Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“What does dying feel like?”

It’s a shame that it never gets dark in Okhema. Mydei truly misses the blanket of the night, but they make do. If he truly desires the dark, he can always travel outside of Okhema and spend a few days somewhere else – it’s not like he’s chained down. They have the window open with the blinds down, because Mydei likes to at least remember what darkness looks like. There’s a soft breeze coming in, and he can feel it brush past his nose. He’s not cold, though, and it’s a pleasant thing.

They lie naked under the covers, blue with sunflower motif, and Phainon’s cheek is mushed into Mydei’s collarbone. Neither of them has moved for a long time, and were he not so attuned to the other man’s breathing, one could’ve believed the Deliverer fell asleep. But so, Phainon suddenly speaking doesn’t startle him much. His hand lies lazily on the man’s waist, caressing the skin with his thumb. Phainon’s hand is planted squarely on Mydei’s chest and he’s surprised the man hasn’t started tapping his fingers yet.

“Why do you ask?”

Maybe he should be more concerned. He doesn’t like discussing the topic of death with Phainon, because – the thought of it alone terrifies him. It’s why he’s so adamant about charging into the fray first every time – not only because he knows he can trust Phainon with his back, but also because it’ll mean he’ll face the front of their assault on his own. More enemies on him mean fewer enemies on Phainon, which, in turn, translates into less chance for Phainon to die. Mydeimos has watched too many of his loved ones perish before him, and if Phainon were ever to join their ranks... he’s not sure what he’d do. Maybe he’d go as mad as Nikador has.

“I don’t know,” Phainon replies and that’s a lie, “I guess I’m just curious.”

Mydei breathes out and lifts Phainon’s hand with his own, kissing the fingertips gently. Phainon always has ridiculous short nails, even for a warrior – they’re cut down until the very flesh and at times Mydei worries if it hurts. He never asks, though, because Phainon never seems to care about it. In lieu of answering, he starts to suckle on the fingers, pressing them down on his tongue. Phainon lets him, but he can feel Phainon pouting against his skin. That’s good. He likes it whenever Phainon pouts – it means he’s still here. Because sometimes – sometimes, Phainon just goes away. Not physically, no, but – mentally. They can sit somewhere together, or lie somewhere and anything, and sometimes, sometimes, Phainon just wanders off. It rarely happens when he’s keeping busy, and he would never dare to zone out even in the slightest in front of any citizen. So, in a way, Mydei should be honoured that Phainon keeps drifting away in his presence, shouldn’t he? He thought about asking Castorice and Hyacine, if they had similar experiences, but on the off-chance that they don’t – Mydei wouldn’t want to be the one to expose his friend like that.

“Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you’re avoiding my question.”

Mydei moves Phainon’s hand up, so he can press his lips against the man’s palm. Phainon, in turn, taps his fingers against Mydei’s forehead in annoyance. His hair tickles against Mydei’s neck as Phainon shifts, and he lifts himself up so he can look Mydei in the eyes. He’s not removing his hand, though, so Mydei keeps holding it.

“It’s unpleasant. Don’t try.”

Phainon blinks, then he sighs big, involving his whole body.

“You’re so eloquent, Mydei... I wasn’t going to, you know. I was just – curious.”

“If you die before I do, I’ll kill you. And after that, I’ll rip the whole River of Souls apart to get you back.”

Phainon blushes, and then he ducks down, hiding his burning face in Mydei’s chest. He just smiles in sweet victory. It’s too easy, really, to get the Deliverer to blush like a virgin maiden.

“I don’t know how you can just say stuff like that... you have no shame, truly! What am I even supposed to answer to that?!”

“Nothing,” Mydei tells him, “just let me kiss you.”

“Ugh, you never stop, do you...? Do you even hear yourself when you talk?”

Softly, Mydei cups his cheek and pulls his face closer, kissing him gently. Phainon’s lips are always somewhat dry, no matter what kind of salve he tries out. Mydei would know, he’s helped the man test them out – they all failed the taste test, he had to admit. But it’s alright; it just means that Mydei has to kiss him more often to soften his lips up. Phainon lets out a little sigh and gives up the remaining tension in his body, lowering himself fully down on Mydei’s body. He enjoys the weight of the Deliverer, and he’s sure Phainon knows it too, even though he’s never actually said so. Mydei flips them over carefully; supporting Phainon’s head with his hand so he doesn’t accidentally gets hit by something. Not that Phainon would be a stranger to hitting his head on things, it can be avoided. Phainon’s fingers trail carefully over Mydei’s sides, always just the ghost of a touch. Most times, Mydei wishes the man would mark him somehow. Bite him, scratch him, leave hickeys all over, but Phainon never does. His excuse is that Mydei shows off his ridiculous body at every opportunity and he wouldn’t want to cause questions to occur, even though Mydei wouldn’t care about that. He knows how to handle people. (By staring at them, maybe offering a one-syllable answer, and then walking away to let Phainon handle the rest. It’s worked flawlessly so far.)

At any rate, Mydeimos tends to walk away from their trysts spot-free. Phainon, on the other hand, is free game. Mydei makes sure that by the time they’re done, Phainon is covered in all sorts of marks. Except – except for one spot. His neck. His beautiful, perfect neck that he carries for the world to see. The fact that Kephale got to Phainon first, and marked him as theirs, has always irked Mydei far more than it had any right. Phainon would look good with the Kremnoan Sigil on his neck, he’s sure of it. Krateros would probably suffer an instant heart attack, but that’s what they have Hyacine for, right?

He leaves Phainon’s mouth to hear the man take in deep breaths, while Mydei wanders down, almost sucking a bruise on the unblemished side of his neck before refraining, moving to his chest. His nipples are pink and pretty, still perked up from before. Mydei likes biting them, and he likes seeing Phainon wince the day after when his clothes brush over his nipples wrong. He leans down, giving a long lick over one nub while pressing the pad of his finger down on the other. Phainon wiggles underneath him, putting his hands on Mydei’s shoulders.

“Don’t tease,” he reprimands as Mydei starts to bite down.

“You like it,” Mydeimos counters and Phainon softly bonks his fist on his head. But as per his Deliverer’s wishes, he moves on, peppering soft kisses over the man’s belly, sucking another mark on his hips before ghosting his lips over Phainon’s half-hard cock. The man lets out a soft gasp, evolving into a moan when Mydei wraps his lips around him, sucking gently. Phainon pulls at Mydei’s hair, still so sensitive from earlier, but he doesn’t relent, only letting go once Phainon has grown hard again. The man’s body twitches and Mydei watches him for a moment. His skin is flushed, pale as he is, and he’s biting his lip.

He’s beautiful. Like this, everyday, everywhere. Mydei wishes he had the words to articulate that, but he’s not good saying things like that – he always comes across as too brash and too rude. But Phainon knows, surely? He has to. With a final kiss to the leaking tip of his dick, Mydei pushes Phainon’s legs up and apart and settles himself between.

The Deliverer’s hole is still partly stretched, worked and fucked open just a few hours ago. Mydei circles the rim with his finger and Phainon kicks his leg out. Mydei chuckles before he pushes his finger in, going easily.

“Mydei, you brute...!”

“You take me so well, Deliverer,” he murmurs, “I suppose you missed me?”

“Fuck you!”

Mydei laughs. That’s a Yes, if he’s ever heard one. He moves his finger in and out, crooking it at the right spot, making Phainon arch his back and moan. He never tires of looking at Phainon when he makes those sounds and those faces. Only he gets to see this. Only him, and nobody else. He’ll kill anyone else. Only he gets to see their precious Deliverer like that.

“Please... Mydeimos, quit teasing me...!”

“Alright, alright.”

He pushes himself up slightly and he allows himself one moment to look at Phainon from above. His cock is still hard, twitching and leaking onto his taut stomach. His body is dusted by a pretty blush and he looks up at Mydei with hooded eyes and parted lips. He feels his own dick give a very interested twitch at the picture before him.

Breathing out, he grabs the base and slowly presses his cockhead against Phainon’s hole, gently pressing in. There’s little resistance and the man takes him easily. Phainon gasps loudly, arching his back higher until Mydei is all bottomed out. They both breathe for a moment before Mydei leans down and catches Phainon’s parted lips in a soft kiss. He moans against it, swinging his arms around Mydei’s neck, pulling him deeper. He goes easily, starting to move his hips slowly. Phainon wraps his legs loosely around him, making sure he can’t go too far.

They part, breathing into each other’s mouth. He knows neither of them is going to last long, and they don’t have to. Phainon is clenching hard around him already, and Mydei can feel his own orgasm rising up in his belly.

“Close,” he murmurs against Phainon’s nose and the man just nods in agreement. Mydei closes his eyes and concentrates on the feeling of Phainon’s walls around him, how it keeps sucking him in, unwilling to let go. Phainon gasps and moans and he tightens around Mydei, pulling him flush against him and he can feel the man come undone; his spend spraying between their bellies and Mydeimos growls, moving a little faster; fucking Phainon through his orgasm until he, too, reaches his peak and releases deep inside Phainon’s fucked-out hole.

They come down quietly, with soft kisses shared in-between.

“We gotta get clean again,” Phainon whines, “I woke up crusted once and had to suffer the entire day, despite numerous baths. Go fetch the basin, Mydeimos.”

“I remember, HKS,” he responds, slipping out of Phainon, “you would not shut up about it.”

Phainon pouts as Mydei gets up to retrieve some water and some cloth. He doesn’t mind, despite what he might make Phainon believe. And whatever mood his friend had been in earlier had seemed to have dissipated, so that’s good. He needs Phainon to stay away from his own death for as long as possible.

Mydeimos could not walk on this flame-chase journey without Phainon by his side.

*

Despite what some might believe, Mydei and Phainon do have different day plans. They just happen to overlap on occasion – after all, there’s no one else to spar with for either of them. Castorice might be a worthy contender, but her curse makes that an impossibility. And throwing hands with Aglaea would possibly get him exiled. So, there really only is Phainon, and it’s not like they spar all day.

Now, Okhema is preparing for a festival and Phainon, ever-involved, is heavily participating in the preparations. One could think that he’s organising it all by himself, the way he talks. Not that Mydei asks, but something as trivial as questions have never stopped Phainon from yapping. He has, for his own defence, asked if he could help. So far, Phainon has declined, but Mydei remains on stand-by. The Deliverer might need last-minute help, and Mydei wants to be ready to carry chairs or tables. Also, it would give him an excuse to flex to Phainon and have the Deliverer flex in return. It’s the little things that keep them going, really.

Today, however, he is spending time with some of the Kremnoan children. They often ask him to play, much like he’s instructed them, and he often agrees to their games. He doesn’t always have the time, but he tries to carve some out regardless. He knows that whenever he is on a solo mission, the children haunt Phainon about it – they’ve reported back how willing the Deliverer was to make time for them. Mydei is glad to know that even in his absence; his people would have someone they could turn to – even though Phainon is probably one of the only people he knows that can never say No.

The children drag him by the hands and he puts up a token resistance. Even though they are still children, they are children of Kremnos, and as such, they must be taught how to fight. They’ll win, of course, but still. It’s mostly to appease Krateros who would rather see him battle-train these children. If they could grow up healthy and happy, with no blood coating their hands and minds, their world could be a gentler one. He alone cannot change it, but he can start, can’t he? Maybe one of them will remember in the far future, and will choose to do the same, and so on and so on. He tells Phainon about it sometimes, and Phainon always nods solemnly, like he does when something is really important and he swore to him, by Kephale’s name, that he would not forget this.

“Deli showed this to us,” Elias says, as he tugs Mydei down onto the grass. There are not many wild-growing flowers in Okhema itself, but here blooms an entire field of them. Mydei wonders if Castorice has had her hand in this. Even if she cannot touch them, she likes sowing flowers. And come to think of it, Phainon’s from a farm, isn’t he? He would know how to grow plants. And adding Hyacine into the mix, he can see this field bloom in no time. Aglaea probably approved of it, as well.

“Deli? You mean the Deliverer?”

The children nod. Petra grins widely, showing off her tooth-gap: “Uh-hu! Deli’s brought us here last time you were gone!”

Mydei frowns and looks around again. Honestly, he can picture it. Phainon doesn’t like fighting, not in the way that Mydeimos does. He’s a terrific fighter, and Mydei would not want to be on the oppose site of the Deliverer’s blade – even though Mydeimos would win, obviously. He has far more in-battle experience than Phainon. Come to think of it, now that the kids said it – he’s never seen Phainon in a place like this. The closest is probably the Garden of Life with the chimeras, but that’s about it. Could it be that the Deliverer is embarrassed? No, that can’t be right. Shame is a word that does not exist in the dictionary of Phainon.

“I see,” he responds, “so what do you want to do today?”

In the end, they always arrive at the same game: a knight saves the princess from a ruthless dragon. Mydei has played all the roles before, even though he does very poorly as the princess. The children are very adamant about him saying his lines right, and so he messes up constantly. Being a damsel in distress is not exactly his forte – Phainon is much better at this. He has that instant dramatic flair he can put on and Mydei is almost sure the man can faint on command. Today, at least, he gets to be the scary dragon. Those lines aren’t that hard. He’s had an edgy phase before, he can do this.

So, as per the play dictates, he gets heroically defeated and the princess he so ruthlessly stole gets liberated.

“Has the ferocious beast already been felled? Shucks, I got here too late, didn’t I?”

At Phainon’s voice, Mydei peeks up from where he lies slain on the ground. The children who had been dancing around his dead body, have stopped and eagerly greeted the surprise guest.

“You are!” They shout and Mydei sits up. “The princess got the final hit in!”

“Oh, really? What a true Kremnoan princess that must’ve been! I have expected nothing less from noble Kremnoan knights and princesses! How about we reward our heroes?”

Mydei chuckles as the kids scream in agreement. Phainon claps his hands once and shoos them off while Mydei frowns. Their reward is running away? Then Phainon finally looks at him and grins brightly. It’s always bright in Okhema, always illuminated by the eternal Dawn Device, but that damn smile makes every day shine ever brighter.

The Deliverer, child that he is, crawls over to Mydei. If Aglaea sees the grass stains on his pants, it won’t be Mydei’s problem.

“I didn’t know dead dragons could sit upright. Is it a Kremnoan thing?”

“HKS, I will punch your nose. What’s this reward that has the children fleeing the premises?”

“Their reward is the freedom to live the life they choose, far away from knightly regimes and courtly duties,” Phainon replies without missing a beat, putting his hand over his heart for dramatic effect. He even shakes his head wistfully. Mydei wants to punch him.

“But no,” Phainon then laughs, “we’re going to make flower crowns. Don’t think too little of me for that, okay?”

He pushes against Mydei’s face as he stands up, while Mydei remains partly seated, confused. He doesn’t understand. Why would he think less of Phainon for literally any reason? He’s seen the guy ass-up in the air because he slipped on something. He’s seen Phainon trying to look cool for points, just to topple over in the most crucial moment. He’s seen the guy sweet-talk a man out of his last pair of pants, just to have him turn around and say the stupidest shit Mydei has ever been forced to hear. By Strife’s name, he would not think any less of Phainon if the Deliverer turned against the flame-chase itself.

Phainon has sat down again a little while away and he accepts the flowers the children bring him with a wide smile. They excitedly gather around him as he, what Mydei presumes, starts to make the crowns. All the kids smile brightly, with sparks shining in their eyes – why in all the worlds would Mydei think less of Phainon for that?

If anything, it makes him think more of him. Carefully, he makes his way over to the group.

“...back home. Alright, now you give it a try! Don’t worry if it comes out crooked. Help each other, if you need it; and don’t be shy to offer your assistance! If you need any help, you can always come and ask me!”

The kids scatter again, ready to pick out more flowers. Mydei sits down next to Phainon, looking at the flower crown he’s made. They’re all different colours, and it looks well-made, just like he expected from Phainon.

“It looks good, Deliverer, well done,” he praises and Phainon jumps.

“Titans! Mydeimos, why are you sneaking around like that?! You scared the living daylights out of me! Warn a guy next time, would you?”

“I shall not,” Mydei counters, “a warrior should always be aware of his surroundings.”

Phainon pouts and he turns away, but at least he doesn’t get up. It seems like he didn’t hear or register the praise he’s been given, or he’s chosen to ignore it. Mydei believes in the first, because Phainon and praise have an interesting relationship with each other. He would not be able to ignore it.

“Show me,” he says then, poking the hand that holds the crown. Phainon makes a confused noise before he looks down.

“Oh,” he says, sighing, “it’s nothing special, really. Hyacine makes prettier ones.”

He lifts it up and shows it to Mydei. He doesn’t believe Phainon’s words – and he’s almost sure that, even if Hyacine’s flower crowns are prettier, he would always prefer the ones Phainon made.

“Don’t undermine yourself, Deliverer. It isn’t like you to concede defeat before the duel has even started.”

Phainon laughs and he casts his gaze over the flower-gathering children. “Yes, I suppose... it’s not like me at all.”

He stops and gets that wistful look in his eyes, the one that Mydei doesn’t like. As much as Phainon talks, he never says anything. Mydei knows nothing about Aedes Elysiae except that Phainon’s from there and that there are golden fields. But in the same note, he himself has not shared much of his own past. At times, Phainon reminds him of all his lost friends, but he’s almost certain if he were to say so – Phainon might take it the wrong way. He’s... delicate like that. Mydei doesn’t mind, but Phainon would. Some things are better left unsaid, no matter how true they are.

But then Phainon smiles again, and he turns back to him, wistfulness all forgotten. He lifts the flower crown and without much preamble, places it square on Mydei’s head.

“There,” he concludes, smiling softly, “a crown fit for a prince. Instead of blood, let the son of Gorgo be crowned in flowers on this day, and all days forth hence.”

He will never tell Phainon, not in this life or the next, but Mydeimos keeps coming here, to this little garden of flowers, and he spends many hours trying to learn how to weave a crown. His own will eventually wither and die, but he will never get rid of the petals, choosing to keep them close-by, pressed in a book, so that he will always remember, even should Strife’s madness one day claim him:

May the son of Gorgo be crowned in flowers.

*

“Deliverer,” he calls Phainon when he finally locates him. The Deliverer is currently busy hanging up garlands all over the town square. Several people are holding his ladder, staying close in case he falls and to give him directions on where to fasten the garland.

“What? Oh, Mydei! Just wait a moment! Is this good?”

Several people respond to him and Mydeimos stays a little afar, observing. He nearly has a heart attack when Phainon lets go of the ladder entirely to bind the garland tight, trusting only his legs to hold him. Now, his thighs are strong and sturdy, of course, but still... his Deliverer cannot be this stupid, right? What if he slips and breaks his neck? He, of all people, has to make it to the end of the road. Mydei closes his eyes and takes a couple deep, steadying breaths. It’s by miracle alone that he has no grey hair just yet. Maybe he was lucky with Phainon and Cipher hogging them all.

“Thanks, guys! I’ll join you in a moment, alright? Take a little break, I’ll be right back! So, Mydei, what’s up?”

Mydei re-opens his eyes to Phainon standing before him. His cheeks are a little flushed from the current heat spreading through Okhema. Honestly, with the man’s little tolerance for heat; Mydei wonders why he’s so insistent to dragging them to the hot baths for their competitions.

“You should wear less clothing if you heat so easily.”

Phainon pouts, and crosses his arms in defiance. “What, are you asking me to run around as indecently as you? You might have no quarrels showing off that indestructible body of yours, but some of us are not that free-going.”

Mydei frowns. “You are sweating, Deliverer.”

“What, I thought you liked that about me. Just last night, you –“

“Be that as it may,” he interrupts him quickly, because those things are just for him and him alone, “I am here to inform you that Aglaea has assigned me a mission.”

Phainon blinks in surprise. “Oh? A solo mission? Well, I guess I am busy... but so shortly before the festival? Will you even be back by then?”

Mydei nods while crossing his arms. In truth, he isn’t sure. While the objective is not difficult – clear out Titankin and whatever black tide creatures they’d come across – one can never be too assured of victory, even when you are Mydeimos the Undying. He also will not go entirely alone, as he will be accompanied by a couple Kremnoan and Okheman guards.  All in all, he has little reason to worry; he alone would be more than enough to deal with a threat this size.

“It is not far, and a couple guards will come with me. While I cannot guarantee I will be on time, you have my word that I shall dispose of the Titankin as hastily as I can.”

Phainon chuckles, putting a hand on his hip. “I’d rather you stay safe than rush. The festival will last for a week, so there’s no harm if you’d miss the opening ceremony. I’ll make sure to order some pomegranate juice, regardless. I’ve already messaged the vendors to make sure that they’ll be enough, so don’t worry about it running out. I also made sure that there’ll be some sweet wine, if you’re feeling fancy.”

Something tugs at Mydei’s chest. Phainon doesn’t even like pomegranate juice. He’s not even fond of alcohol. And still, he made sure... Mydei lowers his eyes, hoping to hide the blush on his face. Quick, he has to think of something to say before he does something stupid, like kiss the Deliverer’s dumb face in public.

“I appreciate it. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know, lest you go crazy from looking for me.”

“Are you departing today?”

“Yes,” he confirms, “I am in fact on my way right now. The sooner I depart, the sooner I will be able to return.”

Phainon nods. “Let me see you to the gates, then. The others can surely use a longer break under this blazing heat.”

Phainon, as per usual, doesn’t wait, and strides towards the main city gates. Mydei sighs before he follows. He can find the way just fine on his own; he didn’t just arrive here yesterday. But still... having Phainon there to see him off would be nice, even though – even though knowing that Phainon would watch him leave would tempt Mydeimos to look back; to make sure the Deliverer is still watching him.

They part at the gates without sharing many words between them. Phainon squeezes his hand for a moment, and Mydei squeezes back. The Deliverer isn’t too fond of true public affection – unless that affection means he throws himself all over Mydei’s back, but according to him, that’s a completely different thing. So, sure, whatever, if it lets Phainon sleep at night. It doesn’t, Mydei knows, but hey.

“Don’t die, will you?”

“It’s more likely you’ll break your neck hanging up garlands. See you tomorrow, Deliverer.”

Phainon smiles and waves as Mydei leaves. Despite his burning desire to turn around and have one last look, he doesn’t. He’s not alone, and he wishes to preserve his remaining dignity. He would’ve really liked to kiss Phainon good-bye.

They travel a day and night’s worth of distance before they spot their target in the distance. Mydei can’t see any obvious threats from afar, but caution is still advised. There might still be civilians hiding, as well, so they will need to account for that, as well.

“Come,” he tells his companions, “tread with care. Aglaea’s reports were unable to verify the status of any potential civilians, so you must watch out for them. Focus on the Titankin; and leave any black tide creatures to me. Don’t engage with them unless necessary.”

The men nod, and they all set out. Mydei barely knows these people, but they were hand-picked by someone who would know to choose the best. He trusts he won’t have to babysit them, and he already misses Phainon by his side. By now, the man would’ve suggested at least two different challenge ideas, and Mydei would’ve agreed to all of them. Well, he can still count how many he kills, can’t he? It’s not much to brag about, not without hearing how many Phainon has felled, but it’ll still be nice to bring home a big number to hold over Phainon’s head.

In the meantime, he hopes the Deliverer eats enough. He has a tendency to forget simple things like that, and it’s why he tends to live by a strict plan so that it’ll be harder to slip his mind. It still happens, sometimes, and he’s only reminded by his loudly grumbling stomach by the second time he drags Mydei off to the baths. At which, it’s too late for him to properly eat anything, so Mydei usually just stuffs his throat with whatever fruit they have lying around.

“Lord Mydeimos!”

Ah, perhaps that’s a good thing. He never stops thinking about Phainon once he really gets into it, and that’s a terrible habit on the battlefield. He rushes over to his group who have located some monster prowling the premises. Mydei makes short work of them, and together, they stand against the enemies coming their way. They’re hardly any trouble, and it’s laughably easy to dispose of. Seriously, why did Aglaea send him? The guards could’ve handled this on their own, just as well. Well, perhaps it is better to be safe. She wouldn’t have sent him on this mission if she didn’t believe it was necessary; and she has never disappointed him so far.

Sadly, they can find no survivors. Corpses are plenty, but at least they haven’t been corrupted by the black tide. They gather the bodies they can find and set the pile ablaze. Neither Kremnos nor Okhema burn their dead, but with the black tide claiming more and more ground, they cannot leave bodies out to rot. Phainon would’ve vowed to remember them, even if he never knew them, so in his absence, Mydei vows it instead silently to himself. He’s not sure if he will tell Phainon of the dead or not, but maybe luck will be on his side this time: Phainon doesn’t always ask, particular when he’s busy with something else.

“Shall we head back straight away, Lord Mydeimos?”

He blinks back to his companions, and then he observes the sky. They are far ahead of schedule. Admittedly, they have pushed themselves a little getting here, and there’s no big rush to return. So he shakes his head.

“No,” he states, “make camp nearby. We won today, we can rest easy tonight. I will go procure game while you set up.”

The men nod and Mydei turns around, staking out some animal nearby. The black tide hardly cares for the critters of the world and once more Mydei wonders how sentient it truly is. It surely stands in their way more often than not, but he’s hesitant to call it a natural disaster. He’s also loathe to pin it on the black-clad swordsman that Phainon has talked about. While it seems true that the tide follows to where the swordsmaster goes – if it were truly so, why would they not head into Okhema? Aglaea’s threads cannot contain the black tide for all eternity, and Kephale has been silent ever since. Maybe he’s overthinking it. Maybe it truly is a natural disaster, and they just have to live with long enough until the Deliverer can bring the new dawn. And yet, something about it – something about it sits wrong with him, like he should have some idea. He kills a rabbit instead, and another, and brings it back to the campfire.

It’s hardly a feast, but it fills their bellies with some warm, fresh meat, and that has to be better than the dried rations that they’ve brought with them.

“Will you attend the festival when we return?”

Mydei nods. It’s a given, isn’t it? “The Deliverer will not let me sit it out.”

The men laugh. It’s common knowledge that Phainon drags Mydei all over Okhema without room to protest. Not that Mydei would protest – much – but nobody has to know that. It does his pride better if they think it’s against his will.

“Leander, what will you get Helena as a gift?”

Mydei perks up. Gift? The festival requires gift-giving? Phainon hasn’t mentioned anything about that.

“I commissioned her a necklace. You know she misses the sea, so the pendant’s gonna look like a seashell. I do hope it’ll be done by the time the festival rolls around, but if not, she’ll understand.”

“The festival includes gift-giving?”

The men turn to him. “Well, not officially, but it’s a nice tradition. I didn’t know you had a sweetheart, Lord Mydei! I’m sure she’ll forgive you, since you’re still kind of new to Okhem – hey!”

One of the others had boxed the man hard in the side, but Mydei hardly cared. A gift... would Phainon expect a gift? Perhaps he should’ve asked Aglaea or Tribbie more about that festival when Phainon brought it up first. But now, he won’t have enough time left to procure something. And even if he asked Chartonus to forge Phainon a sword – Phainon has to get new swords all the time because he keeps breaking them. Phainon might not even expect a gift... but he’d still be disappointed, such is human nature. Maybe he could give into Phainon’s whims more willingly... but he always indulges the man, so that’s hardly anything special.

They have not said I love you yet. It always felt too real, and some stupid, idiotic part of him gnarls at the thought. What would Hephaestion think? Would it be fair to him? But Hephaestion is dead, has been dead for many years. The dead should hold no grudges, and yet... and yet, if he would never say it to Phainon, would it be fair to him?

Ugh, there is a reason he prefers actions. Maybe he’ll just kiss Phainon in the way he likes. Mark his entire body in the way he aches for. It won’t be enough, but it’s all Mydei can offer.

“Don’t think so hard on it, Lord Mydei,” another of his companions says, away from the two that are still squabbling, “whoever your special someone is, I’m sure they’ll enjoy just having you by their side.”

“Even if I could gift them nothing?”

“Sometimes,” that companion says, smiling, “we ourselves are gift enough already.”

Chapter Text

They return to Okhema the night before the festival. Most people are already asleep, and while Mydei is certain that Aglaea would still roam at this hour, he supposes his report can wait until tomorrow, at least – especially since nothing noteworthy had occurred. He bids his companions farewell and makes his way to his quarters. One would think, perhaps, that he should seek out Phainon’s abode instead, but if he did, he’d find nothing but emptiness in there. Whenever they leave for solo missions, the one that stays behind just... gravitates towards the home of the other. After all, even if they did not live together officially, they – both lived in both places. Mydei’s home was Phainon’s, just as much as Phainon’s was his. Normally, they stayed at Phainon’s, when they were both in Okhema and Mydei has never really questioned why. Maybe it’s because Phainon has stuffed his room full of bits and bobs, which makes the place feel strangely lived in. And maybe... maybe it’s the smell. The place smells so strongly of Phainon – unsurprisingly – that Mydei just feels at comfort there. Not that he would ever admit that.

But now, he knows Phainon will likely snore against Mydei’s pillows. Hopefully he didn’t drool on them, silk is such a pain... Phainon will most likely be wrapped into one of Mydei’s tunics and that – well, it does make Mydei a little bit possessive, he’s not going to lie about that. It just does things to him.

He opens the door quietly, knowing how light Phainon rests, if he rests at all. He pushes the door back into the lock as slowly as he can, and he makes his way over to his bedchambers on quiet feet. He debates whether or not to wake Phainon so they can make out a little, but he quickly decides against it. Phainon will have been busy today, and Mydei himself is tired from the journey. He just wants to hold the man, and bury his nose in the silken, white hair and wake to Phainon papping his hands on his cheeks in an attempt to wake him up. It’s such a childish notion that Mydei can’t help but cherish it.

But Phainon is not in his bed. Now, of course, it’s perhaps easiest to assume that Phainon is in his own home, asleep in his own bed in his own clothes. But Mydei knows better than that. He knows for a fact that Phainon has not seen the inside of his own place in the time Mydei has been gone, other than for absolute necessities, and even then, everything Phainon could need would already be here. Mydei squeezes the door handle a little, dreading the immediate future. He lets out a silent breath, steeling himself. For all his prowess, for all his strength, he is never strong enough for this, and yet he’s left with no choice.

Silently, he turns to the right, to the adjacent washroom. He reaches for the handle, stops for a moment, and then grabs it, pulling it down to enter. Kephale’s dawn lights everything in eternal brightness, so nothing can stay hidden. He indeed finds Phainon wrapped in one of his tunics that the man must’ve fished out of the closet. Red suits him, and Mydei wishes to see him in it more.

“Oh hey, Mydei... you’re back earlier than I thought. Smooth sailing, I take it? That’s good, that’s good... and you’re just in time for the opening ceremony, too. You’ll like it. I got the juice, just like I promised. I sampled the sweet wine – Castorice helped me. She said it’s grand, so I hope you’ll like it. Hyacine even dropped by! Not Professor Anaxa though, but I wasn’t expecting him. I’ve already organised a care package... I’m debating if I should take it to him or just hand it over to Hyacine. What do you think?”

Phainon is sitting in the small washing area, barely looking at him. He’s smiling, but it’s a practiced one, one that he almost never directs towards Mydei. Mydeimos steps into the room fully and slowly kneels down next to Phainon, gently taking one of his arms. Phainon doesn’t react, and lets him do as he pleases. The cuts aren’t deep, but there are plenty of them. Some are scabbed over, and others look re-opened, while others yet look far too fresh. The puddle on the floor has not yet dried, but that means little in the grand scheme of things.

“It’s been a while since you’ve visited him,” Mydei answers as he reaches for the first aid kit. They have stashed several of those all over their place – both his and Phainon’s. The ones in Phainon’s home need replenishments far more often, and Mydei would rather not think of it.

Phainon simply nods as he lets Mydei handle his left arm first, then the right one.

“You’re right. He should grill me again over my convictions. What a debate champion I am, huh? I can’t even win one debate against my own professor – but to be fair, I keep thinking we’re talking about different topics every time. I’m still not sure what a dromas has to do with the hypothesis of the cave’s allegory, but whatever. Ah, that’s too tight. Grab that gauze there, yeah? I did my thigh too – just the one this time, isn’t that great?”

Mydei doesn’t respond, and grabs the gauze. The gashes on Phainon’s thigh are far longer and deeper than the ones on his arm, but he always avoids major arteries. Dutifully, Mydei wraps the wounds gently, just loose enough so Phainon won’t complain.

“I had that dream again,” Phainon says, absent-mindedly tapping his slender fingers on Mydei’s shoulder. “At this point, it’s driving me just a little mad. You reckon that’s what Nikador feels like?”

“No,” Mydei responds as he finishes up. Sometimes, Phainon says, he has dreams of killing himself. In his dream, he goes to challenge himself at the end of the world, and in turn, he is challenged by himself, and in the end, he kills himself and he is killed, and he lives and he dies, and he remains and he leaves. Mydei doesn’t pretend to understand, even though Tribbie would have something to say about it. Dreams are often messages sent by the gods, after all, but whatever message this holds, Mydei would rather not know.

“Yeah, probably not, huh? Nice work as always, Mydeimos. I bleed through my own patch-work faster than a dog in heat. ...don’t think too hard on that. You’ll come to the festival with me today, won’t you? Even Castorice will show up, and I’ve already organised a table in the corner for everyone. I mentioned the juice, right? I didn’t taste-test that, but I got milk, too... ah, look at me, babbling. How was your campaign? Any difficulties?”

“No,” Mydei replies curtly and carefully gathers Phainon in his arms. He’s no idea how long Phainon’s been sitting here, or how long he’s kept this up. An ugly voice tells him that Phainon’s probably started again way before Mydei had left. He never promises that this time will be the last, because they both know it would be a lie. He never says he’s sorry either, because that would be yet another lie. In some way, Mydei can appreciate that.

“You look good in my clothes,” he says as he sets his lover on the bed.

“I know, I know. It’s a makeshift solution, you know? You never leave anything behind that smells like you do. So I put on this tunic of yours and strut about the room, proclaiming I am Mydeimos the Undying, respect my name, all in that huff-huff tone of yours. Sometimes I puff my chest, too. There’s no word for anything in the Kremnoan language, hurr-hurr.”

Mydei flicks his finger against Phainon’s forehead. He won’t say the man’s impression is spot-on, because it’s not, but he’s getting better at imitating Mydei’s cadence.  Phainon pouts and rubs his forehead, as if it hurt.

“I don’t like seeing your blood,” Mydei says, settling into bed next to the man. Rationally, he should clean the washroom, but it’s tile, and it should be easy to wash off come tomorrow. Besides, he doesn’t want to leave Phainon out of his side right now.

“And I don’t like seeing you die, and yet you still do.”

“It’s different, Deliverer. I can’t die.”

“And yet you still do. You still fall, and each time I wonder if this is the last time. I can hardly accompany you everywhere, babysitting you.”

He’s not wrong. Despite what Mydei might claim, he does try to be more careful if Phainon is with him. He has no delusions that Phainon can handle whatever comes his way, but just the thought of leaving him to fend for himself, possibly with the useless notion of protecting Mydei’s dead body... it would always put him at a disadvantage.

The first time – the first time Mydeimos had fallen alongside Phainon, the Deliverer had almost pierced his throat again just after returning. He had been – angry would be too timid a word. These pretty blue eyes, bright and calm and beautiful had been anything but. All warmth had left them and there was nothing but fury blazing through, and in that moment, not even Nikador in all their madness could have rivalled Phainon. The Deliverer’s body had been shaking from rage alone, surrounded by all the titankin he’s slaughtered during Mydei’s absence. Still, what Mydei remembers most is the blazing sun shining so bright behind his head, blinding everything. For just a moment, still groggy from death, Mydeimos had believed he gazed upon a god.

And then, Phainon had stomped his stomach with his foot, and that moment had been over. He’s never seen Phainon like this ever since and some days, he asks himself if he maybe simply hallucinated that.

“...it’s still different, Deliverer. I won’t ask you to stop. All I ask – let me be here.”

“What does dying feel like?”

Mydei stills. He could tell him of different sensations of death. He could tell him what it feels like when life ebbs out of your veins, and you can only watch it happen. He could tell him what it feels like to get crushed to death. He could tell him how the swift stab of a blade snuffs life out like a wayward candle. He could tell him of suffocating; of drowning. He could tell him how poison will burn your insides again and again until it finally stops; until it finally loses its potency. He could tell him that the River of Souls is a cold climb, with sweet voices whispering from beyond the shore, beckoning him to join them, relish in their touches yet again, after all the time that has passed.

Mydei gathers Phainon in his arms, burying his head in the Deliverer’s neck. Phainon is limp enough that it might be concerning, so Mydei just holds him tighter.

“You will find no comfort there.”

“No,” Phainon agrees, “such things are long beyond me.”

When Mydei wakes at the next morn, he’s alone. It takes him a solid second to panic, before he jumps up and tries scanning his surroundings for Phainon. He can’t see him anywhere. Steeling his nerves, he jumps up and storms into the washroom to find nothing. Even the blood on the tiles is gone, and the first-aid kit has reappeared at its designated spot. If he were so inclined, he could simply lie to himself and say that last night hadn’t happened.

He heads into the kitchen, and still finds nothing. It’s not unusual for Phainon to wake earlier – a nasty side-effect of the man’s everlasting insomnia – but for him to leave before Mydei even wakes? Perhaps Phainon left a note, so he goes look. And sure enough, he emerges victorious: Phainon left a note on the pillow that Mydei overlooked in his panic.

Hey sleepyhead~

I still have some preparations to complete before tonight, so I already left. I think there’s some food, but I didn’t look, sorry~ Oh, even though I’m sure Aglaea already knows, I let her know that you’ve returned and that everything went well. She’ll probably still want your report, but I don’t think you need to rush. I’ll see you tonight at the venue, don’t leave me hanging!

Phainon

Fucking asshole. What does he mean with “maybe there’s food, I didn’t look”?! If he skipped breakfast again... Mydei is going to throttle him and then force the worst-cooked food known to mankind down his throat. He gently flattens the note, folds it, and puts it in his pant-pocket for safekeeping. He should go over to Phainon’s place to grab a vase and then threaten to smash it into the Deliverer’s thick skull.

Instead, he makes his way to Aglaea.

“Mydeimos,” she greets him, “you’ve returned.”

“So I have,” he replies, “although this would be hardly a surprise to you.”

“Of course not,” she chuckles, “my threads have whispered of your late-night return. Even our dear Phainon dropped by earlier to report to me. How went the campaign?”

“Easy,” Mydei replies, waving his hand, “your men could’ve accomplished it on their own, as well. So I assume you’ve sent me alongside them to pacify the Council – or make sure your people can return in time for the festival?”

She nods. “Why not both, I wonder? A swift victory will do wonders for morale, especially alongside the famed Crown Prince.” She is quiet for a moment, weighing her words. Mydei knows what she’ll ask before she does. “How is Phainon these days? He was so preoccupied with preparations; I scarcely had the opportunity to see him.”

“You already know,” he counters, because there are no secrets to Aglaea in this city, “so why waste your breath?”

“Perhaps I seek counsel, Mydeimos. Indulge me, please.”

Mydei remains quiet, thinking. It’s a breach of privacy, he knows, but – Aglaea already knows, and Phainon is neither stupid nor delusional enough to think otherwise.

“He hardly acknowledges it anymore. He must’ve picked up again before I had even left. Rest assured, he takes great care not to hinder your flame-chase.”

It’s a rude thing to say, he knows, because despite her waning humanity, Aglaea cares about Phainon, but on the same hand, she just lets him do whatever he wants. He thinks that she could make him stop. She simply chooses not to, because of her own conflicting feelings. After all, without her threads, she would be none the wiser. Is it right of her to use her given divinity to interject into a human’s life, no matter how close they might be? But also – is it wrong if she doesn’t?

Aglaea sighs, lowering her head minutely.

“If this were all I cared about,” she says, “I would not have asked.”

“Then why do you ask me? I am not the one that bleeds onto Okhema’s tiles. I am not your precious Deliverer. All I do is pick up the pieces. I am doing my best to get the Deliverer to the final act. If there’s something you want to do, Aglaea, I suggest you do it without asking for permission.”

With this, he turns around and leaves her be. He can understand her indecisiveness, but he will not make the choice for her. If she needs pointers on how to approach Phainon – fine, he will help. But to ask if she should – that’s something she needs to figure out herself.

He runs into Castorice as he leaves.

“Lord Mydei,” she calls out to him, and he stops. “You’ve returned.”

“I did, indeed. Was there something you needed, Castorice? Aglaea is just inside, if you’re looking for her.”

She shakes her head. “Nothing that couldn’t wait. Do you want to accompany me, Lord Mydei? I was just heading down to help feed the dromases.”

He contemplates for a second, before he agrees. He doesn’t really have any plans for today, sans the festival later. He doesn’t think he’ll see Phainon again before the opening ceremony, so he might as well spend a little time with Castorice. As they make their way down to the dromases, they engage in idle chatter. He spends far too little time with her – she doesn’t make him lose his composure as easily as Phainon. It’s good to sometimes have another adult to talk to.

“Have you spoken to the Deliverer recently?”

“Hm? Oh yes, a couple times, why? Did something happen?”

Mydei doesn’t answer for a little. While he and Phainon aren’t... official, or anything, Castorice has high stakes in their relationship. Trianne called it fangirling once and he doesn’t want to know what means, at all.

“No, no,” he lies quickly, “he’s just been a little weird lately, but I suppose it might come from all the planning. He’s told me you tasted the sweet wine?”

“Yes, I did. You know Lord Phainon doesn’t hold his liquor well, so he’s asked for my opinion. If you decide to indulge, Lord Mydei, the wine tastes excellent!”

She smiles softly and Mydei nods. Castorice is... Phainon’s trusted friend, isn’t she? They went to the Grove together. And maybe Hyacine were the better choice to talk to, seeing as she is a healer, but Hyacine hasn’t arrived yet. And who would know more about death than Castorice?

“...something is still bothering you, Lord Mydei. Would you care to share the burden?”

Mydei averts his gaze. She’s too perceptive for her own good. He’s doing this out of concern. Because he cares. Because he knows that Castorice cares. And she — could give Phainon counsel whenever he was gone, couldn’t she?

He breathes deep, and gestures her away from the crowd. He’s already risking a lot with telling her, but a random stable-hand overhearing? No, that’s the last thing they need. Dutifully, she follows him. She says nothing when he stops, just clasps her hands in front of her, waiting.

“I think — no. The Deliverer is trying to kill himself.”

He lifts his eyes and looks at her, not knowing what he’s expecting. Shock or terror, maybe? But what he finds is just quiet, pained understanding.

“I know,” she answers with a slight waiver in her voice, “Lord Phainon has never been very subtle.”

“You — you know?”

She nods. “And so do Hyacine and Professor Anaxa. Lord Phainon carries a heavy burden and I — I wish I could help. I wish we could help. We all hoped that, once he settled, it would get better. And then, foolishly, we believed he’d come to us when it would get worse. And yet, neither thing has happened. To this day, we keep hoping and believing that he would — come to us if he needs help. But that was foolish of us, wasn’t it?”

He can only stare at her. She knew. Aglaea knew. Hyacine and the Professor also knew. And yet, they never did anything? Phainon takes great care not to hurt himself to a point in where he wouldn’t be able to accomplish his daily tasks anymore. It’s easy to look away, he thinks. It’s easier than facing the truth.

“If one day,” his voice is raspy, “if one day you would have found him on the floor dead, drenched in his own accursed golden blood, then what would you have done?”

Castorice cannot answer him, and she bows her head in shame. He should rage — against her, against them all. They all knew of his pain, and his struggles, and yet they still took the easy smile as a fix-it-all. He balls his fists in anger, but he restrains himself. What’s the point?

“I should’ve done better. As Death’s Maiden, I should’ve done better. When I saw... when I realised, I should’ve gone to him; talked to him. But I don’t know what I should’ve said. I bring death to all I touch, so how could I tell Lord Phainon that life is worth living? So all I can do — all I did, was to ask him... that I would not lose him, too. That he, as my friend, is too important to me to lose. And yet, instead of soothing him, I fear I’ve entrusted just another burden upon him. And I have promised him, despite the pain in my heart, that if it becomes too much — I would embrace him gently. I simply wish that this promise would’ve not been empty, because it is one I could never fulfil.”

How can he blame her? He is hardly any different. He, too, simply witnesses Phainon’s despair without being able to do any else but put yet another weight onto his shoulders.

“But you, Lord Mydei, ease him far better than all of us combined.”

He blinks at that. Frowning, he looks her, and she is smiling that half-smile of hers. The wind gently brushes her hair, and she looks sincere and Castorice has never lied to him, anyway.

“I’m not — doing anything.”

She shakes her head. “Perhaps that’s all it needs. Someone important, doing nothing at all. Lord Phainon cares for you deeply, Lord Mydei. Losses are a constant on the flame-chase journey, so let us not squander what we can gain.”

Sometimes, we ourselves are gift enough already.

Mydei doesn’t see Phainon for the rest of the day, and he is pointedly not miffed about it, thank you very much. His days don’t revolve around Phainon, and he’s a perfectly capable human being with the Deliverer hot on his heels. But perhaps... if it’s last-minute-preparations, maybe he could help. Maybe he should. He has nothing else to do, anyway. Making up his mind, he makes his way to the festival square — perhaps a little faster than need be, but who’s to judge?

“Deliverer,” he calls when he spots Phainon speeding about. Even from afar, he looks stressed. Upon hearing his voice, Phainon stops and looks around confused. He’s carrying a large box so Mydei strides over quickly.

“Mydei!” Phainon calls out in surprise. “You’re too early, the ceremony is —“

“Shut up, HKS, I know. I came here asking if I could help. You look stressed.”

He doesn’t mention that he worries the cuts have started bleeding again. Even if they did, the blood is unlikely to seep through the thick cloth of the gold-woven threads, but still. Phainon looks down at the box in his hands, then back over his shoulder, to a large stack of boxes. He’s quiet for a moment, thinking.

“Yes,” he says then, nodding towards the boxes, “they all need to go into storage. And I still need to run a couple last-minute errands. Could you... carry the boxes? I’ll show you where they go.”

Is Phainon the sole organiser? Where the fuck is everyone else? Did they all just decide to lean the fuck back once the Deliverer joined them? No, knowing Phainon, it’s more likely that the man volunteered to take over absolutely every task.

Instead of cussing the Deliverer out, he forcefully takes the box from his arms — it’s surprisingly heavy for its size — and gestures Phainon to move. The Deliverer blinks up at him, puzzled, and then he frowns quickly, moving over into a pout, before he keeps moving. Behind him, Mydeimos smirks. He loves rattling the perfect Deliverer.

“Just put them all here — how you arrange them doesn’t matter. Just make sure they all fit inside; it’s leftover stuff from the decorations and the like, so we’re not going to suddenly need something from here. Make sure that you don’t take too long, because the Council is circling around the square, and there are fireworks in here, so I’m certain that they’d spin that to their liking again and I already have enough of a headache, and —“

He stops suddenly, probably realising he’s said too much in his babbling. He turns and looks Mydeimos in the eyes.

“Yeah,” he ends, “close the door.”

And then he’s off. Mydei feels his gut churn. Phainon isn’t just going to run some errands, is he? Perhaps tonight, he will try his utmost to hold the Deliverer gently. And tomorrow morning, he will personally carry him to the baths — Phainon doesn’t like being carried all that much, but Mydei knows he secretly enjoys it, too. If there aren’t too many people who would see them. Phainon does terrible at sitting idle, so Mydei won’t even bother asking Aglaea for a week off, but perhaps she could find a mission for them together; something simple maybe? As he mulls over his plans for the next week, he carries the boxes — and he notices that council snake Phainon mentioned. He and the council do not get along, and they keep trying their hardest to push his people outside the walls. They only don’t succeed because both Phainon and Aglaea very publicly oppose it; and because his people are on good behaviour.

“Is there a problem?” He decides to face the problem head-on. The snake shrivels at the sight of him, and Phainon has told him countless times that a smile wouldn’t hurt but Mydei knows what impression the people have of him, and he’s intending to use it.

“L-Lord Mydeimos... no, no, of course not, just making sure everything goes according to plan...”

“If you’re so concerned, then why not offer your assistance?”

“I-I could never, Lord Mydeimos, I, uh...”

Mydei’s expression doesn’t shift. He knows his face. He can stand here forever, staring this small man down. Perhaps it’s not the best thing to do, but at the end of the day he can’t completely deny his heritage. He is Kremnoan, and it’s hard to settle things with words. At least he’s not contemplating punching anyone, at least not yet.

“Mydei!” Phainon’s voice calls and his shoulders immediately relax; just a tiny bit. He can’t help it, that’s just the effect the Deliverer has on him. “And the... Councillor? Everything alright, I hope? Oh, did you want to help us? That’s great! I really appreciate it, you know? Us Chrysos Heirs and the Council of Elders really should work together more often. Let me think for a moment — we’d need a task suitable for your honoured position, after all...”

Mydei stops listening. There’s fresh blood on the Deliverer’s fingertips. Against his skin, it’s barely visible, but Mydei knows what he sees. It hadn’t been there last night. It hadn’t been there twenty minutes ago. His hold on the crate tightens and he hopes he would not break it. He closes his eyes, seemingly in disinterest, but he really is trying to calm himself down. He opens his eyes again to see that snake gone and Phainon studying him.

“All good there?”

Mydei grunts and returns to his task. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t protect Phainon. Not from the world, not from the prophecy, not even from himself. But he wants to. Oh, by the titans, he so desperately wants to.

Phainon remains standing, watching him. Mydei doesn’t turn, but he can feel those blue eyes burn into his back and he — grits his teeth and tries to keep moving.

“Mydeimos,” Phainon calls and Mydei clenches his jaw. That’s his full government name. If the Deliverer would ever tack the Undying on, he’d know his death is imminent.

“What,” he balks back, like a street dog. Okhema really has changed him. Krateros was right.

“I got you a gift. It’s not strictly part of the festival, but strangers in a strange land, right?”

Oh, right. It’s easy to forget that Phainon, too, is an Outlander. He fits into the cityscape so seamlessly, as if he’s always been here. Mydei sets the crate down carefully and remembers one of his erstwhile companions mention the gift-giving. If Phainon had the time to get him a gift, then what excuse is Mydeimos going to sputter? Krateros would die if Mydei called himself Phainon’s boyfriend, but well, glory in death and all that.

He turns around to see Phainon having come after him, extending both his hands. In his palms sits a little soft-sewn chimera doll, decorated with flowers around its head. It’s made with entirely warm colours: orange, red and yellow. The flowers, he recognises, symbolise the other flame-chasers, with the — perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised that there’s no flower for Phainon.

“Castorice helped me make it. Be lucky she did, because you do not want to see my other attempts. I wouldn’t even give that to the rats, honestly, so you better appreciate this! And don’t say you don’t like it, because you know I see how you’re hugging those pillows at night! And your first comment about my thighs was how plush they were. You’re following almost every chimera channel on the Weave! You’re rather looking at their videos than whatever pictures I post! I have to force you to leave me a needle and a re-thread! And here I am, always the first to needle any post you make!”

Mydei lets him talk. This sounds like Phainon really needs to get this off his chest. Mydei is barely checking his Weave, if he’s being honest. And why should he bother needling Phainon’s pictures if he himself was it that took these pictures? He had been there. Maybe it’s — what does Cipher call it? Generation Zagreus? He’s not sure if that’s a real thing. Maybe she was mocking Phainon, too. He’s not even attempting to keep with all of that. He just wants to watch his chimera videos and the occasional cooking video.

“Are you done, Deliverer?”

He’s got to stop the man before Phainon talks himself into a frenzy. Phainon stands there, one hand still holding the chimera plush, while the other has its index finger raised, in mockery of a lecture he’s giving to the air.

“...yes, thank you. Anyway, take it?”

He lifts his hand, as if to entice Mydei to take it. Like he’d need to do that — as if Mydei was ever going to refuse. He reaches out his hand and takes the little plush from Phainon’s hand; and it’s really soft. Immediately he wishes it were a little bigger, so he could hug it properly.

“I... I don’t have anything for you, Deliverer.”

Phainon smiles brightly. “That’s okay! I wasn’t expecting anything anyway. You’ll come to the festival, right? That’s all I need. Even if you’re just sitting in the corner, all old man-grump like. They’ll be serving honey roast! Although almost everyone vetoed me on the salads, I insisted on one at least. I’m sure it’ll be gone in no time, so you better be here early!”

Mydei suppresses a laugh. Phainon and his endless salads... Mydei has no idea how Phainon did any strength training on water and weeds alone without passing out.

“Then I shall be among the first to arrive.”

Phainon grins brightly, and then he rushes off again, no doubt looking to assist yet another citizen. Meanwhile, Mydei looks down at his little gift. Looking closer at it, he can see some botched seams; and patches where the thread had clearly been re-woven. It’s a far cry from perfect, and for that alone, it’s more precious than anything else.

“I love you,” he tells the little thing when he had lifted it to hold it against his face, “more than I know how to say.”

Chapter Text

Mydei takes great care placing the little plush. He was initially contemplating on where to put it, but ultimately did settle on Phainon’s place. He needs to go to the market tomorrow — Phainon is basically out of food. Maybe he should get Hyacine and Aglaea to lecture Phainon about proper nourishment again. Well, he knows it’d be useless, but he can’t always be here, hand-feeding the Deliverer. (He can. He is. He’s saving face.)

He flexes his hand. He’s decided to forgo the armour for tonight, and it feels weird, going outside like this. He’s basically naked. Well, maybe it’ll make Phainon look twice, at least. The man likes arms. Mydeimos flexes his muscles a little, scrutinising. He has more muscle mass than Phainon... He squeezes his bicep, assessing it. He looks good, right? He stands there a moment longer before he decides he looks stupid and pretends that this never happened. Little Pie-non has seen nothing. He’s got to go, anyhow.

“Lord Mydei! I was just about to knock.”

He blinks at Castorice. She stands in front of the door, smiling gently. His eyes shift from side to side. This... is Phainon’s house. Hm. Perhaps it’s perfectly reasonable to assume he’s here. He... could’ve looked for Phainon, or something.

“Yes...”

“...”

They blink at each other.

“I mean,” she says stiffly, “this was the last place I thought to look, obviously.”

“Obviously,” he agrees. Castorice nods, blushing a little. Is this... her fangirling? He squints. He knows that they aren’t all that subtle, honestly. Phainon dragging him to the baths twice a day is kind of strange, isn’t it?

“I don’t like him,” he says, “his face is stupid.”

“Oh yes,” she agrees, “it’s very stupid. Shall we go? That stupid face might cry if we get there too late.”

He nods and steps fully outside, closing the door behind him.

“Did you like the gift Lord Phainon prepared for you? He stressed about it very much.”

“Yes, I did. Thank you for helping him.”

She waves her hands in dismissal. “Oh, I barely did anything. Lord Phainon is actually quite handy at sewing. But he’s never sewn a toy before, so I simply gave him some pointers.”

Mydei nods again. Phainon is naturally good at a lot of things. “By the way, I’m surprised you’re going to this festival. Aren’t you usually one to stay behind?”

She nods. “I actually planned on abstaining, but Lord Phainon and Lady Aglaea both asked me to attend. And even Hyacine joined in — so I felt bad for refusing. You tend to avoid festivities as well, Lord Mydei. I assume that Lord Phainon asked you to come.”

Sometimes he hates being known. “Yes. It’s hard to refuse my b – battle partner. He might spend his time with Zacharias, instead.”

Castorice snickers, and Mydei thinks about Zacharias. He’s a relatively new arrival in town, so of course Phainon’s offered to show him around; help him settle in. While he of course can’t hold a candle to Phainon’s looks, Zacharias is quite handsome. He doesn’t have their build, but Mydei can tell that there is some strength hidden beneath these robes. Mydei has not interacted with that man, but he seems polite and soft-spoken. Mydei absolutely hates him.

Maybe Mydei should try to stake a claim tonight. Maybe he should ask Aglaea if she’s capable of weaving something for Phainon to wear in traditional Kremnoan colours, or something. It’s a shame that Phainon isn’t wearing any jewellery... the rings and necklaces and earrings he could commission.

“For what it’s worth, Lord Mydei,” Castorice rips him out of his thoughts, “I don’t think Lord Phainon has eyes for anyone but you.”

“...on a scale from one to ten, how obvious are we?”

“Twelve.”

Well, fuck this.

Kephale’s eternal Dawn Device really doesn’t help setting the mood. While they have spanned large, dark tapestries over the venue, it’s still very bright. Well, one gets used to most things, even though he still misses the dark. Some things feel less daunting under the blanket of the night. Maybe he would’ve whispered his confession into the ear of a sleeping Phainon in the darkness, but as things stand, he hasn’t dared yet. How could he confess anything under the blazing light of the sun?

“Mydei! Miss Castorice! You’re actually early!”

“HKS, you essentially forced us to be on time.”

Mydei grumbles but folds immediately when Phainon stands before them, bouncing on his heels. Fucking puppy, Mydei hates him.

“Nuh-uh! I asked politely, so I haven’t forced you. Come on, that’s our table over there! Castorice, I know you wouldn’t want to sit on a bench, so I got a chair for you! I hope that’s alright?”

Phainon grabs Mydei’s hand and starts pulling him along, followed closely by Castorice. She smiles.

“Yes, thank you, Lord Phainon. Can we still help you with something?”

“Hmm... thanks for asking, Castorice! But no, everything should be taken care of by now. The others will probably arrive soon, and I want to check on everyone one last time. So just sit back and relax, okay? I’ll be back in a moment!”

He squeezes Mydei’s hand for a second before he bolts off again. Wistfully, Mydei watches him leave, then he lets himself fall down on the bench. Just as Phainon’s said, their table is at the far end, to give Castorice solace of mind. As the de facto leader of Okhema, Aglaea should probably sit more towards the middle, but he’s sure the Council was all too happy to snatch that location. Not that he cares.

“How long do you think we’ll have to stay to not break the Deliverer’s spirit?”

Castorice leans on the table. “Hmm... for me, probably until everyone gets a little bit drunk. You, Lord Mydei, probably until it’s reasonably late enough and even then Lord Phainon will still guilt-trip you.”

He frowns. And then he scowls. “That’s Zacharias,” he tells Castorice then. Not that she asked, but maybe she can help him keep an eye on the guy.

“Oh, he’s quite handsome, isn’t he? I mean — no more than one of the top ten faces of Amphoreus.”

“Must you be so vain?”

Castorice just smiles, as if she were enjoying herself. Snake.

It doesn’t take long for the other Chrysos Heirs to arrive. The triplets come running, and Trianne jumps into his lap immediately in greeting. He simply lets her, knowing when to pick his battles.

“Cas! Little Dei! You’re already here!”

Castorice greets them all, while Mydei simply nods in acknowledgement. Hyacine slips onto the bench next to Castorice, while the triplets spill all over. Aglaea doesn’t sit, yet, and Mydei thinks he remembers Phainon saying that she’ll need to open the festival.

“Where is Phainon?” She asks and Mydei gestures into the direction Phainon ran off into.

“He wanted to check up on everyone one last time, he said.”

“I see. And I see Zacharias is here, as well. I’m sure you must be delighted, Mydeimos?”

“Spare me, and find your precious Deliverer.”

She chuckles only, and makes her way over to where Phainon might be.

“Who’s Zacharias?” He can hear Hyacine whisper to Castorice.

“Nobody,” he gnarls, just as Castorice replies: “He might be courting Lord Phainon.”

“He is not!” Mydei turns around and slams the table. Both girls blink at him, and then they stick their heads as close together as they can considering Castorice’s curse and start whispering like crazy.

“Don’t worry, little Dei,” Tribbie reassures him, “Snowy only cares about you.”

Mydei lets out a huge sigh and moves his hand through his hair. Titans, he can’t wait for the festival to be over so that they can return to normalcy. He can’t wait to bash Phainon’s head in again. It’s been forever, and he’s itching for a good spar. Phainon probably is, too, it’s a great stress reliever. Also it’s been a good while since they’ve had sex — not that Mydei was thinking about that. They haven’t even kissed since before Mydei had left on his mission. He desperately needs some stress relief that doesn’t rely on Phainon.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Aglaea step into the middle of the square, with Phainon off to her side. Good, that means they can finally start. Hopefully Phainon will stay by their table, because if he keeps running around, he won’t eat anything again. And because Mydei has scarcely seen him, that means Phainon has likely only eaten whatever he could gulp down in one bite.

Aglaea summarises what the festival is about — mostly sentimental words about community, and sticking close together in crisis, supporting one another — she thanks everyone for coming and she praises Phainon and the staff for putting the event together without a hitch. Phainon blushes at that, obviously not expecting to be singled out like that and he rubs his hair, waving the praise off. No matter. Mydei will make sure to tell him later, when the Deliverer can’t run away.

She then ends her rather short speech and spreads her arms, declaring the festival underfoot. Everyone claps, and people start looking for food. Phainon and Aglaea make their way towards their table under some difficulties. Aglaea gets stopped by a few people, and Phainon gets hounded as usual. At least they both waive these people off rather quickly and they finally arrive. Phainon plops down on the bench and sighs.

“Oh Kephale, it feels like I haven’t sat down in weeks.” He groans, and wipes his face. “What do you want to eat? I’ll go grab us something. Salad for sure, right? I made it myself, it’s great! Hmm, I’ll just go get a little bit of everything, so we’re not missing anything.”

He looks to the side quickly before standing up again. “Gotta hurry, the line’s getting long. Be back before you know it!”

He’s gone again before Mydei can even say anything. So he just raises his hands in confusion, looking at the others. Aglaea has just sat down, and she is smoothening out her dress. Hyacine and Castorice shrug their shoulders. Useless bunch. He sighs, and gets up to go after Phainon. That HKS can’t carry everything on his own, after all.

They eat in merry laughter. And if Mydei sneaks some pieces of meat onto Phainon’s plate, who’s to know? Aglaea smiles at him knowingly, but he ignores her by stabbing some weed to death. He doesn’t need Aglaea of all people point out that Mydei is mother henning.

“The band is great, Lord Phainon!”

“You think so, Miss Hyacine? There were quite a few contestants and it was really difficult choosing just one. I felt so bad for the ones I had to send away...”

 “HKS, did you organise everything?”

“Hm? Oh, I dipped my fingers everywhere a little, yeah. Why? Something not to your liking?”

Mydei scowls and Phainon smiles, pushing two fingers on his face, attempting to smoothen the scowl out. The scowl simply deepens.

“You know, if you scowl too much, your face will get stuck like this...”

Mydei scoffs, as Hyacine reaches over to grab Phainon’s attention. “Everyone is starting to dance,” she points out. “Shall we join them?”

Phainon nods. “Yes! Mydei, you wanna come too? Oh, Ladies Oracle, how about you? We can all hold hands!”

“Yes!” The triplets shout while Mydei shoves Phainon off the bench.

“No,” he says, “I’ll stay with the adults. Do try not to embarrass yourself too much, Deliverer.”

Phainon sticks his tongue out, and then runs off with Hyacine and the triplets in tow. They fit in seamlessly with the crowd, and Phainon lifts the triplets on his shoulders, with the third — Trinnon, he thinks — on his arm. His other hand holds onto Hyacine, and Little Ica is safely parked on Hyacine’s head. They look ridiculous, Mydei wishes he had his teleslate with him.

“I’m taking pictures,” Castorice says behind him, “I can send them to you later, Lord Mydei.”

“No, why would I want that?” He responds, his ears burning.

“Oh, alright. Then I apologise in advance for my fingers slipping.”

Being known truly is a curse.

“Oh?” Aglaea interjects and oh no. “Mydeimos and Phainon are officially together, now? I must say –“

“No we are not, why would you even think that?”

“Yes, why would you think that, Lady Aglaea. The professor always told us it’s pointless to state the obvious.”

“I hate all of you. Being your ally was a mistake. I keep having severe lapses in judgement.”

“Most of those lapses are because of Phainon, aren’t they? I saw you debating recently how to measure who can hold his breath longer without dying. If I recall correctly, Phainon called you a cheater pre-emptively.”

“...it is purely the Deliverer’s fault. He was the one who proposed the challenge.”

“And yet, you two were seriously attempting to solve this critical issue.”

Titans, he needs some monsters to kill. “It keeps the mind sharp to debate impossible things,” he settles on and then downs the rest of his juice. He’s not in the mood for sweet wine, at least not yet, but Phainon brought two bottles to their table anyway. Mydei turns his attention back to the dance group. He immediately scowls again. Next to Phainon stands Zacharias. At least the Deliverer is still holding on to the triplets and Hyacine, but Mydei is still irked. How dare that man stand so close. He should leave space for whatever titan he believes in. At least it seems like Hyacine is butting into the conversation.

“Now, that wouldn’t have happened if you had simply joined Phainon.”

He glares back at Aglaea who has started throwing bits and pieces of food towards the rooftops. Honestly, Mydei doesn’t understand why Cipher doesn’t simply come down here.

“I do not concern myself with petty things like jealousy. This Zacharias is too soft a man, anyway.”

“Maybe Lord Phainon likes soft things.”

“Why don’t you just keep holding that teleslate, Castorice.”

After a while, the group stumbles back to the table, and Phainon deposits the triplets safely back onto the bench. They all reach for something to drink immediately; and Phainon downs two cups of wine in quick succession.

“Did you have fun, Lord Phainon?” Castorice asks, having already put her teleslate away before Phainon could see it.

“Yeah! It was a little crowded, so I kept bumping into everyone, and I hope I stepped on nobody’s foot... do you want to dance, Miss Castorice?”

“Phainon,” Aglaea starts but he waves her off. “No, no, I have an idea!” He exclaims and jumps sides, urging Castorice to get off her chair. She dutifully does so, keeping her distance. Phainon, meanwhile, takes the chair in his hands and rattles it a little. He ends up looking at the backrest, which has three pins. Then, with a rather impressive show of strength, he rips two of them out of the backrest, putting the chair back down. Holding the two sticks in his hands, he looks at Castorice, grinning wide.

“Here!” He states, holding the sticks out to her. “I hold onto one end, and I’ll hold the other! Come on, let’s give it a try!”

Hesitating, flitting her eyes between the wooden sticks and Phainon’s face, she slowly reaches out her hands, wrapping them carefully around the wood. She’s not holding on very tight, but as Phainon doesn’t spontaneously combusts or dies, her grip becomes a little tighter.

“Are you sure, Lord Phainon?”

“Of course! You’re at a festival, so let’s dance!”

He doesn’t drag her back to the dance floor, obviously, and instead he starts swaying back and forth where he stands, clearly wanting Castorice to join. After a while of apparent internal turmoil, she gives in and sways to the beat as well. Slowly, she starts to smile and enjoy herself, joining in on Phainon’s enthusiasm. The triplets cheer them on, Aglaea watches them with a fond smile, and Hyacine has taken her teleslate out, leaning back to get a good angle.

Phainon spins her around a couple times — enough to get her laughing, but not enough to get her disorientated.

“Oh, I’m getting woozy,” Phainon says eventually and he lets go of the wooden sticks. “Let’s stop here, yeah? Keep those sticks, why don’t you? Oh wait... oh no, I murdered the poor chair...”

“The chair will survive, Phainon,” Aglaea soothes him, “it bled for a good cause. Now sit down and drink some water.”

“Okay,” he agrees and climbs over the table again like some overgrown monkey, and he plops down next to Mydei. He grabs Mydei’s cup unasked and sniffs it. There’s still pomegranate juice inside. Phainon then shrugs, apparently believing that this is water enough and downs whatever is left in it.

“Do you not have your own cup, Deliverer?”

“Yours was full,” and well that’s an immaculate argument really. Truly the debate champion of Okhema. Phainon leans a little on Mydei’s shoulder and he lowers his arm slightly, so that Phainon can be more comfortable.

“Come dance with me, Mydeimos.”

“There’s no word for dancing in the Kremnoan language.”

Phainon pouts, looking up at Mydei under his pretty, pretty eyelashes. Mydeimos stays strong, befitting of a prince. He almost gives in, but he is determined. Strong. Infallible. One pouty Deliverer is not enough to break his indomitable spirit.

“Fine,” Phainon sighs then, and he sits up straight. He turns half his body towards him, and smiles brightly, like the sun of distant lands: “Just gotta make sure I’ll dance even harder for you, then!”

His eyes catch the light like roughly cut gems, and Mydeimos is captivated. With a swing of his legs, Phainon gets up from the bench again and re-joins the dancing crowd. Mydei’s eyes follow him without really seeing anything and that smile — the smile stays in his mind. He thinks — he thinks, he’d lay waste to every city state in his path, if it only means he gets to keep that smile. When people had told him that for some ancient conquest, a pretty face had been all the reason, he had scoffed. Because why would you go to war for one single pretty face? But he thinks he understands now. In order to keep Phainon smiling, he would — titans, he’d conquer the entire world.

Mesmerised, he watches Phainon through the crowd and he thinks they don’t understand how lucky they all are; having the Deliverer smile and laugh like that in their midst. Mydei stands up abruptly when Zacharias approaches Phainon yet again, this time bolded by alcohol, and puts his hands on the Deliverer’s waist.

“Deliverer,” he says in a low tone after cutting through the crowd with practised ease, and he slides up behind Phainon.

“Oh, Mydei! Decided to join me after all?”

“I thought it’d be rude to have the Deliverer dance alone,” Mydei responds, wishing his looks could incinerate that Okheman before him. Zacharias shrinks, and wisely, slips away. Good.

“My hero,” Phainon swoons, entirely oblivious. He leans some of his weight against Mydei’s chest, and well, it does feel satisfying. It’s like sating a primal urge inside of him, and that’s something he needs to think about later, when he’s alone. And since he’s barely ever alone, he will never have to think about it. Win-win.

“Let’s dance then,” Phainon says, like a threat, and he pushes himself upright again, smiling at Mydei, eyes glittering. “Don’t worry, just follow my lead. You can’t fail.”

Mydei isn’t terrified of failing; not like Phainon is. So, he supposes, this might as well be Phainon’s way of soothing his nerves. Asshole. He wants to kiss him.

“Then show me what you can do, Deliverer. Impress me.”

Phainon laughs, almost carefree, and then he adjusts to the movement of the crowd. Mydei, still a little unsure of himself, sways in place, thinking that surely this has to be enough. Phainon grabs his hands eventually, and dances with him, much like he did with Castorice before. He’s bolder now, not having to worry about accidentally bumping into the dormant Hand of Shadow. Mydei has some trouble letting loose, despite Phainon’s best attempts. He likes watching the Deliverer far more, anyway. And at least with him here means Zacharias will stay away. Phainon then spins Mydei around himself, coming up behind his back. His body is solid and warm against his back and — and only Phainon is allowed to get so close to his back. Only him, only ever him.

“Come on, you big brute. Just think of it like a spar, hm? I move, you move. Easy, right? Just focus on me, and me alone.”

That’s no challenge at all. Mydei twists back around and crowds against Phainon. “You’re on, Deliverer,” he says and Phainon grins, smug as a cat.

So he moves, and Mydei responds. At first, it’s one slow move at a time, and then Phainon starts moving faster, and Mydei easily keeps up. It’s like a fight, but it’s also not; it’s more the pre-battle circling they do sometimes, when they try to get a feeling for each other. Soon enough, Phainon doesn’t wait for him at all, and simply moves in tandem with the music that’s playing. Mydei does his best at trying to copy the man, but he just lacks the rhythm for it. Well. He figures he can’t be the only person tone-deaf in the crowd, so he just wings it. Eventually, Mydei reaches forward and grabs Phainon’s waist, pulling him close; flush to his chest.

“Oof,” Phainon says, laughing a little into Mydei’s skin. His eyes have closed, and he breathes out slowly, and then opens his eyes. “Hi,” he says, like a fool. He smiles like one, too.

Mydei doesn’t care where they are. He knows Phainon always has eyes on him, because he’s the Deliverer, because he is Okhema’s Golden Boy. But right now, like this, Mydeimos doesn’t give a damn. He cups Phainon’s cheek in one hand, and leans in to kiss him. It’s been so log; too long, and yet he hasn’t forgotten the taste of his Deliverer’s lips. He doubts he ever will. It’s a chaste kiss, as far as they go, and Phainon is the first to push back, looking sheepish.

“Let’s not,” he starts to stammer, “let’s not... not here.”

“Why not?”

Phainon sighs deeply, as if he’s forced to explain basic math to a child. However, he doesn’t move further away, and Mydei’s hand is holding on tightly to his waist.

“Mydei — Mydeimos, you’re a king. This... this is just... look. Look, okay? I’m punching so far above my pay grade with, with all of you. I’m just — I’m just a farm boy, yeah? Just, just think: the leader of Okhema, not to mention the fucking Goldweaver; and two... four? More than one Holy Maiden, one of the seven sages of the Grove, the leading healer of the bloody Twilight Courtyard and like, one of the last descendant of the Sky People... and then, then there’s me? I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t fucking be here. Deliverer, my ass.”

“What about Cipher, then?”

“Oh, Cipher?” His voice grows a little shrill, like he’s legit losing it. “What, just the fastest hands in the west? The greatest thief ever since Zagreus? Oh, and that Cipher that can’t stand my fucking face because she thinks I’m stealing Aglaea from her; that Cipher? Yeah, sure, that really cements it, doesn’t it. I should’ve died on the fucking road, they never should’ve found me—“

Mydei stops him by pressing his fingers over the never-stopping mouth. He likes Phainon’s voice, he just wishes it wouldn’t say so much shit.

“This,” Mydeimos starts, “this is everything to me. You are it, Deliverer. I don’t care about being king, and you know the others would never flaunt all their positions and titles either. If you want, I’ll kneel right here, right now, just for you. I’ll grovel in the dirt, I’ll kiss your feet, I’ll devote myself entirely. What I feel for you, I have—never felt for anyone. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He cups Phainon’s face completely now, pressing their foreheads together. He has to admit, this isn’t exactly how he thought that confession would go. But he’s not sorry for it; and he will not take it back, not for anything in the world.

“With you, you stupid, dim-witted fool, I’m—I’m alive, perhaps for the first time in my life. You call me Mydei, like I’m just someone, and with you, all those kingly burdens are easier to bear because I’m just Mydei—not Mydeimos the Undying. I’ll do whatever you want, you know that. Tying our dominant hands together, just so we could see who does better at daily tasks? Sure, let’s go do it, even though I know you’re ambidextrous so you’ve already won. Or that time you challenged me to pluck the fruits in the Garden of Life with only our lips? It’s such a terrible idea, but yes let’s go do it immediately. Aglaea chewed us the fuck out, and I’d do it again in a heartbeat. There’s no one else like you. No other equal, in no way or form.”

He gently caresses Phainon’s face like a precious gem, and then he sinks down to his knees, softly holding Phainon’s hands in his own.

“Let me be yours,” he asks then, as the crowd still dances around them in a haze, “let me be yours. Let me be yours, and be mine in return. There’s just you, only you. Whatever you might tell yourself about anything, this is the truth I give you, and it will never, not once in a thousand years, change.”

Phainon stares down at him, mouth slightly agape. Mydei doesn’t exactly expect a response—as witty as Phainon is, he’s emotionally stunted when it comes to himself. He is slowly stroking his thumb over the hands, pressing quick kisses to the fingers; to the back of his hand. Some of his people might scorn him for it, and he is conflicted about it, but he would always swear fealty to the Deliverer.

“Mydei,” the man gasps then, holding himself back from choking, “not. Not here, I—I can’t—“

So Mydei stands up and takes the Deliverer in his arms. He doesn’t look over to their table, where the others still sit, and he simply leaves the venue. With long strides, he walks away and just one alleyway over, he presses—slams, really—Phainon against the wall.

“I will bring you pleasure like none before me,” he promises in a low voice, “if you’ll let me.”

Phainon chokes then, looking at him with big eyes. Mydei can see the numerous insecurities eating away at the Deliverer so he’ll take point, as always. He crowds the man against the wall and kisses him. He doesn’t kiss him like he just did among the crowd. No. He kisses him like he’s trying to devour him; consume him whole. He cups Phainon’s head in his hand so he doesn’t press him too hard into the stone, and he slots one of his legs between the Deliverer’s. Phainon, meanwhile, is grabbing onto Mydei’s neck and side. If only his fingernails were longer; then he could leave proper marks. He shoves his tongue inside Phainon’s mouth, claiming it as his own. Phainon lets him, for a moment, before he bites down. Mydei growls, deep in his chest, and he dives in deeper, roughly grabbing Phainon’s jaw. The Deliverer responds by grabbing a fistful of Mydei’s hair, yanking it. It feels good, and he presses their bodies closer. They are doing less kissing now, and more biting. Mydei can taste the tanginess of blood on his tongue, and it spurns him on even more. They moan and groan inside each other’s mouth, and they both sporadically rut their hips against each other. Mydei contemplates sucking him off in the alleyway. They have had sex in a somewhat public environment before, and maybe, just maybe, that unlocked something inside Mydei. He knew that some part of Phainon had enjoyed it too—he’s said that much eventually—but he understood that there was a lot of risk involved, if they were to actually be discovered. It’s just a shame that that’s part of the thrill—and being alone on the battlefield with Phainon was also difficult. Mydei has scarcely seen a better sight than Phainon covered in blood and sweat, riding him, wringing orgasm after orgasm from both of them. Phainon, covered in blood, sweat, dirt and both their release on his pale skin almost made Mydei propose on the spot and it also made them late to return by two days.

Mydei wraps his hand around Phainon’s throat and then he squeezes hard enough to break a lesser man’s neck. As expected, the Deliverer simply moans, instinctively rutting against Mydei, before he breaks their kiss open-mouthed. Mydei watches him for a second; his bitten lips, gasping for air, dilated pupils. Then he lets go of his throat, and before Phainon can properly catch his breath, Mydei pushes two fingers inside his mouth. Phainon closes his lips around them immediately, sucking on them.

It’s a picture for the titans, really. Phainon gags a little when Mydei presses down on his tongue at the back of his throat, but he keeps sucking dutifully. His cock is throbbing inside his pants, but he’s rather good at ignoring it for a while. He lets his hand glide over Phainon’s beautifully exposed throat, over his shamefully clothed chest and stomach, before he slips it inside the Deliverer’s pants, wrapping his fingers around the hard length between his legs. Phainon moans around the fingers choking him and he ruts into Mydei’s hand.

“So needy, Deliverer,” he purrs into Phainon’s ear as he gives him a good tug. Phainon’s body shudders, and Mydei pulls the man’s pants down, exposing him to the warm air around them. He wastes no time and falls down to his knees, and Phainon coughs as his mouth is finally free again. Mydei doesn’t let him recover and instead takes all of Phainon’s dick into his mouth at once. Phainon clamps his mouth shut immediately, trying to curb the moan trying to escape. His other hand grabs a fistful of Mydei’s hair, trying to pull him away—to no avail, of course, but points are given for trying.

“Mydeimos,” the Deliverer pants, in warning, but he moans while talking. “Don’t—titans, not here—fuck.”

Mydei has closed his eyes and he relishes in the feeling of Phainon’s length filling his mouth. He can feel him hit the back of his throat, and he’s quite fortunate not having much of a gag reflex. He thinks he could die like this, and not regret a thing. Phainon filling his throat, and his big thighs surrounding his face? There’s no better way to go. He starts gently sucking then, swirling his tongue around the member in his mouth and he can feel Phainon’s hips bucking. Phainon rarely lasts long, Mydei knows, because he is in a constant state of being pent-up. He does it to himself, and while Mydei would prefer for the man to relax from time to time, he’s more than happy to fuck Phainon into exhaustion.

“M-Mydei!” Phainon’s boots are scraping on the ground and Mydei sucks a little harder. He can feel the dick twitching rapidly, and he squeezes Phainon’s thighs tight. Phainon’s hip buck, stutter and then tense and Mydei represses a groan when he feels Phainon coming down his throat. He swallows it all up greedily, while Phainon is breathing hard through his note, having pressed his hand tightly against his mouth to prevent the loud noises he has a difficult time holding back.

Mydei slips off with a loud pop and it’s a shame Phainon isn’t naked so he can look his fill. Phainon is breathing heavy, and it’s getting hard to hold himself back, but surely, a little more teasing won’t hurt...? So, as Phainon slowly tries to calm down and reel himself back in, Mydei lets his hands roam over those pretty thighs. The things he likes to do to them... but not now. He reaches around, slowly, and he intends to simply press his fingertips into Phainon’s hole, just to tease him, just to make him groan and double over and demand to be fucked, but—he meets resistance. Something’s stopping him. His eyes widen and he is up into Phainon’s face in an instant.

“Deliverer,” he growls, “really? In front of everyone?”

Phainon blinks at him through the haze of post-orgasm. “It’s been weeks, Mydeimos, and I can only jerk myself off so many times. A man’s got needs, you know?”

Mydei presses against him, so that his lips curl over Phainon’s ear. The man’s hair is soft against his skin and Mydei sighs quietly.

“When did you put the plug in, anyway?”

“It’s not a plug,” Phainon replies, his own lips brushing past Mydei’s ear. His eyes widen. What...? But he definitely felt something, and—by Nikador’s greatest conquests. He leans back a little, staring at Phainon, whose eyes are half-lidded and who has a pretty blush covering his cheeks.

“I didn’t know you were that needy, Deliverer. But then I guess, you won’t need me tonight, right?”

Phainon grabs Mydei’s throat aggressively at that, his blunt fingernails burrowing into his skin. Yes. Yes, this is perfect. Aggression is a good look on Phainon. The Deliverer growls a little, but then he has an epiphany and he lets go of Mydei, suavely leaning back.

“Hmm, maybe you’re right. I could just go back and chat up Zacharias instead, right? I’m sure he’d be up for the—“

Mydei covers his mouth with his hand. “How dare you mention him—“

Phainon licks his hand, because he’s a freak, and then he bites it, too. He reaches out and tugs at Mydei’s hair, exposing his throat. Mydei growls, smirking, because he’s kind of a freak too. With Phainon, he can’t help it.

“Then maybe, Mydeimos,” Phainon purrs, “you should fuck me; so that I don’t need another man’s dick or that pretty, pretty dildo I have. Don’t I look good bouncing on your cock?”

Yes. Yes, he does. Mydei leans in and kisses him again, caging him between his arms. He’s thought about fucking Phainon with that dildo right here, but he doesn’t want to wait anymore—and the longer they stay here, the more likely exposure will become.

So he half-hazardously pulls the man’s pants up again and manhandles him into a pick-up; starting to sprint through the city. They don’t make very good progress, because Phainon is a little jerk and keeps rutting against Mydeimos which of course means they have to stop every so often to passionately make out.

Eventually they make it to Phainon’s place and titans bless Mydei adopting the habit of not locking Phainon’s door. He slams them inside and kicks the door shut, heading for the bedroom immediately. Phainon has wrapped his arms around Mydei’s neck and is aggressively kissing his face.

Tossing the Deliverer on the bed, Mydei wastes little time undressing the man.

“Beautiful,” he whisper as he finally gets him naked, pressing kisses on his shoulder.

“Save the flattery, Mydei! I’ve been waiting for weeks—“

They both have, Mydei doesn’t say. But yes, the flattery can wait for later, when Phainon won’t have the strength to argue against them anymore. Phainon is still half-hard when Mydei slides between his legs again, and he gently flips the man over. Briefly, he kneads the man’s ass before pulling the cheeks apart, revealing the pretty stuffed hole between. His own cock gives a very interested twitch at that, and Mydei grabs the base of the dildo and slowly, ever so slowly, pulls it out. Phainon moans, arching his back. Before pulling it out completely, though, he pushes it back in, making Phainon whimper.

“Mydei,” he whines as Mydei gently fucks him with the dildo. It’s neither the longest nor thickest that Phainon owns, but it has a good girth and after having it sit inside his ass for so long; it must good to feel it finally fuck him, right?

“Shh,” Mydei shushes him, “you look so good like this. I could do this to you all day, Deliverer.”

“No,” Phainon protests sharply and uprights himself, turning around and shoving Mydei onto the mattress. He bounces a little on it, smirking up at the Deliverer. Climbing on top of him, Phainon wrangles Mydei’s pants from his hips and exposes his hard cock to the cool air of the room. Phainon bites his lips upon seeing it and Mydei rakes his eyes over the Deliverer’s body. He flushes so easily; and so, so prettily as well. He never wants anybody else to see it.

Hovering over him still, Phainon reaches behind him and pulls the dildo out fully, moaning when he succeeds. He tosses the toy on the bed next to them, not caring about it one bit, and he scoots to position himself over Mydei’s dick. He doesn’t take his time at all, and essentially slams himself down, taking Mydei in one fell swoop, making both of them moan out loud.

Mydei’s hands find Phainon’s hips straight away, holding him steady, as the man rides out the aftershocks.

“Fuck,” Phainon breathes, “finally.”

“Move,” Mydei commands and Phainon is obedient as always, and he starts to circle his hips slowly. His face is pinched and he’s breathing hard; and he’s a sight to behold.

“Feel so good,” he pants, “feel so good in me. Mydei. Mydei Mydei Mydei.”

Mydei tightens his grip on the man’s hips, moving him a bit, urging him to go faster. And faster Phainon goes. He slams himself down, punching a moan out of himself with every thrust and fuck, Mydei’s not gonna last long like this. So he slams Phainon over to the side, taking a hold of the man’s legs, and he starts fucking into the man’s hole like a man possessed. Phainon moans and cries, and Mydei bites deep into his shoulder to stifle his own sounds. Phainon’s noises alone are enough to push him over the edge.

“Please, please, please,” the Deliverer begs and Mydei is a gracious king, and he gives his subjects what they need. He thrusts in deep, hitting Phainon’s sweet spot over and over until the man below him keens high-pitched and clenches so hard around him that Mydeimos has no choice but to follow him over the edge.

Breathing hard, Phainon continues to gently twitch around him, and Mydei kisses the bite marks he’s left behind.

“Perfect,” he whispers against heated skin, even though he knows Phainon can’t hear him over his own laboured breathing. He pulls out carefully and they both whine in discomfort. He quickly goes to get a washcloth to clean them both—Phainon is such a bitch when he wakes up sticky. After, he settles into bed and Phainon plants himself across Mydei’s chest. He seldom has the desire to talk much after sex, and so if Phainon doesn’t start, they often remain in comfortable silence.

This time, though, Phainon reaches over to toy with Mydei’s braid. He twirls it between his fingers, twisting around and Mydei lets him until—until Phainon starts to try pushing his fingers inside the hair.

“Stop,” he says, maybe a little rougher than he had wanted, “don’t undo it.”

“Why?”

“...Hephaestion braided it for me. I don’t want to lose it, Deliverer.”

“Oh,” Phainon replies, strangely flat, “I understand. Good night, Mydeimos.”

Mydei knows that it wasn’t the right thing to say, but it is the truth. Hephaestion had braided his hair, for good luck and swift victory; and Mydei could never bear to part with it. Maybe he’s sentimental about it, but it is proof beyond his own memories that his friends truly have existed.

“Deliverer,” he starts and is secretly glad when Phainon presses his fingers against his lips.

“No, no, I understand. He was—your best friend, right? Of course you’d want to keep it.”

“I... yes. Yes, he was. I think—I think you would’ve liked him. He was magnificent on the battlefield. He could even keep up with me.”

“Hmm,” Phainon replies, “I see. Good night, Mydei. See you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow, Phainon is gone.

Mydei knows that he’s gone to help clean up the venue from last night, but it still sits wrong in his belly. He toys with the braid absent-mindedly and wonders if he could have said something different. The tiles are clean, at least, and maybe that has to be enough mercy.

“Hephaestion,” he asks the empty room, “how do I make it better?”

The silence does not answer him.

Chapter Text

“You have everything?”

“For the hundredth time, yes. You’re worse than my mother.”

“Oh, excuse me that you accidentally forget to eat lunch for two weeks in a row. Show me the provisions again.”

“I’ll kill myself right here, I swear it. Mydeimos, I have enough provisions to last me five months. The Grove isn’t that far away.”

“Show. Me. The. Provisions.”

“How about I shove them down your throat if they’re so important to you?!”

“I’m not afraid to spank you right here and now.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Mydei is undeterred. He stands before the Deliverer, at the City Gates of Okhema, with his arms crossed. Phainon breathes so hard his nostrils flare. No matter. Mydei has stared down worse beasts, and he truly has no qualms about hitting Phainon hard on his ass if it means he gets to see the provisions again. He has packed them himself, but he would trust Phainon to have lost half of it on the way here. Maybe he had given the food away telepathically or something, he’s not sure how the Deliverance works.

“Fine,” Phainon gives up and slams his satchel into Mydei’s face. “Here. Look. Do you want to fasten my shoelaces too, you brute?”

“You don’t have shoelaces,” Mydei responds dryly and looks inside the bag. Rummaging around a little, he finds everything still intact. Impressive. He’s almost proud. And on the road, he has Hyacine and Castorice to keep an eye out for him. He has instructed them both to use force, if necessary. Castorice is to use a large wooden pestle, as if she were to try feed a very stubborn over-grown baby bird.

That’s never happened in my fanfic, she had replied and Mydei deigned to ignore it. She has studied with Phainon, he couldn’t expect her to have retained all of her senses. Hyacine, at least, he can count on. He hopes, because she’s not here in Okhema often enough to show off how deranged she is. This flame-chase group is a mess all around.

“Is everything to your liking, Your Highness?”

“Yes,” Mydei responds and shoves the satchel back into Phainon’s chest. “Switch during night-watch. If I hear the girls say you insisted on it, I will make sure your dinner will not be fit for dogs.”

Phainon blanches. He’s already complaining about the food Mydei cooks him for dinner, so for it to get even worse? Oh, Phainon has not seen the half of it. Worse is always an option.

“You’re all ready to go?”

“Oh, Lady Aglaea! You didn’t need to see us off, you know.”

That’s true—they’re just heading to the Grove on personal business. They will hardly be gone for a week; and Aglaea barely sees anyone off before missions, either. In fact, Castorice and Hyacine are already waiting further out ahead, waiting for Phainon to shake Mydei off.

Aglaea lets her eyes wander over Phainon, assessing him before pulling a face. “You will go like that?”

Stumped, Phainon looks down slowly, as if he’s expecting some weird tentacle sticking out of him.

“...yes?” He then tries and Mydei squints. Phainon’s got all his clothes on. Shirt, coat, pants, shoes. He even has his stupid little cape attached. Aglaea reaches out, face still drawn, and grabs Phainon’s arm, dusting some invisible dust off. She then man-handles him into turning around, yanking at his cape, even though it sits like it always does. Then she fruitlessly tries to adjust his coat, as if it were askew. Phainon throws him a helpless look, but Mydei doesn’t know either.

“Ugh, I will hear no end from that man if I let you go meet him in such disarray. Phainon, tell him I didn’t send you off like this. He’ll call me old.”

“O...okay...? He won’t, though, you know?”

Aglaea scoffs. “Don’t be daft, Phainon. He will gleefully point out every mistake in your appearance just to spite me.”

She flips him around again as if he were a doll, and then she fiddles with his collar.

“At least he’s half-blind, I suppose. Perhaps he will be knee-deep in some inane experiment again, and he will barely notice. If only I were so lucky.”

“O... okay. I’m. I’ll go now. Okay? That was. Yeah. Hyacine and Castorice are waiting. Mydei. Can you. Uhm. Yeah. Bye!”

His eyes were flitting to Aglaea and Mydei sighs, rolling his eyes. Now like this, he didn’t even get to kiss Phainon. No. No, he knows it’ll be only a week, but he’s determined.

He quickly steps forward and catches Phainon by the wrist, yanking him back and the man yelps as if he were not able to withstand a titankin blow.

“Mydei, I’m leav—!”

He grabs Phainon’s face and kisses him. The Deliverer almost jumps three feet into the air and he hits Mydei’s chest repeatedly like a blushing maiden. Mydei doesn’t care, and he tilts his head just so, deepening their kiss a little more. He can feel Phainon’s blush even beneath his gauntlets, and he takes pride in that. Only he can do that.

Phainon finally shoves him off, blush deep in his face. “I hate you.”

“I hate you more,” Mydei smirks and Phainon pushes his face away quite rudely.

“Let’s go!” Mydei can hear Phainon say to the girls. “Men are terrible!”

“Aren’t you a man, Lord Phainon?”

“Don’t lump me in with these brutes!”

“Then you can finally officially participate in girl’s night?”

“...was I illegal before?”

“...is it Lady Phainon now...?”

“Can we not think about it so hard? Can I correct my statement from before?”

“Lord Phainon, this is supposed to be a girls’ bonding moment.”

“Girl’s trip, girl’s trip!”

...maybe Hyacine is just as lost as the rest of them. Mydeimos alone stands as the sole survivor. He turns back to Aglaea, and she’s deep in thought. Sighing, he walks over to her.

“Are you getting sick?”

“I should have woven Phainon a new outfit,” she simply murmurs and walks away. Losses are a constant of the flame-chase journey, but he never thought those losses included common sense. Thank Nikador he’s still got all his wits about him. Now he has time to prepare breakfast for Pie-non.

The next day finds Mydei in that field of flowers he’d been in before with Phainon and the children. There’s no better time than now to train his flower-crown technique, now that Phainon has absolutely no chance of sneaking up to him. Not that Mydei wouldn’t appreciate the man’s help, but then the surprise would be ruined, wouldn’t it? He’s going to weave the best flower-crown this side of Amphoreus, and then he will present it to Phainon like a fresh kill. The one time Mydei had dumped bloody game in Phainon’s arms, in a vain courting attempt, the man had just slowly turned towards him, blinking, before hauling the poor dead thing straight back into Mydei’s face. Back then, Mydei had decided that Phainon might be one of those delicate people that Peucesta had insisted were becoming more and more common. He will not resort to writing poetry. He knows Phainon likes it; after all he gushes about it every time a new book of it comes out, but Mydeimos will not humiliate either of them with his lacklustre weave of words. He could do it, obviously. But he might just end up comparing Phainon to some—some horse or whatever, and then it would all be just so very awkward.

Are you saying my face is too long? Titans, Mydei can already hear it. No, he’d rather spare himself the embarrassment. There are far easier ways to make Phainon feel insecure, and all of those don’t require Mydei whatsoever, anyway. No, he’s getting off-track. Flower crown. Right. He’s a man on a mission.

“Mydeimos.”

He lowers his admittedly poor attempt at a flower crown and looks up to see Aglaea approach. She looks as regal as ever, and he honestly didn’t expect to see her here.

“Aglaea,” he nods in acknowledgment, “did you need something?”

She steps next to him, before she slowly lowers herself to sit next to him. He rarely speaks to her one-on-one; most often Phainon is with them in the room. Krateros calls him weak for it, but he thinks he can learn a lot from her style of leadership. Kremnos cannot continue the way it has for the past dynasties, but if he wants to truly change his people, he will need some pointers.

“Not particularly,” she says, and that doesn’t bode too well, but also isn’t the end of the world. “If you’re amenable, we might perhaps talk about the festival?”

“Did I offend you or Okhema?”

“No, no, of course not. Tell me, did you enjoy it?”

“...you heard what I said.” Until now, it hadn’t even dawned on him. Phainon should take the brunt of this. It’s all his fault anyway.

“Yes, I might have. Not to mention Cifera saw you from the roofs. I told her not to pry, but she was very adamant I ask you this. I will quote her directly here, so do please forgive me: Who takes it up the ass?”

Kill him. He knows it’s useless, but titans, they could put some effort in it sometimes. “I didn’t need the direct quote.”

“...I was assured it was necessary.”

She doesn’t even blush. Her face didn’t even change. Mydei wrangles his poor flower crown so hard it instantly wilts between his fingers. He’s not going to answer that. Cipher can suck it, really. And now he’s thinking. They’ve never switched. Would Phainon want to, sometime? Mydei never really thought about it. This is just how things fell into place, honestly. Maybe he should ask? What if Phainon has been waiting for a chance to say something? But Mydei likes being on top. He likes serving Phainon; making him gasp and moan, and watching him fall apart. Is he—what’s the word; misogynistic? But Phainon isn’t a woman. Does it still apply? No, that’s ridiculous. Phainon is a grown-ass man, he can voice his preferences.

“I didn’t realise this was a question that required such intense thinking.”

“Tell Cipher she can suck it.”

“May I direct quote?”

“I beg you do.”

After that, they return to silence, as Mydei tries to weave another crown. Aglaea watches him quietly. It doesn’t make him nervous, because he doesn’t share Phainon’s performance anxiety.

“I never thought I’d see you try to weave a flower crown.”

“The Deliverer showed me,” he replies, “so now I need to beat him at it.”

“Of course,” she laughs, “you and your endless competitions. You must know, Mydeimos, your arrival changed Phainon quite a bit.”

He looks up from his task and frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“He didn’t use to be... silly, if you excuse my choice of words. He was—far more reserved.”

Mydei looks away from her, to his poor attempt at a crown. He chose wrong colours, too. Phainon would’ve placed another flower crown on his head already, and Mydei longs for the chance to return the gesture. Phainon is still too reserved for his tastes.

“Tell me,” he demands softly, “tell me of the Deliverer’s arrival.”

~

Even after so many years, a part of her can never grow accustomed to ruling a city. She keeps wondering how the Imperator would’ve fared with the Council of Elders—but knowing her, she would have probably have them executed for daring to stand against the flame-chase. Chuckling quietly to nobody but herself, she smoothens out her reports. The flame-chase had grown stagnant, and amidst the stagnation, she needs to persevere. Aquila is no target for now, and Cerces remains untouched from the corruption for the time being. The Heir for Strife has not yet arrived, and they have no information on Castrum Kremnos’ whereabouts, regardless. Whispers of Nikador’s madness grow with every passing day, and she knows she needs to take action eventually. But not yet; and only after calculating her every step, so that she might not slip on spilled golden blood. Rushing headlong into battle is not her style.

“Agy,” she is interrupted, “there’s trouble at the gates.”

“I am aware, teacher.”

With the black tide spreading without halt, more and more people flock to Okhema, to seek Kephale’s eternal protection. However, regrettably, she’s had to turn people away in the past. Her own people need to come first, and she simply cannot guarantee everyone’s survival. Resources will become thin at some point, and how is she meant to chose who lives and dies, then? It is cruel, perhaps, but she would rather send the refugees away now, while there are still other safe havens. This group is no different, her threads tell her. They are simply persistent, even after being turned away.

“They say they have a Chrysos Heir with them,” Tribbie says then and Aglaea looks up. It might be a ploy.

“Who is it?”

“We think it might be the Deliverer. But we would need to look to be sure.”

The Deliverer... The Deliverer will always mark the beginning of the end. She wonders what they will be like. An astute warrior, hardened by battle? A wise scholar, agreeable to her journey? A mix of both, perhaps? A Chrysos Heir with no flaws, at the very least. No draw-backs. She closes her eyes. Maybe this flame-chase can finally come to an end, after a thousand years of waiting. Cerydra had never concerned herself with the Deliverer, and yet it’s all Aglaea had clung to.

“Very well,” she says and stands up, “let us have a look, then.”

Tribbie smiles and moves ahead. Aglaea wonders where the other two are. They are no doubt watching, just as curious as Tribbie herself. Trianne, she suspects, will probably watch from somewhere with her own eyes.

She can hear the commotion from afar. Truly, such a bother... they should be honoured she makes an appearance. If it turns out they lied to her... well. She can be civilised, at least to some decree. The group of refugees isn’t very big, from what she can tell. Maybe about twelve people; give or take, and they seem to have no provisions with them. Well. No wonder they cling to that acclaimed Chrysos Heir they want to have found.

“...fucking telling you! He’s one of us, so if you want him, you gotta let us in!”

“What’s the issue, gentlemen?”

“L-Lady Goldweaver!”

Aglaea waves the guard off. Instead, she focuses on the man before her. He looks haggard, easily in his late fifties, with greying sideburns. She’s no hairdresser, but even she would make something better out of that mess. His eyes tell her how desperate he is, and the cloak he’s wearing is old and ratty. She shouldn’t scoff at that. They wear what they have; and clothes are a luxury easily discarded. She misses the days where she’s done little else but run her tailor shop. She misses Cifera assisting her, too.

“T-the Goldweaver! We, we are... uh, here! We have an Heir with us! He’s legit, so you gotta let us all in, won’t you?”

Aglaea eyes him for one more moment—very much on purpose because she is aware of how unnerving her stare can be. Then she shifts her eyes to the person standing next to him—not by choice, perhaps, as the man holds the boy’s arm in an iron-clad grip. His hair is stark white, and his gaze is directed towards the ground, His clothes are ratty and the colours are... questionable. That’s supposed to be the Deliverer? Right now, she wouldn’t trust him to deliver a package in her name; she’d be the talk of the town. Despite the colour choices—maybe he’s colourblind, would that count as a flaw?—his clothes have holes in them. The dark patches might be blood; they are too dark to be simple dirt. One of his shoes is worn through, with his toes showing. His pants are short, barely extending past the hem of his shirt. And yet, from the looks of it, they haven’t always been this short.

He clutches a worn-down sword in his left hand. Its edge is dull and it no longer shines, and she suspects it can no longer cut even butter.

“This is your so-called Chrysos Heir? If you lie to me, I will see it fit to punish you.”

The boy still does not look up. His hair is matted, like he had been unable to wash it, but she supposes that’s fair, having been on the road and all. Something about it irks her, though, but she can’t put her finger on it. He barely reaches up to her chest, so he must be, what; fourteen, fifteen at most?

“No, no! I, I’ll prove it to you! Here, look!”

Without waiting for her permission, he takes a knife and cuts a deep gash across the boy’s arm. He bleeds quickly, golden blood slowly making its way down his skin, eventually dripping down onto the ground. The boy, however, makes no sound. The man squeezes the boy’s arm harder, pulling him forward, as if to make sure Aglaea sees the blood.

“See? Golden! It’s not a trick, I swear! I can cut another part, if you like, too!”

Aglaea narrows her eyes. There’s more, besides the dirt all over the boy’s pale skin. She can spot shallow cuts, barely fading into little white scars. Bandits, perhaps? The weapons of the titankin? After all, if this group had encountered the black tide, they would not be here. Or perhaps... she looks at the knife the man so readily holds in his hand. It’s old, she notes, incredibly ill-kempt and dirty, not just with fresh blood. Perhaps this man is to blame for some of the forming scars. Looking more carefully, she notices dark bruises on the boy’s skin. Most are on his upper arms, no doubt from the old man holding him tight. Her hands twitch when she sees bruises on his legs. She deigns not to think on it.

Instead, she steps forward and she gently kneels before the boy. Noticing, he moves his head a little away from her. Good. At least he doesn’t seem to have been drugged, but it means she doesn’t get to see all of his face. What she sees, however, is a little concerning. Bruises and scratches around his neck, his lip is split and bloody, and his nose seems to be broken, at least from what she can assess with her limited medical knowledge. On his neck, she can see Kephale’s sun shine wide and bright, unmarred by the dirt coating its bearer.

“The Deliverer will come to us in a form most unassuming. And yet, they alone will herald the new tomorrow.”

Aglaea sighs. She would’ve preferred this in another way, but life has rarely dealt her pleasant cards.

“Look at me, child,” she demands but the boy doesn’t react. His bangs cover his face, and he seems to draw away even further. She frowns. She has difficulty seeing the shining Deliverer standing before her. He reminds her more of a street rat.

“Didn’t you hear her?! Obey!”

Roughly, the man yanks the boy’s head back by his hair. The boy yelps in surprise, and Aglaea rises quickly. His eyes are as blue as the sky, just like Kephale in the old legends. Kephale’s symbol even seems to be woven into the boy’s iris and then Aglaea knows. This, and no other, has to be the Deliverer. Whether that’s blessing or curse remains to be seen. Briefly, she can see unbridled rage reflected in his eyes, but then he blinks at her direction, for the first time, and that rage quickly disappears—so quickly in fact, that later she would wonder if she saw it at all.

“These people,” she asks, “are they your friends?”

The boy searches her face, and his head is finally released from the rough grip on his hair. He swallows hard and he seems to think.

“They,” he speaks, voice raspy from misuse and dehydration, perhaps, “were my companions.”

“That’s not what I asked. Shall I allow them into the Holy City, Deliverer?”

Everyone around her falls quiet. Many people have been waiting for the Deliverer’s arrival, and for it to be this little, broken boy... she must establish a chain of order quickly. Clothes are quickly procured, and a good wash should fix most of the boy’s blemishes.

The boy, in the meantime, stares at her with big eyes, as if he couldn’t believe her words. Aglaea isn’t one to back down, however, and this boy will answer her. Perhaps this answer will determine the path of their relationship?

“Yes,” he says then, looking at her still, “the gates should not be closed for those in need.”

She nods once, curtly. There was no wrong answer here, and she is pleased he answered at all. She then turns to the man beside the boy: “You and your companions may enter. Okhema welcomes you.”

“You,” she addresses a guard, “take the Deliverer to the baths; and ensure a healer looks over that injury. Once he is presentable, I will see him in my office.”

She doesn’t wait for the guard to salute, and she turns around to leave. Tribbie slowly follows behind her, having simply observed.

“Agy,” she reprimands, later in private, “you weren’t nice to the Deliverer.”

Aglaea sighs and sits down at her chair, picking up her reports again. She hopes the Deliverer can read and write, because the sooner he can assist her, the better.

“I was being practical, teacher. I tried to establish a chain of command.”

“You didn’t even ask for his name.”

Huh. Yes, she supposes, that is true. It had completely slipped her mind. Isn’t it enough that he is the Deliverer? Losses are a constant on their fated journey, and the price they all must pay is their humanity.

What’s your name, little one?

And yet. It hadn’t always been so, had it?

“Have you met the Deliverer yet, Cas?”

“Ah... no, not yet. I think I saw him from afar? I didn’t want to scare him.”

Aglaea shakes her head. “You should go meet him. The Deliverer can’t be scared of little things like this. He’s in the Garden of Life currently; Teacher is trying to lecture him about history.”

Castorice looks up. She’s been helping sorting some of the reports into neat little piles so Aglaea could hopefully ignore them in a timely fashion. The Council always wants more power, and yet they leave all these things to her alone. It feels like they wish to have the cake without having to break a single egg.

“Alright,” Castorice agrees and she stands up. “What’s his name?”

Aglaea doesn’t answer. She still doesn’t know. She still hasn’t asked. When she saw him again, she... had been too focused on getting her point across. To make sure he understood the importance of the flame-chase; and what his fate would hold for him. She hadn’t asked if he was well. She hadn’t asked where he came from. She hadn’t asked why there were bandages around his fingertips. She hadn’t even thought of doing so.

“Lady Aglaea...”

“Go, Cas. The boy tires quickly, and even Teacher’s patience will run out eventually.”

That part is a lie. The boy does seem to get tired quickly, but teacher’s patience never runs out. If the boy can’t remember the year of the Imperator’s death even after being told five times, teacher will tell him a sixth, seventh time. After Castorice’s departure, Aglaea remains sitting, staring blankly at a report. Something, something about too much antique forgery. She doesn’t really care much about antiques, but if their influx would upset Okhema’s market... she will have to look into that. She blinks, and then she gets up, quietly following Castorice. She could observe their meeting through their threads, but she thinks... maybe she should observe from the shadows, as much as she’d be able to. As long as the Deliverer would not spot her, it will be fine.

“...at all?”

Ah. She seems to have missed the introduction. Maybe Castorice will address the boy with his name, then. If only she could be so lucky, but when Castorice moves her head a little, spotting her, she knows she stands no chance. She, the Deliverer, and Tribbie and Trinnon are sitting on the grass, with parchments and books sprawled all over the ground. She can’t help but thinking that she should be there, helping him learn and yet... yet she doesn’t.

“Nothing alive, no. I’d rather not try, you know?”

The boy nods. “I understand. It sounds awful, I have to say.”

“Are you afraid of me now?”

Aglaea can hear the subtle fear in Castorice’s voice—she has tried to make friends in the past, just for these friends to cower in fear of her curse. She has never known a gentler soul than Castorice; a person more deserving of warmth. If the Deliverer would refuse her... then Aglaea would not shy away from a few stern words.

“No,” he replies, “but I’m sorry I can’t hug you. In Era Nova, your curse would be gone, right? I’ll promise you, then: in that new tomorrow, let me be the first one to give you a hug. Is that okay?”

Castorice’s eyes go wide, then she blushes a little, looking away shyly. She nods, then.

“Yes. I would... I would like that very much. Thank you.”

“See, Cas? We told you Snowy is super nice! We know at least a couple people that could learn from that!”

Ouch. That’s a hefty stab.

“Everyone here has been nice to me...”

“Oh, don’t lie, Snowy! We know Agy has not been nice to you!”

The boy shakes his head. “Everyone says the Goldweaver is a kind ruler. Scary, but kind. I don’t mind, you know? It’s okay that she doesn’t like me, I’ll survive. Now, why do I have to remember the year of the Imperator’s death? Isn’t enough that I know she’s dead?”

“No! It’s important knowledge!”

Castorice giggles.

“Who’s going to quiz me on this? Is it the secret passcode to get back into Okhema?”

“Yes! Yes it is! Now learn!”

The boy groans and picks up his scroll again, squinting at it.

“Agy,” a voice surprises her and she turns around to see Trianne standing before her.

“Yes, teacher?”

“Why don’t you join them? You heard the boy; he think you don’t like him. It would be good to prove him wrong, right?”

Aglaea hesitates. Trianne isn’t wrong, it’s just... “I wouldn’t know what to say. I will perish one day, and the Deliverer will take over. It’s best, perhaps, if he would not grow attached to me; or I to him.”

“You didn’t think like that with little Ciphy. Snowy is just a child, you know? We really believe he could benefit from your guidance.”

That’s true... Cifera had never been a transaction. She never once thought about Cifera’s purpose for the flame-chase beyond being herself. However, much time has passed since then.

“He and Cifera are different.”

“How do you know, Agy? You still don’t even know his name.”

Feeling scolded, Aglaea turns away and leaves. Cifera and the Deliverer are different circumstances. She is a different person now. And she wonders, now... is that the reason Cifera left Okhema and never returned? Is it her fault? Did she change too much? If only that cat would return and talk to her. Aglaea could apologise for whatever she did, and then—then Cifera cold be by her side again, like the old times. She hopes the girl is eating properly. She hopes the girl is staying safe.

The boy catches sight of her when she leaves, but she is too pre-occupied to notice.

“What’s the Deliverer like?” He asks Castorice.

“Oh... uh, I don’t—you are the Deliverer? Shouldn’t you answer that?”

“No,” he shakes his head, “not me. The Deliverer. What are they like? Before—before you met me?”

“Oh, hmm... a hero. A good and kind soul, always ready to assist others in need. A stalwart leader, ready to usher in a new dawn. I always imagined them as a radiant sun on the battlefield, standing strong and tall, never felled by defeat or sickness. They would eradicate the black tide, and see the flame-chase to its completion. A person worthy of love and trust, with no flaws or faults, and the only person that could fulfil Era Nova.”

The boy breathes softly and his fingers, bandaged as they are, clutch a little tighter on his scroll. “I see,” he says then, just a little bit hoarse, “then that’s what I’ll be. I’ll be the Deliverer.”

The Deliverer is a delight on the city, all of her reports say. He helps people where he can and refuses rewards, but accepts sweet treats sometimes. His choice of clothing remains utterly atrocious, and Aglaea knows she needs to deal with that sooner rather than later.

“Lady Aglaea, here is the report you wanted,” and she looks up. The Deliverer stands before her and he slides a piece of paper on her desk. Right. She has asked him to look into the recent forgeries that were circulating.

“Anything noteworthy?”

He shakes his head. “Not really. Some of the fakes were pretty, though. Can I, uh.” He stammers, and then shuts up. She glances up from his report—he needs to work on his penmanship—and sees him looking down.

“What is it?”

“No, no, it’s nothing, forgive me. Do you have any other tasks I can do for you?”

He places his hand over his chest, ever-ready, and he smiles gently at her, without it reaching his eyes. His fingernails look terrible. She frowns. Has he gotten into a fight? Cifera’s fingernails always looked immaculate...

“You are unkempt,” she says then, “and your clothes are offensive. Follow me.”

She puts her report aside and walks into the next room, not stopping to check if the boy follows her. He’s still growing, so she won’t waste too much time tailoring him something too extravagant, but there has to be something she can clad him in.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” He asks from behind her. “These are all my favourite colours.”

Aglaea sighs. “That might be so,” she says, exasperated, “but they do not go well together. Have you never heard of colour theory?”

He stares at her like she’s grown a second head. “Colours need theory? Why?”

Oh Mnestia save them. Cifera never dressed herself like she fell into a paint bucket. “I will provide you clothes to wear; please do not try to wear anything else. If you desire change, consult me, or at the very least, Tribios or Castorice. You are forbidden from choosing your own clothes, do you understand?”

He stares at her, and then nods. “Okay,” he agrees but he sounds rather unsure. No matter. The purple pants have to go. She should burn them, just to be sure. She has Garmentmaker find some clothes suitable for the boy’s size, and she will soon design him garments worthy of the Deliverer.

“Your fingernails,” she asks then, bringing one of his hands up for inspection, “what happened to them?”

They’re dirty and bloody and she wonders what happened. She’s not heard of a fight inside the city anywhere. Did this boy perhaps train with the guards? But even then, this is a strange place for any injury.

“Ah, nothing, my lady,” he lies to her quickly, “I was playing with some of the children in the city, and they were burying their treasure; and asked me to dig it out again. And I didn’t have a shovel, so I had to dig with my hands, so...”

Aglaea studies his face. He has been in the city for about a week at this point and she—still has not asked his name. At this point, she doesn’t know if she ever will. Has she truly lost so much of herself that she doesn’t think this is a problem? This boy is the Deliverer, yes, but... he’s a person, too. Doesn’t he deserve himself? Doesn’t he deserve to be a person, too? And yet, here she is, shoving him into one box and shutting the door completely. It’s not fair to him, and yet... and yet. How was Cifera so different? She’s never seen that silly girl as a tool. And yet, the Deliverer is anything but to her.

He and Cifera are so similar, too. Teacher has told her that his hometown got ravaged by the black tide, much like Cifera’s home. Both of them came to her doorstep dirty and malnourished, unable to avoid their fate. And yet, she took Cifera in gently, coaxing her in with love and tender care, and the Deliverer... she’s barely looked at him proper since he arrived. In fact, this very instance might just be the most words she’s spoken to him.

“Lady Aglaea?” He asks and she looks up. She knows she looks unfazed. She always does, these days. “Do you require more of me? I have a penmanship lesson with Lady Trinnon. I’d rather not make her wait up; she’s already taking time out of her day on my behalf.”

“Put these clothes on,” she says, having Garmentmaker hand them over, “then you can go.”

He nods and gets changed on the spot. She has the instinct to tell him that this isn’t appropriate behaviour, but she stays silent. He is thinner than she thought, and she can spot white scars all over his body. Is he not eating enough? He should be provided with everything he needs, no? Maybe he can’t cook? She should—she should ask. She should—she should offer to help him, if he doesn’t know how. She should offer to teach him, but before she can make a choice, he is dressed and he bows to her, clutching his old clothes to his chest.

“Thank you. Please let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”

And then he’s gone.

Cifera, she would’ve called after the girl, do you want some candy for the road?

But the Deliverer, she watches in silence.

“Agy,” Tribbie runs into her office. “We’ve lost contact with Snowy’s expedition group. Agy, we have to send someone!”

“When did we lose contact?”

“About a day ago,” Castorice supplies, “I know that wouldn’t be a problem normally, but the titankin activity has spiked recently. Reports close-by even spoke of the black tide coming closer. Lady Aglaea, let me and one of the triplets go. We will rescue anyone left, I swear to you.”

Yes, Castorice is always to be trusted. Aglaea looks down at her reports again. About four days ago, she had sent the Deliverer and a small party out, to scout for potential refugees. It wasn’t supposed to be difficult, and she partly sent the Deliverer so she would not have to see him for a couple days. His face makes her—it makes her question herself. She would have never sent Cifera on such a mission. And yet, she willingly suggested the Deliverer to go when she didn’t even know how skilled he is in battle.

She stands up. “We will all go. How far out are they?”

“Agy, no! Let’s use the Century Gate. We don’t want to lose someone else so quickly. It’s alright, we promise. Aren’t you worried?”

Aglaea hesitates. The Century Gate would be much faster, of course. But each use drains more and more of Tribios, and selfishly, Aglaea wants to keep her teacher as long as she can. But on the other hand, if the Deliverer is in trouble... wounded or otherwise, they have to get there quickly, especially if contact has been lost since yesterday. She hates the thought of having to use the Century Gate to get back and fro.

“If you’re sure, teacher... then let us make haste. Take us to the last coordinates that we have.”

Tribbie sighs in relief and Castorice nods, smiling. She, unlike Aglaea, has spent some time in the presence of the Deliverer. Aglaea never asks, and Castorice never tells, but she always smiles a little lighter on the days she’s seen him.

Tribbie opens a Gate, and the three of them step through. Aglaea doesn’t expect them to be gone for longer than two or three hours, and Garmentmaker can handle everything during that time.

“It should be around here somewhere,” Tribbie says and they look around. The place is desolate, with clear signs of recent fighting. There are no bodies though, so Aglaea has hope still. She rubs her fingertips against each other nervously and she remembers suddenly that she’s seen the Deliverer do something similar. She thinks of his marred fingernails again. She balls her fingers into a fist and they set out, following the trail of the fight. There is silence all around them.

“Look at all the dead titankin,” Castorice says and yes, she’s right. Countless titankin frame the way, but it’s so many; where did they all come from? This area wasn’t supposed to be so dangerous. If she’d known, she would’ve sent more people.

“Agy, do you think it’s a ploy again?”

Aglaea simply nods. She wouldn’t put it past the council. If anything, she’s surprised they haven’t tried to assassinate the Deliverer yet, but perhaps it was a wise move on the boy’s behalf to endear himself to the townsfolk so. To someone so public; they’d be careful to go against.

“Let us make haste,” she suggests, “while we still can.”

The tiankin soon get joined by black tide creatures. They find blood on the way, as well, but they’re unsure whether it’s human blood or not—it has dried into the soil already, and none of them would rather touch it. It hardly matters, regardless, because it is already spilled. It’s not golden, at least, and they breathe easier for it.

“Agy,” Tribbie calls her, “there’s a body.”

Aglaea closes her eyes in silent preparation, then she walks over. Among the monsters is one of the guards. She hopes he died quickly, and that none will join him, but she already knows it is a futile wish.

“There are more over here. Lady Aglaea, do you think you’d be able to provide me their names later?”

“Of course, Cas. Thank you.”

Handing a list of names to Castorice will never grow easier; on neither of them. Oh, how she wishes she never would have to again; and knowing it will only increase.

“Snowy isn’t among them. Let’s keep going.”

So forward they go. What would she do, if she found the Deliverer among the dead? Would she weep for him, like she would for Cifera? No... she knows the answer. She would weep for the Deliverer, not the boy that died. Oh, how cruel she has become. She doesn’t even know his name.

“I can hear fighting up ahead,” Castorice says and she readies her scythe. Aglaea doesn’t draw her weapon just yet, and she beckons Castorice to stand down, as well. Tribbie stays in the back, unfit for fighting. Breathing deep, Aglaea takes point and as they turn a corner, they see—bodies and bodies of titankin piled atop of each other, too many for this area, and in the middle stands a white-haired boy, pushing back the last remaining black tide creature with his sword. He screams, in rage and exhaustion, and he headbutts the creature, pushing it slightly off-kilter and he grabs his sword tight; old and dull as it is, and he slashes the monster in half with a strength Aglaea would not have expected from a body such as his.

The beast falls and the boy stands, breathing heavily, never loosening his hold on the sword he is holding.

“Snowy!” Teacher calls loudly across the battlefield and the boy flinches, turning around in their direction in a flash. Guarded, he has his sword raised, pointing it at them. His eyes are wide and unfocused, but as he starts to recognise them, he lowers the weapon and slowly, shakily, he makes his way over to them. He tries to be steady, Aglaea can tell. He’s trying so hard.

“You,” he gasps, out of breath, “are here?”

He’s covered in blood and sweat and dirt. His chest heaves with breaths he’s not allowing himself to take.

“Of course! When you stopped checking in, we grew so worried! What happened?”

He barely glances at Tribbie, before looking at Aglaea again.

“I,” he starts, then stops, calculating his words, “I’m sorry. I should’ve... I should’ve realised sooner. I couldn’t, I couldn’t save them. I’m sorry, it’s all, it’s all my fault. I should’ve told them to go when I realised, but by that point it was already too late. I will—I will personally go and apologise to the families. I’m sorry, Lady Goldweaver, I wasn’t—I couldn’t fulfil your mission. The refugees were dead when we arrived, and I underestimated the threat. I should have—“

He stops dead in his tracks when Aglaea steps forward and roughly pulls him into a hug.

“You live,” she breathes. His hair reeks somewhat terrible. Oh, she’ll need to wash him at least twice. “Forgive me, my little Deliverer. I should not have sent you all alone. I was unkind to you, ever since you arrived. My child, I promise to make it up to you. My little hero, will you tell me who you are?”

He is still in her embrace, and she feels his hot breath against her collarbone. Maybe he’s running a fever. She will accompany him to the healer personally. She’ll do better from now on, as much as she is able.

The boy’s sword falls to the ground and he lifts his arms slowly, unsure, to hug her back. She wishes he wouldn’t. She hasn’t earned it, but he still gives it to her.

“Phainon,” he whispers, “Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

*

“You were unkind to the Deliverer,” Mydeimos says and all she can do is bow her head. It is true, she can’t deny it. “I never would have thought; they way he speaks of you.”

“Phainon is a gracious man,” she agrees. “Better perhaps than what we deserve.”

Mydeimos turns his head away from her and stares at the sorry excuse of a flower crown in his hands.

“The Deliverer made a flower crown for me,” he says, “and he gifted it to me. He said—he said that the son of Gorgo may be crowned in flowers.”

The Son of Gorgo will be crowned in blood.

She has heard the detachment speak this line, and she had wondered how it affected Mydeimos. Not very well, by the looks of it.

“Is that what you wish?”

“Yes,” he answers after some hesitation. “I don’t want to lead my people down the same old path. So perhaps, this is the crown I deserve. I’m not very good at making them, however. I wish to weave a crown I could place on the Deliverer’s head and have it be worthy.”

“Well, not with these poor attempts in your hands, Mydeimos.”

“I am training—“

“Without a teacher? Don’t be ridiculous. Come, Mydeimos; let us weave a crown together. Between the two of us, I am certain we will create something worthy for Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

As she sits with the last king of Castrum Kremnos, her mind can’t help but wander to the Imperator. The almighty Imperator would never fall to anything but her own Imperator’s blade, stabbed straight through her heart, left to bleed out into the waters forevermore—as she sits here, all she can hope for; is that the King’s flowers will not suffocate his lungs and leave him to wither alone in a barren field.

May your Deliverer be the one to crown you, Aglaea wishes, and may you be the one that will forever make him smile.

Chapter Text

[Phainon]

Anaxa’s experiment blew up in my face

[Mydei]

Deliverer what are you doing

[Phainon]

I was assisting! It turns out golden blood and Dromas blood don’t mix very well. Don’t ask me what the point was, though. Something about Dromas superiority?

[Mydei]

HKS did you get hurt

[Phainon]

Hm? Oh! No no, I’ve been good! Well I nicked myself on accident. Hyacine already scolded me though, so don’t you start! I was polishing my sword and started day-dreaming

[Mydei]

Can you focus

[Phainon]

No not usually why

[Mydei]

Ugh when are you coming back

[Mydei]

?

[Phainon]

Soon soon don’t worry but Castorice is selecting books from the library and Anaxa makes her go through a two-hour procedure for every single one

[Phainon]

Do you miss me

[Mydei]

Don’t be stupid

[Mydei]

Did you touch yourself

[Mydei]

?

[Mydei]

Deliverer

[Mydei]

Deliverer

[Phainon]

[Image Attached]

Mydei taps on the image and promptly throws his teleslate in the air. Thank the titans he’s at home and not, like, anywhere else. He crawls over the couch and retrieves his teleslate, looking at the picture again. It’s, admittedly, a bad angle, but that’s to be expected.
The picture is of Phainon’s naked ass, and the hand not holding the teleslate is pulling is cheek apart a little, revealing Phainon’s favourite red plug nestled inside the hole. Now, either Phainon just put it in for picture purposes, he had that picture lying around for some reason or he’s been wearing it all day.

[Phainon]

You tell me

[Mydei]

HKS did you walk around like that

[Phainon]

What if I did

[Mydei]

You’re the fucking death of me

[Phainon]

Hehe =3

[Mydei]

Take it out
no more until you come back

[Phainon]

What!
But that’s unfair Mydeiii

[Mydei]

Do it Deliverer

[Phainon]

Ok fine! We should start our journey back the day after tomorrow I think
Aglaea isn’t texting me back is everything alright over there

[Mydei]

Yes Okhema still stands Deliverer she’s probably just busy

[Phainon]

Ok because I was gonna ask her if we should try to pick up some refugees on the way back because I think I heard something about them from the students so I wanted to ask if it’s ok if I go alone or if I should take the girls with me

[Mydei]

HKS you’re on vacation just enjoy your stay in the grove

[Phainon]

Okayyyy... if you say so!
ok I have to go Hyacine says it’s lunch time

See you soon miss you!!

Mydei breathes heavily through his nose. Fucking HKS. The things Phainon does will kill him someday. It’s been almost a week and even though they text almost every day, Mydei still misses the Deliverer. It’s too quiet in the city, and it’s hard to evade Krateros without a handy Deliverer at his heels.

He also misses Castorice. When they get back, they should do a—what did Phainon call it?—a video night, or something; where they watch videos together. Spending time with Aglaea and the triplets always drains him so—they’re adults, after all, and he gets less opportunity to goof around. Not that he ever does, it’s all Phainon, but he constantly feels like he’s on inspection.

Sighing, he gets up and decides to go outside. No point in wasting away alone in here; and if Phainon spoke true, the man might be back in less than four days.

Surprisingly, he meets Aglaea sitting at a little haunt; carefully sipping away at her beverage.

“Aglaea,” he greets her and only sits down after she invited him to do so.

“Mydeimos,” she responds, “how do you fare? The city is quite silent without Phainon, isn’t it?”

“Tell me about it,” he grunts, placing his arms on the table. He won’t pout. He wants to, but he won’t. “He texted me earlier. They might return within the week.”

Aglaea nods. “Yes, he tried to message me as well. I hoped by not responding he would get the message that he’s off-duty. If there truly are refugees in need of aid, I will send word.”

He nods. He’s thought so, but Phainon is the kind of guy that just can’t stop worrying.

“It’s quite rare to see you out and about, Aglaea.”

“I suppose so,” she agrees, “but even I can’t hole out in the baths all hours of the day. Also, Teacher said I should go out more often. Really… after a thousand years, she still treats me as if I were a child.”

He thinks that if another thousand years were to pass, she would treat Phainon no other way. Such is the nature of elders, he presumes, but keeps silent on it. Krateros, after all, keeps harping about the past as well.

“Mydeimos, if I might trouble you,” Aglaea says, “I have a request.”

He nods, urging her to continue: “I have received multiple reports about several members of the detachment causing trouble. No harm nor property damage has been reported, so I was able to put it aside for the moment, but I would like for you to interfere before it becomes a larger concern.”

Trouble? It’s no secret that a lot of the Kremnoans aren’t happy here. They yearn for battle and bloodshed, and the tranquility inside the city is ill-becoming for them. He keeps telling them they would be able to be sent out on mission if they were only willing to cooperate with the City Guard. They wouldn’t even need to join their rank, and yet—he sighs. 

“I understand. I will talk to them as soon as possible.”

Aglaea smiles at him, nodding in approval. “Thank you,” she says, “I’d rather not get the council involved in this.You know how they vie for the dismissal of your people.”

“You weren’t happy with us here, either.”

“No, I was not,” she admits easily, “and I’m sure you understand. Your people have been Okhema’s enemies for longer than you have lived; and your bloody past outpaces you. I feared it to be yet another tactic—to get inside our walls to destroy us from within. If it were not for Phainon, I would not have allowed your people to remain, even if it would’ve meant losing you for the flame-chase.”

It’s not nice to hear it, but he understands. Perhaps, in her shoes, he would’ve acted the same way.

“Let me find Krateros. He will know whatever is going on with my people.”

“Come by my office later, Mydeimos. I have things to show you, if you please.”

He nods, and stands up, making his way to where most of the detachment has pitched their tents. He hopes whatever trouble his people have found is easy to calm. He’s not very skilled in playing negotiator, after all.

“Krateros,” he calls when he finally spots his old teacher. The man is talking to some others, but quickly dismisses them when he sees Mydei approach.

“My Lord,” Krateros greets him, “it has been a while. Glory has been yours, I assume?”

Mydei doesn’t pull a face, but part of him wants to. The last mission he went to was entirely underwhelming and he doesn’t believe for one second that Krateros isn’t one of the first to know if he ever leaves the city. And on the same hand, his teacher also always seems to know what kind of mission Mydei had gone onto, so what’s that useless greeting?

“I hear there has been trouble. Explain,” he demands, looking just disinterested enough. Krateros stiffens and his jaw locks tight. Ah. So he had something to do with this trouble. Mydei wouldn’t be surprised if it had something to do with the Chrysos Heirs and the flame-chase.

“My Lord, I—”

“I don’t care for your excuses, Krateros. Tell me what happened; and why it happened.”

“Our people are restless, Mydeimos! Don’t you think this… this farce has gone on long enough? Why won’t we go home?”

Ah. So this is what this is. Krateros had never been a friend to the idea of going to Okhema for shelter and security. In fact, when Mydei had proposed the idea, Krateros had protested vehemently against it. In the end, of course, he had conceded, and Mydei had always worried that he might do something—unthoughtful. 

“We don’t know where Castrum Kremnos is, Krateros. If you wish to set out on your own, be my guest. Take whoever with you, if they wish to leave. I thought you understood that this is the end of this era, maybe even this world; and yet you still refuse to see Okhema as our allies? I have spoken to the Lady Goldweaver—should we make it out of here alive, then our relationship towards Okhema will change. You know my mind, Krateros. I’ve no desire for senseless conquests.”

“Conquests are in our blood! It’s what we are! And yet you dare to declare that we should change our ways? I knew, I knew, that this Deliverer is no good for you. He’s made you soft, Mydeimos. Or no, should I call you Mydei now? That boy—”

“Stop,” Mydei orders, “you’re out of line. Speak ill of the Deliverer or my allies again, may Nikador grant you mercy, because I will not.”

Krateros seethes, Mydei can tell. But he doesn’t care. Nobody gets to trashtalk Phainon other than himself.
“I never yearned for being king; but all of you wish to see me on the throne. If those are your wishes, then you will have to accept my ways, or leave Kremnos behind. I have chosen to ally with Okhema, and I have chosen to participate in their flame-chase journey. As for the Deliverer—you have seen him in battle, Krateros. You know even you would stand no chance against him. Speak ill of the Deliverer, and you speak ill of me. If there are things troubling you or our people—they can always address me or the Deliverer; and we will do our best. Our children already know, so it cannot be that hard, now can it?”

Krateros bows his head. Mydei knows the man is not satisfied, but that’s not his concern. If Krateros truly hates it here so much—well, nobody is holding him hostage. And even if they were to return to Castrum Kremnos, assuming they could find it, then what? All that’s left of their once splendid city are crumbling ruins. To rebuild it, they’d need resources; resources he’s sure his people would want to obtain through conquering other city states.
But this is the end of the world—who even has resources left? And what would be the point of rebuilding something, if the black tide is knocking on their door no matter what? Mydei is uneasy thinking about taking in the coreflame of Strife, because he fears his people will never walk a new path if he does; but at the same time he knows he has little choice in it. Phainon has spoken about his desire to obtain Strife, but then who bears the world? Aglaea indulges him, for reasons of her own he’s sure, and he’s also sure that she expects him to fail. It’s a cruel thing, he thinks—to allow Phainon something of his own, all the while you know he will never be able to reach it. 

“I understand, my lord. I… I will talk to our people. They will trouble the Okhemans no further.”

“Let them know to trouble me or the Deliverer, if they need to. If they are too prideful, let them send their children.”

With that, he walks away. He hasn’t actually found out what this trouble even was, but since no damage has been done, he assumes it was verbal assault. Phainon would lecture him about how words could cut deeper than any sword and Mydei would roll his eyes, shove the man and ask him if words could hurt more than that. After that, Phainon would kick him in the shin, and they’d be rough-housing on the floor.
Words could hurt more than any blade…

Mydei thinks of Phainon’s golden blood on the tiles, and he thinks. Maybe Phainon wouldn’t be wrong. After all, the words Phainon says then hurt far worse than the cuts in his flesh.
I only cut one thigh this time! Great, right?

“Aglaea,” he says when he enters her office, just like she’s asked.

“Mydeimos,” she greets him in return. “Were you able to resolve the issue?”

“ Well, I told Krateros to leave, if he were so inclined.”

“Truly, you are a brash one,” she laughs, “but if all went well, then I’m satisfied. Come around, I have things to show you. No worry, you will like it.”

Intrigued, he walks around her table and looks at what she wants to show him on her screen. She has her conversation with Hyacine opened, and there are—a lot of pictures that the healer had sent. All pictures of herself, Castorice, Phainon and a green-haired man—who Mydei believes to be this Professor Anaxa Phainon keeps blabbering about.
A picture with the tree of them, with Phainon holding the photostone, with the Grove behind them.
Lord Phainon ate all his provisions! Cassie was upset she couldn’t baby-bird feed him, though. He promised he’d forget soon, and then she could put her skills to the test. As a medic, I’m not sure humans should be fed this way, but as a friend I can’t wait to see it.
A picture with the three of them again, now with the professor forced into their midst. Mydei can tell the man goes for an annoyed look, but he wasn’t able to hide the fondness in his eye.
Lord Phainon insisted we show you all our pictures, even the ones with Professor Anaxa in them. But don’t worry, I won’t send them ALL to you… just the ones I like the most! Which will probably end up being still a lot of them… I wonder why Lord Phainon doesn’t just simply send them to Lord Mydei? I think his excuse is that I’m the one with the photostone, but… he carries it most of the time…
The next picture is of Castorice and Hyacine, grinning into the camera at some table, with used dishware still strewn about. Clearly they just finished their meal of the day, and Mydei even spots an empty plate sitting alone, suggesting that even Phainon finished his food. It’s not too unsurprising; he’s rather good at social eating. It’s that he forgets to do it when he’s alone, is the problem.
The next picture has Phainon and Hyacine sleeping on a sofa, with him sprawled over her lap, and that unicorn of hers sitting on his head.
Lady Aglaea, Lord Phainon snores… it sounds cute. Oh, Professor Anaxa didn’t say anything about Lord Phainon’s clothes, if you were worried about that…? He was surprised though that you allowed Lord Phainon to leave for a whole week, saying that you ‘slave’ him too much. I told him that that’s not true! And besides, Professor Anaxa is already roping us into his experiments…

“She’s right,” Mydei interjects, “your Deliverer does snore. I’m not sure if I’d call it cute.”

“Perhaps not,” Aglaea chuckles, “maybe you’d choose the word adorable, instead?”

The next few pictures are more of the same. It’s either all three of them—sometimes four, if they manage to drag their professor outside—or two of them, with different backdrops of the Grove. One picture has Phainon and Castorice offer up their gift to the professor on their knees: a dromas plushie, probably sewn by Castorice. Several pictures follow where this Anaxa’s face lights up and there are literal hearts in his remaining eye and he looks close to tears.
I think he liked our gift. Don’t you agree, Lady Aglaea? After this, he cuddled that thing the entire day and wouldn’t talk anymore. But he made sure we got whatever we wanted for dinner! He didn’t even mention the colours… maybe there’s hope yet for Lord Phainon!

“Perhaps I have to gift Anaxagoras plushies, then, for when he visits…”

“He can’t be that bad, no? Due to the way the Deliverer speaks of him…”

“Phainon is flawed, Mydeimos. We all have lapses in judgement.”

The next picture is Castorice and Hyacine posing with clothes they do not own. From a glance, it looks like they have raided Anaxa’s wardrobe. The clothes fit Castorice surprisingly fine, while they’re a little baggy on Hyacine.
The only thing Lord Phainon could fit in were the boots, and we really tried… we’ll make up for it by decorating him in make-up tonight!
And indeed, the very next picture was Phainon with prettily painted nails, likely by Castorice, and a completely over-caked face, courtesy by Hyacine.
Cassie and I clearly disagreed on what we were going to do. Lord Phainon’s nails are really short, do you think he’d apply salve if I give it to him?
Next up is Castorice and Hyacine pose with a disgruntled Anaxa. Mydei can’t tell where they are, but it looks like an office. In the next picture, Castorice is proudly holding up two books, but Mydei can’t tell the titles. The next three pictures are Hyacine playing with that unicorn of hers; and after that, it’s the girls sitting at a table, sewing something. It looks plain, but they angled themselves so you can’t tell what it is. Luckily, the next picture reveals it: it shows a beaming Castorice, holding up the two wooden sticks Phainon got her, but now there are—hand-like things on them?
We got Cassie hands! Now she can pat everyone!!
The next fifteen pictures were all of exactly that: Castorice using her new hand-sticks to pat and pet literally everything around her. Mydei can’t help but smile at that; she looks so happy doing all of it.
The next picture shows Phainon sitting cross-legged on a bed, eating noodles from a bowl. He doesn’t look up at the photostone, and he looks tired.
Sorry for no Phainon pictures lately! But he’s been sick the past couple days, so we asked Professor Anaxa to watch over him a little… I know, I know! That was a bad idea, but both are still alive! That’s all that matters! Oh, and tell Dei not to worry, okay? Lord Phainon just had a little fever, but he’s good again now!
Next are two pictures of a much-healthier looking Phainon, clearly taken in quick succession: the first shows the man gaze lovingly at his teleslate, and the next has him look up, having noticed the first picture, and he’s blushing furiously.
Hehe, just look how cute he looks when he’s texting Dei… even Little Ica can tell he’s in love! Do you think they’ll confess if we push them?
Mydei blushes.

“Yes,” Aglaea wonders out loud, “maybe we should push him a little. What are your thoughts on the matter, Mydeimos?”

The next picture might be Mydei’s favourite. It shows the three of them laying on some grass, in a circle, and they’re all holding hands together. That Ica creature sits square in the middle, raising its plump little hooves up above; and it’s obvious from the shadow falling mainly over Phainon’s body that Anaxa is taking the picture. He looks to Aglaea and catches her fond smile. He wouldn’t be surprised if she saved this picture somewhere specifically.
The remaining pictures are much of the same; most of them show two or even all three of them sleeping somewhere. Occasionally, Anaxa will also be present in the pictures themselves, either not looking up or being actively disturbed.
The last picture shows Phainon gazing into the far distance, a forlorn look in his eyes, but the softest smile on his face. The dawn coats him in a fiery light, and he looks ethereal, if Mydei has anything to say about it.

“I can send that picture to you, if you’d like.”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Aglaea.”

About four days later, the three of them return. Mydei isn’t at the gates; because Phainon didn’t text him exactly when they’d return, because Phainon is an asshole, so Mydei only finds out by accidentally running into Hyacine and Castorice.

“Lord Mydei!” Castorice greets him, looking happier than Mydei remembers seeing her. “How are you?”

“Oh, you’ve… you’ve returned already? Did the Deliverer forget to text me?”

“Maybe he wanted to surprise you?” Hyacine suggests and Mydei frowns. He doesn’t like surprises. He’d rather be told head-on, instead, but well, Phainon is a special brand.

“Maybe he’s already at home, waiting for you!” Castorice exclaims excitedly before tempering herself again. “I mean. Waiting for you to go to your own house, so he can visit you.”

“Of course,” Mydei sighs. They really are bad at this stuff, aren’t they? “Anyway,” he continues, “since you both are here, I had a… an idea. What do you think about a, what’s it called, a video night? The four of us at the Deliverer’s house? I haven’t asked him, but it’s not like he’d refuse.”

Hyacine claps her hands together in delight. “Of course!” She agrees willingly. “We’ll pick out some videos for us to watch, can you take care of the snacks? We could even surprise Lord Phainon with this!”
Mydei smiles and nods. He knows the three of them just spent over a week together, but he’s glad they seem so susceptible to his idea. He doesn’t feel left out, per se, but maybe he’s longing for a friend group again. He knows he could’ve gone with them to the Grove, but—that place isn’t for him. He’s hardly smart enough for the illustrious Grove, no matter how much Phainon might protest against that. Battle intelligence and scholar intelligence are quite different things. And that’s alright. He doesn’t need to excel in everything to be fulfilled—after all, his name isn’t Phainon.

“I will—text you later then?” He asks, a little unsure, but both girls nod. Good. That’s good. “I will go home, then, to see if—if the Deliverer has arrived. Goodbye, for now.”

The two of them bid him farewell, and Mydei turns back around, going straight to Phainon’s house. In no way would the Deliverer be in Mydei’s house, not after being away for so long. He’s probably upset that Mydei wasn’t there, sitting on a chair, just waiting to be surprised. Standing before the door, he sighs. Whatever. He can be nice, can’t he? He’s such a good boyfriend.

“Ah, I’m so lonely. Whenever will my Deliverer return,” he says in the most deadpan way possible to man as he enters the house. As predicted, something flies in his face immediately. He tries to remain stoic, because he has an image to maintain but he just can’t help himself when Phainon starts rubbing his cheek against his face.

“Never to fear, your Deliverer is here!”

Mydei huffs out a little laugh, and then he wraps his arms around Phainon, kissing his temple.

“That you are,” he agrees, “how was your trip?”

“It was good! We had a lot of fun. Oh, do you remember the chair I murdered for Castorice? We made like, hands for that, so now she can touch things better! It feels weird when she pats your head, but it’s better than nothing! What about you? Did you miss me~”

“HKS, of course I did. I only had Aglaea and the triplets for company. They’re not bad, but they aren’t exactly sparring partners.”
Phainon nods, thoughtful.

“Well, at least I’m back now~”

“That you are,” Mydei agrees and kisses him. Phainon wraps his arms around Mydei’s neck, pulling himself tighter, and Mydei’s hands start to wander. He’s missed the Deliverer, but his body still feels the same. He cups Phainon’s head and dips him backwards, pushing his tongue in the other’s mouth. Phainon sighs dreamily, and Mydei squeezes his hip.
Phainon then starts walking backwards, pulling Mydei alongside him and he guides them into the bedroom, where he bumps against the bed before sitting down on it, making Mydei bend over. He doesn’t mind, of course.

“Let me suck your dick,” Phainon breathes against his lips and well, Mydei is but a man. He pushes Phainon further on the bed and he climbs onto it himself, laying down against the headrest. Phainon is on him in an instant, nuzzling Mydei’s growing erection through his pants.

“Did you jerk off while I was gone?”

“No,” Mydei says, “only with you. Only ever with you.”

Phainon blushes and he gently unzips Mydei’s pants, letting his cock spring free. He’s half-hard already and under Phainon’s intense gaze, it won’t take long for him to fully grow hard. Ever the tease, Phainon kitten-licks the tip and Mydei lets out a long breath.
While Mydei likes swallowing a cock down to the hilt as soon as he can, Phainon has quite the different approach. The Deliverer prefers licking and teasing. For example, right now he’s simply dragging his lips over the sensitive head, breathing hot air against the flesh. His deft fingers wrap around the shaft, trailing up and down, while his tongue swirls around it, covering as little as he can stand. It drives Mydei crazy, and Phainon knows; which is why he’s doing it. Mydei is regulating his breathing, because he doesn’t want to blow his load so soon. It’s difficult, he’ll admit, when Phainon closes his mouth around the tip, suckling gently. He hasn’t even taken the whole head inside his mouth and fuck, Mydei knows if he were to look down, all he would be able to think about would be how cute Phainon looks.

“Deliverer…” he warns and Phainon hums around him. His fingers stopped their trailing, and instead gently wrap around him in a feather-light touch. Mydei bites his lip when he feels Phainon’s tongue licking along his slit and he sits up, grabbing Phainon’s hair. The man lets go and sticks his tongue out, as Mydei wraps his hand around his cock to jerk it off. Fucking asshole always makes him do all the work… he grunts and he comes, watching it apt fascination as Phainon catches his spend with his tongue. HIs dick twitches and he watches Phainon wipe it out of his face, looking up at him. He gets up a little, and he kisses Mydei, pushing his tongue straight in. Mydei groans, wrapping his arms around the Deliverer, pulling him back with him. The first few times, it’s been weird, tasting himself on Phainon’s tongue, but now he hardly minds it anymore.

“Deliverer,” he says again after parting and he can feel his cock twitch.

“Hmm,” Phainon responds and pushes Mydei on his back and leans over him, trailing kisses on his body. Mydei sighs in contentment and he relishes in Phainon’s soft fingertips trailing over his hot skin.

“Do you remember,” Phainon asks, “that hot day like two years back?”

Mydei thinks briefly before chuckling. “Yes,” he confirms then, “I think that thing is still in the closet.”

“It was really hot,” Phainon laughs, sitting up to undress himself. Two years ago, the heat in Okhema had been utterly unbearable for weeks on end. Phainon, who did poorly in heat anyway, had lamented his clothes, being covered head to toe. And one day, he had made the executive decision to wear something different—he hadn’t even asked Aglaea if he could—and he had gone outside, wearing just a light robe. Most of his chest had been uncovered—although the choker had stayed on—and he’d been flashing his thighs to nearly everyone in the Holy City. When Mydei had seen him, he had barely recognised him at first, until Phainon had spotted him, gleefully calling him over. At that point, they had been fucking for a while already, and Mydei had felt very possessive of Phainon and his thighs. So when he had seen the man—out and about, with thighs visible to everyone—Mydei had, admittedly, not thought with his right brain; and he had dragged the Deliverer off to an alley to slam him against the wall, fucking him right then and there. The thrill of discovery had only spurned him on, and based on Phainon’s barely suppressed moans, the Deliverer had felt it as well. He had accompanied him the rest of the day, and seeing Phainon press his thighs together to prevent himself from leaking had made Mydei fuck him so much harder later in their bed.
Mydei groans when Phainon sinks himself down on his cock. Riding him is definitely Phainon’s favourite position, and who’s he to argue?

“So big~” Phainon moans, breathing hard. He looks down at Mydei, licking his lips.

“And you’re so tight,” Mydei agrees, “always fascinating me how you take me so well each time.”

Phainon laughs and he bends forwards, pressing his hands against Mydei’s abdomen. He slowly starts rotating his hips, biting his lip.

“Just for you,” he breathes, “only ever for you.”

Mydei growls a little, reaching his hands out to grab Phainon’s thighs. He’d die for those thighs. He might be a little obsessed with them, but how could anyone blame him, when Phainon wears that thigh belt every single day?

“Ah,” Phainon moans, “right there, fuck, Mydeimos~”

While Phainon still does most of the moving, Mydei starts directing him a little. After all, he knows the Deliverer’s body better than himself, and he knows exactly how to make the man lose his composure. He bucks his hips up and Phainon arches his back, moaning like a bitch in heat.

“Mydei!” He screams. “Please, more… I need more…”

Mydei moves his hands to the man’s hips and after rotating his own hips for a little, he reverts their positions, and slams Phainon into the mattress. Phainon below him is definitely his favourite position, and who could blame him?
He leans forward and bites the man’s throat as he starts to move his hips. Phainon moans and wraps his legs around Mydei, trying to pull him deeper. Mydei, however, is relentless. He can feel Phainon’s hole clench around him and he’s missed the feeling. He can feel his cock twitch inside and he moves his mouth to the man’s shoulder to sink his teeth into. Phainon throws his arms around Mydei’s shoulders, his useless nails trying to scratch at the skin.

“Deliverer,” he breathes against the freshly-bitten shoulder, “do you ever want to switch?”

“Are you… are you really asking me that right now?? You are aware you’re balls deep inside me, right?”

“I… yes. I forgot, earlier.”

“Oh titans. Oh, Mydei, you idiot.” Phainon laughs, so that’s not too bad. But yes, maybe he should’ve waited, but what if he forgot again?

“Do you want to switch?”

“I don’t know,” Mydei admits, “but if you wanted…”

“I like the feeling of you inside me,” Phainon says, rolling his hips in demonstration. “I like how well you can fill me up… ah, yes, Mydei, right there… please… ah-ah—ah…!”

Phainon’s legs around him tighten and Mydei moves a little faster, aiming for just the right spot. Phainon grabs onto Mydei’s hair, pulling it harshly and he can feel the man’s hole tighten around his cock and he groans himself, being squeezed so tight he almost comes himself. But not yet. Not just yet.

“I love,” Phainon pants, “how you spear me open, ah, Mydei, fuck, you have, nnh, no idea… how much… ah, I ache for you… fuck, how are you, how are you so big… I love… how you, a fuck, too much, how you fill that void inside of me… Mydei please, please, fuck me—!”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He pulls out, almost all the way, until his tip just barely teases Phainon’s hole, before slamming all the way back in, pushing the air out of Phainon’s lungs. He won’t last long like this, but that doesn’t matter. It’s been so long, and he just wants to be here. Phainon pants and begs and Mydei can feel his dick twitching and Phainon is so tight, and he comes with a deep groan, deep inside of Phainon, and the man’s hands roam over Mydei’s shoulders, trying to hold on, just to eventually fall away.
Mydei slows his thrusts, being spent, and he slowly comes to a halt, but he doesn’t pull out.

“Let’s,” Phainon breathes, “let’s take a bath.”

Mydei nods, pressing a kiss against sweaty skin, and he slowly stands up, gathering Phainon in his arms.

“I think I have a future as a career waif, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes,” Mydei agrees, laughing, “you’d be the best at it.”

In the bath, Mydei opens the faucet, after which he places a towel down, so they can sit and wait for the water to warm up. He won’t sit either of their naked asses on tile.

“Was there any trouble while I was gone?”

“No—well, apparently there was some with the detachment, but I dealt with it.”

“Oh? Did something happen?”

“No,” Mydei shakes his head, “just some verbal assault, I believe. I told them they are free to leave, if they so desire.”

“I’ll talk to the council,” Phainon sighs, “there’s got to be something we can do.”

Mydei softly kisses the crown of his head. “Don’t worry so much about it. It’ll all work out.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Phainon laughs, “things could be good for a change.”

When the water has reached a nice enough temperature, Mydei places Phainon inside first, before following after him. Phainon immediately leans back into Mydei’s chest and he’s not one to complain.

“Wash my hair,” the bratty Deliverer demands and Mydei sighs. But he reaches for the soap regardless, getting Phainon’s hair wet, and then washing it.

“You’re good at this,” Phainon remarks and Mydei scoffs.

“Washing one’s hair is a basic skill.”

“You just can’t take a compliment, can you? Well then! Your nails are too long!”

Mydei hits him over the head from behind.

“I’ll send you back to the Grove, so that professor of yours can blow you up properly.”

“Ah… nobody loves me…”

Fed up, Mydei pushes Phainon’s head under the water and the man just laughs, and he reaches out, grabbing Mydei’s hair and pulling him down too. They don’t get a lot of washing done, in the end, but they leave the bath dripping wet. They chase around the house, naked as the day they were born, with Mydei giving chase to an escaped Phainon. Both of them laugh, not a care in the world, and when Phainon jumps over the sofa, Mydei catches him, falling backwards and as Mydei cushions Phainon’s fall, Phainon cushions Mydei’s head with his hand.
They laugh, still, the last warm remnant of it and they exchange small little kisses, breathing into each other. Mydei gently caresses Phainon’s cheek and the man leans into it, nuzzling.

“I love you,” Mydei whispers and Phainon lets out the smallest sigh, and his eyes sparkle. He doesn’t say it back, but he leans down, nuzzling his nose against Mydei’s in a sign of affection.

“I’m tired,” he says instead and Mydei just gently hums. He must have had a long day, after all, and there’s always tomorrow. He gently pecks Phainon’s lips, before getting up. He intertwines their fingers, and walks with Phainon back to their bedroom.

“Good night, Deliverer,” he says as they settle into bed, “we shall spar tomorrow.”

Mydei isn’t sure for how long he’s slept when something shakes him awake. The Dawn Device really is a problem for natural time-telling. He could’ve slept five minutes or five months, and he would never know.

“Mydei,” he hears Phainon’s soft voice behind him.

“What?” Mydei grunts. “There’s food in the kitchen somewhere.”

Phainon responds not at first, but his touch is feather-light. Mydei wants to go back to sleep, but something is preventing him.
Phainon leans forward and places something in Mydei’s open palm. Gruntling, he tries to determine what it is. It’s a little warm to the touch, so Phainon has probably held it for a spell before passing it over. It’s straight, too, and when he closes his hand around it—
He tears his eyes open and confirms that yes, it’s a knife. Blissfully, it is unstained for now. He sits up quickly and stares at Phainon who looks blankly ahead. There’s no blood, at least none he can see. He holds the knife tight and while he doesn’t quite get why Phainon gave it ot him, he is glad for it.

“Deliverer—”

“I want to cut myself,” he gets interrupted and all air leaves his lungs. They’re still naked, not having bothered to dress. They are still damp, because they had no mind to dry off after the bath. Mydei tries to regulate his breathing because he—this hasn’t happened before. Usually Phainon waits until he’s alone, and Mydei is left to find him in the aftermath. He doesn’t… he doesn’t know what to do. He could ask why. He could demand to be told the reason, but he doesn’t believe that there even is one. Things like this, he thinks, are beyond common logic. And even if there were a reason, he doesn’t believe that Phainon could tell him, in this state.

“Why give me this?” He asks, breathless, lifting the knife.

Phainon just shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I want to hurt myself.”
He’s fidgeting with his fingers, pulling at whatever remains of his fingernails. Mydei looks down. He could say No, he could put the knife away, and he could hold Phainon down just to be sure. He could deny Phainon this, and hope that this mood will have evaporated by morning. But…
He clutches the knife a little tighter. Maybe he will come to regret this. Maybe this will be a terrible choice, but… how many times must Phainon have felt like this; laying in bed with him only with the desire to hurt himself? How many times has he denied himself; how many times did he sneak out, give into his urges and clean the evidence away after; leaving Mydei none the wiser?

“Let me do it, then.”

“What?” Phainon asks, surprised, and he lifts his head. His eyes are still too dull, but there’s a spark of surprise in there. Whatever the man had expected to happen, this clearly hadn’t been it. Maybe he had expected to be scolded? Mydei doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the right course of action, but he—he’s chosen this path, and now he will walk it.

“Let me do it, then,” he repeats, gently taking Phainon’s wrist in his hand. “I cannot bear to see your pain—it hurts more than a thousand deaths. Let me do this for you, so you will not have to suffer it alone.”

He shuffles closer to the man kneeling in front of him and doing it on the bed is probably a bad idea, but he’s no mind to relocate. He bumps his forehead against Phainon and puts the blade against the thin flesh of his wrist. He’s never wanted to be the reason for scars on the Deliverer’s body. He breathes hard, swallowing through a dry throat, and he closes his eyes. He applies gentle pressure, and slides the blade along the skin. It barely bleeds, and he hopes that it’s good enough, but Phainon quietly reaches out, closing his hand around Mydei’s and brings the blade to his skin once more.
He makes him apply far more pressure and Mydei doesn’t protest, simply following the Deliverer’s lead, and he forces his eyes to stay open, so he can see it—can see the cursed blood spill forth.
I love you, he wishes to say, uselessly, but he doesn’t, because there’d be no point. As Phainon makes Mydei perform the same cut again and again, golden blood stains the sheet beneath them.

“I’m here,” Phainon says tonelessly, quiet against the bright night, “until the very end, I’m always here.”

He speaks as if Mydei is the one needing the comfort; as if it were not Phainon bleeding golden blood; dying deaths far worse than Mydei ever could experience.

“For tomorrow,” Phainon continues, “until the west wind blows forth the new dawn, I will always be the Deliverer.”

Chapter Text

Despite Mydei’s initial desire, he doesn’t spend the next few days glued to Phainon’s side. The man is like an ant: always working, always running. As he’s been gone for over a week, there are a lot of antiques that need appraisal, and everyone (Mydei assumes) has been missing the Deliverer’s live-streams. Phainon smiles and laughs like he usually does, but Mydei’s eyes keep glancing at the man’s wrist, safely hidden away from prying eyes. He does use his right hand a little less than usual, which probably indicates that the cuts have been a tad too deep, but since the man is ambidextrous, people don’t really notice. Mydei believes that he would notice, but how could he really tell? Phainon keeps everything close to his chest.

“Mydei!”

Mydei looks up from the pomegranates he had been inspecting to see Phainon run straight for him. The man barely manages to slide to a stop before him, huffing out some large breaths.

“Deliverer,” Mydei acknowledges him, “what’s the matter? Don’t tell me you saw a bird.”

“What? No! I mean yes, I did see a bird, it was really pretty but I had nothing to lure it with, so I just stared at it, making some bird noises, and then it flew away... do you think I offended it? No, wait, that’s not why I came! Why are you always distracting me? Anyway! There’s a lady selling some apples! You wanted to make, uh, apple tarts for the triplets, right? I couldn’t afford them, but I asked her to keep some for you! Come, come!”

Phainon lightly grabs his wrist and starts tugging. Mydei abandons the pomegranates, and willingly follows, because Phainon is right. He has promised Trianne some apple tarts, if he would ever get his hands on some apples. But the fact that Phainon remembered...

“Do you like apples, Deliverer?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, I guess? I mean, who doesn’t, right? Come on, Lady Trianne will be delighted!”

Hmpf, typical. He could’ve just said No, I actually like peaches better. But nooo, of course it could never be that simple. How is Mydei supposed to surprise him with his favourite fruit tart like that? Maybe he should try his luck by asking Aglaea, but it’s doubtful she knows, if he’s being honest. He sighs, and keeps getting pulled along.

The vendor doesn’t have many apples, but what she has will have to do. They’re not even that expensive, when he thinks about it. Right, Phainon’s coin purse has the biggest hole in all of Amphoreus. He can’t gain money as fast as he’s spending it. Aglaea once said that she put him on a budget, just for him to blow through it in less than two days. Ever since, she’s said, she needed to make sure he can get free food somewhere. Mydeimos’ arrival had apparently been a blessing, even if all he fed the Deliverer was slop.

“You will help me bake,” Mydeimos declares and Phainon blinks.

“But you never want to cook with me. You say I’m pretentious and all that. Picky.”

“You are,” he agrees, “but you will bake with me.”

Phainon shrugs. “Alright, fine. But I have you know, I never actually baked any bread. I just harvested the wheat sometimes, but mostly I just slept in it.”

Right. He’s a farm boy, it’s such an easy thing to forget.

“So you’ve always been a bum.”

“Hey!!”

“So, when you said you will bake with me, I thought you meant more than... me just kind of sitting here.”

Phainon is placed on the counter, perfectly seated so that he can watch Mydei do all the work. Phainon isn’t useless in the kitchen. He’s actually pretty good, provided he’s cooking for someone other than himself. If it were for himself only, he’d probably just scrape something out of the drain and call that a day. So, why does Mydei not utilise the man? Maybe it’s simple: when cracking eggs, he had been too slow. Mydei is not competitive about this usually, but Phainon had been too slow; and he had used his right hand on instinct.

“You are injured,” he states, “I don’t want blood on my tarts.”

“Ugh, are you still harping on about that? It’s already been two days!”

As if Mydei would believe for a single second that Phainon hadn’t put the blade against his own flesh again. Just once is never enough for the overachieving Deliverer.

“If I look at the bandage,” he says, “would I not see blood?”

Phainon, wisely, stays quiet. He swings his legs, trying to kick Mydei, but he’s too far away.

“I wouldn’t get blood in the batter, you know.”

Mydei sighs and puts his utensils down.

“I know,” he reassures, “it’s not about that. Your wound will not heal if you don’t give it enough time. Show me.”

Instinctively, Phainon presses his wrist against his chest, cradling it protectively. He looks affronted, as if Mydei ordered him to hack it off and eat it raw. He’s not a heathen. He’d allow Phainon to boil it first, of course.

“I just want to check it,” he presses, and Phainon sighs, clearly sensing he’s not going to win this one, so he reaches out his arm, going as limp as he can while still remaining upright. Mydei carefully slides the cloth off his hand and turns the arm around. Yes, he was correct: there’s dried blood on the bandage. Some of it is old, but there are also fresher patches. Mydei frowns. Did the Deliverer not change the bandages?

“When did you last change these?”

“Before I left the house,” the man answers after a while of silence and Mydei knows—Phainon had changed the bandages, but not before adding a new cut to his collection. He takes a deep breath, because anger isn’t going to get him anywhere.

“Alright,” he says as softly as he can, “go and get a new bandage. I’ll dress the wound for you.”

“But you’re baking, Mydei.”

“This is more important.”

Tarts can be re-made, even if it would be a shame for the apples. But there’s only one Phainon. Phainon curls his fingers, hesitating, and then he slides off the counter to grab the closest first-aid-kit. Until he returns, Mydei picks up his bowl again. No point in wasting time by waiting.

“Here,” Phainon returns, “it’s running low.”

Of course it is. It’s Phainon’s house, so of course it’s running low. Mydei never thinks about it, because if he did, he’d break something clean in half. He sighs, and turns to open the little box. Its contents sure are looking thin, but that’s alright. Everything he needs is still there. Gently, he takes Phainon’s wrist in his hand again and cuts the old bandage open just enough to remove it. The blood on his skin is smeared, with some darker and lighter patches and the cuts themselves have barely scabbed over, running all zigzaggy. He doesn’t mention it. He doesn’t mention it how there are more than the ones they cut together. All he does is take a swab, to gently dab the dried blood away. Like this, the cuts—they still look bad, but not as much anymore. Phainon hisses when Mydei puts a tiny drop of alcohol to clean the wound. On top of everything else, he doesn’t want Phainon to catch any blood sickness by accident.

“Hold still,” he reprimands without any real heat in his voice, and he doesn’t look up, either. He puts some wound cream on there, and then he grabs the gauze, wrapping the bandage tightly around the man’s wrist.

“Try to flex your fingers,” he orders and Phainon does. Good. It’s not too tight, it seems. The last thing he’d want to do is cut off the bloodstream.

“It feels so stiff. I can’t even bend my wrist properly,” Phainon complains and Mydei slaps his thigh.

“You’re not supposed to. Keep it even, and don’t bend it, if you don’t have to. Use your left hand as much as you can. Surely that’s not a problem, Deliverer?”

Phainon pouts. Sometimes, Mydei envies him for being so deft with both hands, and wonders if the man was born like that, or if he’s trained himself to be. Regardless, it’s impressive.

“Why do you even care so much? I’ve had worse, you know. If it upsets you so much, I won’t ask you again.”

“No,” Mydei is quick to say and he leans forward, pressing a kiss into Phainon’s palm. “I’m glad you asked me. You can do it every time, if you wish. I meant it when I said I don’t want you to carry that burden alone, Deliverer. I care about you; I care about you so much.”

Phainon reaches out his other hand and gently fondles Mydei’s braid again. Mydei goes still for a moment, and then he looks up. He tries really hard to not say anything when Phainon pushes his thumb into the braid, threatening to undo it.

“If he were here,” Phainon asks, “would you still care about me?”

“Of course,” Mydei is quick to say, but he moves away a spell, and Phainon’s fingers fall away from the braid. Nothing seems to have come loose, he is quick to check.

“How do you know?”

“Because I just do, Deliverer. What is it that you truly wish to say?”

Phainon looks down at him, and then he sighs, shaking his head slightly. He smiles, just a little, and pushes his feet against Mydei’s stomach.

“Nothing,” he deflects, “get back to baking. Just think of Lady Trianne’s face... Miss Castorice and Miss Hyacine might like some too! I’m not sure about Lady Aglaea, but I’m sure she wouldn’t turn down a princely pastry, wouldn’t you agree?”

What about you, Mydei almost asks, but doesn’t. Phainon just keeps smiling that small little smile he shows to everyone. The one where he closes his eyes, so nobody can tell that he doesn’t truly mean it.

The tarts are a hit with the other Heirs, but in Mydei’s mouth, they taste simply of ash and blood.

Phainon doesn’t eat a single one.

*

Hephaestion kisses him for the first time after a battle. Their victory was assured, but still hard won. His body is marred by several lacerations, but they hardly matter—he is undying, and he heals quickly.  He wishes to say that Hephaestion kissing him had come as a surprise, but it didn’t really—the man has always sat close to him, their hands almost always barely brushing against each other. Mydeimos never minded, and he is not opposed but... he didn’t believe his friend would act upon it. Mydeimos himself would’ve been content to remain as they have been.

“Hephaestion...”

“You want this too, don’t you, Mydeimos?”

His friend had stayed safe, and he had slain many enemies. Mydeimos had always been proud to stand next him, but kissing—it had never crossed his mind, if he wants to be honest. Again, he doesn’t mind, but... he’s unsure. Could he really act upon his own desires?

“It’s alright if you do, you know?”

Hephaestion’s hand is gentle on Mydeimos’ chest and he wonders. Maybe it really is. After all, he is in exile, so he’s just another warrior, isn’t he? It doesn’t matter that the entire detachment follows his lead. He has friends. He has a teacher. He could have a relationship, too. He knows that same-sex mingling is frowned upon in a few city states, but Kremnos has never cared much for it, and Mydeimos hardly cares, either.

So, he softly cups Hephaestion’s face in his hands and kisses him. Dead bodies of enemy soldiers and titankin surround them, they are both smeared in blood, and still this kiss is the gentlest thing Mydeimos has ever known.

He and Hephaestion have often shared a tent before. He, initially, hadn’t wanted a tent at all, being used to the outside, but all his friends have insisted and he simply gave in. Royal treatment, they had joked with laughter in their hearts and Mydeimos couldn’t find it in himself to be upset about it—they were joking with him, and it had meant the world. He was no longer alone, and people cared enough about him as a person that they would joke on his behalf.

“We don’t have to,” Hephaestion says, leaning back after having kissed Mydeimos for the last five minutes. His hand rests comfortably on Hephaestion’s waist and he just looks at him. He knows where this is going. It’s simply...

“I’ve never done this before,” he admits. He has heard other men speak of this act in shame in camp before, particularly if they had not done it themselves yet. Personally, he’s not sure what the fuss is about. After all, a young warrior does not shame himself for not landing a killing blow, do they? He’s not sure, he was born killing.

“We can go slow,” Hephaestion offers, “only with what you’re comfortable with.”

“What do you want?”

Hephaestion laughs. “I don’t really want slow, but—I’m flexible. Have you touched yourself, Mydeimos?”

He tilts his head. Yes, of course he has. Doesn’t everyone touch themselves at some point? It’s only natural to wring your hands, or scratch your neck, isn’t it? He finds it hard to imagine a world where you would never touch your own skin.

“I mean,” Hephaestion chuckles, placing his hand on Mydeimos’ groin, “down there.”

“Yes,” Mydeimos replies without hesitation, “for urination.”

Hephaestion blinks and then leans his head forward, laughing. “Oh, Mydeimos, what a king you’ll be. I’ll never tire of your Kremnos, I already know.”

He is confused. What else could Hephaestion possibly mean?

“For pleasure,” his friend then specifies, “or have you never had the urge?”

He thinks. There have been times where his pants had pitched and he had felt weirdly uncomfortable. Usually it would go away on its own after a while, so he’d just wait it out. Perhaps this is what Hephaestion means?

“No,” he admits, “I think I know what you mean, but I have never—touched it. Am I supposed to?”

Hephaestion smiles and nods. “That’s alright,” he says, “do you want to try?”

He’s not sure. He nods anyway. If it’s Hephaestion, then he can trust whatever he wants to do. The man is his closest friend, his most steadfast ally in battle. Nobody could ever take that spot away from him; and Mydeimos wouldn’t want anyone to, either. Hephaestion nods and gently undoes the fittings of Mydeimos’ pants and reveals the soft cock lying between his legs. Mydeimos has never thought much about it; neither size nor girth, but he knows other men do—Leonnius in particular likes to boast, and it’s usually Hephaestion that calls bullshit on him. Hephaestion gently blows on his own hands and upon seeing Mydeimos’ questioning gaze, he smiles: “To get them warm. It’s not pleasant with cold fingers, you know?”

With warm fingers now, Hephaestion gently wraps his fingers around Mydeimos’ length. It feels weird, having someone else touch it. It’s not unpleasant, because it’s Hephaestion, but it’s strange nonetheless.

“I’m actually not very good at this,” Hephaestion laughs, “so please let me know if you don’t enjoy something.”

“It’s,” Mydeimos replies, “strange. But I do not dislike it.”

Hephaestion squeezes his hands and starts rubbing Mydeimos’ dick. He watches and he feels... something hot pools in his belly and he can see his dick hardening. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but he isn’t used to it either. It doesn’t feel bad, and he’s not sure how it feels. His breathing is starting to become laboured and he involuntarily rocks his hips back and forth. He tries to keep his eyes open, but they keep falling shut. He wants... he wants something, but he doesn’t know what it is.

“Hephaestion,” he breathes, but no sentence follows.

“I know,” his friend soothes him, “just let go, Mydeimos. Don’t be ashamed.”

Mydeimos closes his eyes and tips his head back, biting his lip. He’s not too sure what Hephaestion means with let go but he trusts his friend more than anything. His breathing comes hard and this strange heat is coiling tight in his groin. Maybe... he could let it go? He stops trying to hold it back and focuses on Hephaestion’s deft fingers stroking him and he groans deep when he feels his dick twitch; and the tight coil inside finally unfurls itself.

He opens his eyes to the ceiling of the tent and he breathes quickly, exhausted even though he moved not a muscle.

“How do you feel?”

Mydeimos blinks and pushes out a long breath. Collecting himself for a brief moment, he swallows and turns his head towards Hephaestion. He’s still slightly out of breath, and maybe that’s a little concerning. However, he doesn’t feel bad. It’s a little like the smallest training he’s ever done. He can feel his heart calm down again already.

“It was... weird. I can’t describe it properly, but I didn’t... I didn’t dislike it.”

Hephaestion laughs and nods. “That’s good, then. As I said, I’m not very skilled at this. But if you liked it, we can train together.”

Mydeimos stares at him a moment. “You do not do this to yourself? From the way you spoke before, I thought it is possible?”

Hephaestion stammers a little, which is unusual. He wipes his hand on some nearby cloth and he looks oddly uncomfortable. Did Mydeimos say something wrong?

“...yes it is, but I am... lacking the ability.”

Now Mydeimos is even more confused. “You seemed knowledgeable about it before. Does it not apply to yourself?”

Hephaestion lets out a big breath, then he turns to Mydeimos, smiling.

“I... how about I show you? It’s hard to say.”

Mydeimos nods, and crosses his arms in waiting. Hephaestion gestures to him to close his eyes, so Mydeimos does. To be honest, he doesn’t quite get the fuss. If something is wrong, Hephaestion should just say so. Mydeimos will not think less of him, no matter what. He hears the rustling of clothes, and he supposes that Hephaestion undresses. Hm. Come to think of it, the man has never bathed with them. Mydeimos believed his illness might be the reason, but what if it is something different?

“Open your eyes, Mydeimos.”

His voice sounds unsure, timid almost. Mydeimos opens his eyes and looks at Hephaestion. As he suspected, the man sits before him bared and he feels his eyes wander. It’s the friend he knows. His body bears the scars of their battles, and it is the body he knows best. On his chest, his breast has a subtle swell to them; and between his legs sits a soft mound. He drags his eyes upwards again, meeting Hephaestion’s gaze. The man looks uncertain.

“I see,” Mydeimos replies. It makes sense. How would he bring pleasure to himself like he brought to Mydeimos if he lacks the necessary parts for it?

“So you do,” Hephaestion says, still quiet, “do you think less of me now?”

Mydeimos frowns, not understanding. He shakes his head.

“You are my brother; my comrade in arms, Hephaestion. On this world and the next, there is no one I trust more than you. I do not know what reaction you wish from me, but you will always be the Hephaestion I know. Although I understand now why you refuse to bathe with us. Leonnius can be grating to listen to. I always envied that you were able to escape the telling of his escapades.”

Hephaestion blinks, and then he laughs. “Only you, Mydeimos,” he says, scolding, “only you ever could.”

Mydeimos tilts his head. He doesn’t understand. If Hephaestion wants something in particular, he should just say it. He can’t read minds, after all. His friend comes closer now, ghosting his fingers over Mydeimos’ skin. He comes to cup Mydeimos’ cheek and he kisses him again. Mydeimos closes his eyes and embraces Hephaestion, and he slowly leans back, lying down on his bedding. They do not part; and they spend the night in a tight embrace.

Mydeimos sleeps, and hopes that he will never have to let Hephaestion go.

“Mydeimos, go be king... and lead our people home.”

*

“Watch your left,” he says as he oversees the training ground. Some of the younger warriors have sheepishly requested a training session, but Mydei quickly realised that his fighting style wasn’t going to help them. And so, since Phainon is everywhere, he stepped in. The young warriors win if they manage to land a hit on Phainon—at which they had scoffed, initially, but now, two hours in, they are starting to regret it. Phainon hasn’t even started to sweat yet, and the grip on his sword is still somewhat loose.

“Deliverer,” he calls and Phainon looks over, smiling, like they were meeting at the market. The warriors clearly see this as their chance and they move to seize it, but Phainon is faster—with just a brief glance, he grabs one guy’s wrist and uses him as a makeshift weapon, throwing him into his friends behind him. There is a reason Mydei chose Phainon to be his sparring partner.

“Take note,” he addresses the bowled over group, “on the battlefield, even if something distracts you, never lose sight of your enemies.”

“Oh, Mydei, don’t be so hard on them! They weren’t half-bad, you know?”

“Did... did we make you sweat, Lord Phainon?”

Phainon had walked over and offered his hand to help them back up. At the question, he blinks, eyes quickly flitting around.

“Sure,” he then lies smoothly, “I’m sweating buckets. Keep at it, yeah? Never pick fights you can’t win—it’s better to retreat and fight another day, yeah? Can’t win any battles if you’re dead, we can’t all have an indestructible body like Mydei.”

“HKS,” Mydei adds when he joins them, “you’re the only person obsessed with my body.”

“Well, can you blame me? How could I not notice such a conspicuous body like yours? Besides, that Krateros keeps flaunting all your victories in my face... makes me imagine you body-slamming into a row of titankin.”

“I might have done so, yes—is Krateros bothering you?”

“Bothering me? No, no... but I don’t think he likes me very much. He keeps challenging me to a duel, but he’s an old man, and he insists on life-or-death, and I’d rather not do that to our allies, you know?”

Mydei groans. Stupid old man, thinking that only a Kremnoan could be worthy of Mydei’s affection... he’ll have to confront the man about it. But not now. Preferably, not ever, honestly. He grabs Phainon’s hand, intertwining their fingers because he’s a sap, and he starts pulling the man forward. It’s way past lunch time and Phainon had left this morning before Mydei even woke up, so he knows the man is running on empty air and prayers.

But first, he pulls the man into a secluded alcove to kiss him.

“Oh... to what do I owe that?”

“You did good,” Mydei breathes against Phainon’s parted lips, “in the fight. Wish I could’ve been the one to fight you instead.”

Phainon laughs when they part again. “Oh, if you had... we would’ve ended behind the weapon’s rack again, wouldn’t we?”

“Hmm... don’t pretend you wouldn’t have enjoyed that.”

Phainon laughs again, placing his hands on Mydei’s shoulders as he starts pressing small kisses to Phainon’s throat. They have had sex on the training grounds before. To be fair to themselves, it had been after an impromptu training session deep into the night because Phainon had bad nightmares that day and wouldn’t open his mouth about it; and Mydei couldn’t just keep sleeping next to a tossing and turning Phainon. When Mydei sleeps, he doesn’t move. His late friends jokingly told him that he slept like he was dead, and he’s kept that attitude. So, naturally, the best course of action had been to sneak out at night, bash their heads in, and then accidentally fuck each other’s brains out—as one does, obviously.

Phainon’s stomach grumbles and Mydei suppresses a chuckle against Phainon’s clavicle.

“Let me buy you lunch, Deliverer.”

Phainon pouts, but doesn’t object when Mydei pulls him alongside him. He wisely avoids the antique shop, because Phainon forgets all his bodily needs when there’s a new ancient vase on display.

They are lounging on the sofa, and Mydei is nervous. Castorice and Hyacine will come by today for the video night, and while Mydei organised enough drinks for everyone, he couldn’t stock up on quite enough food, so he had to bother the girls to bring some as well. He offered to pay, but he got harshly refused. Phainon still is none the wiser; and currently the guy is sprawled over Mydei’s lap, looking at the Weave, or his various antique forums—Mydei hasn’t really ever bothered to ask. His fingers are idly rubbing at the Deliverer’s neck, playing with the hairs there.  If he continues like this for just a little longer, chances are good that Phainon will fall asleep like this. Mydei is checking the clock, and the girls should arrive soon.

“You should choke me,” the insanity of a boyfriend then says out of nowhere, like saying it’s nice out.

“...what.”

“In bed. You should try it. I think I might like it.”

Phainon doesn’t move. He doesn’t turn, he doesn’t lift his head, and he keeps scrolling on his teleslate like nothing’s happened. Mydei’s fingers stop moving and he stares down at the man in shock. After all this time, he keeps thinking he’s seen it all. Clearly, he’s wrong.

“You. You just had a panic attack yesterday, where you almost choked to death and now you want me to choke you?”

“Yeah,” Phainon easily agrees, like that’s a normal thing to say. “It was just scary because it came so suddenly. I’m usually better with my panic attacks, so I thought if it were you, it might be sexy.”

“You’re taking me into an early grave, Deliverer. But yeah sure fine, let’s try it, what could possibly go wrong?”

Phainon wiggles in his lap happily. What the fuck even is his life. He needs to stop his enabler-ism. This is getting out of hand. He knows he’ll fail. But he’s had determination, at least.

There’s a knock on the door and Phainon sits up slightly. He frowns, looking at Mydei.

“Am I expecting something? Aglaea would’ve messaged me before coming over to scold me, right?”

“Why don’t you check,” Mydei suggests, hoping he’s not stiff as a board. Phainon’s frown deepens, but then he shrugs and gets up, moving to the door. Mydei lets out a silent breath, and then he follows closely behind Phainon. The Deliverer notices and shoos him to the side, but Mydei just stands there, crossing his arms. He’s kissed Phainon in public twice, and he will probably do it again. There’s only so many times people can’t notice. Chartonus even mentioned it—asking if there’s any jewellery Mydei would like for Phainon. Rings are a little unhandy for warriors, but Mydei has been thinking about it. He has no second thoughts, but—he’s been thinking about it. He imagines that Phainon would say Yes. He would, wouldn’t he?

“Miss Castorice! Miss Hyacine! What are... what’s that?”

“Food!” Hyacine helpfully supplies, shoving the bag they brought into Phainon’s arms. Then she takes initiative and pushes her way in, Castorice following closely behind her, closing the door. Phainon, perplexed, stares at the bag in his arms.

“Huh? I have... I have food. I promise! You can check the pantry...”

Helplessly, he looks to Mydei who just smirks.

“Castorice, Hyacine,” he addresses them, “I’m glad you could come.”

“No, no,” Castorice says, “thank you for inviting us.”

“Huh? Inviting you? For what? This isn’t an intervention, is it? I’ve been good, haven’t I? Oh, and Mydei is here because, uh... wait, Mydei, why did you invite them to my house without asking me first?!”

He shrugs. “Do you object?”

“Well, no, but...”

“Then it’s settled. I invited them for a video night. If it opposes you, Deliverer, my house is currently empty.”

Phainon almost starts to speak, but then decides to pout instead. “Asshole,” he mutters under his breath as he shuffles into the kitchen. Mydei directs the girl to the sofa and tells them to get comfortable, as he follows Phainon into the kitchen. He’s placed the bag on the counter and rummages through it, inspecting its contents. Mydei comes up behind him and places a kiss on his neck.

“Don’t pout, Deliverer, it’s unbecoming of you.”

“Hmpf,” Phainon responds, debate-style, “you could’ve warned me. If Castorice tells Aglaea how I dress at home, she’ll have my head.”

“You look fine.”

“They’re your clothes, of course I look fine.”

He sighs and leans back into Mydei. “I guess it’s nice,” he concludes then, “you must’ve been pretty lonely while we were at the Grove, huh? But video night... did you pick any?”

“No, the girls did. Help me with the food, and we can spend a nice evening together.”

Sighing loudly, and protesting a pretty token, Phainon does.

The videos the girls brought were of a variety. Mydei has been expecting some romcoms, and he hasn’t been disappointed, but Hyacine also brought a lot of horror videos with her which is... odd, giving how she and Phainon cling together in fear and terror the entire time. At some point they even hide under a blanket until Castorice tells them it’s safe to come out. Children, the lot of them, really. Mydeimos is the only responsible adult he knows. How this group achieves anything is beyond him.

“Mydei did you see?! The monster had two mouths!”

“Yes, Deliverer, I did see, I wasn’t hiding under a blanket.”

“Cassie, those spiders-creatures were so scary...”

“Why did you pick the video then, Hyacine?”

At some point, Ica and Phainon fell asleep. The little unicorn is snoring impressively on Hyacine’s lap, while Phainon is putting in work for tomorrow’s neck pain on Mydei’s shoulder. Deciding to not wanting to deal with that, he man-handles the Deliverer into his lap and wraps him in a blanket.

“I had fun,” Castorice says, “I wish we would do this more often.”

“I don’t see why not?” Hyacine replies, gently petting her unicorn. “Maybe next time we can go to your house, Cassie. You could show Lord Phainon and Lord Mydei all the plushies you’ve been sewing!”

Castorice blushes and she quickly hides her face in her hands.

“I’m sure the Deliverer would be delighted,” Mydei reassures her, “and I’m sure since they were made by you that their quality is pristine.”

She slowly peeks at him behind her fingers, face still flushed. “I—If Lord Mydei think so, then maybe it would be alright... I’d be happy to. Maybe we could invite Lady Aglaea and the triplets too, next time?”

“That’s a great idea!” Hyacine supplies. “We could all use a break. Speaking of—Lord Phainon is alright, isn’t he? I’m so unused to seeing him sleep so early... normally I have to scold him to go to sleep in time.”

“Yes,” Mydei tells her, even though he thinks alright is maybe a tad too far, but Phainon hates worrying her. “He simply didn’t sleep well last night, that’s all. He’ll probably wake up again later—if I’m lucky, he’ll spare me.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Hyacine continues, “are you two officially together now? On our way to the Grove, Lord Phainon couldn’t help himself but curse your existence and lament your absence in the same breath.”

Mydeimos doesn’t blush. He is a warrior, he is battle-hardened, and he has quite literally conquered death. He stands tall and victorious over every encounter. He is Mydeimos the Undying, the Son of Gorgo, and the last king of Castrum Kremnos.

“I love him,” he mumbles into Phainon’s soft hair, “but he has not said it back.”

“Aww,” Hyacine coos, “don’t worry, Lord Mydei! He talks about you all the time! Even Professor Anaxa started to complain about the frequency!”

Mydei tries to hide behind Phainon’s head, who remains blissfully asleep.

“She’s right, Lord Mydei,” Castorice pipes in, “Lord Phainon is so much happier around you.”

“You’ve known him for a long time,” he says and Castorice nods. “Aglaea… told me of his arrival.”

“Oh,” Castorice replies, blinking. “Lady Aglaea regrets her behavior dearly. Lord Phainon has always been a delight on the city—and on me, too. He’s always going to be my first real friend.”

“And now you have so many more!” Hyacine laughs. “Me, Lord Mydei, Professor Anaxa… your list keeps growing, Cassie!”

Castorice laughs, nodding in agreement. “Ah, maybe we should go. Since Lord Phainon is asleep—and it is rather late. Lord Mydei, why don’t you bring Lord Phainon to bed, and me and Hyacine start cleaning up?”

“You don’t have to,” Mydei replies, gathering Phainon in his arms. “I can do it later.”

“Nonsense!” Hyacine argues. “We’ll help, so we’re done faster. Don’t worry, Lord Mydei, we’ll be the fastest cleaners in all of Amphoreus!”

Mydei just nods and stands up, Phainon safely bundled up in his arms. The man moves his head a little, but doesn’t wake up. Carefully, Mydei carries him into the bedroom and places him on the bed. He considers briefly about undressing him but then he decides against it, going to help the girls clean instead. With the three of them, it is done quickly, and he bids them farewell. Hyacine tells him that he and Phainon should pick out videos for the next time and that they’ll convene about the time later. Mydei nods, already thinking about what videos might be appropriate.

He closes and locks the door—a habit Phainon never really picked up properly. He leaves the house unlocked all day sometimes, as if he hadn’t amassed so many antiques that he holds so dear. Honestly, if someone were to rob him, it’d be the easiest heist in the world.

“Mydei,” comes Phainon’s voice from the bed and Mydei hurries over. His voice is sleepy, and he must’ve just stirred from some noise.

“I’m here, Deliverer. Hush, just go back to sleep. Castorice and Hyacine have left already, it’s late. Do you need anything?”

Phainon pulls a face. He takes Mydei’s arm in his hand, trying to pull him into bed.

“In a moment, you glutton. Let me undress first.”

Phainon pulls a deeper face. “No… I don’t want sex tonight. Just come.”

Mydei rolls his eyes. “Not for that, HKS. I’m getting comfortable, is all.”

“Oh… okay then. Hurry.”

Hit him with a bat. Shut him up. Sometimes Mydei indulges in fantasies like that. But nonetheless, he undresses and quickly washes down before joining Phainon, who has almost drifted off again.

“Move, HKS, I need some space.”

“Your body is too huge,” Phainon mumbles. “You’re huge.”

Titans preserve him. This man will give him grey hair. Maybe that’s why the Deliverer was born with white hair. It foresaw the future and preemptively decided to give up. Honestly, he can’t fault its decision.

“HKS, we’re basically the same size. Stop hogging the bed.”

So he shoves the Deliverer a little, so he can fit on the bed too. It’s his bed, too, even though it’s not technically, but the lion does not concern himself with technicalities.

“Mydei,” he gets woken up—hours or minutes later. His hand is empty and for a moment, he is glad.

“What? Are you hungry?”

“No, I’ve… I’ve been thinking about tomorrow.”

Mydei huffs. “We can spar, if you want. It’s been a while. The children have also asked after you.”

“Oh yeah? That’s nice… but not that tomorrow. I meant—I meant tomorrow. You know, there are basically no records of those that came before us. So… what purpose does tomorrow serve, if it will simply end just like today? What if—what if deliverance is a lie?”

Mydei is not the right person to talk to about this. He has his own problems with the flame-chase, but all his problems center entirely around Strife and the connections it has with his people. Tomorrow, in his head, has never been his problem to fix—all he can do is make sure that it has a chance to exist.

“I’ve been dreaming again,” Phainon continues and Mydei realizes that he might not need to answer, after all. “I’ve been dreaming of carrying a boulder atop a mountain, larger than the sky, but… just as I almost reach the top, just as dawn—tomorrow—is about to break, the boulder falls, and rolls all the way down, and I’m left with no choice but to make the trip all over again.”

“Why must you carry the boulder at all?”

“I… I don’t know, but I must. I’m sure if I told Lady Tribbie, she would probably say it’s my insecurities about world-bearing… you know, a long time ago, Cyrene—Cyrene read my future and essentially she’s said she wished I didn’t have to exist. But… but anyway, that dream isn’t that. It’s not about my duties or about being Deliverer, it’s… that boulder, it doesn’t feel like me. Have you ever watched yourself in a dream? Like, the person looks and acts just like you would, but you just know it’s not you? It reminds me of that dream where I kill myself. He is I and I am him, and what does the distinction really matter in the end? I walk away, and he is dead. I die, and he lives. But it does matter, because—it’s the same, but it’s different. Who dies matters, and it matters who walks away, even if it’s the same person.”

“The person who walks away,” Mydei asks quietly, “would you trust him?”

Phainon is quiet for a long time. Mydei almost believes he won’t answer anymore, so he is on the cusp of falling asleep again.

“I don’t know,” Phainon admits. “But I would always choose to kill him. And he will always choose to carry the boulder.”

Mydei falls to slumber. He doesn’t hear the rest.

“If the boulder is a lie, then the mountain simply has to burn.”

Chapter Text

“Nnn…!”

“Shh,” Mydei replies, pushing his fingers in deeper. “You don’t want anyone to catch us, do you?”

“Mmmh!”

The alley is way off the beaten path, and it leads nowhere. It hardly serves as a shortcut to anywhere and frankly, Mydei wonders what city planner laid this city out. Well, maybe the alley leads in the direction of the sewers, but who’d want to go there, anyway? So, in short, it’s the perfect place for some public indecency.

He and Phainon had just recently returned from a mission—originally Mydei had been supposed to go alone, but he had asked Aglaea to send Phainon along: the man had been doing badly the days prior, and Mydei had been uneasy with leaving him. Now, after coming back, Phainon’s mental state seems to be back to the usual stable levels of instability, and that’s got to be good enough.

“Doing good, Deliverer, you think you can take a little more?”

It’s fruitless to ask, really, with Mydei’s fingers deep inside Phainon’s mouth, pressing down his tongue. Phainon is pressed chest-first against the wall, and he is utterly exposed. His little pink nipples are standing firm, and the arch in his back really highlights the rounding of his backside. His cock is twitching uselessly between his legs, leaking onto the ground beneath them, just always narrowly missing Phainon’s shoes. Mydei is standing behind him, fully clothed, and he is slowly pushing their new rigged dildo inside of Phainon’s hole. It’s the biggest one they own yet, and Phainon had been excited to try it out.

“One day,” Mydei whispers close to the shell of Phainon’s ear, “I’m going to fuck you while there’s still a dildo inside of you.”

Phainon reacts immediately with a needy whimper and a thrust of his hips. Mydei swallows hard and breathes hot air into Phainon’s ear. Mydei bites his lip to hold back because that was not quite the reaction he’s been expecting. But that’s good to know.

“Oh?” He says, hoping to sound raunchy. “Good to know what you think about it.”

Phainon just shakes his head, blushing fervently and he bucks his hips back into the dildo Mydei is lazily moving in circles. To be honest, Mydei had never thought about doing that before. How does one even go on about this…? Something small, of course. Maybe they start with the smallest dildo they have? And of course, he’s going to prep Phainon for so long that the Deliverer will start whining; and then some.

He presses the dildo a little further in. The plan is to fuck Phainon silly with it, and then make him wear it for the rest of the day. That’s not too tall of an order; the day is almost over anyway, with the last big thing being dinner. Now, normally Mydei would cook whatever slop Phainon deserves to eat that day, but due to these… special circumstances, he’s decided that they will go out. Hmm, maybe he should change his plans and edge Phainon instead…? Mydei gives in way too easily, so maybe teaching Phainon some restraint would be a worthwhile thing to spend his time on.

Phainon’s legs are quivering and Mydei can tell he’s holding himself back from moving. He’s almost proud, but that’s just borderline etiquette now, is it?

“Good boy,” he purrs, if only to hear Phainon whine around his fingers. “Hold yourself back for me, will you? You get relief when I tell you.”

Phainon moans in protest and shakes his head, but changes it to nodding real quick when Mydei starts pulling the dildo out. Smirking, Mydei starts pushing it back in, one tiny inch at a time until he meets resistance. Hmm, there’s still a little bit to go… he wiggles the base a little, having Phainon sob pathetically until the dildo bottoms out. Phainon’s entire body shakes, trying to adjust to the size. To be honest, Mydei is almost jealous of that thing. Gently, he drapes himself over Phainon’s back, using his now free hand to roam over his upper thigh to then rest on his belly.

“Can you feel it?” He asks. “All the way inside?”

Phainon whimpers, nodding fervently. His breathing is labored and he turns his head a little, trying to look at Mydei. He can’t completely, because Mydei uses his fingers to pull his face back. Phainon is so pretty like this, and he barely even did anything. He presses his hand a little together against Phainon’s stomach, overcome with a sudden wave of possessiveness. The mere thought of anyone seeing Phainon like this makes him seethe with rage.

Taking a deep breath, he forcefully calms himself down. He presses a soft kiss to the back of Phainon’s neck, and then he removes his fingers and straightens himself again. Phainon turns back at him, quizzically, and Mydei helps him dress—maybe help is a big word, as Phainon contributes no effort whatsoever.

“What,” Phainon pants, “that’s it?”

“Yes,” Mydei replies, “I’m famished. I know you skipped lunch, so how about we catch early dinner? I’ll give you desert if you stay good, how’s that sound?”

“Are you insane?” Phainon whisper-shrieks. “I can’t walk around with that thing, it’s re-arranging my guts as we speak.”

Mydei shrugs. “Then take it out, Deliverer. Were you not the one that wanted to do this today?”

Phainon blushes deeply and Mydei knows Phainon is just putting up a token resistance.

“Fine. Fine. But if anything—happens, I’m going to blame you.”

“If you stay good, nothing will happen, Deliverer. I’ll buy you your favourite off the menu, too.”

“Why would you pay?” They start walking, and they’re walking slowly. Phainon is moving stiffly, but Mydei is sure that it’ll go smoother after a couple of steps—Phainon has always been quick to adapt to things. Mydei is also watching out for any signs of genuine discomfort—Nikador knows Phainon would never just tell him. But all seems fine so far.

“Deliverer, I know you just bought two more antiques yesterday. And you spent all day in the Garden of Life, feeding the Chimeras. Unless you intend to pay with air and good-will, you’re penniless.”

Phainon pouts and crosses his arms defiantly. The Deliverer is the worst man when it comes to money. He usually has not two coins to rub against each other and so he either puts things on Aglaea’s ever-growing tab or he’ll make puppy-eyes at Mydei. Even Aglaea’s attempts of giving him pocket change like a child had not helped. They must not have had money in Aedes Elysiae, Mydei thinks, but then they must’ve been really cut-off from the world. How would they have traded anything, if money was a foreign concept? And it’s not like Phainon doesn’t know what money is, he’s just... terrible at keeping it on him.

The restaurant Mydei takes them to is a place he knows Phainon likes, and even he himself is partial to it. He’s heard people refer to it as a hole in the wall and even though he doesn’t entirely understand the meaning of it, it feels correct. He’s not stupid enough to ask Phainon for an explanation, either.

They take a table in the corner, and Mydei settles into the nook while he gestures Phainon to sit next to him. The Deliverer eyes the chair on the other side, frowning a little, but then he shrugs and slides onto the bench next to Mydei. Phainon does sit down somewhat stiffly, but unless you’re Mydeimos, it’s unnoticeable. Mydei knew that Phainon could do this. How does it feel, he wonders? How deep is it pressing inside? How long until Phainon will subconsciously start rutting his hips?

Phainon grabs one of the menus and folds it open dramatically, holding it in front of his face. Mydei barely glances at it. Phainon points at several things that he will have ordered, and Mydei just silently agrees with him on everything. Titans know they will be full of sugar; and he’ll need to re-arrange his diet again for the next month. Phainon even demands sugary drinks, and Mydei’s teeth hurt already. This must be punishment, but what does one not do for love?

“Lord Phainon!”

Both of them look up from where Phainon discussed the meal by himself and they see Zacharias approach. Mydei’s eyes twitch immediately. He hasn’t seen the man since the festival, and had honestly expected that he had simply ceased to be. Why is he here?

“Oh, Zacharias! Long time no see! How, uh, how are things?”

Mydei sneaks his hand around Phainon’s waist rather possessively—which is dumb, because Zacharias can’t even see. It takes everything in him to not growl when the man sits down on the empty chair before them.

“They have been fair, Lord Phainon. I wanted to thank you for all you’ve done in the festival again, Lord Phainon! It’s good to know that we can still find enjoyment in a world full of strife, such as ours. Oh, there has been some dispute in-between some of the refugees, but it was so minor, I tried taking care of it myself. I hope I didn’t make it worse, but it truly was such a trivial matter that I felt wrong to bring it to your attention... You have much more important things to tend to, Lord Phainon! I hope I did you proud...?”

“Ah... uh, yes, yes, of course! Haha! Thank, uh, thank you so much, that’s really, uh, nice of, uh, of you!”

Phainon laughs, rubbing his neck as he does so. While Zacharias had been talking, Mydei had taken initiative and casually slipped his hand beneath Phainon’s waistband. This hadn’t been something he ever considered doing, but seeing how easily Phainon shifted his attention on Zacharias... well, nobody’s perfect, now are they?

Mydei slides his fingers over Phainon’s smooth skin, until he hooks his hand under Phainon’s ass, pressing two fingers onto the base of the dildo nestled within. He’s not going to fuck Phainon right here, even though he’s tempted, just to stake a claim, but he is restraint himself. However, he can have a little fun, no? After all, it would not do well if his Deliverer forgot the large dildo pressing against his insides. So he slowly moves his fingers, gently jostling the toy from side to side. He watches Phainon’s blush creep past his neck greedily and he wants to bite; to mark him for the world to see.

“Anyway,” Zacharias says, “do you have plans for the upcoming holiday? I know a lot of vendors are planning special sales for the occasion.”

“Oh, oh, ah, ahem, they, they do? I hadn’t, eh, I hadn’t heard! Ha! I, I mean, haha... I must’ve, must’ve been busy, I, ah, I guess, ha... ha... y—you have plans?”

“Well, nothing concrete yet, if I’m honest. Beside yourself, Lord Phainon, I’ve been struggling to befriend a great many people. So, if you wouldn’t mind, I wanted to inquire whether or not you’d be interested in perusing the stalls with me? My treat, of course!”

How bold. Normally, Mydei might call this behaviour brave, but in this case it’s just stupid. Mydei carefully holds the base a little firmer and instead of simply moving it from side to side, he pushes it in and out minutely, but at a rapid pace. Beneath the table, Phainon is pressing his thighs together in a desperate attempt to retain his dignity. Mydei wants to bend him over the table and fuck into him, in front of everyone here, and straight into Zacharias’ face.

“O-oh, ah, I, ehm, I don’t, uhm, I don’t know yet! A-Aglaea might, ha, s-send me ou-haa-out o-on a mission-ooh!”

Mydei’s breath hitches, watching as Phainon comes undone right here. He hadn’t—he hadn’t even entertained that possibility.

“Lord Phainon?! Are you alright? Your face is all flushed, are you coming down with a fever?!”

Phainon’s eyes are pressed shut and he breathes heavily and it’s only thanks to Mydei’s immense restraint that he doesn’t pounce on his man right here and now.

“Uh... aah... uh, e-excuse us! Goodbye!”

Phainon forcefully grabs Mydei’s hand and rushes to stand up, pulling Mydei behind him. He goes willingly, eyes fixated on the back of Phainon’s head. The Deliverer takes them inside the restaurant proper, straight into the bathroom stalls, and he essentially throws Mydei into one of the stalls, slamming and locking the door behind him.

“What,” he pants, moaning, “are you doing to me?!”

“You came,” Mydei responds, taking a hold of his arms, “you orgasmed in front of all these people.”

Phainon growls and hits his fists against Mydei’s collarbone in rage. His face is flushed, and his eyes glow with fury. Mydeimos has seldom felt more possessive in his life.

“I hate you,” Phainon snarls, “put your dick in me right this instant.”

Mydei forcefully grabs Phainon’s nape and presses him into a messy kiss, devouring his mouth, biting his lips and tongue until he can taste the copper of blood on his tongue. Phainon responds in aggression, pressing his blunt fingertips into Mydei’s neck, trying to choke him out. In response, Mydei simply hums in revelry. His fingers fumble downwards, initially trying to open the Deliverer’s pants, but after failing once, he decides to just rip them open and he wraps his hand around the man’s half-hard length, squeezing it tight. It twitches under his touch and Phainon shudders. Mydei doesn’t move his hand, he simply changes the pressure of his hold until Phainon growls and slaps him across the face.

“What,” he growls deep from his chest, “about right now did you misunderstand?”

Mydei bites his lips as he relishes in the sting of his flesh. It’s hardly a wonder most of their spars end in wild coupling—honestly; maybe they should start thinking about that. There’s only so many times they can get away with fucking on the training grounds.

“If I remember correctly,” he quips back, “you’re currently stuffed full.”

Phainon seethes and Mydei feels himself warm up. He loves pressing Phainon into their bed, make him whimper and force him to submit, but this—this is what he’s really after. A Phainon that simply takes what he wants and Nikador be his witness, Mydei will let him, every single time.

Phainon grabs him by the shoulders and slams him down on the toilet, straddling his hips immediately. His fingertips dig into the flesh of Mydei’s shoulders, but honestly, he can barely feel it. Phainon should bite him. He should jam his teeth straight into his jugular, show the world who they belong to.

Roughly, Phainon shimmies Mydei’s cock out of his pants and reaches behind him, yanking the dildo out of himself in one movement. He closes his eyes, moaning and his body shakes as he has to adjust to the sudden emptiness inside of him. Fervently, he presses the toy into Mydei’s hands and lifts himself up a little, lining up, and then he sinks down on Mydei’s lap in one fell swoop.

Mydei clutches the dildo tight in his hand, and his other finds Phainon’s hips easily, squeezing hard. Being inside Phainon simply feels too good every single time it happens. The way he pulses, the way he draws Mydei ever deeper, the way he clenches down.

“Ah,” Phainon moans loudly, a rolling sound in his throat. “Feel so good in me... you fucking ass.”

Mydei doesn’t chuckle, even though he’s tempted. He squeezes Phainon’s hip a little harder, urging him to move. The Deliverer complies, but he only moves around a little bit—hardly enough to satisfy either of them.

“Deliverer,” Mydei growls in warning.

“Shush,” Phainon replies, “Zacharias might still wait for me.”

Mydei’s hand rushes forward to wrap around Phainon’s neck, squeezing. He knows the fucker does it on purpose, and yet... and yet—! Mydei can’t help it. He’s feeding straight into Phainon, but what is he supposed to do? The thought alone... of Zacharias in his spot? No. No, he needs to rein himself in, lest he does something he might come to regret later.

“What?” Phainon teases, even though he wheezes. “Getting possessive?”

“Yes,” Mydei replies, pulling Phainon closer. Phainon simply chuckles, as much as he is able to. Then, he starts moving in earnest, rolling his hips and Mydei groans. He had planned—somewhat—to tease Phainon, make him come in the alleyway, and then fuck him silly at home. He had certainly not planned to pound into Phainon in a bathroom stall, where anyone could walk in on them at any moment. And yet, somehow... it feels good. Phainon’s here. That might really be all that Mydei needs.

“Mydei,” Phainon moans loud enough for anyone with ears to listen, “fuck, Mydei.”

Mydei lets go of his throat and grabs the man’s nape instead, pulling him close enough to bury his nose in the crook of his neck. He can taste the sweat on the man’s skin and Mydei can’t help himself; and he bites deep into Phainon’s neck, desperate to claim him. 

The Deliverer howls, throwing his arms around Mydei’s neck, rutting faster now. Mydei can feel him clench down hard, and he knows he himself isn’t far off either.

“Deliverer,” he pants into Phainon’s neck, wrapping his arms around the body, pulling him as close as he can. Phainon sobs, and his movements become erratic, frantic even. Mydei starts sucking a mark onto the flesh he’s just bitten, because he just needs to.

“I’m,” Phainon mewls, “I’m—I’m... Mydei!!”

Mydei presses Phainon tighter to himself and he can feel it—Phainon clenching down hard, intent on milking him dry. Hugging him tight, Mydei grunts as he spills himself deep inside his lover, breathing hard in the aftermath. After a couple of breaths, Phainon pushes slightly away from him, trying to catch his breath. Mydei still holds onto him, and he rakes his eyes over Phainon’s body. He’s still mostly dressed, and the pants—well. He’s no idea how Phainon will explain that to Aglaea, honestly, but that’s not his problem. For some reason, Mydei’s eyes linger on the Deliverer’s midriff. He places his hand on there gently, feeling the rapid breaths the man is taking. It’s stupid. It’s dumb, so very, very dumb, and yet...

“If it were possible,” he states with a raspy voice, not knowing what he’s saying, “I would.”

He waits a beat, before lifting his eyes up to meet Phainon’s. His cheeks are still flushed, and he looks down at Mydei bewildered, before he looks further down, to where Mydei’s hand rests. Realisation flashes across his face, and he gently places his own hand over Mydei’s.

“If it were possible,” Phainon murmurs softly, lifting his gaze to lock with Mydei, “I would.”

*

The next day, Phainon complains loudly about the bite mark that Mydei left wonderfully visible on his neck. He even threatens not to leave the house at all today, but Phainon is Phainon and he’ll go stir crazy if he stays cooped up indoors for too long.

He complains, but Mydei sees him all day subconsciously touch that mark, as if to make sure it was still there.

Mydei wishes it could stay. He wishes it wouldn’t already be fading, gone with the following morning. He wants to sneak up behind Phainon, and embrace him from behind, hold him so tight the man would gasp for breath and he—he wants to bury his fangs deep into Phainon’s sweet flesh; to devour him whole; to make sure nobody but him could ever have Phainon whole. He wants to rake his nails over Phainon’s skin, leaving bloody trails and he wishes to bite ever deeper, tasting the blood on his tongue; feel it drip down his throat and he wants Phainon to moan, spurn him on and he wants to consume, consume, c o n s u m e.

“Mydei,” Phainon moans that night, Mydeimos fucking into him with wild abandon and he arches his back, tilting his chest up and his nipples are ringed with bites placed at random, deep and dark. The mark on his neck is almost gone, just some pink tissue remaining and Mydei growls, furious like he’s hardly known before and he rushes forward, fucking right onto that spot he knows Phainon likes, and he sinks his teeth deep into Phainon’s barely-healed flesh again just as the man hollers out his fifth orgasm of the night.

“More,” Phainon begs, and Mydei is still painfully hard and he rams himself into his lover again and again and he takes and takes and takes and Phainon gives and gives and gives and Mydei devours him, way past the point of exhaustion and he still, he still needs more, he needs everything.

“Yes, yes,” Phainon cries, having gone soft hours ago, his orgasms being dry only now and simply pushing him over the brink of displeasure again and again and Mydei should stop, he’s lost track of time, but he can’t, he can’t, and Phainon’s blood stains the bed-sheets and he claws at Mydei’s back with dull fingers, egging him on, wanting it all and Mydei needs.

“All of you,” Mydei growls, from deep within his chest.

“All of you,” Phainon replies, voice quiet and soft, but it burns like the blazing sun.

*

“Both of us?”

“Yes. My reports on that particular area have been more than lacking and—Phainon, will you sit down?”

“No, thank you. Uh, I got, uh, ants in my boots, is all. Do please continue.”

Aglaea throws Mydei an annoyed look that he skillfully ignores. He doesn’t know what they’re on about. Phainon is an antsy guy by default, isn’t he? The man barely sits during the day.

“Very well, then. As I’ve said, I have very little reports on this place, so I want you to investigate. I can offer you no insight on what you might encounter—none other than that there seems to be a temple there. To whom it is dedicated, I do not know. You are to find out and when possible, eliminate all threats within. Tribbie will accompany you on your journey; so please keep her safe, Phainon. And you, Mydeimos, please watch out for the both of them.”

Phainon pouts, and Mydei simply nods. A temple with unknown origins? He wonders what Titan they were honouring—maybe it is Thanatos, and they can find a clue to their whereabouts.

“When do we depart?”

“Tomorrow, at the earliest light. The journey should take you about two days on a dromas’ back, but I implore you to be thorough with your investigation. Teacher will be able to keep in contact with us, and if you find any refugees, they absolutely take priority.”

“Don’t worry, Lady Aglaea, with me and Mydei there, we will face no problems! Will Okhema be alright though, with both of us gone?”

“Yes,” Aglaea answers, “Cas is still here, and myself as well. I expect nothing to happen in the near future, and you know not to underestimate our Holy City guard. We will be fine, Phainon.”

Phainon nods, kneading his fingers into the backrest of the chair he’s standing behind.

“Do you think—?”

“It’s always possible. Please keep a look-out. The situation here is under control, and out there, I will rely on you, dear child. Come back home safe, all three of you.”

They both nod, and they take their leave. Half a day for preparation isn’t a lot of time, but they are usually always ready to move out at the drop of a hat.

“What did you ask her, at the end?”

“Hm? Oh—I was wondering if it was...you know the Cleaners, right? They tend not to go after you because well... you’re undying at all... or after Miss Castorice... or Lady Aglaea... or Ladies Oracle... and Professor Anaxa and Miss Hyacine are somewhat safe at the Grove... she’s also a healer and he’s one of the seven sages... Miss Cipher is who knows where... wait, am I the most expandable one?”

“HKS, can you keep your thoughts straight for three seconds?”

“The only straight thing about me is my posture! Uh. Well, anyway. The Cleaners, eh, they have laid traps for us in the past to try and get rid of us discreetly, without being directly involved. So I was wondering—an unknown temple we’ve never heard before? That’s suspicious, so let’s be on our guard, Mydei. They don’t shy from cowardly tactics like poison and the like, so we got to make sure we watch out for Lady Tribbie.”

Mydei folds his arms and nods. He has heard of these Cleaners, but just as Phainon said, they tend not to bother him. How to eliminate someone that cannot die?

“Did they move against you?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, lots. I got smeared, trapped, poisoned, exploded and almost just plan up assassinated. Anyway, what do we eat for dinner? Oh, what about some salad? I could bake bread, but Okhema’s wheat is so... dry, it’s a shame...”

“Hold on, they did what?”

“Huh? Who? Oh Mydei, are you alright? You look so constipated. Shall we spar the rest of the day? Although I’m really sore, you brute... you spar with yourself and I provide running commentary, how about that? Or I throw random stuff at you...”

“Deliverer.”

“What? Look, if you don’t like my suggestion, then start coughing up some of your own! I can’t be doing all the work here.”

“These Cleaners tried to kill you?”

“Huh? Uh... yeah? I did just say that that’s like their entire thing, right? But they obviously never got me, so what’s the big huff? So, what about dinner, now?”

Mydei isn’t going to grow old around Phainon. He can already feel the heart attack coming on. How can someone so mortal be so nonchalant about several assassination attempts? Only Phainon, only ever Phainon.

Later that evening, Mydei is sprawled over Phainon’s lap, having hiked up the man’s shirt to lazily press kisses on his stomach while Phainon taps away on his teleslate.

“Can you believe it?” He huffs, agitated. “They really think that this fake could be from Aidonia... Castorice would die if I showed her this... oh, and they want to have found that in Janusopolis? Pfft, yeah sure, I believe that in a heartbeat! Seriously, who wouldn’t be able to spot that that’s a fake? The pottery is all wrong...”

Phainon is a full-body complainer. It’s a small miracle he’s not bouncing his leg right now and he’s probably trying hard to suppress it so that he won’t disturb Mydei on his lap. Mydei appreciates it, really. He hooks his fingers into Phainon’s waistband to pull his pants down, but Phainon reaches down first, grabbing Mydei by the hair and pulling his head up.

“No.”

“Why not? You know I’m good at it.”

“I have to sit on a dromas for two days,” Phainon rolls his eyes. “I’m already sore, you know? You’ve fucked me non-stop for over a week, Mydeimos. Is it Kremnos fertility week or something? Usually I am the one insisting.”

“Can I not desire you? You always howl for more, after all.”

Mydei straightens up and sits himself on Phainon’s lap, stroking his hands over Phainon’s pecs. The man blushes prettily and averts his eyes a little.

“Well, I, it, uh—it’d be rude to say no at that point wouldn’t it? I, I mean... since it’s already in and all...”

Mydei pushes Phainon’s shirt up, exposing his chest. He presses his fingers on both of his nipples, starting to play with them. Phainon whimpers quietly in the back of his throat and he is sensitive everywhere. Mydei bends forward and takes Phainon’s left nipple in his mouth, gently closing his lips around it. His right hand, meanwhile, strokes down his side, resting eventually on the dip on his hip, kneading the flesh there.

“M-Mydei...”

He laps his tongue over the nipple until it stiffens in his mouth, and then he moves on to the other side, repeating the process there.

“Could you come from this?” He asks. “If I plugged you up and just sucked your nipples, could you come?”

“I hate you,” Phainon replies, “but—yes.”

Mydei’s grip tightens and he breathes out. He pushes Phainon to the side gently, so that the man lies down on the sofa, and Mydei leans above him.

“You drive me to the brink of insanity, Deliverer. Have you any idea how much I had to restrain myself to not take you right in the market square, in front of everyone?”

“Fuck off,” Phainon says, “you wouldn’t.”

“You know, in ancient Kremnos,” Mydei starts, lowering his body down so he presses Phainon into the sofa, “consummation was public. Just like a fight to the death in the arena—it was said to boost fertility and that the child would grow strong.”

It’s a total lie. Well, they might have done that in ancient times, but what does he know? Courting rituals had never piqued his interest back then and he’d been sure if he’d ever need them, someone would lend a helpful hand.

“Do you want to fuck me in front of your people, Mydeimos?”

The possessive side of Mydei screams No. Only he gets to see Phainon in the throes of passion, but another part of him gets really excited at the idea. When he reaches down to shimmy Phainon out of his pants, the man doesn’t protest this time and Mydei finds him hard and leaking already.

“They’d all see how big you are; how good you fill me. They’d hear me cry out your name and they’d see how you wouldn’t even have to touch me to get me to come undone.”

Having undone his own pants, Mydei pushes into Phainon who sucks in a harsh breath, but doesn’t protest otherwise. Mydei can feel him all around his dick and the tight heat is flooring him every time. He starts moving slowly, pushing in inch after inch, until he is seated fully inside. Phainon doesn’t wrap his legs around him, but his heels are hitting the back of Mydei’s legs anyway. He leans forward, sucking a mark into Phainon’s neck and he snaps the ever-present leather band against his throat.

“Mydei,” Phainon sighs, “Mydei.”

Mydei rolls his hips and does as Phainon demands. It’s slow, and fulfilling and Mydei sighs in satisfaction when he spills deep inside Phainon. He wonders what it feels like. Does it feel good? Phainon gets upset when he doesn’t finish inside, so it can’t be uncomfortable, at least. He slips out and kisses his way down until his lips rest on Phainon’s belly. He’s not sure he understands his current obsession with it. It’s inane to think about and yet, he can’t help it. If it were possible...

“If we were to meet again in the next life,” Phainon sighs, brushing his hands through Mydei’s hair, “would you rather me be a woman?”

Mydei stills. Phainon’s tone isn’t condescending or irritated, he just seems curious. If Phainon were like Hephaestion... but...

“I would rather you be you,” he replies, heaving himself back up again to be level with Phainon’s eyes. “In whatever form you come, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, I would always wish for you to be you.”

Phainon cups his cheek and pulls him closer, whispering against his mouth: “Then in that next life, I shall greet you with my full glory.”