Chapter Text
Kingslayer be king. With the empty throne waiting far away, Mydeimos leads his people into the golden city of Okhema—the Kremnoan detachment, now not in its original glory. With five names that he will never forget, written deep in his heart, Mydei is at a crossway, standing alone. The loneliness is almost as it has always been before, for nine long years… except now his decisions will shape the fate and future of his people.
Mydei would die for them. Mydei has died for them. Mydei will die for them many more times.
As if dying for them could ever be enough.
‘Mother, why can’t you say more?’ Mydeimos asks himself sometimes. (He asks himself at every dusk when he wakes from the repeating dream.) It’s the same every night—it’s the same crossway, leaving the decision, heavier than anything else, on one man’s shoulders.
Some time passes, and even though he is often away with his warriors to be the mercenary blade of Okhema, Mydei finds a home that could never really be home… Yet, it brings along people who Mydei considers close enough, that he would try to say goodbye to them if he were to leave one day.
Leave—to do anything to end Nikador’s corrupted madness. To pave the way for Kremnoan history to continue.
Mydei talks to people and creates meaningful connections. He makes a promise to bake an apple pie. He stops when children recognise him—he even plays with them (and when he thinks no one can see how he allows a girl to put a flower crown onto his head, no matter his heavy heart, because ‘Mydeimos, you are our King, you should wear your crown,’ laughter accompanying the request that Mydei obeys, benevolent), always leaving with words that motivate the youth to lead a healthy life with purpose. And so on and on, a talk here about armour, another on sweet dessert, some less welcomed ones with ignorant historians, this and that, yet…
To be surrounded by so many, yet to retreat to his chambers every night, utterly alone. Many little conversations—yet not one where Mydei would feel he could have a reason or a chance (as if he could, maybe, he can’t) to talk about things that live at the bottom of his heart, locked away. (Why would he even need to talk, the almost frustrated thought crosses his mind.)
Mydei tells himself that the Kremnoan language should not have words for some of the things he feels deep down—his emotions should not be more than fleeting melancholy of long-forgotten nights, spent by a campfire, singing, surrounded by friends and warm companionship.
Grief and anger over the losses and the bloodshed-covered tragedy of his homeland slowly burn inside at the bottom of his soul—but Mydeimos keeps his feelings to himself, buried, transformed, and redirected.
One day, starting with a ten-day-long sparring match that neither of them wins, Mydei is granted new company in the face of a warrior, a fellow Chyros Heir, the man who is destined to be their Deliverer.
Mydei knows and Mydei sees—a bright young man with a dark past, a heart almost too big to carry the expectations and weight of the prophecy, tainted with doubts, fears, and insecurity.
Maybe there aren’t enough Kremnoan words to help Mydei phrase how exactly he feels—but through rivalry, challenges, fights versus the evil minions of Nikador, their blood left on the battlefields from where they walk away together (Mydei would rather die a thousand times than to ever let any friend stay while he gets to leave, alone), and nights spent together while drawing closer and closer, Mydei finds company—and love—he didn’t think he might have had one more time in life—no matter how long that may become.
Time passes as they await the sign that marks the next step on the Flame-Chaser journey… but if the other side of Mydei’s bed stays cold, then both sides are, while they spend the night in Phainon’s chambers.
Mydei thinks that maybe, if one day he decides to ever speak of five names and the base of his fears of the future of his people, feelings he should not have, then he may tell of the past to the man who sleeps by his side, his white hair falling over Mydei’s bare shoulder.
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