’ve got to get out of here…I’ve got to get out of here while I still have the chance-- what I’m going to say is going to shock you, but Phainon is…actually fucking crazy and he’s changed so much, he’s hurt a lot of people and he’s probably going to hurt even more…the other Chrysos Heirs, they’re also in on it, I tried talking to miss Castorice and Aglaea and they just didn’t seem to care? Can you believe that?”

You barrel on, a little concerned about the blank look on the prince’s face. Is he that shocked to hear about all this?

“Listen, I know that you probably thought I was a-- a burglar or something, running out with some of his stuff, but most of it is mine, trust me! I bought them at the market or got them from my house, ‘cause I just gotta make sure I have enough supplies for a few days. He won’t miss a few pieces of food, right? He’s got plenty of it and he eats pretty much anything…you know he’s called ‘Phangry’ cause he could never stop eating in class…”

“I’m really glad I ran into you now, though, instead of someone else…I’m still pretty mad at you for tripping me just now, that fucking hurt, what if I actually broke something? …but I guess I’ll forgive you ‘cause I probably would have done the same if some random person was in my house…”

There’s no reply. Just steady, controlled breathing.

“Phainon and Aglaea aren’t here right now; I overheard him talking about how the Council called a meeting with them up there at Dawncloud, and normally they have me on lockdown in Okhema, but they’re busy right now for the first time in forever. This is our best chance, Mydei, come on and help me with--”

The world suddenly tilts on its axis as Mydei hauls you up by the throat, causing you to gag. Coughing, you turn to glare at him but then he starts dragging you backwards, so that you’re forced to stumble.

Wait a minute, this goes back to the--

As soon as you realize what’s happening, you dig your heels into the ground but feet just slide off the smooth surface. The rough movement inevitably hooks your right ankle on the floor and you can’t help but let out a shriek as something in your foot strains horribly.

It makes Mydei pause for a second, but then he continues on like a man on a mission. He forces you back into the bedroom which you just exited less than five minutes ago.

You’ve had enough of his behavior, and start yelling at the top of your lungs. “Get OFF me! Are you sure that you didn’t get brain damage earlier? Or maybe you’ve taken so many beatings to the head that reason seems to be beyond you? Just what in the FUCK do you think you’re doing, Mydei? Do you think this is some kind of joke? ‘Ha ha, Phainon hasn’t really lost his marbles and isn’t keeping me prisoner’? Didn’t I say we need to get out of here before Phainon gets back?!”

“I know you’ve seen him fight, with that greatsword he swings around with one hand, and I just told you he’s fucking INSANE--?! And get your hand off me, you goddamn lunatic--”

You kick at him again for good measure, this time making sure to aim for his unprotected stomach. You always thought his armor was so counter-intuitive - who doesn’t wear chest protection? His naked back is just screaming at his enemies to stab him there.

The bastard doesn’t even grunt at your kick. You’re wondering if he’s suddenly become mute, given that he refuses to answer any of your questions.

“Mydei, I swear to Cerces, if you don’t let me go right this instant--”

He sits you on the bed, cutting you off mid-rant. His eyes are focused on your bandaged ankle, mouth downturned. As he reaches down, you shove away from him and duck under one of his arms.

You yell in frustration as Mydei catches you again, this time slamming you down into the mattress so hard that you bounce a little. As you struggle to adjust to the change in position, a trickle of fear begins to worm its way into your thoughts.

(Why isn’t he saying anything?)

He’s hurting you, just a little. The flattened palm of his hand lies flush against your sternum and despite all your efforts, it remains there, unyielding.

As the adrenaline drains from your body, you abruptly realize just how much larger the Kremnoan is. His bicep is probably the size of your thigh. Of course, Phainon is also similarly huge, but he’s almost always covered up in three layers of clothing so it’s not so obvious.

Mydei pins one leg under his own (which, ow) and slices through your bandages with one of his gauntlets. Immediately, you can feel your right ankle throbbing in protest at the loss of support.

“Hey…um, Mydei…please stop…this isn’t funny anymore…” you say weakly, hoping against everything that this is all still his version of a prank. Maybe Kremnoans have a predator-prey way of joking around…?

Cold steel wraps around your foot, making you flinch in surprise at first. Then you’re suddenly blindsided with panic as you remember the last time someone held it like that--

(--he slams your ankle down to pin it against his thigh, and uses his other hand to wrench your foot up, up, up--)

And you couldn’t even DO anything, because he was so strong and you’re too weak--

Mydei’s figure wobbles as involuntary tears leak out.

“Please, this isn’t fair, you don’t know what he’s doing, you have to help me, Mydei-- Mydei, they’re all in on this, all the other Chrysos Heirs, I need to get out of here, I’m losing my fucking mind--”

You don’t even know what you’re babbling, probably nonsense, but you can’t stand his silence and his contemplative gaze, like he’s considering something and you just want to be outside before all this.

But nothing prepares you for the sudden sharp pressure at the back of your heel.

That claw could rip through me like paper, your mind unhelpfully supplies before you immediately start having a panic attack. You don’t know that much about human anatomy, but you’re certain that if Mydei ripped through your Achilles tendon you would never walk again.

(Some primitive instinct in the back of your hindbrain forces you to stay as still as possible, in an effort to avoid drawing the attention of a predator.)

Your leg aches with the effort to stay still as that sharp pressure slowly increases until you’re sure it’s going to break through--

(He’s going to hurt me, he’s going to cut me, please please please NO--)

All of a sudden he lets you go, but you can’t even breathe a gasp of relief when the rattle of chains snaps you out of your thoughts.

There’s something cold (and familiar) around your other foot.

(What-- surely that can’t be-- after all that effort you put into getting out--)

You can only stare dumbly at Mydei’s blank face before jerking your eyes down to your body. That fucking steel cuff again. Like the last few minutes never happened.

A small, floaty portion of your brain is reeling in disbelief. You’re right back to where you started. All those days planning, gathering, and acting - for nothing.

And whose fault is it that you’re absolutely fucked?

Volcanic fury suddenly boils through you like never before, and you scream at Mydei so loudly that blood instantly wells up in your throat.

“Get this OFF of me!! Take it OFF! This isn’t fair, Mydei, I was so close, you can’t DO THIS TO ME!!!”

Your screams are so loud they make your ears hurt, but you’re beyond caring at this point. That stupid fucking chain, you grab it with both hands and squeeze it so hard imprints bloom on your skin.

Mydei lunges forward, smacking your hands away from the metal. “STOP THAT!!” he roars, yelling right in your face. You snarl back, dimly thinking the two of you must look like a pair of feral beasts, reaching out with clawed hands to tear his eyes out. Blood pounds in your ears as you’re overwhelmed with instantaneous rage.

Before you can do any damage, he lets go of you again to snatch up your hair pins from the floor. You scramble to get off the bed as he turns to leave.

The chain trips you up, pitching you forward to land heavily on the floor. “Fuck--!!” You curse, spitting out a bit of blood. Throwing away your pride, you crawl towards the door, but like all the times you tried before, the chain is too short for you to actually reach the doorframe.

Finally, you start sobbing in earnest, fingernails breaking as you desperately try to gain more distance. “MYDEI!!” you wail, watching his back stiffen.

The overwhelming sense of betrayal from who you thought was a friend is unbearable.\

“COME BACK, COME BACK MYDEI, MYDEI --”

(‘Call me Mydei.’)

(The crown prince of Castrum Kremnos treats his ‘friends’ like this…?! That fucking bastard, he doesn’t deserve to be called by what he prefers…!)

(‘Mark my words - those brutes can pretend all they like to hide their claws and fangs, act like they’ve changed, but they can’t change their nature. The only good Kremnoan is a dead one. They will never be accepted, not fully.’

‘Have you ever struggled to scavenge your next meal after the Kremnoan army burned everything for miles around? Or been forced to put someone out of their misery after they got gutted clean through the stomach with Kremnoan spears?’

‘Cruelty is in their blood, forged in war-fire and paid for with innocent lives. Castrum Kremnos brought war and destruction to millions. They speak of honor and glory, but King Eurypon descended into cowardly madness and spent his last years sending his soldiers to destroy everything in their path. Every last man, woman, and child.’)

(What made you think you were an exception to their subjugation?)

“M--MYDEIMOS -- I KNEW IT, I KNEW YOU DAMNED KREMNOANS COULDN’T BE TRUSTED, NO WONDER YOUR WORTHLESS CITY FELL TO NIKADOR, YOU TRAITOROUS BRUTE, YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME!!!!”

You’re screaming obscenities, bringing up ancient hostilities against his bloodline, his people, his customs - anything in an attempt to hurt him as much as he’s hurt you.

“FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, FUCK YOU, COME BACK AND GET ME OUT OF HERE, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE--!!”

You scream yourself hoarse until your throat finally gives up. Blood drips down your mouth like ichor.

The pounding in your head gives way to the worst migraine you’ve ever had in your life. It feels like all the tears have been wrung out of you like a worn-out sponge. Miserably, you lay your throbbing head down onto the floor, at least taking some solace from the cold tile.

You must have fallen asleep, because you’re suddenly being jostled awake by hands on your shoulders. “Wha--” you croak out, the words cracking like sandpaper in your throat.

White hair and panicked blue eyes fill your vision, and you sob, throwing yourself into his arms in misery. Phainon catches you, but is clearly surprised. You never initiate contact with him.

He frantically shushes you, hauling you up so that you’re cradled in his lap and surrounded by his long limbs. It’s a miserable comfort, but it’s comfort nonetheless.

A trembling hand comes up to grasp the lapel of his coat. The tailored fabric wrinkles in your grip, but you don’t care. “Don’t leave me…” you whisper, ruined. You don’t know who you’re calling out to - Mydeimos, Phainon, your mother - but you can’t take being alone.

Being left behind (abandoned).

Phainon tenses up at first, but then squeezes you even closer. You can hear his heart pounding. “Don’t leave me, don’t leave me, please,” you whimper into his neck.

“I won’t,” he answers quietly, resting his cheek against yours. He’s comforting you, trying to calm both of you down - he’s obviously ran all the way home from Dawncloud the instant he was dismissed. No doubt sick out of his mind in worry that you’d be gone when he came back.

But you’re not gone. You’re exactly where he left you. And that gives Phainon peace of mind, more than anything.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you alone for so long, it took so much longer than I thought…those damned Councilors, I should have gotten rid of them when I had the chance…please, don’t cry, Starlight, I didn’t know how sad you’d get all alone here, I promise I won’t do it again, shh, I’ve got you…”

He’s reluctant to let you go. It’s not helped by you keeping a death grip on his clothes, either. So the two of you sit on the floor all night as you just breathe in tandem. Your mind gets all floaty and wobbly, eyes heavy like lead.

(Please, you whisper in your mind, sending a useless prayer to anyone who might be listening. I’ll do anything to get out of here. Anything at all.)