azalea

by str0belites

Summary:

While researching for an upcoming role, famous celebrity Phainon meets Mydei—who was tasked to be his guide. However, Mydei's life starts to take a huge turn and somehow it feels like it was fate that brought them together. After all, there were no such things as coincidence.

Not a typical celebrity/modern AU.

Chapter 1: Curtain Fall

Notes:

Hi! i have not written a fic for years and I am quite nervous to post this. In light of version 3.4, I couldnt help but write something to cope. This time, I do want to complete this fic and will try to update every 2 weeks... Also, english is my first language but i dont think im fantastic at it so please pardon any errors... I will edit it when i can. I love mydei and phainon so much im going to explode.

tentatively there will be 10 chapters. but while writing if i feel like it can be longer, ill update accordingly!

“Sir, with all due respect, why me?”

The office was dim — not from lack of lighting, but by design. The heavy curtains stayed drawn, filtering daylight into cool shadows that pooled across dark oak furnishings. The air held the faint, sharp tang of chemicals — not unpleasant, but enough to sting the senses. Books lined every wall in uneven stacks, and his desk was littered with papers filled with formulas and scribbled notes in languages Mydei didn’t recognize.

Seated behind the desk, Principal Anaxagoras looked exactly as he always did — like someone who knew things he shouldn’t.

His mint green hair fell neatly to one side, and the glint of his silver eyepatch only added to his air of cryptic elegance. With doctorates in both Philosophy and Quantum Physics, his mind was a labyrinth of unknowable depths — but it was his smile that made Mydei uneasy. It was too knowing. Too calm. As if he was always five steps ahead.

Anaxa smiled now, as if he’d been expecting the question. “Well firstly, it’s because you’re one of the school’s top scholars. Secondly, Phainon’s manager, Aglaea, specifically requested for his guide to be male. That narrowed it down to about a hundred candidates.”

When Mydei didn’t respond, the professor steepled his fingers and continued.

“She also asked that the candidate be similar to the role Phainon is researching — someone quiet, reserved, and unsuspecting. I reviewed the student profiles with her and, eventually, we decided you were the best fit.”

A moment passed. The only sound was the soft hum of whatever strange machine whirred faintly behind Anaxa’s desk. He tilted his head, watching Mydei closely.

Mydei quietly huffed in frustration. He had heard enough at that point, but he hadn't known what to say. So, Anaxa simply went on. 

“And coincidentally, it seems you have absolutely no care for celebrities or entertainment media — which is ideal for a guide. Does that answer your question, Mydeimos?”

Honestly, Mydei hadn’t expected a real answer. But he supposed he could accept that. There wasn’t much he could say to counter any of Anaxa’s reasoning anyway.

Mydei didn’t have social media. No Enstagram, no TicToc, no carefully curated online persona. He didn’t care what was trending, who was dating who, or what movie had people crying on Tweeter. If he wasn’t in class, he was at home — working out in his living room, experimenting with different recipes he found in dusty old cookbooks, or trying to convince his cat not to sit on the stove.

At school, he preferred the quiet corners: the back of the lecture hall, the far aisle of the library, the window seat in the cafeteria that nobody else seemed to notice. He wasn’t part of any clubs. He had no interest in campus events. He spoke when spoken to, turned in assignments on time, and left no digital trail behind him.

A true honours student. Quiet. Reliable. Forgettable — which, in Mydei’s opinion, was the ideal state of being.

Sure, he had good grades. Maybe the best, depending on the department. But social? Approachable? Friendly? He had exactly one friend — Hyacine, who only counted because she insisted on sitting next to him and talking through entire lectures like she’d never heard of whispering.

So when the principal called him in and asked him to "guide" a new student around campus, his first thought was: Why me? 

Of course, he should have known better than to question Anaxa. That man did everything with reason, and he was rarely wrong. Mydei could only nod and accept his fate. Not because he was eager or helpful — but because, frankly, it wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

And how bad could it be?

As for when this mysterious celebrity would show up — that was still uncertain. Anaxa had said they were finalizing the details and that he would be informed on the day itself. Great. Mydei decided he’d worry about it when it happened.

- X - 

The bell chimed, signalling the end of class.

Mydei and his pink-haired companion, Hyacine, packed their things and made their way out of the lecture hall.

Hyacine was a Nursing major with a minor in Psychology, so their schedules occasionally overlapped. They made an odd pair — Mydei, tall and broad-shouldered in his usual black hoodie, and Hyacine, tiny and radiant in a frilly strawberry-pink dress with matching heart-shaped earrings. Even standing next to her made him feel like he was part of a before-and-after filter.

Their personalities couldn’t have been more different. Mydei was quiet, distant, and allergic to small talk. On the flip side, Hyacine could strike up a conversation with a vending machine without even trying.

Somehow, though, they worked.

He met her during his first year, back when he still thought sitting in the back of the lecture hall would guarantee him solitude. No one had dared to sit within five feet of him — until she arrived, dressed in a poofy pink dress, twintails bouncing, and a giant white handbag decorated with glitter stickers and a unicorn plushie peeking out. She had plopped into the seat beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world, smiled, and introduced herself.

At first, Mydei thought it was a prank. Or that she was trying to flirt with him. Maybe he was part of some show that he had no idea of. He was looking around like a madman, searching for any cameras that could be filming him in secret. Whatever it was, he planned to shake her off by lunchtime.

However, she didn’t budge. If anything, she became more persistent, trailing after him until he gave up trying to understand her and just let her exist beside him. Turned out, she had no ulterior motives. She just thought he looked “cool.”

Strangely enough, they became friends. Real ones.

She dragged him out on weekends sometimes, like the time she convinced him to attend a cat expo. That was how he ended up adopting a stubborn calico named Meowy. (Hyacine insisted on naming her “Meowdei,” which he vehemently objected to, but she still used it in secret.)

Now, years later, she was still by his side, still talking his ear off as they exited the hall.

“I still think it’s hilarious they picked you to babysit some celebrity,” she said, adjusting her heart-shaped backpack. “Like, they really chose the guy who flinches when someone asks what his star sign is.”

“I don’t flinch,” Mydei muttered.

“You do. You just don’t notice.”

Mydei shot her a dirty look. She beamed up at him, completely unfazed by his deadpan glare.

“You’ll be fine, though,” she added, linking arms with him. “I mean, unless the guy’s annoying. Or hot. Or both.”

Mydei groaned.

“Anyway,” Hyacine said, brightly ignoring him, “I can’t wait to meet him.”

Mydei snorted in response. 

“You’re not going to.”

“We’ll see.”

They continued their banter, with Hyacine constantly poking fun at how Mydei was about to fall in love with this celebrity. She made him promise that he wouldn't forget about her if he somehow managed to bag the man. Mydei could only roll his eyes and mutter curses under his breath.

At the end of the hallway, Hyacine finally peeled herself off his arm. “Well, I gotta run — pediatrics class. Babies wait for no one!” she called with a quick wave, already half-skipping toward the stairs.

Mydei gave a noncommittal nod and turned in the opposite direction. He had a free period and nowhere in particular to be. So, as usual, he headed to the library.

It was quiet, familiar. A place where people either respected silence or got glared into submission by the librarian. Mydei liked it that way. He settled into his usual corner seat near the windows, popped open his laptop, and took a sip of the too-bitter iced coffee he’d grabbed on the way.

Just as he was pulling up his notes, someone slid into the seat across from him.

Mydei didn’t look up right away. There were plenty of open tables, so whoever it was had made a deliberate choice — one he wasn’t sure he appreciated.

“Hey,” the stranger said, not whispering nearly enough for library standards. “You're not going to ask for a selfie?”

That earned him a glance.

The guy was wearing a purple hoodie with the ugliest animal print of some sort, a cap pulled low over snow-white hair, and ridiculous yellow sunglasses that looked like they came from a cheap party store. He looked like someone trying not to look suspicious — and doing a terrible job of it.

“No,” Mydei replied flatly, going back to his screen. “Should I?”

The stranger grinned. “You seriously don’t know who I am?”

“No.”

A pause. Then a loud laugh — too loud for the library.

Mydei winced as the librarian shot a daggered look their way. “Can you keep your volume down?”

“Sorry, sorry,” the guy said, lowering his voice, but still smiling like he found the whole thing hilarious. “That’s kind of refreshing, honestly. I’m Phainon. You’re Mydei, right?”

Mydei’s fingers hovered over his keyboard. The name clicked a second too late.

Phainon. That was the guy. The celebrity. The reason Anaxa dragged him into that awkward meeting.

“...You’re the actor,” he said, watching the other’s expression carefully. “From that movie with all the crying in the rain.”

“Among others,” Phainon said cheerfully, tugging his sunglasses down just enough to make eye contact. “But yeah, that’s the one most people cry over.”

“You realize your disguise is shit, right?”

“I prefer the term ‘low-effort incognito,’” Phainon said. “It’s an art.”

“It’s a hazard,” Mydei muttered. “You’re lucky you haven’t been mobbed yet.”

“Some girls tried to follow me earlier,” Phainon said, glancing over his shoulder. “But I gave them the slip.”

“How exciting.”

Phainon grinned again. “You’re exactly what I imagined.”

“That’s worrying.”

“Relax, I mean it in a good way. You’re not fake. You’re not starstruck. You’re just…” Phainon gestured vaguely. “Doing your thing. That’s kind of rare.”

Mydei sighed and shut his laptop. “Look, I don’t know what you expect from me, but if it involves pretending to be your bodyguard, stylist, or therapist, I’m out.”

“Nah,” Phainon said, leaning forward with a glint in his eye. “Just need someone to help me blend in. Show me the ropes. You know… pretend I’m normal.”

“You’re making that hard.”

“That’s the fun part.”

“How long will you be here for anyways?” Mydei asked, eyes still fixed on his laptop screen as his fingers moved fluidly across the keyboard. His tone was neutral, but the question carried a trace of fatigue, like he was already regretting his involvement.

Across from him, Phainon slouched comfortably into the chair, resting his elbow on the table and propping his chin up with a lazy grin. “Wow, so eager to chase me away already?”

Mydei didn’t look up. “Just answer the question.”

Phainon leaned forward slightly, sunglasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. He pushed them up with one finger before answering.

“A year.”

That made Mydei pause. His hands hovered mid-keystroke before he slowly resumed typing.

A year? That was… a long time. Longer than he expected for someone "researching" a role. He didn't say anything about it, though. He simply muttered under his breath.

“Splendid.”

Phainon didn’t seem fazed. In fact, he straightened in his seat, folding his arms behind his head like this was all some kind of game.

“Since you so kindly asked,” he began, voice taking on a theatrical lilt, “I’ll be here for a year because I’ve been homeschooled all my life. My upcoming role is about a hero—one of those hidden-in-plain-sight types—pretending to be a regular student. Aglaea, my manager, thought it’d be best if I experienced that first-hand.” He gave Mydei a pointed look, like he was waiting for a reaction. When he got none, he continued.

“Also… believe it or not, I’m doing a degree in History.”

That got Mydei to glance up — just for a second — before returning to his laptop to save his work. If Phainon was going to continue yapping, he supposed there wasn't any reason to stay in the library. 

“So you’re smart and you can act. Great.” He closed the lid of his laptop with deliberate slowness and leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “Any other special talents you’d like to share with the class?”

His voice was flat, but the sarcasm clung to every syllable like smoke.

Phainon chuckled, clearly unfazed. He leaned forward again, resting his arms on the table and tilting his head slightly, studying Mydei like he was a particularly interesting puzzle.

“I want to hear more about you, dear Mydeimos. Tell me about yourself.”

Mydei blinked once, expression unreadable. Then he gave a firm, final answer without missing a beat.

“No.”

Phainon was just about to whine in protest — dramatic, exaggerated, and thoroughly unserious — when he heard the sudden rustle of whispers behind him.

From the corner of his eye, Mydei caught sight of two girls near the shelves, trying — and failing — to whisper discreetly as they pointed in Phainon’s direction. His body tensed in quiet annoyance. He clicked his laptop shut, slung his bag over one shoulder, and without a word, grabbed Phainon by the wrist.

Phainon jolted at the sudden contact, a small yelp catching in his throat. But before he could process what was happening, he was being hauled — yes, hauled — out of the library and into the open air.

The sun hit them as they emerged onto the campus plaza, warm and blinding. Mydei finally released him with a sharp exhale. Phainon blinked against the light, adjusting his hoodie before tugging off his sunglasses — and that’s when Mydei got a proper look at him.

The actor’s eyes were an arresting shade of blue, bright like topaz and just as clear. 

They gleamed under the sunlight, offset by thick lashes and a face carved with absurd symmetry: a strong, angular jaw, a straight nose, lips tinted naturally pink. Up close, Phainon was even more ridiculous-looking than any photo could’ve suggested. He was taller by an inch or so, though less broad — his build leaner, softer. Still, Mydei had to admit, however begrudgingly, the man was… objectively beautiful.

Charming, too, in a loud and showy way. Charismatic, extroverted. The kind of person people were drawn to without even trying. It wasn’t hard to imagine why people — girls, guys, probably professors too — were head over heels for him.

Not that Mydei cared, of course.

...Though, it wouldn’t be honest to say he wasn’t at least a little affected.

Phainon caught the lingering gaze, and the corner of his mouth curled up like he’d just won something.

“Enjoying the view?” he teased, raising his brows and wiggling them.

Mydei’s expression cooled, the embers of whatever appreciation he might’ve had fizzled instantly.

“Hardly,” he muttered.

He tore his gaze away as Phainon pouted dramatically in response.

Phainon, on the other hand, was having a very different kind of moment.

From the second Aglaea had shown him the list of candidates for his campus guide, his eyes had landed on one profile and stayed there.

Mydeimos.

The description alone had intrigued him — quiet, hardworking, inconspicuous. But when he saw the tiny headshot attached, he’d nearly dropped the tablet.

He hadn’t expected that .

Golden hair that burned red at the tips, swept back in effortless waves, with a single thin braid falling over one shoulder like a mark of royalty. Amber eyes sharp enough to cut glass. And the red tattoo curling down the side of his cheek?

That had sealed the deal.

The photo did him no justice.

Now, seeing him in person, Phainon could only confirm what he already knew: Mydei was stupidly attractive. Model-level. Sculpted. Regal. A quiet kind of beautiful that didn’t even try — and that somehow made it worse.

When he’d arrived at Okehema University, Anaxa had only told him the lecture hall number. He’d wandered the halls in his comically half-hearted disguise, miraculously avoiding detection since most students were still in class. He made it to the lecture just minutes before the bell and took a seat in the back row, scanning the room until his eyes landed on a very unmistakable figure — tall, golden-haired, and seated next to a petite girl in bright pink.

Phainon’s heart sank. 

A girlfriend?

The way she clung to Mydei’s arm as they left the hall didn’t help. He’d followed them anyway, hanging back at a distance as they walked down the corridor. When the girl eventually split off and disappeared around the corner, Phainon trailed Mydei all the way to the library.

And finally — finally — he had his chance to speak to him.

Mydei’s voice was deeper than expected. Smooth, like honey just barely warmed. And the dry sarcasm? It made Phainon grin uncontrollably.

But when Mydei grabbed his wrist?

Phainon felt his pulse jump.

Even now, he could still feel the lingering touch on his skin, his ears warming despite the breeze. It was a problem.

Standing beside him now, Phainon couldn’t stop staring. The oversized sweater Mydei wore still couldn’t hide the strength in his frame — broad shoulders, strong arms, a body built and maintained with obvious care.

He looked like someone who could kill a man with a single punch and then go home to gently feed his cat.

Unfair.

“Mydei,” Phainon said suddenly, still not quite recovered, “you wouldn’t happen to be secretly royalty, would you?”

Mydei gave him a sidelong glance. “Do I look like royalty?”

“Yes,” Phainon answered immediately.

Mydei sighed. “That was rhetorical.”

Phainon just smiled.

This was going to be fun.

- X -

After that brief library incident, Mydei begrudgingly led Phainon on a reluctant tour of the school grounds. Okehema University, being one of the most prestigious institutions in Amphoreus, was naturally grand — towering columns, lush courtyards, sprawling lecture halls, and intricate stonework that whispered of old money and older academia.

Unfortunately, they didn’t make it far.

A cluster of students up ahead — a group of girls — had already spotted them. Or rather, they’d spotted him .

“Uh oh,” Phainon muttered.

There was no escape this time. The girls were already approaching, eyes wide and voices rising with excitement. Phainon gave Mydei an apologetic glance before stepping forward, slipping into his charming public persona with practiced ease.

“Hi, yeah,” he said brightly, smile dazzling. “It’s really me. But I’m kind of on a low-profile thing right now, so… no photos, okay?”

He kept it polite, warm, but firm — every word calculated, every gesture effortless. The girls, though visibly disappointed from his rejection to take a photograph, nodded breathlessly and promised to keep his presence a secret.

Mydei, meanwhile, stood at a distance — leaned against the wall, arms crossed, tapping away on his phone with the unmistakable aura of someone enduring a very specific kind of suffering.

When the girls finally left, giggling among themselves, Phainon turned to face his supposed guide, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Sorry. That took longer than I thought.”

Mydei looked up slowly, deadpan.

“You don’t say.”

Before they could resume the tour, Mydei strode over and, without warning, tugged the hoodie right off Phainon’s shoulders.

“Hey—!” Phainon squawked, clutching at it like a child whose favorite blanket had been stolen.

“Did it ever occur to you,” Mydei said, inspecting the garment with visible disgust, “that the reason people recognize you from a mile away is because of this hideous jacket?”

Phainon gasped. “Hideous?! I’ll have you know this is one of my signature looks!”

“Exactly my point,” Mydei muttered, holding it between two fingers like it was radioactive.

“Don’t you have normal clothes? Preferably in colors that don’t scream for help?”

“But color brings out my personality!” Phainon pouted, crossing his arms in defiance. “Besides, purple and yellow go together!”

Mydei pinched the bridge of his nose, a visible twitch in his brow.

With Hyacine, this contrast had never bothered him. She had a sense of style — bubbly, pastel, coordinated. People either assumed they were dating or admired the pairing from afar.

But Phainon ?

Phainon dressed like he lost a bet with a blind clown. Purple leopard print? Neon yellow accents? What kind of war crime against fashion was this?

“I can’t be seen walking around campus with someone who looks like they raided a circus dumpster,” Mydei muttered under his breath.

Before Phainon could protest again, Mydei snatched the offensive hoodie from his grip. He stripped off his own maroon sweater — simple, clean, understated — and shoved it at Phainon’s chest.

“Wear this. It'll attract less attention.”

Phainon blinked, caught off guard.

“And give me those,” Mydei added, pointing at Phainon’s oversized yellow sunglasses and loud cap. He swapped them out with a sleek, minimalistic pair of black shades pulled from his own backpack. Phainon accepted them wordlessly, blinking as the transformation began.

It wasn’t perfect — Phainon’s pants still had glaring neon taping down the sides like highlighters come to life — but it would do for now.

Mydei dusted his hands off. “You looked suspicious with the cap. Like a celebrity trying to not look like a celebrity.”

Which, to be fair, he was.

Phainon was still staring at him. Wide-eyed. Unmoving.

Mydei furrowed his brow. “...What?”

Then it hit him.

His arms.

In shedding his sweater, he’d forgotten about the reason he wore long sleeves in the first place. Now clad only in a tight black tee, his tattoos were fully exposed — red ink spiraling and slicing across his skin like ancient runes. His physique was also no longer hidden: the shirt clung tightly to the ridges of his chest and abs, sleeves pulled taut around biceps that looked like they could bend steel.

Phainon looked stunned. And worse — he was ogling . Perhaps even drooling a little if Mydei looked closely enough.

Mydei felt a flicker of regret. Too late now.

“This is why I usually cover up,” he said, annoyed. “Otherwise I get asked to join sports clubs or get accused of being in a gang.”

Phainon finally exhaled.

“By Kephale… I’m certain you’re a prince. Or a Greek god. Or both.” His voice was quiet.

Reverent, even.

Mydei blinked, then barked out a laugh — sharp and unexpected.

Phainon, still staring, didn’t even flinch. His eyes traced the tattoos, the muscle, the way Mydei moved like someone who didn’t realize his own intensity. It was rare, Phainon thought, to see someone this physically striking, this effortlessly cool, and have them be so unaware of their own appeal. 

Kephale certainly played favorites huh?

“Uh… thanks,” Mydei said, recovering, though still vaguely uncomfortable. He reached for his backpack again. “You’re not too bad yourself. Aside from your horrendous fashion choices.”

Phainon smirked, slipping on the black sunglasses. “I’m taking that as a compliment.”

Mydei rolled his eyes and kept walking while Phainon trailed behind, grinning.

To Phainon’s surprise — and slight dismay — Mydei’s suggestion had actually worked. Swapping out his ridiculous outfit for a more subdued one had cut down the stares dramatically.

Well, at least, the ones aimed at Phainon .

Now, Mydei was the one catching glances, though most people didn’t dare approach. His default expression — a perfectly sculpted scowl — acted as a natural repellant.

Honestly? Mydei was proving to be a far better bodyguard than expected.It worked in their favor. Finally free from interruptions, Mydei was able to guide Phainon around campus — though it quickly became obvious he had no idea what exactly Phainon wanted to see. They wandered through the courtyards, the east garden, the clock tower, and even peered into the arts building, where a sculpture class was underway. Phainon “ooh’d” and “ahh’d” at everything like a tourist, while Mydei barely tolerated him with the energy of someone escorting a sugar-high child through a museum.

Eventually, after nearly an hour of trekking through lecture blocks, stairwells, and courtyards, they ducked into a quiet café tucked beside the library. The scent of roasted beans and fresh pastries enveloped them as they settled into a corner booth. Mydei ordered a cold drink and sat back with a frown that hadn’t left his face all day.

He had questions. So many questions.

“So,” he began, tapping a straw against the side of his cup, “are you actually taking classes here? Or are you just pretending to be a student for the next year?”

Phainon gave a sheepish smile and stirred the straw in his iced drink. “Of course I’m taking real classes. I’m finishing my degree, remember? Some of it will be online, but I’ve got plenty of in-person lectures too. Blended learning, as the official term goes.” He leaned closer with a grin. “So don’t worry. You’ll be seeing me a lot .”

Mydei tried not to visibly flinch at that.

“Wonderful”, he replied flatly.

He sipped his drink and asked the next logical question. “Right. And what about after school? Where are you staying? Is Aglaea picking you up like a celebrity daycare service?”

“You didn’t get her message?” Phainon blinked, clearly surprised. “Did Anaxa not tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“That I’m living with you!”

Mydei froze. “...You’re what?”

“Yeah!” Phainon beamed. “Aglaea said it was all arranged! My stuff’s already being delivered, actually.”

A string of sharp Kremnonian curses escaped under Mydei’s breath as he shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Notifications flashed. Sure enough — one unread message from Aglaea, timestamped twenty minutes ago.

He opened it with dread:

 

Dear Mr. Mydeimos,

Thank you for your generosity in allowing our beloved actor, Phainon, to stay in your apartment while he attends Okehema University.

Professor Anaxagoras has personally assured me that your abode is well-furnished and suitably comfortable for two individuals to cohabitate in. In exchange, we will be providing a generous weekly stipend, and all household expenses — including groceries, utilities, and rent — will be covered by our agency. If, however, you find any personal difficulties with Phainon, do not hesitate to reach out to me directly.

P.S. Kindly accompany him on a shopping trip. I trust by now you’ve discovered that he has a truly tragic fashion sense.

Warm regards,

Aglaea

 

Attached was a delivery manifest listing a lot of incoming furniture and boxes. And below that, a notification from his bank account — a deposit labelled “Housing Compensation (Wk. 1)” with a number so high Mydei blinked twice to make sure he’d read it correctly.

He stared at the screen in silence.

First of all — since when had Anaxa ever stepped foot in his apartment, and how did he know how it was furnished?

Second — was Anaxa his dad now? Giving out permission slips for strangers to move in with him?

And third — and most importantly —“Why,” Mydei muttered under his breath, “did no one think to ask me?”

He dropped the phone on the table and rubbed both hands down his face with a low, frustrated groan.

“You good?” Phainon asked, blinking innocently over the rim of his drink.

Mydei looked at him like he was considering homicide.

“HKS. I’m going to strangle your manager.”

“Be gentle,” Phainon grinned. “She’s fond of you.”

“She literally insulted your fashion sense in a formal letter. ”

“And yet,” Phainon said with a wink, “she still trusts you with me.”

Mydei closed his eyes for a long, suffering breath.

“All things considered, you’re taking this surprisingly well,” Phainon said with an amused smile on his face.

“I’m not,” Mydei replied, deadpan. “I’m dissociating.”

“You’ll adjust. I’m very clean. Mostly.”

Mydei dropped his forehead onto the café table with a soft thunk, exhaling into the wood like it could somehow absorb his rising stress. He wasn’t even sure if he felt like attending his next class anymore — the thought alone was enough to make his skull throb. He made a mental note to text Hyacine later with a vague excuse and an apology.

Across from him, Phainon slurped cheerfully at his iced drink, completely unaffected.

“It must be one hell of a role,” Mydei muttered, not lifting his head. “You’re taking a whole year to research it. And seriously — how in Amphoreus are you supposed to hide your identity for that long? You’re not exactly subtle.”

Phainon’s lips curved into a grin. “Well… it is kind of a big deal. My contract’s for three films, minimum. I’ll be playing the same role for the next decade.”

That made Mydei finally look up, one brow arched.

“A decade?”

“Mhm. Ever heard of Houkai Comics ?”

“No?"

Phainon gasped, clutching his chest like he’d just been stabbed. “You—! Are you even from this planet?!”

“Only barely,” Mydei said dryly.

“It’s a massive superhero franchise! They’re adapting it into a cinematic universe. And I—” he leaned forward dramatically, voice hushed with pride, “—will be playing the main character.”

“…Uh huh,” Mydei deadpanned. “And what’s this superhero’s name? Mr. Edgelord? Captain Hair Gel?”

Phainon sat up straighter, clearly preparing to make a statement. “Kevin,” he declared. “Kevin, the Deliverer .”

There was a beat of silence.

Then Mydei snorted — and it turned into an actual laugh, low and sharp.

“The Deliverer?” he echoed, smirking. “What the hell is he delivering? Food? A package deal? Divine judgement?”

“He’s delivering dawn ,” Phainon snapped, face flushed. “He’s the one who brings hope to a post-apocalyptic world!”

“Sure,” Mydei drawled, reaching for his drink. “Let me guess — he does it while posing shirtless in slow motion with sparkly CGI dust flying everywhere.”

“You’re impossible,” Phainon groaned, dropping his head back dramatically.

Mydei chuckled softly into his cup. He wouldn’t admit it, but the idea of someone committing a whole decade to a single role was… kind of impressive. Hell, even the fact that Phainon was willing to blend in with university life for a year — complete with terrible disguises and awkward class schedules — showed a level of dedication 

Mydei hadn’t expected from a guy who dressed like a highlighter exploded. But he wasn’t about to say that out loud. His ego didn’t need to be stroked any more than his wardrobe did.

Phainon straightened again, resting his arms on the table. “Anyway, my agency’s putting out an announcement soon. Saying I’m on a one-year hiatus to focus on finishing my education. No appearances, no performances, nothing public. Just studying. Hopefully that keeps the fans from digging too hard.”

The blonde gave him a slow look, eyes sharp with scrutiny, but his voice was casual.

“Right. Because nothing says ‘low profile’ like purple leopard jackets and starstruck girls fainting around campus.”

Phainon sniffed. “I’m working on it.”

“You better,” Mydei muttered, hiding a flicker of amusement behind his cup. Then he added under his breath, “Kevin the Deliverer… Titans above.”

“Say it with respect! ” Phainon cried.

- X -

Realizing he had no other choice, Mydei decided it was best to bring Phainon back to his apartment. If the man was going to be living there — somehow, inexplicably, actually living there — then it was better to rip the bandage off now.

As they exited campus, Mydei shot off a quick message to Hyacine letting her know something came up and he’d be skipping class. She replied almost instantly with a barrage of worried emojis and a promise to take notes for him.

He stared at the screen a moment longer than necessary.

Sometimes he really didn’t know what he did to deserve a friend like her. Maybe he’d bake something later — those strawberry cream puffs she liked. But for now, he had a much larger problem to handle.

Phainon.

The actor, of course, had no idea how to get to Mydei’s place. Apparently, Aglaea had told him to “just follow Mydei.” Great. Not only did Anaxa and Aglaea apparently have insider information on his home , but now Phainon was trailing him like a duckling on its first migration.

The walk from the university’s main entrance to his apartment was short — about fifteen minutes — tucked in a quiet neighborhood just off campus. The building itself, a high-end condominium, sat behind a gated security system. White walls, high fences, digital thumbprint locks. Convenient for a student… and now, a hiding celebrity.

Phainon looked mildly awestruck as they passed the marble fountain in the center courtyard — where white stone mermaids sprayed arcing jets of water into a sleek blue pool. Past that, a sprawling garden lined the pathways, flowering vines cascading from overhead trellises like a modern take on the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

“Nice place,” Phainon murmured, tilting his head to admire the greenery.

Mydei didn’t respond, but his eye twitched slightly. If only he knew what was waiting upstairs.

They took the elevator to the top floor — the penthouse level. Stepping into the hallway, Mydei was immediately greeted by a sight that made him sigh loudly and consider turning around.

A stack of boxes taller than Phainon sat outside his front door. Labeled with Phainon’s name. One of them had a suspiciously shelf-like shape.

“Oh Titans,” Mydei groaned, rubbing his temples. “She shipped furniture .”

Phainon scratched his cheek with a sheepish laugh. “It’s just a few essentials… you know, stuff I can’t live without.”

“You’re lucky she didn’t ship a bedframe. Or a jacuzzi.”

He opened the front door with a press of his thumb against the digital pad, the lock clicking open with a soft chime.

Inside was nothing like Phainon expected.

The apartment was huge — especially for someone who claimed not to be rich. Two floors stretched upward with an open layout that gave a view of the upper balcony from the entrance. The floor was sleek black marble veined with gold, accented by splashes of deep red in the rugs and cushions. Despite the modern luxury, the space felt lived-in. Subtle signs of personality dotted the room: books stacked neatly on the coffee table, a single throw blanket folded over the couch, the scent of roasted coffee lingering in the air.

“I didn’t think you’d have such a fancy apartment,” Phainon said as he wandered inside, gaze sweeping across the high ceiling and polished surfaces. “Are you rich or something?”

“Coming from you, that almost sounds like an insult,” Mydei replied, kicking his shoes off. “But no. I just have enough to live comfortably.”

Phainon let out a low whistle. “Comfortably? My last hotel room was smaller than your kitchen.”

He wandered deeper into the apartment like a child in a museum, eyes wide as he poked into every room — a minimalist kitchen with matte black counters, a home gym with weights stacked by the wall, and to his delight, an actual mini theatre room with a velvet curtain and tiered seats.

Then he paused.

On the black leather couch in the living room, a small shape stirred.

A calico cat, curled like a loaf of warm bread, slowly lifted its head. Phainon blinked.

“...You have a cat?”

The cat stretched luxuriously, then jumped down, trotting straight toward Mydei. Without hesitation, it rubbed itself against his leg and meowed — a soft, almost chirping sound.

Mydei crouched and gently scratched behind its ears, the expression on his face softening in a way Phainon had never seen before. The intimidating aura Mydei usually carried melted just slightly, like a knife placed in the sun.

Something about it made Phainon’s chest ache unexpectedly.

“What’s her name?” he asked, watching the cat purr and rub herself against Mydei’s hand.

“…Meowy,” Mydei said flatly.

Phainon burst into laughter. “You’re joking. Meowy ? You? That’s so—”

“She was already named that when I adopted her,” Mydei cut in, tone defensive.

That shut Phainon up instantly. His laughter faded as quickly as it came. Adopted. He looked down at the little creature again — how she curled close to Mydei, how natural he looked caring for her.

Kephale above, Phainon thought. Could this man get any more perfect?

Terrifyingly handsome, emotionally repressed, academically gifted, and secretly soft for cats?

He was doomed.

And now he was living with him.

“Are you gonna help me move your stuff in or what?”

Mydei’s voice cut clean through Phainon’s train of thought like a knife through warm butter. He blinked and looked over, catching the sight of Mydei standing with his arms crossed, an eyebrow raised in that signature way of his.

“Sorry, sorry — I’m coming!” Phainon said, scrambling after him.

Together, they hauled the mountain of boxes and oddly shaped furniture inside. Mydei was deceptively strong; he lifted heavier loads with ease while Phainon lagged behind, juggling awkwardly shaped items and muttering curses every time he bumped into a wall. Eventually, with a few strained grunts and one narrowly avoided face-plant, everything was moved in.

Once they were done, Mydei gestured upstairs with a nod of his head. “Come on. I’ll show you your room."

Phainon followed him up the polished staircase, his footsteps echoing lightly against the marble. Mydei opened a door at the end of the hall, revealing the guest room.

It was simple — but spacious. A king-sized bed sat against the wall, neatly made with black sheets. There was a built-in wardrobe, a desk facing the large window that overlooked the city skyline, and a private shower behind a frosted glass door. The walls were blank, waiting for someone to make it theirs.

“I’m sure this isn’t much compared to what you’re used to,” Mydei said, stepping aside. “But feel free to decorate it however you see fit.”

Phainon set down the lamp he was carrying and gave the room a once-over. “Don’t worry, this room’s way bigger than my old one back home.”

“Oh?” Mydei leaned against the doorway, arms loosely folded.

“I grew up in the countryside,” Phainon said as he pulled open a box and began unpacking. “Aedes Elysiae. We had a small cottage — barely enough space for my parents and I. But we had a little farm, lots of fields. Real quiet. Honestly, I kind of miss it.”

“You don’t have a place of your own now?”

Phainon shrugged, carefully placing a row of books on the desk. “Not really. I travel too much for work, and I’m never in one place long enough to justify it. Besides…” He hesitated, tone softening. “My parents passed a while back. The cottage got sold. Since then, I’ve just been… everywhere, I guess.”

There was a pause.

Mydei looked away for a second, lips thinning. “…Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s fine,” Phainon replied with a faint smile. “Really. I don’t mind talking about them.”

He moved to another box, this one filled with a tangled mess of clothes and a half-dismantled poster frame. He glanced around the room, then back at Mydei. “Does anyone else live here? I mean, this apartment’s huge. Feels like it’s meant for a family.”

“No,” Mydei replied. “Just me. My mother lives in Castrum Kremnos. I haven’t seen her in a while, but we talk occasionally.”

Phainon’s eyes lit up. “Ah! No wonder you can speak Kremnonian! Wait—how do you say sexy in Kremnonian?”

Mydei exhaled, already regretting this conversation. “There is no word for ‘sexy’ in Kremnonian.”

“What about gorgeous?”

“No.”

“Cute?”

“No.”

“Come on, there’s got to be something. What about—”

“HKS,” Mydei snapped, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Shut up and help me move your stuff.”

Phainon grinned wide. “So you do know profanity in Kremnonian.”

Mydei didn’t dignify that with a response. He just shoved a box into Phainon’s arms and turned on his heel. But even as he left the room, the corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly upward.

Phainon had spent the last hour rearranging his things, unpacking the last of the essentials he couldn't bear to leave in boxes. His once-bare room now held fragments of familiarity — picture frames still turned face-down, books neatly aligned, and clothing draped over the edges of furniture like ivy reclaiming old stone. The sun had dipped low in the sky, casting long golden beams across the marble floors, and Phainon finally leaned back with a sigh, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow.

He realized then that Mydei had disappeared at some point. Probably off brooding in a corner, he thought with a smirk. Curiosity nudged at him, so he wandered out of his room, glancing briefly around the second floor. Nothing. The house was so eerily quiet he could hear the faint hum of electronics and the ticking of an unseen clock.

Then, warm light spilled through the frosted glass of the kitchen door downstairs, dancing with shadows. The scent hit him before he opened the door: savory, herby, comforting. It was the kind of smell that tugged at something deep in the chest.

Phainon pushed open the door and stopped dead.

There stood Mydei, dressed in a deep crimson apron, sleeves rolled up, arms flexing slightly as he sliced vegetables with practiced precision. The warm glow of the kitchen lights played against his golden hair, casting gentle shadows over the sharp lines of his face. He looked at ease — calm, focused, unaware of the effect he had on the observer behind the door.

Phainon felt his chest tighten a little, like something had tangled around his ribs.

He slid the door open. The scent doubled in strength — smoky grilled meat, lemony herbs and a hint of something sweet baking in the background.

“Wow,” Phainon breathed. “I didn’t know you could cook. I’m gonna have to marry you like, right now.”

Mydei didn’t miss a beat. His eye twitched, but he kept his attention on the plate in front of him. “You had a long day. I just cooked more than usual, in case you were starving. Let me know if the food suits your taste.”

Phainon clutched his chest and slumped against the wall, dramatically sliding down to a crouch. “Mydei, you spoil me,” he moaned.

“Don’t get used to it,” came the dry reply.

Mydei waved him out of the kitchen, muttering something about getting in the way, and Phainon reluctantly obeyed — settling into the living room where he watched Mydei through the glass again, this time like a scene out of a movie. He watched the way Mydei moved: efficient but unhurried, grounded and capable. Everything was done with quiet confidence. Phainon couldn't look away.

When Mydei finally called him, Phainon followed the scent of grilled steak and garlic to the open balcony — and what he saw took the air from his lungs.

The dining table was set under the blushing hues of twilight. The skyline glimmered beyond the edge of the balcony, city lights beginning to flicker to life like stars awakening early. The food was arranged like a banquet: souvlaki steak plated with roasted vegetables, perfectly grilled mushrooms, warm bread, shining bowls of sauces and dips, and in the center — a modest but beautiful strawberry cheesecake.

And then there was Mydei, standing at the edge of it all, silhouetted by the amber sky. His golden hair burned almost copper in the fading light, and the soft breeze tugged at the hem of his shirt. He looked… unreal.

Phainon’s throat tightened. His chest stirred with something he hadn’t felt in years.

It was just like back home.

He blinked, and for a heartbeat, he saw his parents’ cottage again — the way the evening light would spill into the garden, the table set beneath their old olive tree. His mother’s laughter. His father’s quiet smile. The simplicity of it all. A sunset, a meal, and the presence of someone who made the world feel less lonely.

His heart ached with a quiet, almost unbearable fondness.

He looked at Mydei again, who was adjusting a fork on the table like it was a mission. How was this man — this grumpy, sharp-tongued stranger — being so kind? So thoughtful? From what little he knew about Kremnonians, they weren’t typically warm with strangers. They certainly didn’t cook full-course meals for them.

But Mydei… there was something different about him. Something familiar.

He reminded Phainon of someone he used to know — a pink-haired friend with stars in her eyes and laughter that lit up the whole field. Someone kind. Someone who never made him feel like he had to earn love.

The thought slipped from his lips without filter.

“I feel like we’ve met before in a different timeline.”

Mydei paused mid-seat, brows furrowing. “Have you gone mad? Are you speaking as Phainon or the Deliverer right now?”

“No!” Phainon laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… It’s just kinda crazy to me. That a stranger would be so nice to me. And we actually get along. Doesn’t it seem like fate?”

Mydei stared at him a moment longer, unreadable. Then he scoffed faintly, sitting down across from him. “Whatever you say, Deliverer .”

Phainon pouted, but the corners of his mouth curled upward. “Hey, I’m just trying to say I’m thankful, alright?”

There was a pause. Mydei scratched the back of his head, clearly uncomfortable. He looked off to the side as though talking to the breeze.

“…If you’re the Deliverer of Dawn,” he mumbled, “then I guess I’ll be the Undying Prince of Night or something.”

Phainon’s eyes widened. His whole expression lit up like a sunrise.

“Was that… a declaration of love?”

Mydei glared at him with the intensity of a man deeply regretting every life choice that led to this moment.

“Shut up and eat.”

Phainon laughed, biting into the warm souvlaki with a delighted hum. But even as he savored the food, his gaze kept drifting across the table — not to the view, not to the cheesecake, but to the man who made it all feel like home.

After which, dinner had passed with surprising ease.

For all his dramatic flair and golden-boy charm, Phainon turned out to be an oddly decent conversationalist. He was funny in a self-deprecating sort of way, and despite his fame, didn’t seem to carry the kind of arrogance Mydei had come to expect from people in the spotlight. It made him… tolerable.

Afterwards, Phainon had insisted on doing the dishes — “The least I can do,” he’d said, waving Mydei away with a dishcloth tucked over his shoulder like some domestic deity. Mydei had initially hesitated, finding it somewhat ridiculous to let an A-tier celebrity (probably) scrub his soup bowls, but eventually relented. His legs were sore and his mind was stretched thin.

He retreated to his room, peeling off his clothes and stepping into a hot shower. The water dulled his thoughts, but the day still played back like a slideshow behind his eyes: Anaxa’s cryptic smile, Phainon’s terrible disguise, the scene with the fangirls, the bizarre housing arrangement, and finally — dinner under the soft hues of twilight.

By the time he collapsed onto his bed, hair still damp, the weight of it all sank in.

Phainon — Phainon — was now living under his roof. Not temporarily. Not for a couple of nights. But for an entire year.

He rubbed his temples.

It was hard to wrap his head around. He didn’t dislike the guy. Honestly, he seemed alright. Annoying in a sunshine-and-chaos kind of way, but not unbearable. Still, having someone — a stranger, no less — share his quiet little world… It was a lot to adjust to.

Almost on cue, his phone buzzed against his nightstand.

Hyacine:
Are you feeling better??? T_T Do you need me to bring you medicine or anything??? :0

Mydei sighed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Of course she’d be checking in.

Mydei:
Don’t worry. I just had a really long day.

A typing bubble appeared immediately.

Hyacine:
Oh no :( … Do you wanna talk about it?

He stared at the message for a moment. He could just lie. Say it was a normal day. But knowing Hyacine, she’d sniff out the truth eventually — and probably scold him for not saying anything. Better to just get it over with.

So he told her. About Anaxa’s strange explanation. About the mysterious role Phainon was researching. About the bad disguise, the fangirl incident, the sudden roommate bombshell, and the fact that the actor of all people was Phainon.

Her reply came almost immediately.

Hyacine:
WAIT. PHAINON???? THE ONE WITH WHITE HAIR, BLUE EYES, FROM AEDES ELYSIAE, HAS WON AN OSCAR AWARD. THAT PHAINON???

Hyacine:
MYDEI U CAN’T JUST CASUALLY DROP THAT!!! A CELEBRITY LOVED BY THE ENTIRE WORLD IS LIVING WITH U LIKE U FOUND A STRAY CAT

Hyacine:
…also i am genuinely sorry. ur life is going to be so chaotic from now on.

Mydei exhaled through his nose and ran a hand down his face.

Mydei:
You think?

Hyacine:
But now you HAVE to let me meet him. I must psycho-analyze him for SCIENCE. (& see if he would b a good match for u)

Mydei:
No.

Hyacine:
You know I’ll find you eventually.

He could practically hear her ominous giggle through the screen.

Mydei:
That’s what I’m afraid of.

Before Mydei could even finish reading Hyacine’s last text, there was a knock at his door — the kind of knock that already spelled regret .

Then the door creaked open… without waiting for permission.

Phainon poked his head inside like a child who knew they were absolutely, irrevocably guilty. His tousled hair was slightly askew, and his expression hovered somewhere between sheepish and “please don’t kill me.”

“Mydei,” he said, voice pitched higher than usual, “I think I did something stupid.”

Mydei blinked at him from the bed, stone-faced. “…What did you do.”

“I may or may not have broken… something.”

There was a long, weighted silence. Mydei didn’t blink. His eyes twitched.

His soul, visibly, left his body.

“…Be more specific,” 

Phainon winced, then gave a sheepish little grin. “I’d rather just show you.”

Mydei groaned, throwing his head back against the pillow like a martyr awaiting execution. He sat up with the sluggishness of someone who had aged several decades in the span of twelve hours. He looked at Phainon like a man who’d just been asked to defuse a bomb… with a spoon.

“One hour,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples. “Just one peaceful hour. Is that too much to ask?”

Phainon held the door open like an apologetic butler, gesturing as if he were inviting Mydei to the world’s worst magic trick reveal.

As Mydei dragged himself out of bed like a war veteran returning to the battlefield, his phone buzzed again.

Hyacine:
Call me if you need help hiding the body :3c

He didn’t text back — but a reluctant, exasperated smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

He had a feeling he’d be needing that offer. Soon.

Notes:

If you have read till the end, thank you! please let me know your thoughts and whether i should really continue... to be honest i was also struggling trying to come up with a title for the fic. rahh im so worried..... the tags will also be updated as the story progresses. anyways i have tumblr / twitter if anyone would like to yap about phaidei! x: aschxv , tumblr: grayyxv

Chapter 2: Radiance

Notes:

Hi im back with an update!!!! This chapter was longer than I had intended for it to be so I hope you enjoy it! Thank you so much for the nice comments and support for the first chapter. To be honest, I didnt really have any direction of how I wanted this story to progress as I just wanted to write something. Anything to cope with the current HSR story. But I've thought it through and I have a solid plotline and direction now so I hope this story will bring you some comfort.

Anyways, I will yap later. For now, please enjoy the chapter!

Phainon broke the microwave.

Because of course he did.

He had wrapped a plate of leftover stir-fried mushrooms in tin foil and chucked it in, thinking it’d "dry faster." Why it needed drying was still a mystery — but Phainon had looked so confident doing it, like he was unlocking the secrets of the culinary gods. The microwave immediately sparked to life like it was about to summon a small sun, and Mydei had come sprinting in just in time to slap the stop button before they both went up in flames.

Smoke, sparks and a very strong smell of ozone. It was nothing short of a domestic war crime.

Phainon looked sheepish the entire night, mumbling about “scientific curiosity” while Mydei debated Googling "how to evict a celebrity roommate without committing a felony."

Maybe this was why Agalea needed someone to babysit him.

After the microwave incident, Mydei had cooked Phainon some terrible (but nutritional) food as some sort of punishment for every single meal. Soup and rice completely devoid of spice and flavor. Mydei also tortured him by making desserts but forbidding Phainon to eat any. Heck, he wasn't able to even get a whiff of the pastries that he had made.

Time went by too quickly for Mydei’s liking, and with it, the inescapable encounter with Hyacine. For the past few days, he had been sneaking around school with the excuse of 'protecting Phainon from fans'. But really, it was simply to avoid bumping into Hyacine on campus. However, he wasn’t able to escape anymore as his first class of the day was developmental psychology, which he shared with her.

Unfortunately, Phainon — who technically had zero obligation to be there — insisted on tagging along like a lost golden retriever. Something about “method acting” and “immersive observation” and how watching Mydei be a grump in his natural habitat was “educational.”

Mydei was tempted to yeet him into the traffic.

Still, he was too tired to argue, and even more concerned about what Hyacine might say when she met Phainon. She wasn’t exactly known for subtlety.

He groaned internally.

Good thing he had made strawberry shortcake the night before. He’d originally planned to give it to her as an apology for skipping class. Now it doubled as hush money.

Their walk to the lecture hall was relatively uneventful. Most students were busy rushing to class, heads buried in notes and coffee cups, which worked in their favor. Phainon had put on a face mask and oversized fake glasses — the kind you buy at novelty stores for a bad costume party — and it worked surprisingly well. It helped that Mydei had once again vetoed Phainon’s original outfit of the day: a purple leopard-print jacket, lime green pants, and neon yellow sneakers that screamed, “arrest me for visual assault.”

Absolutely not.

Instead, Phainon was reluctantly dressed in another one of Mydei’s dark oversized sweaters and some black jeans. He looked like a mopey fashion model going through a goth phase. As they reached the hall, Mydei spotted a familiar splash of pink in the distance. Hyacine was standing by the door in her usual aesthetic — pastel dress, ribbon-tied twintails, and that unmistakable sparkle in her eyes.

Great. Here we go.

She spotted them and lit up like a firework, bounding over like a puppy off a leash. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Phainon! I’m Hyacine!” she beamed. “I’ve watched all your movies — and I LOVED you in As I’ve Written !”

Phainon blinked, slightly stunned by the pink whirlwind of energy in front of him. Then his gaze dropped to the unicorn plush keychain on her bag. There was something familiar about it… Her voice too — it reminded him of—

“Wait a minute,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “Are you… a streamer or something?”

Hyacine leaned in, conspiratorial. “I normally keep it a secret, but I’ll tell you since you’re Mydei’s friend. I’m a Vtuber. Cynthia — or HealerOfLight~☆.”

Phainon reeled back, clutching his chest. “I KNEW IT.”

Mydei had to nudge him. “Volume.”

“I knew I recognized your voice! My best friend Castorice is OBSESSED with you. She’s literally always talking about your streams!”

Hyacine squealed. “You mean the Castorice? The gorgeous supermodel that likes anime?? She watches my streams??”

“Yes! We both do!” Phainon exclaimed.

As they were swept into an intense vortex of fan energy—Phainon babbling excitedly about vtuber emotes, game lore, and raid strategies, while Hyacine gasped and clutched her face over the tines where Castorice supposedly fangirled over Cynthia to Phainon—Mydei resigned himself to the inevitable.

He ushered them both into the lecture hall before they could draw even more attention. The three of them took their usual spot in the back row: Mydei in the center, flanked on either side by a pastel chaos goblin and a human golden retriever with celebrity status.

Mydei folded into his seat with a sigh that carried the weight of a man slowly being dragged into someone else’s fever dream. While Hyacine and Phainon chattered on like best friends reuniting at a convention, he tuned out and tried to listen to the professor’s ramble about Erikson’s theory of psychosocial development.

Key word: tried.

But how was he supposed to focus on life stages and ego identity when Phainon’s voice kept going, “No way, that clip where you panicked during the horror collab? Hilarious. Castorice watched it like five times!” and Hyacine was giggling like a wind-up toy.

To make matters worse, the lecture slide was currently on a grainy chart about generativity vs stagnation. Mydei wasn’t sure which one he was experiencing right now, but it felt like both.

From what he could piece together, Castorice was some kind of demigod influencer—apparently stunning enough to be described as “gorgeous” by Hyacine and “literally life-ruining” by Phainon. Mydei hadn't even gotten the chance to google Phainon yet, let alone learn about his best friend.

Luckily, Hyacine—ever the observant one—glanced past her conversation and noticed Mydei staring listlessly at the whiteboard, pen loosely twirling between his fingers as he mentally floated somewhere between reality and sleep.

Her lips curled mischievously.

“Mydeiiii,” she sang sweetly, leaning over to poke his arm, “Where’s the thing you promised to bake for me?”

Mydei blinked, slow to re-enter reality. “...Oh.”

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small container, opening it to reveal neat pink cubes of strawberry shortcake, adorned with halved berries and a dusting of powdered sugar. He handed it over wordlessly.

Hyacine gasped like she’d just been handed a royal treasure. “My gods, they’re adorable! And pink?! You remembered my favorite color!”

She opened the lid, holding it like it contained sacred offerings. “I was expecting cream puffs, but no, this is perfect. You know I LOVE anything that you make.”

Without warning, she reached over and patted his head affectionately, fingers ruffling through his soft blonde hair.

Mydei’s entire body tensed as his eyes widened. He instinctively turned away, one arm coming up to cover his face—but not before Hyacine saw the tips of his ears flush a rosy shade of red.

Phainon, still smiling at the interaction, suddenly paused. A strange sensation twisted in his stomach. Something tight and unfamiliar.

He wasn’t sure what it was. He just knew he didn’t like the sight of Hyacine being that affectionate with Mydei.

His eyes lingered a little too long. And Hyacine noticed.

She glanced at him, a sly grin curling on her lips. Then, silently, she tapped Mydei’s back and motioned at Phainon—raising her brows, egging him on with a playful nod.

Phainon blinked. Then mouthed, Me??

Hyacine nodded more enthusiastically, covering her mouth as she stifled a laugh.

Phainon shook his head. No way. No way was he going to poke Mydei’s head like some kind of schoolchild. Absolutely not.

…Though…

He did wonder how soft Mydei’s hair really was.

It kind of looked like Meowy’s fur when she’d just woken from a nap—all golden and fluffy, lightly tousled from the morning. His fingers twitched, practically itching to touch it.

Before he could talk himself out of it, his hand reached forward on its own accord. He brushed his fingers gently through the back of Mydei’s hair.

It was soft. Ridiculously soft.

Then Mydei’s head snapped up like he’d been electrocuted.

Mydei glared sideways at Phainon, who was still suspiciously quiet and very, very busy not looking at him. Hyacine, on the other hand, could only look away and giggle quietly to herself. 

Mydei groaned. “I hate both of you.”

They snickered on either side of him, the lecture long forgotten.

Class hadn’t even started properly and he was already regretting not skipping today.

Hyacine then spent the entire two-hour lecture rattling on about Mydei like he was some kind of rare collectible she was proudly showing off. Much to his chagrin, she happily recounted ridiculous stories to Phainon — like the time Mydei got locked out of his own house in his pajamas, or how Meowy once brought home a live lizard and Mydei screamed so loud the neighbours thought someone was being murdered.

To Mydei’s horror, Phainon seemed to be thriving on every new anecdote.

“Oh! And once we went to a cat cafe and somehow a cat threw up on him three times! The poor cat!”

“Hyacine,” Mydei muttered through gritted teeth, “you promised never to speak of that incident again.”

In exchange, Phainon shared stories of his own — about Castorice’s chaotic modelling gigs, one disastrous fan event that involved a life-sized cardboard cut-out catching fire, and how she once made him cry during a horror game stream.

Despite being sandwiched between two whirlwinds of energy, Mydei tried (and failed) to concentrate. He half-listened, half-scribbled notes on lifespan development, all while occasionally interjecting just to defend his honor — and Meowy’s. But for the most part, he resigned himself to being the unwilling centerpiece of a very animated two-person podcast.

When the bell rang, it felt like the heavens themselves were granting Mydei a moment of mercy.

Hyacine stood and, as always, latched onto Mydei’s arm with the natural grace of someone who’d done it a thousand times. “Thanks for the cake, my dear Mydei!” she beamed, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

Phainon, still seated, watched them with an unreadable expression. His gaze followed the pink blur of Hyacine as she bounced off to her next class. She gave him a cheerful wave and a pat on the back before disappearing down the corridor.

“She’s really… affectionate, huh,” Phainon remarked, shoving his hands in his pockets as they exited the lecture hall.

Mydei only hummed in response, sipping his coffee.

As they walked side by side toward the next building for Nutritional Science, Phainon tried to keep his voice even. “So… is Hyacine your girlfriend?”

Mydei immediately choked on his drink.

He coughed so violently it sounded like he was trying to exorcise a demon. Phainon yelped and scrambled to hand him his own water bottle, patting his back with wide eyes.

“What?” Mydei rasped, still wheezing.

“Woah, woah! Breathe! You can't be defeated now, my Undying Prince!”

“I–cough–what the hell–cough–kind of question–cough–is that?!”

Phainon offered him a bottle of water, eyes wide with mock innocence. “What? You guys just seem close. Like… really close.”

There was a stiff little smile on his lips — but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. It was the expression of a man trying to pretend he was unaffected, while internally calculating how fast he’d have to throw himself off the building to avoid thinking about it any longer.

“She barely reaches my shoulders,” Mydei said flatly. “She wears pink head to toe. She brings her plush unicorn everywhere she goes. She’s sunshine, glitter and rainbows in human form. I look like I was raised in a crypt.”

“That’s called balance,” Phainon replied smoothly. “Opposites attract and all that.”

“And she just spent two hours talking about how much she wants Castorice to notice her and maybe kiss her.”

“…Okay, yeah, fair,” Phainon mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “But I mean, who doesn’t want to kiss Cas? She’s–like–an icon. Even I’ve—”

“Phainon,” Mydei cut in.

“…Yeah?”

“I’m fucking gay.”

There was a long beat.

“Oh,” Phainon said. 

A silence followed. Mydei raised an eyebrow as Phainon blinked several times. Mydei could literally see the gears turning in Phainon's brain as he processed the piece of information.

Phainon scratched his cheek. “Okay, so you’re gay. Cool. Very cool. Just clearing the air, you know. Don't worry, I'm Bi in case you were curious.” Phainon said brightly, cheeks very slightly pink.

Mydei gave him a long look. “…You’re weird.”

He let out a long sigh before shaking his head and walking ahead. Phainon trailed behind him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Titans help him.

- X -

The day went on as they made it through the rest of Mydei’s classes with little fanfare.

Mydei had expected Phainon to get bored and vanish halfway through the day, but to his mild surprise, the actor stuck around. He sat beside Mydei in every class, scribbling something on his tablet that was definitely not lecture notes. Occasionally, he’d stifle a laugh and nudge Mydei just to show him a meme or some absurd comment thread, grinning like an idiot while Mydei tried to pretend he wasn’t amused.

By the time they were heading home in the mid-afternoon sun, Phainon was bouncing on his heels like a restless cat.

“So, what do you usually do after school?” he asked, his voice lilting with curiosity. “Clubs? Hobbies? Secret second job?”

“No. If I’m not at the library, I’m home.”

Phainon gave him a scandalized look. “Seriously? You don’t hang out? No parties? No spontaneous karaoke with classmates?”

“No.”

“Wow. You’re like… a hot ghost.”

“…Thank you?”

Phainon hummed thoughtfully, trailing beside him. Mydei wasn’t exactly lying — he really didn’t have a big social life. Besides Hyacine, who was often busy with her own projects and secret streaming life, Mydei mostly spent his time alone. Not that he minded. It just made moments like these feel oddly… different.

“If it helps,” he offered eventually, “the only thing I do for fun is workout at home. I go sparring on weekends. Otherwise, I read.”

Phainon’s eyes lit up like someone had just flipped a switch in his head. “ Sparring ?! You spar too?”

Mydei side-eyed him. “You don’t exactly seem the type.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Phainon huffed, puffing out his chest. “I’ll have you know I do all my stunts. I’ve got bruises in places I didn’t even know could bruise.”

“Hm. So if I accidentally land a punch to your perfect face, you won’t go running to Aglaea?”

“Please. I’ll have you running,” Phainon smirked. “I'm basically a martial arts master. A very hot one.”

“Is that listed on your resume? Right under ‘Deliverer of Dawn’?”

“Absolutely.”

Mydei gave Phainon a skeptical once-over, but the playful smirk tugging at his lips betrayed him. “Alright then. I’ll consider sparring with you.”

“YES— Wait, not today though. I’m tired. Also hungry. Also emotionally unprepared to be beaten up by a beautiful man.”

Mydei rolled his eyes, the smile still faint on his face. “Then what do you want to do?”

Phainon hummed, looking around at their quiet surroundings like something fun would pop out of the bushes. “I dunno… Is there like, a mall? Or anywhere fun?”

Mydei raised an eyebrow. He didn’t really keep tabs on places that qualified as “fun.” But after a second of thought, a name surfaced.

“…Kephale Plaza,” he offered. “We could go. You need better clothes anyway.”

Phainon gasped, scandalized. “Hey! My fashion sense is fine.”

“Need I remind you what you wore just this morning?”

Phainon staggered back like he’d been physically wounded, hand on his chest. “It was a statement .”

“It was a crime ,” Mydei said flatly, adjusting the strap of his bag as they walked. “An offense punishable by having to wear my clothes.”

“Okay, okay, fine,” Phainon muttered. “Let’s go.”

“There’s just one problem,” Mydei added, glancing sideways. “It’s a bit far. And I don’t think public transport’s an option with your face.”

Phainon blinked. “Oh. Then how—?”

“I’ll grab my bike.”

A beat of silence. Then, “You… have a bike ?”

Mydei didn’t respond. He just changed direction, walking with that same even, unbothered pace that always made it seem like he had somewhere important to be — even when he didn’t. Phainon trailed behind, clearly intrigued.

They turned a corner and descended into the private car park behind Mydei’s apartment complex. The echo of their footsteps bounced against the walls as fluorescent lights buzzed quietly overhead. Mydei stopped at a sleek, gated lot tucked at the far end — and stepped aside, revealing what was parked within.

A matte-black motorbike gleamed under the overhead lights, all smooth curves and sharp angles. It looked like something out of an action film, the kind of vehicle one might expect an assassin to ride off on after blowing up a building.

Mydei approached it like it was second nature. He crouched down beside a wall locker, pulled out two helmets, and tossed one toward Phainon — who caught it with fumbling hands and wide eyes.

Without a word, Mydei shrugged off his hoodie and slipped on a leather jacket that clung perfectly to his frame, the silver zippers glinting as he zipped it up. His hair, slightly tousled from the day, caught in the wind as the ventilation system hummed. He adjusted his gloves, calm and unhurried.

Phainon just stood there, frozen.

“…Whoa,” he finally said.

Mydei looked up. “What?”

“You’re like… the final evolution of a Kremnonian bad boy,” Phainon mumbled, eyes fixated as if he'd just witnessed a rare celestial event.

Mydei didn’t respond. He straddled the bike in one smooth motion, settling onto the seat like it belonged to him — which it did — and revved the engine. The low, thunderous growl of the machine echoed off the walls, vibrating faintly through the concrete.

He looked over his shoulder, eyes narrowed slightly under the hum of the lights. “You coming or not?”

Phainon snapped out of his trance, clutching the helmet like it was sacred. “Y-Yeah! Totally. It’s not like I’m not freaking out because I’ve never been on a bike or anything.”

He definitely was . Mydei didn’t comment on it, but the corner of his mouth twitched — just barely.

Phainon climbed on behind him a little too quickly, nearly slipping before he found the right position. He hesitated for a second before lightly placing his hands at the back edge of the seat — careful not to touch Mydei’s waist, like it was some kind of forbidden boundary.

Mydei raised an eyebrow, though he didn’t turn around. “You’re gonna fall off like that.”

“What?”

“Hold on. I don’t drive slow.”

That was all the warning Phainon got before the engine roared louder and they peeled out of the lot with a smooth jerk forward. Phainon let out a very undignified noise and immediately latched onto Mydei’s waist — not that Mydei said anything, but he did feel the heat of it through his jacket.

As they sped down the street toward Kephale Plaza, Phainon’s thoughts were a whirlwind.

He was absolutely, one-hundred percent going to fall in love with this man.

And maybe die doing it.

In less than ten minutes — though to Phainon it felt like a full hour of clinging to life — they reached their destination.

Mydei pulled the bike into a private lot with the ease of someone who’d done it a hundred times, parking it neatly beside a row of bicycles and scooters. The engine’s purr finally quieted, and Phainon clumsily dismounted, his legs wobbling like jelly.

He staggered, grabbing Mydei’s arm for balance. “My soul left my body.”

“You’re fine,” Mydei said, scoffing without real concern. “You act like I launched you into orbit.”

“I felt like I was in orbit. Pretty sure I saw my ancestors halfway through that left turn.”

Mydei rolled his eyes, but didn’t pull his arm away. Phainon leaned on him a second longer than necessary before steadying himself.

They had arrived at Kephale Plaza — a vibrant sprawl of low buildings, open-air corridors, and intertwining alleyways, far from the glass-and-steel towers of a typical mall. Brightly colored flags fluttered on strings overhead, zigzagging from rooftop to rooftop like festival decorations. Hand-painted signs hung above arched doorways, each advertising something different — books, teas, tailors, plants, charms.

The place smelled of spice, street food, and citrus soaps. Buskers played soft music on old instruments in the corners, and friendly shopkeepers called out to passersby, waving samples or advertising their best deals of the day.

Even Mydei had to admit — it had charm.

Phainon was starry-eyed from the second they stepped in.

“This place is huge! I haven’t been out in public like this in… forever.”

“Yeah, well,” Mydei muttered, scanning the crowd. “Keep your mask and glasses on. Don’t talk to strangers, don’t wander off, and if you see something you want, tell me. I’ll handle it.”

“Wow, thanks Dad.”

“I will leave you here.”

Phainon only grinned wider and looped his arm through Mydei’s without a care in the world. And despite the mild threat, Mydei didn’t pull away.

The crowd worked in their favor. It was busy — not shoulder-to-shoulder suffocating — but bustling enough that no one batted an eye at them. Especially with Phainon mostly concealed and behaving like a normal person, for once.

Well. Mostly .

He was like a crow chasing glitter. Each stall, every corner, anything remotely shiny or colorful pulled him in like a magnet. He went from store to store and pleased Mydei to buy things they absolutely didn’t need — miniature sculptures, handmade candles, a violently patterned toaster — and still somehow managed to talk Mydei into carrying half of it.

Phainon was glowing. Actually glowing.

This wasn’t like the polished megamalls he was used to, filled with branded stores and sterile white light. Here, everything felt handmade, imperfect, human. He wandered from stall to stall with awe in his eyes and a bounce in his step, chatting (through Mydei) with vendors, holding up tiny glass figurines, and seriously contemplating the purchase of a lava lamp.

“You do not need a lava lamp,” Mydei said.

“Yes I do, you’re just a hater.”

“It’s shaped like a cat vomiting rainbows.”

“Exactly.”

Even as Mydei groaned, he still paid for all the things Phainon wanted — with Aglaea’s generous sum of money — as well as a new microwave to replace the one he had nearly blown up.

And, surprisingly, clothes.

Phainon bypassed all the name-brand boutiques without hesitation, opting instead for thrift stores and family-run ateliers. He sorted through hangers with practiced ease, laughing at some prints and admiring others.

“I thought you were all about designer fashion,” Mydei said as Phainon picked up a soft cotton button-up in pale blue.

“I mean, yeah — for the red carpet. But those clothes always feel like costumes. I never get to shop for me .” He smiled, then held the shirt up to himself and turned to Mydei. “What do you think?”

Mydei blinked. It was simple, clean, and — annoyingly — looked very good on him.

“It’s the most normal thing you’ve picked all day. You’re growing.”

Phainon chuckled. “I know it’s not neon, but I’m trying.”

Mydei arched a brow. “So was the clown wardrobe a bit?”

“Not a bit , exactly… It’s just, when you’re rich and famous, people expect you to look ‘iconic’ all the time. If I walked around in this,” he gestured to the plain shirt, “someone would say I look tired, or boring, or like I’ve given up on life.”

He folded the shirt into a basket anyway. “But here? No one’s watching. I can just… exist.”

There was something quiet in the way he said it. Something soft and real. Mydei looked away before that weight could settle too long in the air.

“Well,” he muttered, “if this is you existing, you’re doing okay.”

Phainon grinned at that. “Is that a compliment I hear, Mydeimos?”

“Don’t push it.”

They bought a few more items — including another shirt Mydei didn’t approve of — and finally began to head back, the sun dipping low into the horizon and casting golden-orange light between the alleyways.

Mydei had noticed how quiet Phainon had become.

He glanced sideways, watching Phainon as he just walked beside him, humming something under his breath, swaying his shopping bag like a kid who just got out of school. He looked content. Soft , even.

It wasn’t the actor persona, or the dramatic show-off. It was just… Phainon.

And that, for some reason, made Mydei’s chest feel uncomfortably warm.

He looked away.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” Phainon said, smiling faintly. “This is the most normal I’ve felt in a long time.”

Mydei didn’t reply. But something in him quietly registered that this — a stroll through a busy plaza, arms full of too many things, quiet humming beside him — wasn’t normal for either of them. Mydei hardly had anyone in his life up till now.

And yet it felt like something they could get used to.

- X -

The ride back had been quiet—not emotionally, but logistically. Phainon was hanging onto Mydei for dear life, juggling three shopping bags and a suspiciously large potted plant that he absolutely insisted on buying for the balcony. With every bump on the road, he swore he was either going to die or be launched into the nearest trash bin. Thankfully, Mydei took pity on him and didn’t ride like a man possessed this time.

Once they arrived, they spent the next half hour putting away their loot—Mydei, with the patience of a saint, helped Phainon unpack what felt like the entire inventory of Kephale Plaza. By the time they were done, Mydei had retreated into the kitchen to start on dinner, muttering something under his breath about “never letting him near a sale again.”

Phainon, meanwhile, flopped onto the couch, where Meowy was curled up like a tiny queen on her throne.

“Alright, princess,” he murmured, grinning. “Round two. I’ve come bearing gifts.”

He unzipped one of the bags and pulled out the fish-shaped toy. It squeaked when he squeezed it, which made Meowy flick her tail in interest. Slowly, as if testing him, she inched forward.

“C’mon… that’s right…” Phainon dangled the toy, shaking it like it owed him money. “Just one little cuddle. Just one.”

To his delight, Meowy batted at it once before headbutting his palm, a quiet purr rumbling from her chest as she leaned into his touch. A soft laugh escaped him.

“Guess I’m winning you over, huh? You’re not so different from Bubbles…”

His voice trailed off at the memory. Bubbles. His golden retriever back on the farm. She used to sleep with her snout under his bed and wake him up by licking his face raw. He hadn’t had a pet in years. His life had simply stopped allowing for that kind of softness.

Being here… being still… It was strange.

But nice.

Meowy had loafed on his lap now, warm and heavy in that comforting way only cats could be. Phainon leaned back, content.

Then his phone buzzed.

Aglaea.

His stomach twisted a little.

Aglaea : How have you been, Phainon? Has everything been alright?

Phainon smiled at the screen and texted back.

Phainon : Yeah! It’s been great. Mydei is really cool and we went shopping today too!!!

The reply came faster than expected.

Aglaea : That’s good to hear. I’m texting because we’re planning to announce your hiatus tonight.

His heart sank.

Phainon : TONIGHT?? Isn’t that too soon??

Aglaea : I’m afraid if we wait, the rumors will spread beyond our control.

Phainon : I see… Do what you need to then.

Aglaea : I’m sorry. Tribbie and the girls have been trying their best to control the situation, but it’s getting out of hand.

Phainon : No it’s fine. I’m sorry for causing you guys so many problems.

Aglaea : Don’t apologize. It’s our job to support you as best we can.

He stared at the screen for a moment longer before clicking the phone shut and gently tossing it across the couch. Not hard. Just far enough that he wouldn’t feel tempted to look at it again.

Then he buried his face in Meowy’s soft fur. She blinked, unfazed, and placed one tiny paw on his chest as if asking “are you okay?”

He laughed softly and rubbed her head. “You’re too good for this world, Meowy.”

The scent of warm food wafted in from the kitchen. Mydei’s voice followed soon after, calling out, “Food’s ready.”

Phainon peeled himself away from the couch, lifting Meowy carefully and setting her on the floor. She meowed in protest before slinking off into a patch of sun near the window.

In the dining area, Mydei was already laying out plates on the balcony table. Tonight’s dinner was simpler—no extravagant plating or elaborate sauces, just warm, filling food that smelled like home. Grilled chicken with rice and roasted vegetables. Still, it looked delicious.

Phainon wandered over, trying not to look too out of it.

“You okay?” Mydei asked without turning around, tone casual— too casual.

Phainon hesitated. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

Mydei gave a faint nod, but his eyes lingered a second too long as he handed Phainon his plate.

“…Right.” Mydei said softly, his gaze lingering just a moment longer before he turned back to his food. The clink of cutlery against ceramic filled the silence between them as they both sat down at the small table on the balcony.

The sun was sinking low now, painting the sky in hues of gold and bruised violet. For a few minutes, neither spoke. The only sound came from the distant hum of city life and the gentle tapping of Phainon’s fork against his plate—he hadn’t taken a single bite.

Finally, Phainon set his fork down. The soft clatter caught Mydei’s attention.

“It’s just…” he started, voice low. “Aglaea just told me they’re going to announce my hiatus later tonight.”

Mydei looked up. “Isn’t that a good thing, then? What’s wrong?”

Phainon leaned forward, forearms resting against the table, fingers laced tightly like he was trying to hold himself together. “It’s… complicated.”

Mydei raised a brow but didn’t push. He waited, listening.

Phainon exhaled through his nose, brows knit. “So I have this friend. She starred in the movie As I’ve Written with me—her name’s Cyrene. We’ve known each other since we were kids. We basically grew up together. She was my first co-star when I was starting out, and… she’s one of the only people I can really trust.”

Mydei nodded slowly, still trying to piece together where this was going.

“The movie was a huge hit. Way more than we expected,” Phainon went on. His eyes were downcast now, tracing invisible patterns into the table’s surface. “Because our chemistry on screen was so strong, people started assuming we were dating in real life. At first it was just speculation. But then the paparazzi started digging. They found old childhood photos of us. Stuff from when we were twelve. They started spinning this whole narrative like we were secretly in love and keeping it from the world.”

Mydei stayed silent, but his gaze softened.

“She started getting hate. A lot of it.” Phainon’s voice was quieter now. Tighter. “My fans are… well, they’re passionate. And kind of scary when they want to be. There were threads calling her manipulative, calling her an attention-seeker. Some even said she was trying to ruin my image or that she was using me for popularity.”

He gave a bitter laugh and leaned back in his chair, looking up at the darkening sky.

“She’s always said she’s fine. That she can handle it. But I can see it in her eyes when we talk. She’s not fine. She just doesn’t want me to worry.”

Mydei let the words hang in the air for a moment. He watched as Phainon ran a hand through his hair, the motion almost frustrated. There was something about how his shoulders curved inward, like he was trying to shrink himself.

“I didn’t want to announce the hiatus right away,” Phainon admitted. “Because people are gonna think it’s her fault. That she caused it. And then the hate just gets worse. I thought… if I pushed out a little more content—kept things going a little longer—I could give her some breathing room. Distract people. Buy her time.”

There was a long pause.

“Phainon…” Mydei finally spoke. “That’s not your responsibility, you know.”

Phainon didn’t answer right away. He stared ahead, eyes glassy but dry.

“I know. But I still feel like it is.”

“You shouldn’t have to shoulder the entire weight of someone else’s suffering just because the world’s decided to be cruel to her.” Mydei’s voice was quiet, but steady. “That’s not love. That’s guilt. And I think she wouldn’t want that from you either.”

Phainon blinked, caught off guard by the gentleness of it.

“I don’t know who Cyrene is,” Mydei added, “but from the way you talk about her, she sounds strong. Stubborn. If she’s anything like you, I’m guessing she’d rather go down swinging than let you carry her burden alone.”

Phainon gave a tired laugh, rubbing his hands together.

“That’s exactly what she’d say too,” he murmured, a small smile forming despite the ache in his chest.

Mydei leaned back in his seat, his eyes still on Phainon. “Then maybe listen to her for once.”

Their eyes met across the table, and for a moment, neither of them said anything. There was no pity in Mydei’s expression—just quiet understanding. Something grounded. Something real.

Phainon’s heart squeezed a little at that.

He didn’t need answers tonight. He just needed to not feel alone.

And Mydei had a way of making silence feel like the safest place in the world.

The sun had fully dipped beneath the horizon now, leaving only the soft indigo glow of the evening sky. The faint sounds of city life drifted in from the balcony, but inside, all was still. The plates from dinner sat forgotten on the table. Neither of them had touched the food much.

Mydei hadn't said anything in a while. He just sat beside Phainon, elbows resting loosely on his knees, fingers laced together. His gaze was angled toward the floor, his expression unreadable — a quiet, thinking sort of stillness that Phainon had grown familiar with by now.

Phainon leaned back against the couch, arms loosely folded. Meowy had climbed up beside him again, curled gently against his thigh. For a moment, it was peaceful.

“You know,” Mydei finally said, voice low and calm, “You don't have to do all of this on your own.”

Phainon blinked, glancing over at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re always trying to keep it together for everyone. Your fans. Your friend. Even your manager. But no one’s asking you to carry everything.” He looked at Phainon then, his amber eyes soft in the dim lighting. “You’re allowed to lean on someone. Even if it’s just a little.”

Phainon let out a soft exhale. The words settled over him like a blanket — comforting, if not a little overwhelming. There was something in Mydei’s tone that made his chest ache. It wasn’t pity. It wasn’t empty sympathy. It was… understanding.

“Thanks,” he said, trying not to sound too choked. “But you’re already doing a lot. I feel like I just… dropped into your life and turned everything upside down.”

Mydei gave a light scoff. “You kind of did.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“But I let you stay, didn’t I?” Mydei leaned back too, just enough so their shoulders brushed. The contact was light, almost accidental — but neither of them moved away.

Phainon’s heart skipped a beat. He looked at Mydei out of the corner of his eye, suddenly aware of how close they were.

“Why did you let me stay?” Phainon asked, voice quieter now. Less teasing. More raw.

Mydei was quiet for a long time.

Why did he?

Sure, Anaxa had left him little room to argue — but if he’d really wanted to, he could have refused. Even when Aglaea informed him of the arrangement, he could’ve said no. He could’ve passed the opportunity to someone else. Let it be someone else's problem. But he hadn’t. He hadn’t even tried.

And maybe… it was because there was something about Phainon that made him pause.

Phainon smiled easily, laughed often — always so full of light. But beneath all that brightness, there was something quiet in his eyes. A flicker of something too familiar. A kind of weariness. Loneliness, maybe. Mydei saw it because he’d lived with it, too.

It made him want to understand Phainon. To get close enough to see where that sadness came from. Maybe, in doing so, he’d understand something about himself too — something he hadn’t yet dared to confront.

Maybe that was why.

Then, finally, he said, “I think… because you needed someone. And maybe I did too.”

Phainon didn’t know what to say to that. So he didn’t. He just smiled softly, letting the silence stretch between them — not awkward, but companionable. It felt like something delicate had passed between them. Something unspoken, but real.

The sudden buzz of Phainon’s phone broke the quiet. He fumbled for it, Meowy protesting with a chirp as he shifted.

Aglaea: The announcement just went up.

Phainon quickly opened his Enstagram and checked his official account and stared at the screen for a moment, then slowly turned it so Mydei could see.

The post was clean and official — a well-worded announcement citing “exhaustion and ongoing issues related to media overexposure.” It explained that Phainon would be on indefinite hiatus to take care of his mental health, and asked the fans for their understanding and continued support.

Comments were already flooding in. Hundreds. Thousands. A mix of shock, concern, confusion, and — to Phainon’s surprise — quite a lot of support.

He swallowed, thumb hovering uncertainly over the screen. “That’s it,” he murmured. “It’s really happening.”

Mydei didn’t say anything at first. He just reached out, placed a steady hand on Phainon’s wrist — firm, grounding. “You’re not alone, Phainon.”

Phainon looked up, eyes meeting his. There was nothing dramatic about it. No swelling music. No declarations. Just a quiet, sincere moment shared between two people learning to trust each other.

Phainon’s phone buzzed again in his hand, the screen lighting up with a new flurry of notifications. He glanced down, instinctively tapping open the glowing circle of Castorice’s story.

There she was — radiant as ever, even in a simple selfie as a profile picture. Across the screen, she’d written in bold letters: “Take your time to rest, idiot 💜 We’ve got your back.” Beneath it, she’d reposted the official announcement, along with a firm note reminding her own fans not to speculate or harass anyone during Phainon’s hiatus.

Phainon’s heart clenched. Castorice always had a way of being blunt and comforting at the same time.

He kept scrolling, tapping through his stories — and slowly, a fragile warmth began to bloom in his chest. More of his friends had spoken up. A famous director he’d worked with. One of the other leads from As I’ve Written . Even a veteran actor he’d admired for years had left a short but meaningful post: “Fame doesn’t erase your humanity. Let the boy breathe.”

Then — another ping.

A post from Cyrene’s official account.

Phainon’s finger hovered over it for a beat longer. His stomach tightened, nerves knotting together as he tapped it open.

The post was carefully worded — clearly written by her PR team, but still distinctly Cyrene. It announced that she would be shifting focus to her solo music career for a while, but emphasized that it was her decision and not a result of the rumors. It firmly expressed her support for Phainon and asked fans to do the same, urging them not to assign blame or spread further speculation.

Phainon didn’t even realize he’d been holding his breath until it all came rushing out.

Mydei, who had been quietly watching him process it all, gently took the phone from his hands. He scrolled through the comments, skimming for the ones that mattered — then turned the screen back to show him.

“See?” Mydei said with a soft, knowing smile. “Nothing to worry about.”

Phainon blinked down at the screen. Fans were flooding Cyrene with encouragement — telling her how proud they were, how much they supported her choice, how glad they were that she stood by him. There were tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, but he quickly blinked them away.

“Thanks, Mydei…” he murmured. “This whole thing was really keeping me on the edge. I didn’t want her to get hurt because of me.”

Mydei looked at him then — really looked at him, with a calmness that steadied Phainon more than any comment ever could.

“I can’t pretend to understand what it’s like for you,” he said, voice low and steady, “but you can trust me, y’know?”

Phainon swallowed, lips parted like he wanted to say something — but couldn’t quite find the words. He just nodded.

In that moment, it felt like enough.

Later that night, after they’d cleaned up from dinner and settled into the living room, Mydei found himself — somehow — still holding Phainon’s phone. He hadn’t even meant to snoop. He was just tapping through the open Instagram app when he saw it.

Hyacine’s Vtuber account, HealerOfLight~☆, had reposted the announcement of Phainon’s hiatus with a sweet message and an adorable chibi fanart someone had drawn of him. It wasn’t surprising. She cared about people, even ones she’d barely met. But something else caught his attention.

Wait a minute.

Why was Phainon viewing her post not through his official, massive-verified-celebrity account… but through a private one?

His brows furrowed.

“What on Amphoreus…” he muttered.

He turned slightly to face the man sprawled lazily beside him on the couch. “When did you get Hyacine’s social media? And on your private account, no less?”

Phainon, who was mid-scroll through his own feed on his tablet, looked up cheerfully. “Oh! During the lecture earlier. We exchanged usernames, and I even got her number too!”

Mydei blinked. His mouth opened, closed, then flattened into a thin line.

He had literally sat between the two of them during class. How the hell did they manage to exchange numbers right under his nose?

“You’re kidding.”

Phainon tilted his head, then smirked. “Wait… are you jealous?”

“What? No.” Mydei snorted and folded his arms tightly across his chest, eyes narrowing. “I don’t even have social media. Why would I care who you follow?”

Phainon leaned closer, clearly enjoying the moment a bit too much. “Mmmhmm. Sure, sure.”

“And I’m not jealous,” Mydei added sharply, glaring ahead.

“Well, if it helps, I wasn’t trying to hit her up or anything. Cass wanted me to get Hyacine’s number. Said she wanted to befriend her and fangirl or whatever.”

Mydei raised a skeptical brow but didn’t comment. It wasn’t like he didn’t believe him… it was just… annoying. And weirdly annoying that it was annoying.

“Anyway,” Phainon continued, flopping dramatically onto Mydei’s shoulder, “you should make an account too.”

“For what?”

“So I can stalk you when I’m bored, duh. Also so you can stalk me. Or Hyacine. Or Cas.”

“I live with you,” Mydei said flatly. “You already know what I’m doing every day.”

“Yeah, now. But what about in the future? Or when I go back to being famous and tragic and unattainable?” He wrapped his arms around Mydei’s like a koala, pouting. “Pleeeeease? Let me live my normal best friend dreams.”

Mydei sighed through his nose, like a man on the verge of surrender. “Fine.”

Phainon let out a triumphant whoop, fist-pumping like he’d just won a game show. Mydei simply rolled his eyes and handed over his phone.

In seconds, Phainon was downloading the app, setting up the account like he’d done it a thousand times before. He made Mydei type in his email and phone number — and when it came time to choose a username, Mydei paused.

“I don’t even know what to put.”

“Don’t worry.” Phainon cracked his knuckles. “Leave it to me.”

“That… feels like a mistake.”

“You wound me.”

Mydei watched, resigned, as Phainon hunched over like an artist sculpting a masterpiece. After much deliberation, he clicked confirm and handed the phone back with a proud grin.

The username blinked back at Mydei: @undyingprince.

“…No.”

“Why?” Phainon asked innocently. “It sounds cool. Mysterious. You have those tired eyes and tragic backstory vibes.”

“You’re projecting.”

“And you’re welcome.”

Mydei, curious, tapped on Phainon’s profile out of spite — and maybe curiosity. His display photo was a chubby, smiling cartoon blob wearing sunglasses, and his feed was a chaotic but surprisingly mundane collection: selfies with other actors, sunset photos, weird latte art, half-blurry images of hotel rooms or cats he’d met in alleyways.

And the followers list? Only fifty-three. A few he recognized from headlines. Others he didn’t. But it was clear — this was the real Phainon. The private version. Not the one that posed on red carpets.

“…Your username is Deliverer496?”

Phainon shrugged. “It used to be i_love_bubbles496. Count your blessings.”

Despite himself, Mydei let out a quiet laugh. His jealousy ebbed, replaced by something softer. If nothing else, this was strangely nice — Phainon was opening up parts of himself that the world rarely saw. And now, Mydei was a part of that world, too.

He glanced at the screen again, where a new notification blinked.

deliverer496 followed you .

He didn’t smile — not outwardly. But something about it made his chest feel a little lighter.

Mydei was just about to tap into one of Phainon’s posts — a blurry photo of a sunset over what looked like a ramen shop — when his screen suddenly blinked with two new notifications.

[2] New follow requests

He blinked, swiping down.

The first one was obvious. The handle @hyacinewww , paired with a bright profile icon of a badly drawn art of a fat unicorn. Typical.

The second one, however, gave him pause.

@servantofdeath.

The name alone sounded like it belonged in a heavy metal band, or possibly a cult. The profile was private, showing only a singular purple flower. There were over a hundred posts, but no bio, no hints. Just a blank page staring ominously back at him.

Mydei squinted at the screen. The name rang a faint bell — Servant of Death was a title from that edgy-but-critically-acclaimed alternative rock band by The Black Tide, if he remembered correctly. A dramatic, moody piece full of orchestral breakdowns and screaming vocals. A song Hyacine had once tried (and failed) to karaoke.

Still frowning, Mydei instinctively accepted Hyacine’s request first. No second thought needed there. He stared a bit longer at the flowericon before finally holding the phone up to Phainon.

“Do you know who this is?” he asked suspiciously, tilting the screen toward him.

Phainon glanced over. “Oh! That’s Cas. Damn, she’s fast.”

Mydei’s brows furrowed. “We haven’t even met.”

“She moves in mysterious ways,” Phainon said, flippantly. “She’s cool. Don’t worry.”

“You’re telling me your ultra-famous best friend-slash-supermodel just decided to follow a random guy she’s never seen because…?”

“I’ve been talking to her about you,” Phainon replied breezily, spinning the pen he’d picked up off the coffee table.

“…About what, exactly?” Mydei asked, narrowing his eyes.

Phainon froze mid-spin, then chuckled — a little too nervously. “Only good things. I swear.”

Mydei didn’t look convinced. He slowly lowered the phone, staring down at the pending request with the intensity of someone trying to decide whether to open a cursed book.

“She’s not going to try and flirt with me, is she?”

Phainon barked a laugh. “No, no, trust me. She’s too busy fighting off runway photographers and screaming over Hyacine. She just likes to keep tabs on people I mention.”

“…That’s somehow worse.”

“Aw, come on. This is a good thing! You’ve been inducted into the inner circle.”

Mydei raised a skeptical brow. “What, like a secret society?”

“Yes. Membership includes cryptic usernames,secret photos of us, and shared Google calendars.”

Mydei sighed but tapped “Accept” anyway. The flower icon stared back at him in grim approval. In return, he also requested to follow both Hyacine and Castorice.

“Welcome to the club,” Phainon said solemnly, giving a little salute.

“…You're so weird.”

“And yet, you let me stay.”

“Tolerate,” Mydei corrected, but the corners of his mouth twitched upward.

He tried not to think too much about why it felt kind of… nice. That Phainon had talked about him. That someone as far removed from his world as Castorice now knew he existed. It was weird. But maybe… not bad.

Phainon then spent the better part of the next hour sprawled across Mydei’s couch, dramatically complaining about how he had “so much to teach and so little time” while trying to educate Mydei on the basics of social media.

Mydei, for his part, was trying to listen. Really. But the moment he opened Hyacine’s profile, he found himself quietly distracted. Her feed was cluttered with pastel filters and bubbly captions, but what caught his eye were the photos he hadn’t known she’d uploaded — snapshots of desserts and pastries he had baked for her, lovingly captioned with sparkles and way too many heart emojis.

He scrolled further and found several candid shots of the two of them hanging out — one of him adjusting her microphone cord, another of her laughing with her head tilted back as he deadpanned something off-camera. But the one that made him snort quietly was a photo of Hyacine attempting to help him walk — from the time she roped him into acting as a patient for a fake physical rehabilitation demo video. The image was pure comedy: a petite girl in a pink cardigan trying to hold up a 6-foot-tall brick wall of a man, both of them mid-stumble. The caption read: "Nurse Hyacine to the rescue (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧ Mydei was SUCH a good patient~"

Meanwhile, Phainon had shifted over to Castorice’s account and was proudly showing off the feed like a mom with a wallet full of baby photos. There were selfies with Phainon, blurry snapshots of live concerts, grainy close-ups of her cat's toe beans, and multiple unhinged stories about watching Hyacine’s streams at 3AM with subtitles turned on in three languages. The whole thing was chaotic and somehow charming in a way Mydei hadn’t expected.

At some point, through a rabbit hole of suggested profiles and mutual follows, Mydei even stumbled across Anaxa’s public account — something he hadn’t thought the man would have. It was mostly walls of text: book reviews, musings on socioeconomic policies, and one cryptic quote from a philosopher Mydei couldn’t pronounce. He hovered over the “Follow” button for a moment, then decided against it. He didn’t need Anaxa knowing he was internet-curious.

Just as Mydei was about to close the app, two new notifications popped up.

[Follow Request: @goldweaver]
[Follow Request: @333bbb]

“…What now,” he muttered, tilting the screen toward Phainon.

“Oh! That’s Aglaea and the triplets from PR,” Phainon said, waving a hand like it was no big deal. “Totally safe. You can add them. They just want to make sure we’re not dead.”

Slightly wary, Mydei hit “Accept” for both.

Two seconds later:
[You’ve been added to a group: ‘SOS’]

He blinked.

Opening it, the group chat was already buzzing. The participant list was… extensive: Phainon, Hyacine, Aglaea, the three Tribios siblings, and Castorice — naturally. The name of the group didn’t inspire much confidence, either.

goldweaver: Now that Mydeimos has social media, I’ve created this chat in case of emergencies. Whether it’s regarding Phainon or yourself, please update us here promptly.

Deliverer496: But why is Cas in this group then?

servantofdeath: So we can plan hangouts and because I want to stalk your life :p

hyacinewww: Hiiii everyone!! Don’t worry, I’ll protect both Mydei AND Phainon ♡(˘▾˘)♡

333bbb: We have to make sure our snowy boy is safe! We’ll visit soon with Agy~ ✧･ﾟ: ✧･ﾟ:

UndyingPrince: …Couldn’t you guys have made this on TeleSlate? I do have a phone number for a reason.

…4 users are typing…

Phainon didn’t even try to hold back the laugh that escaped him. He clutched his stomach, cackling, as Mydei just stared flatly at his screen.

“I told you they’d adopt you,” Phainon wheezed.

Seconds later, another notification.

[New TeleSlate group created: ‘SOS’]

[Members: Phainon, Mydei, Hyacine, Castorice, Aglaea, Tribios… Anaxa]

“Wait— they added Anaxa ?” Mydei blinked in disbelief.

Phainon raised a brow. “You’re officially family now. Congratulations. There’s no escaping it.”

Mydei stared at the growing flood of stickers, emojis, and chaos. Castorice had already renamed the chat to “Team Mydei Defense Force”.

“…This is a cult.”

Phainon grinned. “A lovable one.”

And for a brief moment, with Mydei frowning at his phone and Phainon sprawled upside-down on the couch, laughing at a GIF Hyacine had just sent, the apartment felt warm in a way that was hard to describe.

Like home.

Like family .

Even if none of them had started out that way.

The night fell slow and quiet, draping itself across the city like a soft blanket.

The apartment had gone still hours ago, save for the occasional hum of the refrigerator and the low, steady breaths of Meowy curled up on the window ledge. The faint glow of their phones lit the living room, where Mydei and Phainon lay on opposite ends of the couch — legs tangled somewhere in the middle, the air between them calm and comfortably still.

They were both swiping through their feeds, replying to messages in the SOS group chat on Enstagram. Hyacine had just sent an edit of Mydei’s profile picture with a sparkly filter and a crown emoji added on top, declaring him “#KingEnergy.”

Castorice responded immediately with a collage of Mydei’s most unimpressed facial expressions, captioned: “This is the same man who sighed audibly when I said glitter heals the soul.”

Phainon snorted beside him, clearly seeing the same post. “Hey, that’s a good look for you. Maybe glitter would heal your soul.”

“Try putting glitter in my coffee and see what happens,” Mydei muttered, though his lips twitched into a faint smile.

A few seconds later, Trianne sent a meme of a cat in sunglasses sitting in a rice cooker with the caption: “Mood when you don’t know what’s going on but you're still vibing.”

Phainon tagged Mydei in it immediately.

Mydei shook his head, typing back a dry response. But when he looked over at Phainon — hair slightly mussed, his expression soft and at ease in the phone’s light — something in his chest loosened.

It had been a long time since he’d felt this… light.

Not because anything had gotten easier. If anything, things were more complicated now than ever. But here, in this moment — sharing memes, hearing the occasional laugh from across the couch, feeling Meowy shift and purr against his leg — there was something grounding. Something almost happy.

He scrolled one last time, thumb hovering over the next message in the group.

Then he stopped, glanced sideways at Phainon — who was now giggling at something Castorice had just sent — and allowed himself a quiet, almost bashful smile.

It was the kind of smile that didn’t reach the surface often. The kind that had been buried under years of tired resignation and quiet detachment. But now, it surfaced naturally.

If Mydei didn’t realize it before, he realized it now. That Phainon was perhaps the definition of light itself. Radiant and warm — the kind that didn't demand attention but found its way into the smallest corners, unnoticed until you realized you couldn't stop looking.

No fanfare.

No big revelation.

Just a small, flickering warmth he let himself feel.

And maybe, for the first time in a long time… that was enough.

Notes:

Thank you as always for reading till the end. Please let me know your thoughts :D

Also im super happy that people are enjoying Hyacine's character in the story. I really love her and I was so sad she never really got a happy ending. At least in my AU, she will live happily!!!!!

Some random story notes:

I changed the title of the fic to 'Azalea' as it's inspired by the song of the same title by Kenshi Yonezu. The meaning of the song and the show that was written for it were huge inspirations for me and it might give you a hint or two about the direction of this story. The events of 3.4 also really made me want to give the Chrysos Heirs a happier setting. A lot of the canon story were influences for things that I chose to write in this story. For example, Phainon finding Mydei in a library in Chapter 1. I also plan to include the rest of the Chrysos Heirs (Hysilens, Cerydra, TB, DanHeng, March?) later on!

Oh and TeleSlate is supposed to be telegram/whatsapp. Just a messaging app.

tumblr / X - x: aschxv , tumblr: grayyxv

Chapter 3: Rondo

Notes:

Hope you guys are ready for this because the plot will finally get serious hehe. Once again, I've written this longer than I intended to... Its a little over 10k words wtf. There is no beta-reader for this chapter so I apologize in advance for any errors! Anyways, I'll yap at the end of the chapter.

Please enjoy!

They had quickly fallen into some kind of routine.

It wasn’t the smoothest rhythm—more like a messy duet between an overstimulated celebrity and a man who just wanted to study in peace—but it worked. With Phainon’s hiatus officially announced and the public slowly settling into acceptance, he was finally able to start attending classes at Okehema University as a real student.

Naturally, it wasn’t going to be normal .

Anaxa had painstakingly drafted Phainon’s class schedule himself—likely with five spreadsheets and a color-coded system. His goal had been simple: get Phainon through university without the chaos of group projects, presentations, or any setting that might result in a viral TicToc of the actor reading from a PowerPoint.

The compromise? More online learning modules and heavily moderated in-person sessions. The only core modules Phainon had to physically attend were in his major—History—which, in an odd twist of fate, was taught by Anaxa himself. It gave the professor full control over Phainon’s environment, which included regulating seating, security, and who could sit within a ten-meter radius of the actor.

Even so, Phainon was not above following Mydei like a lost duckling. Every time Mydei had lectures, Phainon tagged along with his tablet in hand, headphones looped around his neck, claiming that the library staff glared at him like he was about to steal a first edition manuscript.

He’d say, “The librarian hates me,” with a straight face and then curl up next to Mydei, watching his own lectures like an obedient child who needed adult supervision.

Mydei, to his credit, had stopped trying to argue.

But eventually, the day came when Phainon had to attend his own physical classes. Without Mydei.

He nearly backed out three times.

It took Mydei—stern-faced and immovable as a mountain—dragging him halfway across campus and threatening to report him to Aglaea before Phainon even got within breathing distance of the lecture hall.

“Five minutes,” Phainon had bargained, digging his heels into the ground like a toddler. “Let me mentally prepare—”

“No,” Mydei had interrupted with a deadpan glare. “You had two weeks to mentally prepare.”

Phainon inwardly cringed but Mydei was right. Since the announcement dropped two weeks ago, Phainon had told himself that he wasn’t going to think about it till the day arrived.

So, with no other choice, Phainon had been left alone just outside the classroom door. For ten whole minutes, he stood frozen in the hallway like a decorative plant, backpack slung over one shoulder, cap pulled low over his head, his mask and glasses in place. His nerves buzzed so loudly it felt like the ground itself might tremble beneath his feet.

He expected the worst—stares, whispers, maybe even the click of a camera shutter.

Until…

“OH MY GOD. YOU’RE PHAINON—NO FUCKING WAY—GUYS LOOK—IT’S—MMMPH—”

Phainon flinched as a blur of gray practically launched itself at him like an over-caffeinated projectile. That blur was halfway into screaming a full monologue before another student behind him reached out, wrapped an arm around his neck, and clamped a hand over his mouth in one smooth, practiced motion.

The other man was tall and lean, dressed in a fitted black turtleneck and long, dark slacks. The turtleneck hugged his frame in all the right places, paired with minimalist accessories—thin silver chains, a matching ring, and a sleek earpiece in one ear. His hair was raven-black, slightly tousled, and his striking turquoise eyes were so intense they almost seemed to glow beneath the low lighting of the hall.

Taking a closer look at the other shorter male, he was a complete contrast. Soft gray hair and mismatched layers of yellow, white, and black. His jacket had too many zippers, his pants had one too many utility straps, and there was a single pair of neon-green sunglasses perched on his head just in case .

Somehow the pair’s fashion sense had reminded him of himself and Mydei's.

The raven-haired man, cool and unreadable, gave Phainon a nod. “Sorry about that. I’m Dan Heng. The dumbass currently being silenced is Caelus. He’s usually less feral… he just happens to be your number one fan.”

Phainon blinked. “Oh. Uh. Hi?”

Caelus gave a muffled squeal.

Dan Heng sighed through his nose. “It’s going to be a long year.”

Despite the chaotic introduction, the trio fell into step easily. Dan Heng, stoic and composed, offered just enough sarcasm to keep Caelus in line. Caelus, on the other hand, talked enough for three people, had zero concept of personal space, and was determined to become Phainon’s new best friend whether Phainon wanted him to or not.

And Phainon…?

Phainon found it oddly refreshing.

He hadn’t expected to feel normal on campus. He certainly hadn’t expected to laugh. But here he was—dodging fans, avoiding the library, sitting in a classroom that smelled faintly of old whiteboards and instant noodles—learning how to exist as just another student.

Maybe—just maybe—he could get used to this.

“Come on!” Caelus grinned, grabbing Phainon by the wrist with absolutely no regard for personal space. “You’re sitting with us.”

Phainon barely had time to react before he was dragged past a row of puzzled students and plopped down into the empty seat beside Caelus. Dan Heng, with the weary sigh of someone who had dealt with this before, calmly took the seat between them—clearly positioning himself like a human barrier in case Caelus got any more ideas.

The lecture hall buzzed with low conversation as students settled in. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in warm afternoon light, and the air-conditioning hummed steadily in the background. The room felt grounded, real, untouched by cameras or press. Just rows of students with notebooks and half-finished coffees.

Up at the front, Anaxa stood by the podium, tapping his tablet and organizing his notes with mechanical precision. His sharp gaze scanned the class, briefly flickering over Phainon and his two new companions. He raised a single eyebrow—subtle, calculating.

Phainon met his eyes and offered a shrug as if saying, they dragged me here.

Apparently, Anaxa deemed them non-threatening. He said nothing, returning his attention to the lecture slides without interruption.

Probably not assassins, then.

Phainon was just beginning to relax in his seat when Caelus leaned in again, whispering loudly enough for a whole row to hear, earning an elbow to the ribs from Dan Heng.

“OW- By the way, I saw the announcement about your hiatus. I just wanted to say I fully support you and if anyone dares to harass you on campus, I will beat them up with my baseball bat.” The gray haired man said while wincing in pain.

Phainon blinked. “You brought a bat to school?”

Dan Heng rubbed at his temple.

“It’s metaphorical,” Dan Heng muttered, not looking up from his notes. “I hope.”

“I also knew it was you the moment you walked in,” Caelus added with a smug grin. “Your disguise was great, though. Totally different vibe. But I saw your tattoo peeking out of your collar when you turned your head. Just a sliver—but I knew. Your fans on the net talk about that tattoo all the time.”

Phainon instinctively touched the base of his neck, where a thin line of ink sometimes peeked through when he wasn’t careful. “Damn. You’re scary.”

Caelus beamed. “Thank you!”

Phainon couldn’t help but laugh under his breath. For someone so chaotic, Caelus reminded him a bit of Hyacine—loud, enthusiastic, and always full of surprises. Dan Heng, on the other hand, was calm, focused, and precise, like a human version of a paperweight with judgmental eyebrows. He even had the same sort of dry, cutting sarcasm that Mydei sometimes wielded like a scalpel.

The contrast made Phainon feel… strangely at ease. He could handle this dynamic. He could like it.

He hadn’t expected to, but somehow, it felt like the beginning of something good.

“Oh—and if you ever need group mates for projects,” Caelus piped up, already leaning halfway across Dan Heng’s lap, “you can always team up with us! Dan Heng knows martial arts, so you’ll be safe with us in a fight. Guaranteed.”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Dan Heng grumbled, nudging Caelus back into his own space with a firm elbow.

“Thanks,” Phainon replied with a small smile, “but… I’m kind of on a ban from group projects. Anaxa’s orders. I think he’s trying to avoid me getting mobbed in a group chat.”

Caelus groaned dramatically, flopping forward over the desk like a deflated balloon. “Aw man. That makes sense, but still—what if I wanted to put ‘worked with Phainon’ on my résumé?”

“Just say you shared oxygen with me for a whole year. Close enough.”

Caelus snorted, then perked up again. “Well, if you ever need help with schoolwork—or snacks—Dan Heng over here is secretly a genius. He helped me pass three history quizzes already.”

Dan Heng gave a long-suffering sigh but didn’t argue.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Phainon chuckled, genuinely warmed by the offer. These two were weird. But it was the kind of weird that made him feel… safe.

As the lecture began, Caelus attempted to behave. He really did. But five minutes in, he was visibly vibrating in his seat. His eyes darted from the professor to Phainon and back again, fingers twitching with the effort not to ask the 147 questions bouncing around in his skull.

Every few minutes, he’d lean toward Phainon like he was about to whisper something—and every time, Dan Heng reached over with mechanical precision to nudge him back without even looking.

“Shush,” Dan Heng muttered under his breath. Again.

“But I just want to know—”

“Shush.”

“Fine!” Caelus hissed, sitting upright with the exaggerated stiffness of someone trying to hold in a sneeze.

Ten minutes later, Caelus tried again.

“Hey, Phai—”

“I will tape your mouth shut,” Dan Heng said flatly.

That finally did it. Caelus pouted, sinking lower in his seat like a scolded puppy. For a few blessed moments, he was quiet—visibly trying his best to focus on the lecture, though his notebook had more doodles of stick-figure martial artists that somewhat resembled Dan Heng rather than actual notes.

Phainon could only stare in awe. He wondered if somehow Caelus had actually gotten his mouth taped up by Dan Heng before. 

He leaned slightly toward Dan Heng and whispered, “Is he always like this?”

Dan Heng didn’t look away from the front of the room. “This is him on a good day.”

Phainon smiled. Somehow, amidst all the chaos and bad disguises and overwhelming change, this felt real. He hadn’t known what to expect when he started this part of his life—but he hadn’t expected this warmth.

And he was grateful for it.

For the rest of the lecture, Phainon actually managed to stay focused.

He took down what notes he could, squinting occasionally at the slides and scribbling furiously when Anaxa moved too quickly—which was often. Despite only joining the class at the very tail end of his degree, he was surprised to find himself mostly keeping up. Dan Heng, seated beside him, leaned over occasionally to explain certain terms in a low, even voice—precise and efficient without ever sounding condescending.

Phainon appreciated that.

When the bell rang and the lecture officially ended, Phainon slung his bag over one shoulder and stood up, already pulling out his phone to text Mydei and ask where he was. But before he could take two steps—

“PHAAAAINONNNN!” Caelus wailed dramatically.

Phainon blinked as Caelus all but launched himself onto the floor in front of him. On all fours .

“Please. Please, I beg of you,” Caelus said, head bowed low like a supplicant before royalty. “Have lunch with me. Just once. Just this once. A once in a lifetime opportunity. A dream. A miracle . A—”

Dan Heng, clearly used to this, grabbed Caelus by the collar and hoisted him up mid-ramble.

“Keep your voice down and get off the floor,” he said flatly, dragging him to his feet like he weighed nothing.

“Let me grovel!!” Caelus shrieked, flailing as he latched onto Phainon’s leg like a particularly clingy barnacle. “Just one meal! Just one moment! I’ll even pay! I’ll name my firstborn after you—”

Phainon laughed, genuinely entertained. “You know… you could’ve just asked . I would have said yes anyway.”

Caelus froze. “Wait. What?”

“We’re friends now, aren’t we?”

“WE ARE??” Caelus practically screamed. “WE ARE!!!”

He jumped straight into the air, fist pumping like he’d just won a war. Dan Heng sighed and gave him a light slap on the back of the head to keep him grounded.

“My friend’s joining us though,” Phainon added, texting Mydei a quick on my way . “He’s kinda like my designated university babysitter.”

“Babysitter?” Caelus asked, eyes sparkling. “Oh my stars, are they also famous?? Like your secret bodyguard-slash-lover type??”

Dan Heng muttered, “Please don’t say the words ‘lover type’ before we’ve even had lunch.”

“He’s just a student, kinda,” Phainon said, grinning. “You’ll see.”

They made their way across campus to the university cafeteria—an open, sunlit space with long tables, high ceilings, and food counters lining both walls. Phainon spotted Mydei immediately, seated alone near the back by the windows, with a pink colored drink that seemed rather suspicious.

He was dressed in black again, sleeves rolled up slightly as he scrolled on his phone with one hand and held the drink in the other. The soft breeze from the open windows rustled his blonde hair, and his entire demeanour radiated a kind of quiet, worn-out calm. Like a guy who had been through it and now just wanted to sit alone in peace.

Phainon raised his hand. “Over there!”

Caelus squinted, then whispered, “Wait… that’s your friend?”

Phainon barely held back a laugh.

Caelus could hardly believe it. He had been at this university for almost three years now, and never —not even once—had he seen someone like that . The guy looked like he belonged in a fantasy epic or on the cover of a romance novel. The sunlight hit just right, haloing around the blond strands of his hair, casting soft gold across the slope of his shoulders and his clean-cut jawline.

He wasn’t just handsome. He looked unreal.

Even Dan Heng stopped walking for a moment. Which said a lot , because Dan Heng never reacted to anything. His usually blank expression wavered, just slightly, as he stared at the figure by the window.

“…Huh,” Dan Heng murmured. “Some babysitter you have there.”

“Yep,” Phainon said, already heading toward the table. “Welcome to my life.”

Mydei noticed the wave from the corner of his eye. He looked up, his unreadable gaze catching on the trio heading his way. As his gaze landed on Caelus and Dan Heng, their reactions were near immediate.

Caelus stumbled slightly. “Oh my stars ,” he breathed. “Is he glowing? No, like—he’s literally glowing.”

“He’s not glowing,” Dan Heng said flatly. “It’s just the light.”

“It’s divine light, ” Caelus hissed. “He looks like he was sculpted by ancient gods. How do you people keep collecting these unfairly attractive acquaintances?”

Phainon just chuckled as he slid into the seat beside Mydei. “Hey,” he said, nudging Mydei’s shoulder gently. “Hope you don’t mind—we’ve got company.”

Mydei looked up from his drink again, this time with a slight furrow in his brow, already bracing himself. “Company?”

Before he could say more, Caelus dramatically slammed his hands onto the table and practically threw himself into the seat across from them, his eyes wide with reverence.

“Hi! I’m Caelus, and I’m a huge fan. Of him, not you—I mean, I don’t even know you yet, but—Hi.”

Dan Heng followed more calmly, setting his things down with minimal noise and giving a respectful nod. “Dan Heng. Nice to meet you.”

Mydei blinked, pausing mid-slurp. “Uh. Hi. I’m Mydeimos.”

Caelus leaned forward as if he were trying to see into Mydei’s soul. “Wait. Are you sure you’re not, like, a god or a prince or something? You look like you’d be the king of some wealthy gold kingdom. You’ve got that ‘I-have-mercenaries-on-standby’ look.”

Mydei raised an eyebrow. “Last I checked I wasn’t,” he said, deadpan. “But I’ll let you know if I receive a crown in the mail.”

Phainon snorted into his drink. “He does give off ancient royalty vibes, doesn’t he?”

Caelus dramatically clasped his hands. “I feel like I should kneel. ”

“Please don’t,” Mydei groaned, already rubbing his temples.

Dan Heng, who had been silently observing the dynamic, took a bite of his rice. “He’s probably just as exhausted as he looks, Caelus. Leave the man alone..”

Mydei gave Dan Heng a look of gratitude.

Despite the chaos of introductions and Caelus’ near-religious awe, the mood at the lunch table quickly settled into something surprisingly comfortable. After collecting their trays, Phainon and Caelus were deep in rapid-fire conversation on one end—Caelus gesturing wildly between bites of food, while Phainon laughed and answered his endless stream of questions with practiced ease and genuine amusement.

Meanwhile, on the quieter end of the table, Mydei and Dan Heng found themselves in their own little bubble—markedly more subdued but no less engaging.

It started with a few dry remarks exchanged over the sheer volume of Caelus’ voice and the acrobatics he’d performed just to get Phainon to sit with them. But gradually, the conversation shifted—moving from shared exasperation to something more thoughtful.

To Mydei’s mild surprise, they had quite a bit in common.

They both preferred solitude over social events, and had a strong, almost meditative routine built around early mornings, gym sessions, and books. Dan Heng spoke about his time in Xianzhou Luofu in a calm, measured tone, never oversharing, but never unfriendly either. Mydei respected that quiet discipline. There was something familiar in the way Dan Heng carried himself—watchful, but not guarded. At ease in silence.

It was the first time in a long while that Mydei felt genuinely… seen .

He also found it oddly comforting that Dan Heng, too, avoided social media as much as possible. Apparently, he had been guilted into creating an account by Caelus after repeated emotional blackmail. Mydei chuckled knowingly at that. The details might’ve differed, but the sentiment was the same.

Then came the kicker.

“You practice martial arts?” Mydei asked, raising a brow over the rim of his cup.

Dan Heng nodded, setting his utensils down. “Xianzhou Luofu style. Spear forms, mostly. I train daily.”

That lit a spark in Mydei’s chest. The ghost of a grin tugged at his lips.

“You should spar with me sometime,” he said, a faint glint of challenge in his eyes. “I’d like to see Xianzhou form firsthand.”

Dan Heng raised an eyebrow in return, calm but intrigued. “Likewise. I’ve heard of the Kremnoan close-quarters style. It’s rare to meet a practitioner off-world.”

Their eyes met—two warriors speaking the same unspoken language, one that came not from words, but from discipline, scars, and the weight of choosing restraint over recklessness.

There was a brief pause, where they simply nodded at each other. Mutual respect had already been forged in the span of a single meal.

Meanwhile, Phainon found himself slowly zoning out of Caelus’ endless monologue about his favorite noodle place on campus. It wasn’t that he didn’t care—it was just that his attention had latched onto something else entirely.

Across the table, Mydei and Dan Heng had settled into a rhythm. Calm, composed, effortless. They weren’t saying much, but that was the problem. They didn’t need to. There was an ease between them—measured words, the occasional knowing glance, a mutual stillness that mirrored each other far too well.

Phainon’s grip on his drink tightened slightly.

But it was when Mydei leaned forward, eyes gleaming with rare interest, and told Dan Heng to spar with him, that something inside Phainon snapped taut.

There was absolutely no way Dan Heng was going anywhere with Mydei. Especially since Mydei had asked him to spar together first.

A flare of something irrational and hot pooled in his chest—sharp and sudden. Possessiveness. Not loud or dramatic, but fierce enough to burn under his skin.

That was his Mydei.

The one who cooked him dinner, who saved him from Meowy’s wrath, who brought him shopping around town and offered quiet company on long, aimless nights. The one who had held him when he was at his lowest. The one who—Gods, he wasn't even sure how to define it, but it mattered.

And now Dan Heng—stoic, graceful, mysteriously sharp-jawed Dan Heng—was being invited into that space?

Phainon forced a smile, sipping his drink with casual flair, but his eyes betrayed him. They flicked toward Mydei and lingered.

Is this how it feels when someone else is offered what you thought was yours?

He wasn’t sure what Dan Heng said in reply. He only caught the subtle nod and the faint curve of Mydei’s lips.

And somehow, it made his food taste like ash.

Just as Phainon had finally decided to interrupt whatever deep, soulmate-level bonding Mydei and Dan Heng were having, something else interrupted him .

He barely registered the sound of rapid footsteps when two voices pierced the air like firecrackers. On pure instinct, he ducked—lowering his head and shielding his face with his hands.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a gray-haired girl in a white and yellow jacket—eerily similar in style and shade to Caelus—storm toward their table with the righteous fury of a sibling scorned. Her energy was chaotic and direct, and without a word, she slammed her palm repeatedly into Caelus’s back with loud WHACKs .

Phainon winced. That had to hurt.

Trailing close behind her was another girl, this one in a pleated blue dress with bright pink and messy hair. Her eyes sparkled like she was holding back an explosion of squeals, and she quickly joined in on the slapping, though hers were more dramatic and theatrical than painful.

Dan Heng didn’t even flinch. He watched the chaos unfold, stone-faced, and made no effort to intervene.

“Sorry,” Caelus wheezed between hits. “This is Stelle—my twin—and that’s March. They’re really loud. And annoying.”

“How did you even find us?” Dan Heng asked dryly, raising a brow.

 Stelle finally ceased her assault and crossed her arms with a triumphant grin. “I used my twin senses, obviously. I knew you were hiding something. I could feel it in my soul.”

“Plus, we saw Caelus acting sketchy earlier and followed him,” March added brightly. “And we had to see who the two gorgeous guys he was talking to were. Like, Caelus never hangs out with anyone who isn’t Dan Heng, so this was clearly historic.”

That earned a very undignified snort from Phainon.

But the moment Stelle locked eyes on him, everything froze. Her jaw dropped. The realization hit her like a meteor.

“AND YOU!” she shrieked, pointing dramatically at Caelus. “YOU NEVER TOLD ME YOU WERE HAVING LUNCH WITH PHAINON. YOU KNOW HOW MUCH I LOVE HIM—YOU TRAITOROUS RAT—”

Caelus lunged across the table and slapped a hand over her mouth mid-scream, hissing, “SHHH!! KEEP IT DOWN, YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE! It’s a secret, so shut your big mouth!”

Phainon sweatdropped as he tried to subtly hide behind his drink. There was no recovering from that level of scene. His face was now out in the open, and hiding it while eating was near impossible. He could only pray the rest of the cafeteria hadn’t heard.

“I’m really sorry,” Caelus mumbled to him while Stelle tried to bite his hand off. “They mean well. I think.”

Phainon smiled weakly. “It’s fine. I’m used to it… kind of.”

March was bouncing on the balls of her feet now, eyes shimmering. “Oh! Oh oh oh! Can I get your autograph, please? Or just a picture? Wait—is that rude? Oh no, I didn’t mean to be rude. But I saw your hiatus announcement and you’re even more handsome in real life and I think you’re doing the right thing and I hope you’re okay and—”

She was rambling. A lot.

Phainon held up a hand to gently calm her down, laughing softly. “It’s okay. Thank you. Really. I appreciate the support.”

Just when things seemed like they were about to calm down again, March turned—right to Mydei.

With the most radiant smile and a playful tilt of her head, she asked, “Oh! You’re seriously cool too. Like, super tall, strong, kinda mysterious! Are you an actor too? Or like a supermodel?”

Mydei blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Uh… no. I’m just a student.”

March leaned in across the table, fingers curled under her chin. “Really? That's hard to believe. If you were a student here, I would’ve noticed you by now. Especially cuz you are gorgeous.”

Mydei opened his mouth, unsure how to respond to that—especially with her actively fluttering her lashes at him.

Phainon, on the other hand, was trying very hard not to let the plastic fork in his hand snap in two. His demeanour had completely morphed from the friendly celebrity figure just moments ago into something much darker.

He narrowed his eyes slightly, gaze flicking from March’s too-obvious smile to Mydei’s frozen expression. It was like watching someone hit on a particularly confused stone statue.

Still, it didn’t stop the strange twist of heat in his chest.

“What kind of Enstagram filter do you use?” March asked coyly. “Or are you just naturally this photogenic?”

Phainon’s fork did snap at that time.

Everyone looked over. Phainon cleared his throat and laughed awkwardly. “Oops. Uh… bad plastic.”

Caelus raised a brow. “You okay there, dude?”

“Totally fine,” Phainon said quickly, flashing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “My hand just slipped haha.”

March worriedly glanced over towards Phainon’s hand. “Oh! Be careful. Don’t want your handsome face or Mr Gorgeous here getting injured~” 

“…Yeah don’t worry,” Phainon finished weakly, scratching his head. 

There was an odd silence after that.

Unsure of what to do, Mydei then decided to fish for his phone and give his handle to Dan Heng and Caelus anyways. Since March and Stelle were there as well, they decided to follow him as well. Though Mydei had only followed Dan Heng back.

Afterwards, Dan Heng checked his watch and muttered under his breath, “We should go for our next class.”

Caelus checked the time on his phone and immediately panicked, muttering, “Shit.”. He wolfed down the remains of his burger and quickly grabbed his things, waving goodbye. 

March and Stelle had politely bowed and chased after Caelus. Dan Heng slowly stood up and awkwardly bowed in apology as well.  

“Sorry about that. We’ll see you guys next time.” Dan Heng had said before bidding them goodbye.

Despite everything, Mydei chuckled under his breath—and Phainon, hearing it, felt his chest lighten a little. 

He wasn’t sure why it bugged him so much seeing someone else flirt with Mydei. Just that it did.

A lot.

After Dan Heng and the others had bid their goodbyes and left the cafeteria, the table finally fell into a much-needed stillness.

Phainon let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Sure, his new friends were probably harmless. Genuinely sweet people, even. But the second March leaned just a little too close to Mydei, all Phainon could feel was heat. Not the kind that made your face warm in a charming way—but the kind that crawled under your skin, sharp and irrational.

He told himself he’d get over it. That if this was going to work—this whole university, domestic peace, trying-to-be-a-regular-person life—he had to learn how to share.

Even if a part of him really didn’t want to.

“…You still haven’t brought me sparring,” Phainon said after a beat, pushing his tray aside and stretching back in his chair. He tried to sound casual, but his foot nudged Mydei’s under the table like a quiet challenge. “It’s been two weeks. I’m starting to think you’re scared.”

Mydei swallowed the last bite of his meal and wiped his mouth with a napkin.

“Yeah, I know. I had to check with Aglaea. She had to check with the higher-ups. Apparently, they're all terrified you’ll ruin your ‘perfect face.’”

Phainon leaned in slightly, cocking a brow. “So you think my face is perfect?”

There was a beat of silence.

“…Anyway,” Mydei continued coolly, eyes focused pointedly on his drink. “Aglaea battled the higher-ups like a true war hero and finally got approval.”

Phainon’s eyes widened with delight. “YES. FINALLY. THANK YOU, MOTHER AGLAEA.”

“We’ll go this Saturday,” Mydei added, voice level again. “The place is called Kremnos Vanguards. It’s near Marmoreal Market. I’ll take you.”

Phainon grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s a date, Mydeimos.”

Mydei finally allowed himself a smirk, eyes flicking toward Phainon with an expression that held just a sliver of heat.

“It’s a date, Deliverer.”

-x-

Saturday couldn’t have arrived any slower—and yet now that it was here, Phainon felt like his soul had left his body and hovered somewhere near the ceiling in pure panic.

He was doomed .

He had been blowing up Castorice’s phone since 7 a.m., still lying in bed and clutching his pillow like it could somehow absorb the sheer amount of anxiety coursing through him.

Phainon: Cas. I NEED HELP.

Castorice: What happened??? Are you okay?? In any pain??

Phainon: Worse.

Castorice: ARE U IN THE HOSPITAL?

Phainon: No. I’m stupidly gay.

Castorice: Oh. Is this about Mydei again?

Phainon rolled onto his stomach and groaned into his mattress. Yes , it was about Mydei again. It was always about Mydei these days. The image of his roommate, sparring in his sleeveless shirt or— oh gods forbid —completely shirtless, was now haunting Phainon like a premonition of his death.

He couldn’t even explain what it was exactly—Mydei was just built different. Like some divine statue made of discipline and moral restraint.

Phainon: Cas, be honest. Do I look sexy enough. Do you think I could pull someone like Mydei.

Phainon: Ok but what if I pass out

Phainon: What if I go into cardiac arrest on the sparring mat and he has to do CPR on me and I make a stupid sound like a kicked dog.

Castorice: I’m hanging up on you. I have things to do. Go stretch or run laps or something.

Phainon: What if we started making out in the gym and then I throw up from excitement.

Castorice: Good luck. Use protection.

Still hopeless and dramatic, Phainon flopped out of bed and resolved to “work off” his nervous energy like Castorice had so heartlessly suggested. He got on the floor and began doing frantic push-ups in his pajamas. At least he thought they were push-ups—his form was all over the place and his feet kept slipping on the floor.

It didn’t matter. This was life or death.

He was mid-sweaty wobbly push-up number thirteen when the door creaked open.

“Mydei!” he gasped, face beet red and chest heaving like he’d run a marathon.

Mydei stood in the doorway, wearing his usual morning attire—a loose black tee and grey sweatpants that hung dangerously low on his hips. His golden hair was still damp from a shower, and he had a towel draped around his neck.

He blinked down at Phainon, who was sprawled like a broken puppet on the floor.

“…Are you okay?” Mydei asked, voice low and sleep-roughened.

“I’m exercising,” Phainon said too quickly. “Preparing. For later. You know. When I’ll die from how violently hot you’re gonna look. I mean! The sparring. That’s what I meant. Obviously.”

Mydei raised an unimpressed brow. “You’re being weird again.”

Phainon collapsed face-first onto the floor.

“Titans. Just take me now.”

Mydei, with all the grace of someone used to Phainon’s dramatics, stepped into the room and nudged his side with a sock-covered foot. “Breakfast is ready. Get up before you overheat and pass out.”

Phainon groaned. “Is this what love feels like? Being mocked by the object of your affection while doing crunches in SpongeBob pajama pants?”

Mydei had already turned to leave, but Phainon swore he saw a small smirk tug at the corner of his mouth as he said over his shoulder—

“Ten more reps, Deliverer. Then pancakes.”

And with that, Phainon died a little more inside.

Phainon ended up dragging his feet out of his room and abandoning the rest of his pitiful workout plan. Who needed abs when your crush looked like that just after waking up?

He slumped into his usual spot at the dining table, hair a mess and posture like a soggy towel. But his nose perked up at the smell that greeted him.

Tiganites—crispy-edged pancakes, slightly golden, with a drizzle of honey and crushed nuts on top. Beside them, a tall glass of cold milkshake, thick with fruit and froth.

“Have I told you today that I love you?” Phainon muttered dramatically as he grabbed his fork.

“You say that every time I feed you,” Mydei replied, sipping on his own drink.

Phainon’s eyes trailed over to the pale pink liquid in Mydei’s cup. It was always that drink. He’d seen it so many times now—at breakfast, sometimes in a thermos for class, once even during one of their movie nights. It was faintly sweet-smelling, almost floral, but he had never figured it out.

Curiosity finally won.

“What are you always drinking?”

Mydei looked at his glass for a moment, then answered quietly, “…Pomegranate with milk.”

Phainon blinked. “That’s a thing?”

“It’s common back home. Usually served cold. We drink it after training sessions. Or when we’re sick. Or just… anytime, really.”

Phainon tilted his head. He’d heard of the combination before, maybe once when he was a kid, but it had sounded strange to him then. He’d never actually seen anyone drink it.

“...Can I try it?” he asked after a beat, voice a little more cautious than usual.

Wordlessly, Mydei extended the glass toward him.

Phainon took it gingerly, half expecting it to taste like soap. He sniffed the drink first—sweet, tangy, milky—and then took a sip.

It was delicious. Creamy, subtly tart, and refreshing in a way that surprised him.

He lowered the glass slowly, brows raised in mild betrayal. “No wonder you never made this for me. You didn’t want to share it, did you?”

Mydei shrugged, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. “Didn’t think you’d like it.”

“Oh, I love it. You’ve been hoarding the goods all this time.”

“It’s really popular in Castrum Kremnos,” Mydei added, reaching out to reclaim his glass before Phainon could drink the whole thing. “Most people there grow up on it.”

“Well, congratulations. You’ve just given me yet another reason to move in permanently.”

“You already live here,” Mydei deadpanned.

Phainon grinned around a mouthful of tiganites. “Exactly.”

And just like that, they continued their morning in peace, basking in the warm, honey-hued sunlight streaming through the windows. The soft clinking of cutlery, the quiet sips of pomegranate milk, and the occasional fluttering of Meowy’s tail made the domestic quiet feel almost sacred.

Later on, as they cleared the table, Mydei announced that he needed to head out for a while.

“I’ve got something to do,” he said, already grabbing his keys.

“What kind of something?” Phainon asked, leaning his weight dramatically against the doorway.

Mydei barely glanced at him. “Something. I’ll be back by evening. Be ready.”

Then he was gone.

Phainon blinked. “Okay… mysterious,” he muttered to himself. “Who even says something like that?”

It was definitely suspicious. But more importantly, Mydei was gone.

Which meant Phainon could now collapse onto the kitchen floor in dramatic gay agony.

“Titans above, I’m going to die,” he groaned, dragging his hands down his face like he was in a tragic stage play. “I can’t spar with him. I’ll combust.”

He sat there for a full minute before launching himself toward the training room.

As an actor, Phainon had always taken care of his appearance—staying in shape was part of the job. But looking good to impress someone else? That was brand new. Especially when that someone else had eyes like gold and a jaw sculpted by the gods.

He wasn’t even sure when it had started exactly. Sure, even after the first time he had seen Mydei’s picture, he thought he was still pretty normal… Probably. But after living with him, the way Mydei had calmly handed him breakfast felt like they’d done this for years. 

There were also the late nights where Mydei sat beside him on the balcony, quiet and steady. Or maybe it was that one time Mydei had ruffled Phainon’s hair in an attempt to wake him up and Phainon swore he nearly passed out on the spot.

Whatever it was, it had lodged itself in Phainon’s heart like a thorn.

And now, here he was, lifting weights with the desperation of a man on a mission to seduce his housemate slash sexy university tour guide.

“Look at me, benching for love,” he muttered, sweating as he pushed through another set of reps. “This is so stupid. This is the gayest thing I’ve ever done—and I once played a gay man who eloped with his doctor on stage.”

He didn’t stop until mid-afternoon, at which point he was thoroughly exhausted, drenched in sweat, and slightly more buff than he was five hours ago. With sore muscles and no dignity left, he dragged himself to the shower and scrubbed until he no longer smelled like gym mats and desperation.

By the time Mydei returned, Phainon was freshly dressed in a black athletic tee, some track jacket and joggers, casually sipping from a protein shake he didn’t even like.

He struck a pose by the hallway mirror.

Mydei opened the door, paused for half a beat, then raised a brow. “You look like you’re trying to sell something.”

Phainon smirked, heart hammering in his chest. “Just selling the fantasy.”

“Right…” Mydei replied, deadpan.

But Phainon didn’t miss the faint flicker of amusement in his eyes—or the way his gaze lingered for just a second too long.

Game on.

-x-

The gym was massive—industrial in design, polished concrete floors with exposed beams, and glass walls that allowed golden twilight to spill in from the outside. Despite its size, it wasn’t crowded. In fact, it felt more like entering a private training compound than a commercial gym. It made sense. This wasn’t some run-of-the-mill fitness centre. This was a battleground.

And everyone inside?

Built like titans.

The men and women still lingering near the weight racks and heavy bags were all striking—tall, powerful, moving with the kind of fluidity that only came from years of brutal, disciplined training. There was no wasted movement, no casual glances. Even in their silence, they commanded presence.

Phainon, for once, felt… average. And that was saying something, considering he had been voted Most Handsome Male Lead three years in a row.

Granted, most of the gym-goers were already packing up—tossing towels over their shoulders, guzzling down water from protein-stained bottles, heading toward the exits. No one batted an eye just because he was an actor. But they all gave respectful nods to Mydei as they passed, as if he were something more than just a former trainee.

A returning champion, maybe.

They walked toward the main ring—a beautifully maintained boxing ring with matte black ropes and deep blue padding—when a group of trainers emerged from the far end of the gym. They looked equally intimidating, clad in Kremnos-style warmups and distinct gloves, but all of them greeted Mydei with familiarity.

And curiosity.

One in particular, a broad-shouldered man with salt-and-pepper hair and arms like stone columns, stepped forward.

“This is Krateros,” Mydei said, tone a little softer. “He trained me from a young age back in Castrum Kremnos. He moved here and opened this gym in Okehema. He’s… the best.”

Krateros approached and extended a firm hand toward Phainon. “So. You’re Phainon.”

Phainon shook his hand, only barely hiding the fact that Krateros’ grip could probably crush bones. “Yes, sir. Pleasure to meet you.”

“I was surprised when Mydeimos called,” Krateros said, his gravelly voice holding warmth under its weight. “Said a celebrity was coming. I thought it was a joke.”

Phainon laughed nervously. “Honestly? I thought the same thing.”

Krateros grinned. “Well, I’ve locked the place down. You’ll have full privacy for the evening. If you need anything—equipment, gear, guidance—you let me know. And don’t worry about being new to this. Just don’t try to fight Mydeimos seriously unless you enjoy pain.”

“That’s… reassuring,” Phainon muttered.

With a nod, Mydei gestured to the back. “Come on. I’ll show you where to change.”

They moved toward a sleek corridor at the rear of the gym, past racks of gloves and shelves of wraps, to a pair of locker rooms. The lighting dimmed slightly here, more ambient, and the air smelled faintly of cedar oil and clean sweat.

Phainon followed closely behind, the soft echo of their footsteps bouncing off the tiled floors. His heart was already pounding, and they hadn’t even stepped into the ring yet.

He tried to act casual, brushing his knuckles along one of the lockers as he passed.

“So,” he said lightly, “how long exactly have you known Krateros for?”

Mydei didn’t even pause. “Since I was 9. I used to train everyday up until I was 18.”

“Oh. Damn. Cool cool cool. I’m beginning to think that I’ve walked into some sort of torture chamber and not a gym BUT, no pressure at all.”

Mydei shot him a look over his shoulder, faintly amused. “You’re the one who wanted to spar.”

“Yeah. Because I like making bad life choices,” Phainon grinned.

They reached the lockers, and Mydei handed him a spare gym bag. “There’s gear inside. Wraps, gloves, whatever you need. I figured you wouldn’t have your own.”

“Thanks.” Phainon looked at the bag, then up at Mydei. “Hey… you’re not gonna go easy on me, are you?”

Mydei smirked, already undoing the top of his tracksuit jacket. “What do you think?”

The fabric slipped from his shoulders with an ease that shouldn’t have been so hypnotic. Phainon hadn’t expected to be sucker-punched by sheer visual impact, but the moment Mydei shed the outer layer, all air in the locker room suddenly felt scarce.

He was carved from marble. Broad shoulders, lean but defined muscles, every inch of his torso sculpted with precision and restraint. But it wasn’t just the definition of his abs or the way his waist tapered perfectly—it was the tattoos.

Crimson ink bloomed across Mydei’s chest and down the planes of his arms, curling like fire across his ribs, disappearing into the waistband of his sweats and reappearing across his back when he turned slightly. They weren’t purely decorative. They pulsed with meaning, etched in symmetrical patterns that felt ancient, ceremonial—beautiful.

And Phainon could see all of it.

“Oh,” he breathed. A stupid, barely audible sound, but it escaped before he could catch it.

Mydei didn’t notice—he was too busy checking the wraps in his bag, now standing completely topless, muscles shifting with each movement. The tattoos rippled with him, red ink catching against the ambient gym lights like it was alive.

Phainon was not okay.

His mind went blank, then absolutely not blank, filling with thoughts so indecent he wanted to crawl into a locker and perish. He imagined—his hands all over Mydei—and immediately wanted to slap himself in the face.

Stop. Stop. This is your house mate. Your sparring partner. A man who makes you pancakes. You cannot fuck him on gym mats.

The shorts clung low to Mydei’s hips, and the rest of him was... devastating. A living sculpture. Arms flexed with every small motion, his calves taut with every step. The way his back muscles moved under his skin when he adjusted his gloves—unfair.

Absolutely criminal.

Phainon tried very, very hard not to look too closely, but there was nothing left to the imagination. Mydei was a vision of strength, honed discipline, and terrifyingly natural sex appeal. And he was just there . Standing. Breathing. Unbothered.

Meanwhile, Phainon was trying not to pass out from sheer visual overload and the fact that something in his pants was very excited to be here.

He cleared his throat and pretended to take a sip of his water while subtly looking away. Okay. You can do this. He’s just a guy. A very hot guy. A very shirtless hot guy who looks like a fallen war god.

But Mydei, in all his unbothered glory, looked like he’d just stepped out of a painting—powerful, serene, focused.

“Phainon?”

Phainon jolted so hard he nearly dropped his water bottle.

“Huh?”

“You’re just… standing there. You okay?”

“Yes. Yes. Just mentally preparing for battle. You know. The ring. The fight. Combat. Totally not short-circuiting because you look absolutely devastating like, a demi-god of calamity . ”

Mydei arched his brow, amused. “You’re rambling.”

“Am I? Ha ha. You’re imagining it.”

He turned quickly to face his locker again, taking deep, calming breaths. He needed to think about taxes. Painful dentist appointments. Dead plants. Anything but the way Mydei’s shorts sat on his hips or the very visible V-line that pointed directly to—

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself.

Phainon shook his head to clear his thoughts and slapped his own face. He needed to change. Right.

He peeled off his top awkwardly, aware of every inch of skin he revealed. Then, slowly— painfully slowly—he undid the ties on his joggers and stepped out of them, revealing a fitted pair of dark shorts. His body wasn’t anything close to Mydei’s, but Phainon was an actor—he worked out, had some tone, enough to stay camera ready.

Though, he would probably put up a good fight considering how… aggressive he could be.

Still, he felt like a nervous idiot under Mydei’s gaze.

“You’re not too bad yourself,” Mydei commented casually.

Phainon choked on air.

“Wh– what?”

Mydei glanced over at him, unbothered, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb into the core of Phainon’s already unstable heart.

His eyes skimmed over Phainon’s torso again, clinical but lingering, like he was assessing a new weapon—one he found mildly impressive and, perhaps, just a little distracting.

“I said, you look fit. Good form. Should help you keep up in the ring,” he repeated with a shrug, tone cool and matter-of-fact.

Like it was just another observation, not something that had just sent Phainon’s nervous system into complete shutdown.

Phainon stood there, blinking, mentally rebooting.

“Ah. Right. Ring. Keep up. Got it,” he muttered, absolutely not flustered. Totally normal. Not about to hurl himself into the oblivion.

He silently thanked the Titans above that the lighting in the locker room was dim—dim enough to maybe hide the blush flaming across his cheeks, or the fact that his ears had gone a violent shade of red. Because being complimented by someone who looked like Mydei, sounded like Mydei, and stood shirtless just two feet away with all that nonchalant confidence—was downright lethal for his heart. And other things.

Things that he really shouldn’t be thinking about at this moment.

Phainon quickly busied himself adjusting his gloves, pretending that the leather straps needed very careful attention and not that he was desperately trying to avoid looking at Mydei’s bulging pecs again. Or the tattoos. Or the faint line of a scar running just below his ribs. Or the way the muscles in his arms flexed when he pulled his own gloves tight.

Meanwhile, Mydei was already walking ahead, seemingly unfazed, his broad shoulders casting long shadows under the overhead lights. Phainon followed, very aware that his legs were shaky and it had nothing to do with fatigue.

By the time they stepped onto the mat and into the ring, the gym had completely cleared out. The only sounds left were the low hum of the lights and the soft creak of the ropes as they stepped between them.

It felt oddly intimate.

Like a stage set for something that could go very wrong or very right.

“Alright,” Mydei said, rolling one shoulder back and bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet. “Just the basics. No shots to the head, no cheap shots. You bleed, you tap, we stop.”

Phainon nodded quickly. “Right. Totally. Sparring. Nothing else. Got it.”

Mydei quirked a brow. “What?”

“Nothing!” Phainon squeaked. “Nothing at all.”

Mydei smirked, the faintest twitch of amusement flickering at the corner of his lips.

“You sure you’re ready for this?”

Phainon wasn’t. Not even remotely. But for once, he wasn’t going to back down.

“Hit me with your best shot,” he grinned, raising his fists.

And just like that, the first dance began.

Two bodies circling each other under gym lights, every breath shared in close proximity. One hiding how much he wanted to stare. The other pretending not to notice.

But both of them feeling it. Every step. Every glance.

And maybe, if one of them slipped for just a moment too long, something far more dangerous than a punch might land.

However, Mydei wasted no time and made the first move.

Phainon barely ducked in time, air shifting past his cheek. Then another came, aimed for his shoulder. He twisted away, heart pounding, the slap of Mydei’s glove slicing the space beside his neck.

And another—fast and sharp, all strength and precision.

Mydei’s attacks were relentless. Calculated. He was testing him, not just physically but mentally too. Pushing to see where Phainon would break. But Phainon made no move to retaliate. Not yet. He read the rhythm of each motion, breath syncing with the tempo of their steps. One, two, block. Pivot. Reset. Like choreography from a film, except far more real.

The ring pulsed with the sound of shuffling feet and glove taps, the quiet hum of the gym a distant murmur in the background. Sweat already pricked at Phainon’s skin, but he didn’t falter. He didn’t swing.

Then Mydei lunged—faster this time, going low and aiming a brutal hook toward his ribs. Phainon’s eyes sharpened. He stepped in and caught the punch with both hands.

Time seemed to stall. Their bodies stilled, locked in that suspended moment of impact.

Mydei’s fist curled tight against Phainon’s palm. The contact was raw, charged. Mydei’s knuckles pressed against his skin, and Phainon could feel the weight behind them—held back only by his grip.

Their eyes met, electricity crackling in the space between them.

Mydei gave a feral grin, teeth bared, excitement gleaming in his eyes. “Not bad, Deliverer,” he rasped.

And then, they moved again.

Their dance continued—more fluid, more intense. Each movement faster than the last, their footwork weaving in sync. Mydei struck out, and Phainon twisted out of reach. A feint from the left. Phainon blocked it cleanly. Another jab, then an elbow. He deflected it with a smooth parry, the brush of his arm sliding against Mydei’s.

Neither of them spoke now. Words had given way to motion. It was all instinct, all momentum.

Phainon’s breath hitched once as Mydei’s chest nearly collided with his in a close turn, their torsos brushing for a flash of a second—bare skin scraping skin. Mydei’s tattoos flexed with each movement, red ink rippling over taut muscle, and Phainon had to force himself to look away. Focus, he chanted to himself, over and over. Don’t fuck up.

Still, he didn’t counterattack. He just kept defending, as if studying Mydei’s every move—memorizing the lines of his body under pressure, the weight of his strikes, the way his mouth curved with the thrill of battle.

Phainon was desperately trying to burn the image of Mydei’s every move and expression into his mind. Carefully observing his habits and little cracks in his seemingly perfect routine. He had soon began to lose track of time altogether as he continued to dodge Mydei endlessly.

Mydei, who had noticed this, decided that he was going to put a stop to it. He didn’t want Phainon to carefully calculate his attacks. So with a quick feint and kick, he pinned Phainon onto the ground.

Phainon’s back slammed against the padded floor of the boxing ring with a grunt, sweat shining on his throat. Mydei hovering over him, chest heaving. A single lock of hair clung to his cheek from the heat, and his golden eyes blazed like they were about to catch fire.

“You’re distracted,” Mydei said, voice low and rough. He stepped forward. “Or are you just letting me win?”

Phainon’s smirk was slow. Lethal. “You think I’d let anyone pin me that easily?”

“You didn’t struggle,” Mydei replied, grabbing him by the shoulder. His grip was tight, knuckles pale.

“Maybe I wanted to see what you’d do.”

“Then watch closely.”

And just like that, Mydei shoved him harder, their bodies colliding. The impact didn’t hurt—but it lit something up. Phainon let out a sharp breath as Mydei pressed in, their chests flush, breath mingling in the heated space between them.

Neither moved.

Time slowed to a crawl, the buzz of fluorescent lights above fading into a distant hum. The soft thud of Phainon’s heartbeat pounded in his ears—fast, erratic, betraying just how not in control he felt right now.

Mydei didn’t speak. His golden eyes—still searing, still locked on him—searched Phainon’s face like he was reading a script written in a language only he could understand.

Phainon’s breath hitched.

He could feel every point of contact between them: the weight of Mydei’s knee braced against his thigh, the heat bleeding through his gloves where they gripped his arm, the press of their sweat-slicked torsos rising and falling together in rhythm. Mydei wasn’t even trying to pin him anymore—he was just there, poised, motionless, radiating that quiet, intimidating control that made it impossible to think.

Phainon’s mind was blank. 

Until he recalled the way March gotten a little too close to Mydei or the way Dan Heng had managed to make Mydei smile. He imagined a scenario where Mydei eventually left him. When his time in Okehema finally ran out. 

Then, something snapped. No words. No warning.

He lunged.

Mydei barely had time to blink before Phainon was on him, hands gripping tight, momentum slamming into his core. It wasn’t reckless—it was calculated. Intentional.

They hit the mat again, but this time it was Mydei on his back.

And Phainon didn’t let go.

He straddled him, breathing fast, his palms pinning Mydei’s wrists beside his head. Their faces were just inches apart. This close, Mydei could see the shift in his expression—feral, almost. Not like the charming actor everyone else knew. This was something else.

Something possessive.

Mydei's eyes narrowed, unreadable. “Finally decided to fight back?”

Phainon leaned down, lips brushing dangerously close to Mydei’s ear as he murmured,

“I don’t like sharing.”

Phainon’s voice dripped with heat and intent, his breath brushing against Mydei’s skin. But instead of wilting under it, Mydei’s body tensed. 

And then with all his willpower—Mydei broke free and shoved him.

Phainon stumbled back a step, wide-eyed, as Mydei surged forward, closing the distance again with startling precision. One arm locked across Phainon’s shoulder, the other pressing hard into his chest, pushing him firmly against the ropes this time.

“What the fuck do you want from me, Phainon?” Mydei’s voice was low—not sultry, not teasing, but edged in frustration. There was heat in it, yes, but also a confusion barely masked by the force of his body. “You flirt, you press, then you don’t make a move. And now you're talking like I belong to you?”

Phainon blinked, caught off guard.

“I—” he started.

“No,” Mydei cut in sharply, golden eyes blazing. “Just because you’re famous you don’t get to say shit like that and toy with my feelings.”

He leaned in close now, his breath skating along Phainon’s jaw, each word a calculated strike. “You think you can just waltz in, throw around that stupid grin, say things you don’t understand, and expect me to fall in line?”

Phainon swallowed hard. Mydei’s body was solid against his, every muscle alive, every ounce of restraint held by a thread.

“I meant it,” Phainon said, quieter now. “I don’t want anyone else to—”

“To what?” Mydei pressed. “To have me? Touch me? Or do you just want to prove that you can win me, like I’m some prize? Is this how you treat every person you meet?”

His hand slid from Phainon’s shoulder to his jaw, rough but not unkind, fingers curled just under his chin. He tilted Phainon’s face up, forcing him to look directly into his eyes.

“Because if this is just a game to you, Deliverer,” Mydei said, his voice a whisper now, “you’re not ready to play with me.”

There it was—that challenge again. That quiet intensity that burned hotter than anything Phainon had known.

But even now, even with Mydei pressed to him, with his power and anger sparking like wildfire, Phainon wasn’t afraid. If anything, it made him want him more.

“I’m not playing,” Phainon said hoarsely, heart hammering.

Mydei’s eyes searched his face, hunting for a lie, for anything false.

He found nothing.

But still, he didn’t let up. “Then prove it. Not with pretty words. Show me what you really want.”

He stepped back, just one pace—but it was all Phainon needed. A breath of space. A breath of challenge.

And like a fuse being lit, the tension snapped.

Phainon lunged again—but this time, not with teasing. With intent. With heat. With a hunger to match Mydei’s fire, not snuff it out. 

With a twist of his hips and a sudden burst of strength, he spun them. Mydei barely had time to react before his back slammed into the corner post, the ropes shuddering from the force. Phainon’s glove braced against his chest, pinning him there.

He pressed his body into Mydei’s, chest to chest, hip to hip. The fabric of their shorts did nothing to hide the hardness beginning to rise between them. Phainon’s knee pushed between Mydei’s thighs—firm, possessive. They weren’t trying to hurt each other. They were trying to overwhelm. To win.

“I’m going to make you forget everyone else exists.” 

Mydei let out a low, defiant sound, eyes narrowing—but the tension in his body told a different story. His legs shifted. His breath caught.

He hooked his leg behind Phainon’s and tried to sweep him, but Phainon spun out of it, slipping behind him. Arms wrapped around Mydei’s torso, chest to back, too close. Their breath hitched. Then Mydei slammed his elbow back—not hard enough to injure, just enough to knock Phainon off—and twisted to reverse the hold.

They collided again. This time, it was louder . The slap of skin. The rasp of breath. Mydei pushed him against the ropes, forearm against Phainon’s collarbone, but Phainon caught his waist, fingers digging in just above the band of his shorts.

They froze there, muscles taut, hearts racing.

“You are an actor, you could have anyone you wanted” Mydei said, voice a little unsteady for once. “You don’t need me .”

“I know,” Phainon muttered, his hand still gripping Mydei’s side. “But I want you .”

That did something.

Mydei’s eyes darkened—not with softness, but something more primal. He stepped forward, letting his weight press into Phainon, forcing him further into the ropes. Their hips collided. Their legs tangled. Phainon’s breath stuttered in his throat.

Mydei’s lip curled slightly, a spark of irritation flashing across his face—but it wasn’t real. Not with the way his hand came down, fingers threading into Phainon’s hair at the base of his neck, not with how tightly he gripped him. At some point, gloves were shed, tossed to the side. They needed their hands. Needed to feel .

Phainon barely registered the moment they hit the canvas.

One second, he was held against the ropes—Mydei's body pressed flush against his, overwhelming in heat and weight—and the next, he was being spun, arms hooked, balance stolen.

Mydei took him down like it was instinct.

Phainon grunted as his back met the mat, but the sound was swallowed almost instantly by Mydei’s body straddling his waist, knees bracketing his hips,  hand pressed to the center of his chest to keep him there.

“You forgot,” Mydei murmured, golden eyes blazing as he leaned in, lips brushing Phainon’s ear. “I’m not that easy to pin.”

Phainon’s hands came up, but Mydei caught both of them and slammed them to the mat above his head in one fluid, brutal movement.

“You want control so badly?” Mydei growled, breath hot against his cheek. “Then earn it.”

Phainon snarled, arching beneath him—but Mydei wasn’t budging. Not when he had him perfectly trapped, not when Phainon’s cock was already hard and twitching, straining against the fabric of his shorts from the sheer friction of their tangled legs and skin-on-skin contact.

And Mydei abolutely knew what he was doing. He ground down—slow, measured, so deliberate it felt like torture. His hips rolled against Phainon’s with a precision that made the man’s back arch and a strangled noise escape his throat.

Phainon’s voice dropped to a murmur. “You drive me insane.”

Mydei’s lips quirked. “Good.”

Then—with no warning—Phainon flipped them again.

Now he was the one on top.

Phainon lay beneath him, chest rising and falling, skin flushed from exertion—but it wasn’t just the fight that had him breathless.

He stared up at Mydei, gaze flicking from those burning golden eyes to the curve of his mouth. He could feel every inch of Mydei’s body pressed to his—solid, warm, real . The weight of him, the scent of sweat and something uniquely Mydei, curled in his lungs and refused to leave.

His hands moved before he could stop them, gripping Mydei’s hips lightly—then one slid up, fingers curling at the back of his neck.

“Come here,” he breathed, voice low and wrecked.

Mydei blinked, startled by the shift in tone, but didn’t resist. He leaned in—

Too close.

Their foreheads almost touched.

Phainon pulled him the rest of the way down—and Mydei landed against him, chest to chest, heat and heartbeat shared. There was nowhere to hide now. Nothing to pretend.

Their eyes met.

Everything stilled.

A question lingered in the air, heavy and fragile.

Mydei’s lips parted as if to speak—but Phainon moved first.

He tilted his head and pressed their mouths together.

Not roughly. Not desperately. But firmly . Like he had wanted this for too long and could no longer fight it. His lips were soft but sure against Mydei’s, coaxing, searching. He kissed him like he meant it. Like Mydei was the only person left in the world who mattered.

And for a second, Mydei didn’t move.

Then—his breath hitched.

And he kissed him back .

Their mouths slanted together, deeper this time, drawn together by the gravity between them. There was no distance now. Just heat and friction and something dangerously close to hunger.

Phainon’s fingers dug into Mydei’s back. Mydei’s hand braced beside his head, the other curled tight in Phainon’s hair.

Neither of them spoke.

Because there was nothing left to say.

There was no going back from this now.

Notes:

Sorry for the ending oops.

I spent all my free time and even time at work writing this and before I knew it I was done. I've been reading so many phaidei fics and i've been dying while waiting for an update so i got real frustrated and continued writing my own fic LOL. Also, the fight scene was kinda messy but i hope there arent any errors and it makes sense. I had something like wresting/wwe in mind. But you know how it always end up being really gay for no reason? It's something like that HAHAHA Please let me know your thoughts!! I appreciate the comments very much although I don't reply to all of them. It fuels me to keep writing. Thank you for reading my story :)

Chapter 4: Melting

Notes:

wow im back with an update. its kinda funny how in the 1st chapter i said i would only update every 2 weeks and yet, here i am uploading weekly/less than a week later wtf. it wont always be like this though i swear...... maybe....

I highly recommend putting Melting by Evgeny Grinko in the background while reading this chapter. It was the vibe i was going for and also the inspiration for the title! dont worry it's piano music so it wont distract you. anyways, please dont kill me for this chapter LOL i hope you enjoy!

“Are you really going to continue ignoring Phainon?”

Hyacine’s voice cut through the silence, soft but laced with quiet insistence—the kind that made it impossible to brush off. Her hand rested atop Mydei’s, delicate but grounding, like the first touch of sunlight after a sleepless night. She gave it a gentle squeeze, enough to pull him out of his thoughts.

They sat beneath the overhang of the campus courtyard, sheltered from the late afternoon sun. The stained-glass windows of the adjacent building painted fractured colors across the stone pavement: amber, rose, blue. It would have been beautiful, serene—if not for the leaden guilt pressing down on Mydei’s chest.

“I know you needed space,” Hyacine said gently, “but this—” she motioned toward him, toward the hollow behind his tired eyes, “—this isn’t helping anyone. Least of all you.”

Mydei’s gaze was distant, his expression unreadable. The breeze rustled through the ivy on the courtyard walls, stirring his blonde hair. “He kissed me,” he said at last, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” Hyacine said. “But you kissed him back.”

Silence stretched between them like a crack in the earth. Mydei’s shoulders tensed under her touch.

“It’s been more than two weeks,” she pressed. “And Phainon’s worried sick.”

He finally exhaled, slow and hollow, dragging a hand down his face. “I didn’t know what to do, Hyacine. I still don’t.”

Hyacine tilted her head slightly. “Then say that. Talk to him. You’re punishing him and yourself.”

“I don’t know what he wants from me,” Mydei muttered, voice bitter around the edges. “He could have anyone. Anyone . He’s famous. Beautiful. Charismatic. He has no reason to choose someone like me.”

Hyacine raised an eyebrow. “You think he chose you on accident?”

Mydei scoffed. “We barely know each other. It’s been—what, a month? That’s not long enough to feel something real. How can I believe him when I don’t even know if he’s serious? Maybe it was just a heat-of-the-moment thing. Maybe he just wanted to see if he could get me.”

Hyacine’s expression softened. “You think he’s playing with you.”

“I don’t know what to think,” Mydei admitted. “He’s… different. And I panicked. I kissed him back and then I couldn’t breathe. I didn’t know what it meant . Lust? Curiosity? It reminded me of him. I just—” his voice broke off, rough with shame. “I’m not some prize to be won.”

“You’re not a prize,” Hyacine said quietly. “You’re a person. A good one. And he sees that. Even if you don’t.”

He looked away, throat working. “How do you know?”

“Because I get hourly updates from Cassie,” she said dryly. “And because I’ve seen how he looks at you. He’s also been sharing sad music on his Enstagram stories. The man is spiraling.”

That earned the faintest breath of laughter from Mydei. It didn’t reach his eyes.

About three weeks ago

The day of their spar had arrived. 

The morning sun had barely crested the rooftops when Mydei stepped out, tugging on his hoodie and sliding his earbuds in. After breakfast, he had simply left. He didn’t tell Phainon where he was headed—mostly because he didn’t want to deal with the dramatics.  If Phainon knew he was meeting Dan Heng, the man would undoubtedly make a scene. Or worse, insist on tagging along and then spend the entire morning sulking.

Mydei just needed a few hours of peace.

The gym wasn’t far—tucked in a quiet industrial corner of the district, favoured mostly by serious lifters and early risers. Dan Heng was already inside when Mydei arrived, setting down a pair of dumbbells with the practiced ease of someone who had done this a hundred times. His dark hair was pushed back with a headband, and a thin sheen of sweat clung to his collarbones under his black tank top.

“Morning,” Dan Heng said simply.

Mydei grunted a greeting and started stretching beside him, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing.

They didn’t talk much while they trained—neither of them were the chatty type. The sound of clanking weights and rhythmic breathing filled the space between them. They traded sets, spotted each other in silence, and pushed each other without saying much. It was… comfortable. Mydei liked that. Liked how Dan Heng never pried too deeply. Liked how being around him didn’t feel like being dissected under a microscope.

Still, he could feel Dan Heng’s gaze on him during their cooldown.

“Okay,” Mydei finally said, pulling off his gloves. “What is it?”

Dan Heng shrugged, wiping his face with a towel. “Nothing. Just wondering how long you’re going to keep pretending you’re not head over heels.”

Mydei blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Phainon,” Dan Heng said plainly. “You’ve been acting weird about him and I've seen the way he looks at you.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Dan Heng raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because he looked like he was about to commit murder the other day when March asked for your socials.”

Mydei groaned, grabbing his water bottle and downing half of it. “That’s just how he is.”

“That’s not just anything, Mydei. Jealousy doesn’t look like that unless someone’s scared they’re going to lose you.”

Mydei didn’t respond.

They left the gym shortly after, walking side by side toward a small café tucked between a bookstore and a florist. It was quiet, with mismatched chairs and a woodsy smell that clung to the air—like fresh thyme and roasted beans. Mydei slid into a booth by the window while Dan Heng ordered, and they both settled in with warm bowls of soup and buttered rye bread.

“So?” Dan Heng asked again mid-bite, calm as ever. “Are you dating him?”

Mydei nearly choked on his soup. “No!”

Dan Heng’s lips twitched.

“What makes you think so?” Mydei muttered, stabbing a piece of bread with unnecessary force. “And even if we were… it’s complicated. It’s always complicated.”

Dan Heng gave a slow nod. “He clearly likes you. You like him. What’s complicated about that?”

Mydei looked away. Through the window, the sky was beginning to shift—pale clouds casting long shadows across the cobblestones. His fingers fidgeted with the edge of his napkin.

“I don’t want to get attached,” he said quietly. “Not if he’s going to leave. Not if I’ll just be another temporary chapter in his story.”

Dan Heng didn’t answer immediately. He just stirred his coffee and let the silence settle like dust.

“I don’t think he sees you that way,” he finally said. “But if you keep pushing him away, you’ll never find out.”

Mydei didn’t say anything for a long time.

They spent the rest of their day talking about workout routines, school, as well as Caelus' relationship with Dan Heng (as Mydei was somewhat curious). When they finally parted ways, the sun was dipping lower in the sky. Mydei walked home slowly, hands in his pockets, heart a little heavier than before—because even if Dan Heng didn’t say it directly, Mydei knew what he meant.

Sooner or later, he’d have to stop running and face whatever it was he and Phainon had become.

Then the sparring thing happened and that kiss after, it all happened in a blur.

Their mouths had barely met—barely had time to understand what they were doing—before the tension between them snapped like a taut wire under too much strain. It had been molten, sudden, impossible. And then it shattered.

Mydei shoved him. Hard.

Phainon stumbled back, the breath torn from his lungs as his body reeled from more than just the physical push. The sting of rejection hit sharper than any punch Mydei had thrown that night. He caught himself just before falling, his shoes scraping against the mat, heart still thundering in his chest.

He looked up.

Mydei wasn’t looking at him. Wouldn’t.

The other man had already turned away—stripping off his gloves, discarding them to the floor like they burned his hands. His face was unreadable, carved in stone, but his movements were a storm: quick, clipped, barely contained. Rage. Shame. Fear. All of it rolled off him in waves.

“Mydei—?”

But Mydei was gone. Out of the ring. Out of reach.

Phainon could do nothing but follow.

The gym was empty now. Hollow. Echoing with silence and the faint buzz of old lights overhead. The slap of his footsteps sounded too loud as he chased after him, every nerve in his body lit with leftover adrenaline and dread. The locker room door creaked open—empty, dim, cold tiles staring back at him. The silence here was different. Still. Dense.

And then he heard it. The subtle click of a door latch being drawn shut.

Phainon’s heart dropped.

The storage room.

He crossed the space in long, hurried strides. Stopped just short of the metal door. The air was cooler here, or maybe it just felt that way. He raised his hand, hesitated—then knocked, quiet but firm.

“Mydei?”

No reply.

The metal was cold beneath his fingertips. Like touching something long abandoned. His brow pressed lightly against it, eyes fluttering shut. His throat tightened.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.”

The words sounded brittle even to him.

He hadn’t meant for it to happen—not like that. But his body had moved before his mind could stop it, driven by something raw and reckless and utterly unlike himself. For a moment, Mydei had felt like gravity. Like the world could only make sense when they collided.

But now?

Now it felt like he’d lit a match in a house soaked with gasoline.

Phainon exhaled, slow and shaky. “I wasn’t thinking. I got caught up in the moment and I…” He trailed off.

And he what?

Wanted too much?

Pushed too far?

He ran a hand through his damp hair, still slick with sweat. Everything about this moment felt wrong. Like he’d trespassed into something sacred. Like he’d cracked something in Mydei he wasn’t meant to see.

He tried again, voice lower. “You can be angry. You can hate me. I get it. I crossed a line.”

Still nothing.

“But don’t shut me out.”

That was the part that stung. The quiet. The absence. Mydei was just behind the door—so close, Phainon could feel the weight of him—but it felt like they were worlds apart.

His hand stayed on the door, palm flat, fingers splayed like if he pressed hard enough, maybe Mydei would feel it. Maybe he’d know he wasn’t alone.

The silence remained. Thick and unmoving.

So Phainon waited.

And waited.

Not because he thought Mydei would open the door.

But because some part of him refused to walk away.

Inside the storage room, Mydei sat slumped against the metal door, his back pressed so firmly against it that he could feel the faint tremor of Phainon’s weight leaning on the other side. But even that closeness felt like a knife twisting into old wounds.

His hands covered his face, fingers digging into his scalp as he let out a scream that never made it past his throat.

Because what else was he supposed to do?

His heart was thundering, but not from the spar. Not from exertion. No, this was something far more terrifying—raw emotion clawing its way up through every crack in the walls he had spent years building around himself. He was unraveling. Unraveling because of a stupid kiss and the way it had felt so real. So right. So warm.

He could still taste the vanilla lip balm on Phainon’s lips.

And gods, it was just like Hephaestion’s.

Mydei flinched as the name surfaced in his mind. Like bile. Like rot.

Hephaestion. The man who had once told him he was everything. Who had clung to him with desperate hands, made declarations with bright eyes, only to tear it all down when the mask cracked. Hephaestion had whispered forever and then vanished without a word—leaving behind only broken pieces and bruised trust. He hadn’t just lied.

He had loved like it was a game.

And Mydei had been the fool who played along.

He had promised himself, swore on everything he had left, that he would never let himself fall like that again. Never fall that fast. Never be fooled again. And yet, here he was—pressed up against the cold steel of a gym storage room, heart in tatters over a man he barely even knew.

Three weeks. That was all it had taken.

Three weeks for Phainon to worm his way into the crevices Hephaestion had once hollowed out.

And that scared him more than anything.

Because it wasn’t just the kiss. It was everything. The late mornings. The quiet breakfast routines. The way Phainon always knew how to get under his skin without even trying. The way his laughter stayed long after he left the room.

And Mydei had let it happen. Again.

He felt sick.

Phainon was a celebrity —gorgeous, loved, adored. A man who could have anyone. A man used to attention and fleeting things. Surely, he was used to passion igniting quickly and burning out just as fast. This? This was probably just another moment for him. A spark. A fling. Maybe even a mistake.

Phainon didn’t know him.

Not really.

Not the part of him that still flinched from the shadows of his past. Not the nights he spent staring at the ceiling, wondering if he had been too much or not enough. Not the scars—emotional, invisible—that still ached when someone got too close.

Especially not the truth about Hephaestion.

Mydei swallowed thickly, dragging his knees up to his chest. He pressed his forehead to them, eyes burning.

He wasn’t angry at Phainon.

He was angry at himself.

For hoping.

For wanting.

Because what if—what if Phainon did mean it? What if the kiss had meant something to him, too?

Could he survive it if he was wrong again ?

He didn’t want to take that risk.

He couldn’t.

And so, he sat in the darkness, letting his silence do the talking. Letting the weight of his fear push down harder than Phainon’s fists ever could. After all, Phainon had said the kiss was a mistake right? If there was anything Mydei had learned from his past, it was that love—especially rushed, breathless love—was a gamble. 

And Mydei was done playing games.

In the days that followed the kiss, Mydei retreated—first emotionally, then physically.

He stopped showing up to lectures. Stopped sitting beside Phainon in the dining hall. Even at home, he moved like a ghost: leaving before sunrise, returning after midnight, always careful to make sure Phainon was asleep.

He never let their eyes meet.

With Aglaea’s blessing, he delegated everything to Dan Heng—lectures, check-ins, even the job of watching Phainon’s back on campus. Dan Heng never questioned it. Caelus, however, was overjoyed, practically glued to Phainon’s side from the moment Mydei withdrew.

To Anaxa, he’d mumbled something about a group project, and the professor, strangely perceptive, hadn’t pressed further. Mydei had bought himself time—but the cost was steep.

Phainon had texted.

Apologized.

Begged to talk.

And Mydei left every message unread.

Weekends were the worst. He knew Phainon waited for him— hoped he’d come home in time to share a meal, a word, a look. But Mydei would stay out late, training at Krateros’ gym or wandering the streets of Marmoreal Market until even his own shadow felt like a stranger.

Sometimes, he’d come home and find food untouched. Cold on the counter. A little note left in Phainon’s handwriting that read: “Next time, I’ll wait for you.”

Other nights, he found his own notes left behind—ones he had written, folded over neatly on the fridge.

“Dinner’s in the second container. Microwave for 1m 30s.”

That was the extent of their contact. The bare minimum.

And every day, Mydei hated himself a little more for it.

Because the truth was—he missed him.

Missed Phainon’s voice, his dumb jokes, the way he never left Mydei alone. He missed the quiet warmth of mornings together, missed the fights over who got to use the sink first, missed the sound of his laugh echoing through the apartment like something alive .

But looking at him—even just the thought—was dangerous.

Because if he did look at Phainon again, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to hold himself back.

And that scared him more than anything else.

Mydei shook his head, pushing the memory away like a bitter draft that refused to leave the room.

He had confessed everything to Hyacine that same night—voice tight, heart in his throat, still reeling from the kiss and what it meant and what it could mean. He told her about the panic, about how it felt like drowning, about how much he wanted it but didn’t know what to do with that want. Most of all, how it reminded him of his past. And Hyacine, being Hyacine, had simply listened. No judgment. No ridicule. Just her quiet presence, like sunlight filtering through a storm.

Of course, he knew she probably told Aglaea. And Castorice most definitely knew. If anything, Mydei wouldn’t be surprised if the entire chat group (minus Phainon, mercifully) had already dissected every minute detail of the incident.

“He misses you,” Hyacine said gently now, sipping from her smoothie as they sat beneath the shade of a quiet tree in the courtyard. “And you miss him.”

Mydei didn’t respond. He just stared at the condensation gathering on his drink. Letting her words sink in and swirl and sting.

She leaned forward, her voice warm but firm. “So… maybe it’s time you talked to him about what happened.”

He groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Hyacine…”

“No excuses,” she said, nudging his knee with her own. “You’re not a coward, Mydei. You’re scared. And that’s okay. But avoiding him won’t make it go away.”

It was difficult to argue against Hyacine when she looked at him like that—earnest, kind, eyes shining not with pity but belief. In him.

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to stop running.

There were still eleven more months of living together. Eleven months of sharing the same kitchen, the same couches, brushing past each other in the hall. And pretending like nothing had happened was quickly becoming more painful than the memory itself.

They needed to talk.

Even if it went badly. Even if it only confirmed every fear that had kept him locked in silence for the past three weeks.

“…Fine,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ll talk to him tonight.”

Hyacine’s eyes lit up, relief and triumph flaring all at once. “Yes! Finally.”

She reached up and ruffled his golden mane, fingers playfully messing it up. He didn’t even swat her away.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, sing-song. “Let me know how it goes, alright~?”

Mydei watched her with a lopsided smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes—but it was more than he’d managed in weeks.

He would talk to Phainon tonight.

-x-

On the night of the kiss, Phainon couldn’t sleep.

He lay sprawled across his bed, one leg tangled in the sheets, the other dangling off the side. The ceiling fan spun in slow, mocking circles above him, casting long, skeletal shadows that danced across the walls. His laptop sat open on the desk, looping some old sci-fi flick he hadn’t registered a single second of. The screen’s pale glow flickered across the cluttered surfaces of his room—half-read scripts, protein bars, tangled charging cables—and painted everything in a strange, ghostly light.

But his mind… his mind was a battlefield.

It played the same five seconds on repeat. Over and over and over again.

The kiss.

The breathless tension before it. Mydei’s eyes—half-lidded, golden, burning with something unreadable. The way their lips collided, messy and desperate and electric.

And then—

The shove.

The sharpness of it, the force. The way Phainon had stumbled back, knocked breathless—not from the hit, but from the cold slap of rejection that came with it. Mydei hadn’t even looked at him as he stormed out of the ring. Just threw his gloves to the floor and vanished like Phainon had touched something sacred.

Phainon lay still now, one arm flung over his face, the other resting flat on his chest where his heart still pulsed—loud, too loud. His skin still tingled from the contact from the memory.

His fingers lifted to his mouth.

He could still feel the imprint of Mydei’s lips against his own. Soft, but charged. There’d been sweat, and heat, and the unmistakable tang of pomegranate—still lingering on his tongue like a secret he couldn’t forget. And Phainon couldn’t forget. He didn’t want to.

He wanted more.

That thought alone was dangerous.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn’t supposed to crave someone like this—someone so reserved, so unreadable, someone who didn’t even like being looked at too long. Mydei wasn’t some casual fling or fleeting crush. He was… intense. Real. And Phainon was painfully aware of how easy it would be to fall.

What made it worse was that he didn't actually regret kissing Mydei, despite how he had apologized. In fact, he loved and savoured every second of it. And yet, he wanted more. But how could he have that if Mydei never talked to him again?

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the thought away. He’d ruined everything, hadn’t he?

After the gym, Mydei had emerged from the storage room hours later with a blank face and the cold stillness of a statue. His voice was clipped, unreadable. “We should go.” No further comment. No mention of what had just happened between them. Nothing. Not even a single look.

Phainon had followed in stunned silence.

Their footsteps echoed off the gym’s walls. The entire walk home was drowned in it—this eerie quiet between them that grew heavier with every step.

And then, once they got back, Mydei had taken Meowy without a word and shut himself in his room. The soft click of the lock felt louder than a gunshot.

He hadn’t come out since.

Phainon had sat outside his door for a while. Said nothing. Just leaned his forehead against the wood and stared at the floor. And then, defeated, he slinked back into his own room like some stray mutt—still dazed, still aching.

There he sat. Alone. Tortured.

He fumbled for his phone and opened his chat with Castorice, fingers trembling slightly as he typed.

Phainon: Cas… you up?

She replied almost instantly, like she’d been waiting.

Castorice: It’s 2:41am. What did you do.

Phainon: ...I kissed him.

The typing bubble popped up immediately. Then the call came through in which, he answered without thinking.

“You what? ”

Phainon winced and yanked the phone away from his ear slightly. “I know. Okay? I know it was stupid.”

He sat up, free hand running through his hair. His skin felt clammy, and his voice was hoarse. “It just happened. We were sparring, and then he was on top of me, and—”

“That’s not an excuse.”

He exhaled sharply, tilting his head back against the wall. His gaze found the dark ceiling, but he wasn’t really looking at anything. “I didn’t think. I just… felt .”

Silence crackled on the other end for a second.

“I thought you were joking when you said ‘good luck’ earlier today,” he muttered, resting his elbow on his knee.

“I was ,” she snapped. “It was a joke. Phainon. A joke . I thought you’d maybe talk to him like a normal person. Not pounce on him like some starved animal.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “I thought— I don’t know. I thought he wanted it, too.”

His thumb rubbed absently over the corner of his phone. His voice dropped. “He didn’t even look at me after. Just left. Locked himself in his room. Took Meowy.”

“…Shit.”

He swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. I know I screwed up, Cas, but… he kissed me back. Just for a second. It wasn’t one-sided. I felt it.”

Another pause. Then, her voice lowered. “Does he know it was your first real kiss?”

Phainon froze. The question felt like a spotlight on his chest.

“No.”

“Well, maybe start there.”

He rubbed at his eyes, exhausted. “Would it even matter?”

“It would if you actually tell him why it did.”

He didn’t reply.

“Phai… Of course he’s gonna assume the worst. You’re you —you’re a celebrity. People throw themselves at you every other day. Obviously he's gonna think you are just some womanizer that does this with everyone you meet.”

“I don’t want just anybody,” he said quietly.

“Then show him that. Properly. Ask him out. Spend time with him. Get to know him before you try to kiss him again.”

He could almost see her face through the phone, that stern Castorice expression he’d been on the receiving end of a thousand times. The kind she wore when she was scolding him because she cared.

“You’re not a sleaze,” she added gently. “But he doesn’t know that yet. You’ve got to earn his trust.”

Phainon closed his eyes. He leaned back on his hands, phone cradled between his shoulder and cheek.

“Alright. I’ll try.”

“Don’t just try , Phai. Do it properly. No charm. No flirting. Just be real.”

He gave a tired little nod to no one. “Yeah… okay.”

Because she was right.

He didn’t want this to be another fleeting scandal. He didn’t want Mydei to be just a story, or worse—a regret. He wanted to mean something to him, even if it took time.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Mydei became a ghost.

A living, breathing, frustratingly graceful ghost—one that moved through the world without ever crossing Phainon’s path.

On Monday morning, Phainon had woken up to an empty kitchen and an eerily silent apartment. No scent of toasted bread, no clatter of cutlery, no Mydei ruffling his hair with that half-asleep grunt before dragging him to the table. Just the cold space where his presence used to be.

He waited. At first, he thought maybe Mydei had just overslept and rushed out. But then he found the dishes already done, the counters spotless, and Meowy curled up on the couch—without a note, without a sound.

That was when it began.

Their shared mornings vanished. Mydei stopped waking him. Stopped leaving post-its on the fridge. Stopped replying to his texts altogether.

And still, Phainon tried.

He got dressed for class and lingered around Mydei’s usual lecture halls, hoping to bump into him. He even went so far as to stand near the gym building just to check if Mydei might be inside. But Mydei had disappeared like mist—always just out of reach.

By the time Phainon’s own classes started, he somehow found himself swept up once again into the chaotic rhythm of Caelus and Dan Heng. He didn’t know how they always managed to find him, but they did. And once Caelus had latched onto him with a loud, "PHAI! You’re sitting with us!" there was no escape.

Lunch was noisy. Too noisy. Caelus attracted attention like a comet in the night sky—loud, bright, impossible to ignore. People stared. People whispered. Phainon’s name was always half a breath away from being shouted across the cafeteria. He wanted to disappear into his food.

Dan Heng, thankfully, often stepped in with his usual calm silence, scaring off more insistent fans with a look sharp enough to cut steel. Still, it wasn’t enough to quiet the ache.

Phainon missed Mydei.

Not just because the man made life easier—but because he made it real . Quiet. Gentle. Like Phainon could actually be himself.

When his afternoon lectures were online, Phainon tried hiding out in the library—but the moment he stepped inside, the librarian shooed him out like a disruptive bird that had wandered in from the garden. No reasons. No negotiation. Just a flustered glare and a finger pointing at the door.

He sighed and went back to find Caelus and Dan Heng again.

He didn’t want to go home, not without Mydei. He kept hoping, irrationally, that if he waited long enough, Mydei would show up outside his class, leaning against a pillar like he used to. That they could walk back together in the golden hour light, like nothing had changed. 

He sent messages.

Phainon: Are you okay?

Phainon: I’ll wait outside your class today.

Phainon: I’m sorry.

Seen. No reply.

Eventually, even that stopped. His messages remained unread.

He started to feel pathetic.

On the weekends, Mydei would disappear from the apartment at the crack of dawn. However, he would leave lunch boxes that he had made for Phainon with post-it notes on how to reheat the food. Phainon took it as a good sign that Mydei would talk to him soon.

He waited and waited throughout the night but Mydei never returned.

It was only when Phainon had given in and decided to sleep that Mydei mysteriously returned, as if he knew. However, he wouldn’t make a sound. The only reason Phainon knew he had returned at some point was because he noticed how the laundry would always be done and a new lunch box would appear the next day.

One afternoon, after a particularly bad lecture where he hadn’t absorbed a single word, he made his way to the medical faculty, where Hyacine usually hung around. He found her sitting on the steps outside, sipping an iced drink and tapping on her tablet.

She looked up when she saw him—and her expression immediately tightened.

“Hyacine,” he said, trying to keep the desperation out of his voice, “have you seen him? Is he avoiding me?”

She blinked, as if caught between honesty and diplomacy. “I haven’t seen him today.”

“Any day?” he asked, and something fragile cracked in his voice. “He won’t respond. I— I think he’s avoiding home on purpose.”

Hyacine hesitated. “Maybe he just needs some time.”

Phainon clenched his jaw and nodded. “Right. Of course.”

But it didn’t feel like just time. It felt like punishment.

And every day, he kept asking the same question: Was it really just a kiss? Or had he broken something deeper than he could fix?

His anxiety had long since turned into a gnawing, hollow ache. Each night bled into the next, sleepless and silent, with Phainon lying on his side, clutching his phone like a lifeline, eyes stinging as he stared at the screen—waiting for Mydei’s name to light up. A message. A reply. Anything.

But it never came.

Sometimes, he’d type something out, a desperate string of apologies or a simple “Are you okay?” Then he’d delete it before hitting send, chewing on his bottom lip until it stung. He thought about knocking on Mydei’s door more times than he could count. Maybe if he just talked to him face-to-face, everything would be okay again. Maybe.

But deep down, he knew better.

If he barged into Mydei’s space—forced a conversation Mydei wasn’t ready to have—he might lose the man completely. And he wasn’t ready for that. Not now. Not ever.

So he endured.

He waited. Silently.

Even when the silence itself felt like it might break him.

Days passed. Then weeks. And every time Mydei walked by him without looking, without saying a word, something inside Phainon withered just a little more.

He would have given anything— anything —just to hear Mydei say his name again.

And then, on a cloudy late afternoon, after dragging his feet out of his final lecture, it happened.

Caelus and Dan Heng had ushered him to a quiet spot by the library, suspiciously insistent that he had to wait there. They were unusually cryptic about their plans, claiming they needed to check out a book but sprinting off in the opposite direction once Phainon settled on the bench.

“…Okay?” he muttered, frowning after them.

Left alone beneath the shade of a large oak tree, Phainon tucked his bag onto the bench beside him and sighed. He was just about to reach for his phone again when—

Footsteps.

Soft, measured, familiar.

He turned.

And there he was.

Mydei stepped out from the library entrance, wearing his usual maroon sweater that draped effortlessly over his tall frame, a simple messenger bag slung across one shoulder. His hair glowed faintly in the late afternoon light, tousled from the breeze.

And he was smiling .

A small, hesitant smile—but real nonetheless.

Phainon froze.

“Hey,” Mydei said, his voice quiet—steady, but unsure.

For a heartbeat, Phainon thought he was dreaming. That his tired mind had finally made up the one thing it wanted most. He stood slowly, hands clenched at his sides to stop them from shaking.

It took everything in him not to throw his arms around the man. Not to pull him close and bury himself in the warm, familiar scent of Mydei’s skin.

But he held back.

“…Hi,” he managed to say, voice almost cracking.

And just like that, for the first time in weeks, the ice that had built between them began to melt.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “We can go to the park nearby.”

Phainon nodded quickly—too quickly. “Yeah. Sure.”

They started walking without another word, falling into step beside each other. The streets around campus were beginning to thin out, the bustle of student life winding down as evening crept in. The golden hour washed everything in a tender glow, turning the grey pavement to warm bronze and making every window reflect firelight.

The student cafés were still open, the chatter soft and distant through the glass, the clinking of cups and the rustle of pages like background music to their silence. A group of undergrads laughed on the steps of a lecture hall. Someone was playing soft acoustic guitar near the fountain square, the chords weaving in and out of the breeze.

Phainon glanced at Mydei occasionally—wanting to say something, anything, but the words always caught in his throat.

The sidewalks were littered with fallen leaves in warm shades of copper and rust, swirling lazily when cars passed. The lampposts began to blink on one by one as they turned away from the university and toward the quiet residential path that led to the park.

Even in silence, there was a heaviness between them. Not uncomfortable, but fragile. Like if either of them breathed too loudly, it might shatter.

Phainon shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his coat, shoulders hunched slightly. He kept sneaking glances at Mydei, who seemed lost in thought, his eyes fixed ahead. The angle of his jaw caught the amber light, sharp and serene, and for a fleeting second Phainon wondered how he could’ve kissed someone like that and then gone on pretending to be okay.

As they turned the last corner, the trees of the park finally came into view—tall and seemingly golden in the light, their leaves flickering like a thousand small suns against the evening sky.

The horizon was bleeding color now—rose gold sinking into mauve and violet. Shadows stretched long across the grass, and the distant hum of laughter and birdsong filled the space where their voices hadn’t.

And still, they walked. Side by side, as if they hadn’t spent weeks apart.

As if this moment, soft and slow, could patch everything that was still left unsaid.

The moment they stepped into the park, the world softened.

The laughter of children rang out in the golden haze, the sounds bright but distant, like an echo from another lifetime. Leaves rustled gently in the evening breeze, their edges catching the last glimmer of light. A couple strolled hand in hand by the lake, their silhouettes dark against the shimmering water, while an old man tossed crumbs to pigeons near the garden path. The air smelled faintly of warm grass, dust, and distant jasmine. Somewhere nearby, a mother’s voice called out for her son, patient and sweet.

Mydei walked a step ahead, quiet and unhurried, his hands tucked into the pockets of his maroon sweater. The soft light brushed over his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, painting his profile in gold. He glanced over his shoulder now and then, as if to make sure Phainon hadn’t vanished.

Phainon followed in silence, heart tugged taut by the scene around him.

It was beautiful. It was perfect. And it made something ache inside him.

All the little pieces—the children giggling, the parents watching fondly, the couples sitting with their shoulders pressed close—were reminders of something he didn’t have. Maybe he had never truly known. That quiet, unshakable kind of belonging. It made the space beside him feel too wide, even though Mydei was right there.

Phainon’s gaze drifted to him again.

He looked radiant. Unreachable.

And yet here they were, walking together through the gentle hush of dusk like nothing had shattered between them. Finally, they took a seat on the bench nearby the playground.

The quiet that followed wasn’t comforting. It was delicate. Brittle. Phainon could feel the words pressing against his ribs, but none of them found their way out. What was there to say? That he’d been a mess for weeks? That the kiss still burned in his memory like it had just happened?

His throat tightened. He didn’t dare look at Mydei—not yet.

Then, after a beat, Mydei spoke.

“I’m sorry.”

Phainon’s head whipped toward him, startled. He studied Mydei’s face—the subtle pinch of his brows, the way his hands were curled into loose fists. There was tension in his posture, like he was bracing himself for impact.

“I shouldn’t have ignored you,” Mydei continued, eyes still ahead. “Or left without saying a word that day. For leaving you alone for the past three weeks.”

Phainon’s heart ached. “No,” he said quickly. “I deserved it. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable but I… I don’t regret the kiss. It isn’t a game to me, Mydei. I really do like you.”

Mydei’s jaw flexed. He swallowed hard and finally turned to face him.

“...Whatever it is, this has to stop.”

Phainon blinked. “What?”

“You’re a public figure, beloved by thousands,” Mydei said, his voice quiet but firm. “This is wrong. Besides, we barely know each other and I don't like flings, Phainon. That kiss, however, was a one-time thing. I hope you can forget about it.”

Phainon’s chest constricted. “Forget about it?” he echoed, stunned. “Mydei, I don’t care what other people think—even if I’m a celebrity. Can’t I be selfish for once?”

Mydei’s expression tightened. “No. This will never work. How would we hide it? You’ve got cameras on you everywhere. Fans who'd kill for a glimpse of you. You don’t need me. You can pick anyone. You don’t have to… pity me just because we live together.”

“Pity?” Phainon’s voice rose slightly, sharp and wounded. “You were my first real kiss, Mydei. You think I’d just randomly kiss anyone?”

He shifted to face him fully now, his tone laced with disbelief. “I don’t want just any random fan or person. I want you.”

Mydei’s face twitched—an involuntary flicker of something that might’ve been pain or disbelief.

“...How would I know that?” he said finally, softer now. “I know nothing about the real you, remember?”

The words hit harder than Phainon expected.

His breath caught in his throat, chest tightening beneath the weight of that simple truth. Because Mydei was right. Phainon had been hiding behind masks—both the kind that protected his face from recognition, and the kind that kept people at a safe, performative distance.

He looked down.

Mydei’s hands were clenched tightly on his knees, the knuckles pale, tension coiled in every inch of his posture. He looked like he was preparing to be hurt again. Like he was ready for Phainon to confirm the worst.

Phainon couldn’t bear it.

So, slowly, with trembling fingers, he reached up. First, he removed his glasses—those signature tinted lenses that kept his identity obscured in public. Then, carefully, almost reverently, he unhooked his mask from behind his ears and let it fall into his lap.

His face, bare now in the golden hour light, was soft and exposed in a way few people ever got to see. Gone was the star. The public persona. The idol.

Just Phainon.

“I want you to see me, Mydei,” he said, voice quieter than before, shaking at the edges. “Not the version you think I am. Not the one everyone else sees.”

Then, he leaned forward—not in a rush, not to demand or beg—but simply to reach. Gently, he took Mydei’s hands in his own, folding over them with care. His fingers were warm. Slightly rough, but steady.

“My name is Phainon and I'm from Aedes Elysiae. I'm only actor because I'm not good at being my real self. I used to have a dog named Bubbles. I get anxious when people expect a lot from me. I have never been in any relationship or liked anyone before.” He paused, swallowing thickly. “And I meant it when I kissed you.”

Mydei’s golden eyes didn’t flinch away. They were searching, drinking in every inch of the face now exposed to him.

There was nowhere to hide anymore.

Phainon’s grip tightened just slightly, almost pleading.

“This is the real me,” he whispered. “And I want you to know him.”

“Let me show you,” he pleaded. “Let me take you on a date. Or dates. Let me show you the real Phainon. Let me prove that I’m serious. That this… that you mean more to me than you think.”

For a long moment, Mydei said nothing. His eyes flickered to the sky, the tree, the world around them. Like he was afraid of looking directly at Phainon in case he cracked.

The park hummed around them—children laughing, a dog barking in the distance, wind threading through leaves. But at that bench, it was just the two of them. And the echo of something fragile hanging in the air, waiting for an answer.

Truthfully, the idea terrified Mydei.

His fingers curled subtly into a fist, knuckles going pale. His heart beat not with excitement, but apprehension—a tremor that echoed from somewhere deep in his chest. The thought of opening that door again, of trusting someone, of allowing himself to hope … it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, wind howling in his ears, daring him to jump.

Because what if it went wrong?

What if he let himself believe in Phainon—believe in the way those eyes softened just for him, in the sincerity behind those words—and then one day, Phainon decided he didn’t want him anymore? What if the novelty wore off? What if it had all just been excitement and infatuation, the way it had been with him ?

Mydei’s chest tightened. The memory of Hephaestion crept in like a shadow. The warmth that had once been so convincing—so real —followed by the bone-deep ache of being left behind. He’d given his heart away so easily back then, only to be discarded like something inconvenient.

He hadn’t allowed anyone that close since.

But Phainon… Phainon made it hard to keep those walls up. The man was infuriating, persistent, loud, dramatic—and yet, behind all that glitter and fame, there was something genuine. Something kind. Something real.

Still, Mydei’s fear held him in place like a chain around his chest.

Until he felt Phainon’s hands—warm, steady—gently squeeze his own. There was no pressure in the touch. Just a silent kind of reassurance, as if Phainon was saying, I’ll wait. I’ll be here when you’re ready.

And maybe—just maybe—he wanted to believe him.

Mydei let out a slow breath, his fingers slowly relaxing and intertwining around Phainon’s for just a moment before he looked down at their joined hands.

“…Fine,” he finally murmured, the word barely audible.

Phainon’s head shot up immediately, eyes wide, lips parted in anticipation. His expression was almost comically hopeful—like a puppy being told it could finally have a treat. Mydei had to glance away, a reluctant breath of amusement slipping through his nose.

“But,” he added, straightening slightly, “we’re going to set some ground rules.”

Phainon nodded furiously, like a student preparing for a final exam.

“If you’re really serious about… courting me,” Mydei said, the word foreign and stiff on his tongue, “then I’ll hold up my end of the promise. I’ll have eyes for no one else. In exchange, you’ll need to respect that I’m free to befriend and spend time with whoever I please—no jealousy unless it’s earned.”

“Earned? Sweet Titans, I’m already jealous of your furniture.”

Mydei gave him a flat look. “I’m not done.”

Phainon zipped his lips dramatically and nodded again, hands clutched together like he was holding a sacred vow.

“If, at any point,” Mydei said slowly, “you feel this isn’t working… or that you’re losing interest… you tell me. Directly. No ghosting. No slow fade. Just the truth.”

“Got it,” Phainon said immediately. “I swear on my entire fan club.”

Mydei rolled his eyes, but before Phainon could speak again, he held up one finger.

“Rule two,” he said firmly, his gaze sharpening. “I don’t think I need to remind you, but you cannot tell anyone about us. Unless you want to jeopardize your career.”

His voice had taken on a rare edge—measured but serious. And Phainon understood immediately that this wasn’t just about public image. It was about safety. Boundaries. Control.

Phainon’s grin softened into something quieter, more sincere.

“I don’t care if people find out about us,” he said, voice low. “But I want to respect your privacy.”

Then, with a teasing gleam in his eye, he added, “Anyways, I don’t like sharing.” He winked.

Mydei’s lips twitched. He didn’t smile—not fully—but there was the faintest exhale, like he was trying not to. A second of quiet passed, golden light catching in his lashes as he looked away.

He didn’t say it aloud, but Phainon could tell: that answer had meant more to him than he let on.

“…Right. And,” Mydei hesitated, visibly bracing himself for the last condition, “no kissing. Or anything more than that. Not unless I say otherwise.”

The pout that formed on Phainon’s face was instant and theatrical. His shoulders sagged like he’d been told he was never allowed dessert again.

“But what if,” Phainon began, hopeful, “what if I just kissed places that weren’t your lips? Like your forehead?” He tilted his head, eyes shimmering with mischief. “Or your hand? Or… the tip of your nose?”

Mydei made a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a sigh.

“…Only when we’re alone.”

That was as far as he was willing to compromise—for now.

Phainon lit up like someone had handed him a bouquet of fireworks. “So, does that mean you’re kinda like my boyfriend now? Since we’re exclusive?”

“It’s a trial, Deliverer.”

“Temporary boyfriend still means boyfriend,” Phainon said with a grin, already scooting closer on the bench like he was ready to sign the lease on Mydei’s heart.

Mydei gave him a long-suffering look but didn’t move away.

Maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be so terrible to hope again.
The thought sat fragile in Mydei’s chest, like a flame cupped against the wind.

His fingers curled slightly around Phainon’s hand, as if bracing himself for the possibility of it being pulled away. But it wasn’t. Phainon’s grip was steady. Warm.

“Just… please promise me that you won’t suddenly leave,” Mydei murmured, voice barely louder than the rustle of leaves above them. His golden eyes searched Phainon’s face—not with suspicion, but with aching sincerity, like he was terrified of what he might find.

It hit Phainon in the chest.

Not just the words—but the way Mydei said them. Quietly. Carefully. Like someone who had already been broken before, and didn’t think he could survive it again.

Phainon didn’t speak immediately. He didn’t want to ruin the moment with careless promises. Instead, he gently turned Mydei’s hand in his own, cradling it like something precious. His thumb traced the faint lines across the knuckles, the warmth of Mydei’s pulse under his skin.

Then, with the tenderness of a vow, he brought the back of Mydei’s hand to his lips and kissed it—soft, reverent. Like he meant every breath that filled the silence between them.

That evening, as the sky darkened and the soft warmth of golden hour faded into a quiet dusk, they sat in silence for a little longer. Words had already done enough. Eventually, they stood and walked home side by side—not touching, but close enough that their hands brushed occasionally, like the universe itself was nudging them together.

By the time they returned, Mydei had retreated into his room with a small, tired smile and Meowy tucked under his arm. He hadn’t said much, but the look he gave Phainon before closing the door—hesitant, yet hopeful—was enough to leave Phainon standing frozen in the hallway for several minutes after.

Hours later, Phainon laid wide awake in his bed.

The apartment was still, save for the occasional whirr of the ceiling fan and the faint sound of Mydei’s muffled breathing through the wall. The moonlight filtering through the blinds painted pale stripes across his comforter, cool and gentle.

And Phainon couldn’t stop smiling.

His arm rested over his eyes, chest swelling with something quiet and warm. He’d felt this kind of rush before—on stage, before thousands of fans, drowning in lights and music. But this? This was different.

This was peace.

Somehow, Mydei—sarcastic, aloof, emotionally guarded Mydei—had started to feel like something familiar. Like a melody he had forgotten but instantly recognized the moment he heard it again. Something ancient. Something right.

He didn’t understand it. Not fully. But it was like he’d been walking through life with a piece missing and hadn’t noticed… until now.

And now that he had Mydei’s trust—even if it was just a sliver of it—he wasn’t going to let it slip through his fingers.

Not again.

His hand drifted over his chest, where his heart beat steady and loud, and a quiet, breathless laugh escaped him.

“I won’t lose you again this time.” he whispered to the ceiling.

And somewhere beyond the walls of his room, Mydei shifted in his sleep—unaware of the quiet, aching kind of joy he’d planted in someone else's heart.

-x-

“Little Ica, you are too big to be sitting there! I’m sorry, Cassie, give me a moment—”

A furry blur of white padded across the screen, tail swishing directly into the webcam. Castorice’s monitor filled with an extreme close-up of long whiskers and a disapproving feline stare.

On the other side of the call, Castorice burst into laughter, nearly knocking over her own mug of tea. “Hyacine, why is your cat actively trying to rizz me up?”

Hyacine let out a dramatic groan, flailing one hand at the camera while attempting to hoist the enormous cat off her desk with the other. “He thinks he’s the star of every show,” she muttered, struggling as Ica let out a low meow of protest and flopped like an overripe potato in her arms.

“He’s massive , Hy. You call that thing ‘Little’? That’s not a cat—that’s a woolly mammoth.”

“He’s just fluffy ! You and Mydei are such haters,” Hyacine huffed, finally giving up and settling Ica in her lap. The beast purred contentedly, curling into a smug loaf. “Besides, he has body positivity. Unlike you two judgmental beanpoles.”

Castorice snorted. “I love him, I do. But if he ever sits on your keyboard mid-stream again, you’re going viral for all the wrong reasons.”

Since Phainon had shared their contact info a few weeks ago, Castorice and Hyacine had become an unlikely pair of best friends—bound by sarcasm, late-night gaming, and a mutual obsession with roasting their new favorite boy love pairing. Once the initial squealing and fangirling had worn off (mostly on Castorice’s part), their dynamic had settled into something comfortably chaotic.

Despite living in different cities—Aidonia for Castorice, and Okehema for Hyacine—their time zones were close enough that they could talk almost every night. When Hyacine wasn’t streaming, she and Castorice would hop into calls for hours, sometimes gaming under pseudonyms to throw off Hyacine’s fans. On other nights, they just lounged in pajamas, gossiping, sipping tea or energy drinks, and picking apart the strange new saga unfolding between Mydei and Phainon.

“Speaking of golden boys,” Castorice leaned closer to the camera, resting her chin in her palm with a dramatic sigh. “How’s Prince Iceberg been lately? Phai’s been practically tearing his hair out over him.”

Hyacine let out a knowing hum, absentmindedly stroking Ica’s fur. “He’s… thawing. Slowly. I finally got him to agree to talk to Phainon, and they went for a walk in the park earlier today.”

Castorice raised an eyebrow. “A walk ? That sounds suspiciously domestic.”

“You didn’t hear this from me,” Hyacine said in a stage whisper, eyes glinting with mischief, “but I think they’re entering their softboy era.”

Castorice squealed, slapping both hands over her mouth. “Don’t play with me like that! Do you think Mydei’s finally gonna cave? Phai’s been working his ass off trying to make things right.”

Hyacine smiled, warm and a little tired. “I think he already has… he’s just scared to admit it.”

They fell into a thoughtful silence, the soft hum of their computers filling the quiet as Ica let out a low purr, shifting sleepily in Hyacine’s lap.

“…I give them three weeks max before one of them says the L-word,” Castorice finally declared.

“Three weeks?” Hyacine snorted. “Please. Have you met Mydei? I’m betting on three months .”

“You’re on.”

They both laughed.

And somewhere, behind their teasing and bets, lay the quiet truth—they were rooting for them. Both of them. Fiercely.

“The triplets have been worried sick about them,” Castorice said, adjusting her headset as she leaned back in her chair. Her bedroom light cast a warm glow across her cheek. “Trianne’s been asking me for updates on Phai every single day . Apparently, he’s ghosting everyone online. Except me, of course.” She gave a dramatic sigh and flicked a stray curl from her face. “My DMs are like a warzone. She sent me seven voice notes in the span of ten minutes.”

On the other side of the screen, Hyacine winced sympathetically, stroking Ica’s ears absentmindedly. “Oof… yeah. Professor Anaxagoras called me into his office last week. Wanted to know if I had any idea what was going on with Phainon.”

“He did what? ”

“I know,” Hyacine said, lips pulling into a worried frown. “I guess even he’s concerned. Phainon’s been behind on assignments. Late submissions. Skipped classes. The whole department is starting to notice.”

Castorice groaned, tossing a plush pillow off her bed with a huff. “Ugh, I knew he was spiraling. The man’s in gay crisis mode and academic crisis mode? It’s getting dire.”

Hyacine let out a soft laugh, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“And get this,” Castorice continued, lowering her voice like she was about to spill state secrets, “Aglaea told me she’s sending someone in. An intervention .”

Hyacine blinked. “An intervention?”

“Her words, not mine,” Castorice said, raising both hands in defense. “Apparently she’s deploying one of her ‘agents’ or whatever. A spy.”

“A spy ? What for?” Hyacine leaned in slightly, curiosity breaking through her concern.

“Well…” Castorice paused for effect. “Officially, it’s because she thinks Mydei could use more friends. Y’know, expand his circle beyond just me and you.”

Hyacine’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“But personally ?” Castorice leaned closer to the webcam like she was confessing a conspiracy. “I think she just wants front-row seats to the gay drama. Plus, she’s worried about Phainon’s security—more and more people have been figuring out where he is.”

That sobered Hyacine immediately. She nodded slowly, gaze distant. “That part’s probably true. He’s getting recognized more often. And… yeah, Mydei could probably use more company too. I’ve barely seen him during school hours lately. He always says he’s busy, but I know it’s just his way of hiding.”

She glanced down at Ica, who had begun to knead her lap with sleepy paws.

“It’s probably a good idea. I mean…” she hesitated, “...relying on the same person 24/7 can be overwhelming. Even for Mydei.”

Castorice gave a small nod. “Yeah. I get that. And honestly? I hope it works out.”

Hyacine looked up. “Do you know who the spy is?”

Castorice grinned, lips curling with intrigue. “Aglaea has a lot of spies. But if it’s who I think it is... then it’ll probably turn out just fine.”

Hyacine’s eyes narrowed. “You better not be holding out on me, Cassie.”

“Me?” Castorice batted her lashes innocently. “Never.”

But the glint in her eyes said otherwise.

And somewhere between the laughter, worry, and half-spoken truths, the two of them continued their late-night call—still watching over their two stubborn boys, still hoping that somehow, this would all end in something more than heartbreak.

…

On the other side of campus, beneath the dim golden glow of Anaxa’s desk lamp, the air inside the office was thick with quiet tension.

A soft rustle of fabric accompanied the lone figure standing across from the professor. Clad in a black hoodie stitched with pointed cat ears at the hood, the figure slouched comfortably in their seat, as though they hadn’t just walked into a high-security meeting like it was an afternoon stroll.

Anaxa rubbed his temples, already regretting this arrangement.

“Here,” he said flatly, sliding a small envelope across the desk. “Your student ID, timetable, and all the essentials you’ll need starting tomorrow. You’re now officially enrolled as a second-year transfer majoring in Health and Nutrition.”

“Mmhm, yep~ Got it.” The voice was lazy, laced with a melodic lilt that made it impossible to tell whether they were being serious or just perpetually amused. “Agy briefed me on the whole thing. Everything’s chill.”

The hooded figure flipped open the envelope and gave the card inside a cursory glance. A smirk tugged at the corner of their lips.

Anaxa sighed. “You better not stir shit while you’re here. I’ve already got enough paperwork to drown a man.”

“If you didn’t want chaos,” the figure chimed, adjusting their hood with gloved fingers, “you shouldn’t have agreed to let me in.”

The professor muttered something under his breath—something impolite, most likely about Aglaea—and leaned back in his chair with a heavy exhale. “That woman’s going to owe me a decade’s worth of favors for this. Maybe two.”

“I’ll be sure to pass on the message,” the hooded figure said sweetly, offering a two-fingered salute as they rose from their seat.

Their movement was effortless. Quiet. Almost too quiet.

“Remember,” Anaxa warned, his tone sharpening. “If there’s any trouble—anything—you report directly to me. Not Aglaea. Not the student council. Me.”

Blue eyes glinted beneath the shadow of the hoodie. “Crystal clear, Professor~”

As the figure stepped into the hallway, their boots made no sound on the marble. The cat ears twitched with the motion of their stride.

Anaxa leaned forward, peering out through the glass slit in the door as it shut behind them.

“Cifera…” he muttered to himself, lips drawing into a tight line. “Let’s see what kind of storm you bring.”

Notes:

it seems like this story is going to be longer than 10 chapters.... maybe it'd be closer to 15 or 20 atp... I dont think I can squeeze all my ideas into 10 chapters with the way this is going LOL hopefully ill update weekly but uhhh i cant promise that bc ive like 5 other hobbies.... im also going to cosplay phainon & mydei soon yippi!!!!

also, would it be easier if I indicate the dates of the events that are happening at the top of each chapter? I do have an actual timeline for my own reference but I can include it for the readers if that makes it easier. Eg. the events of chapter 1 would be April 9th, Monday. That type of thing. Or would it be more immersive if I dont put it idk. Let me know what you think! and as always, thank you so much for reading!!!!!

tumblr: grayyxv / X: aschxv

Chapter 5: Weige

Notes:

im back... this will be a long one. also the title & theme of this chapter is inspired by weige from alnst. whatever that means HAHAH

sorry for any errors or inconsistencies as i have no beta reader LOL please enjoy!!!

After their quiet, honest conversation in the park, something inside Phainon shifted—settled. It was a strange feeling, not unpleasant, but oddly grounding. For once in his life, he didn’t feel like running. Instead, he felt an overwhelming urge to stay. To do something .

He wasn’t entirely sure what boyfriends were supposed to do. But if it meant showing Mydei that he was serious—about this, about them—then Phainon was ready to do whatever it took.

Even if it meant becoming Mydei’s personal servant for life.

The next morning, well before sunrise, Phainon shot out of bed like a man on a mission. Normally, Mydei was the one waking him up with a glare and a swift threat to throw his pillow into the hallway. But today, Phainon was going to flip the script.

He had considered cooking breakfast himself. Really, he had. It’d be much more romantic, he thought.

But the last time he tried to use the stove, the smoke had engulfed his entire home and Cyrene had screamed loud enough to wake the dead and traumatize his parents for days. So instead, he made the wiser choice and ordered in—fresh croissants, pain au chocolat, and those little pomegranate tarts Mydei secretly wanted to try but never bought himself.

He’d even watched a YouTube tutorial on plating. He arranged the pastries on a clean porcelain plate like a contestant on a baking show, adding some sliced fruit on the side for color. It felt ridiculous. He was sweating. Over breakfast.

Still, he brewed the latte exactly the way Mydei liked it—strong, creamy, with a tinge of caramel syrup stirred in after the milk. He sniffed it once, nodded in satisfaction, then moved on to prepping Mydei’s favorite drink for the day: pomegranate juice with milk.

It was an odd combination to most people, but even Phainon had learned to love Mydei’s exquisite taste. The first time he’d tried it when Mydei had offered it to him, it had struck something strange in him—a faint memory. As if he’d tasted it before in another life, in another place, and loved it just the same.

Afterwards, he even cleaned Meowy’s litter box— willingly. Phainon even went as far as to clean her water fountain and topped off her food bowl with that overpriced kibble Mydei insisted on. 

At exactly 7:00 a.m., Phainon tiptoed into Mydei’s room, balancing the breakfast tray like a sacred offering.

The room was still dark, curtains drawn. Mydei lay curled on his side beneath the sheets, hair tousled, breathing soft. Meowy, curled beside him, lifted her head at the sound of the door creaking open.

Phainon knelt slightly to set the tray down on the bedside table before sitting on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly, jostling Mydei.

"Mmm…?" came the groggy protest. Mydei blinked blearily, rubbing sleep from his eyes—only to find Phainon sitting there, bright-eyed and annoyingly smug, like some cartoon butler fresh out of a dream.

Phainon beamed. “Good morning, Your Highness. Breakfast in bed, prepared and served by your most loyal servant.”

Mydei squinted. Then sat up slowly, glancing from Phainon to the tray, to the coffee, then back again.

“…Did you hit your head?” he asked flatly.

Phainon laughed, visibly relieved that he hadn’t been immediately shoved off the bed. “No. I just thought maybe you deserved to be spoiled for once.”

“…You’re insane,” Mydei muttered—but his eyes lingered on the tray longer than they needed to. He reached for the coffee and took a cautious sip.

Then blinked. “Huh…You actually got it right.”

Phainon grinned. “Of course I did. I take my role very seriously.”

Mydei made a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a quiet laugh. Then, softer, he added, “Thank you.”

And Phainon could’ve sworn the warmth that filled his chest then was brighter than any morning sun. Then, he noticed as Mydei reached for one of the croissants, Phainon swatted his hand away with a flick of his fingers—gentle, but firm.

“Hey,” Mydei blinked, already halfway through sitting upright. “What was that for?”

Phainon, sitting a little too proudly at the edge of the bed, reached instead for the flaky pastry and held it up like a prized offering. “I told you, I’m spoiling you today.”

Mydei stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “You’re going to feed me?”

Phainon nodded with mock solemnity. “With these very hands.”

Mydei gave him a deadpan look, clearly unimpressed. “What am I, a child? I think you’ve really gone mad.”

“I am mad,” Phainon said with a lazy smile, “about you.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes, trying to bite back a reaction, but the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement despite himself.

Still, he leaned back slightly, folding his arms across his bare chest. The sheets pooled at his waist, exposing the long line of his collarbones, his sleep-warmed skin still tinged with the blush of morning. “This is ridiculous. I can eat on my own, you know.”

“I know you can,” Phainon replied, gently tearing off a piece of the croissant. “But I want to take care of my beloved boyfriend.”

He leaned in with the tiniest flourish, raising the bite to Mydei’s lips with a theatrical air that made Meowy mewl in protest from the corner of the bed.

“But surely,” Mydei huffed, “ I should be the one taking care of you. ”

Phainon stilled for a second. Something warm flickered in his eyes, but he masked it quickly with a smug tilt of his head. “Oh? Is that what this is about?”

He didn’t lower the croissant.

“...I just think this is unnecessary,” Mydei said more quietly, glancing away. His fingers twitched where they rested on the sheets, as if unsure whether to accept the gesture or bat it away again.

Phainon tilted his head. Then, like a lightbulb flicking on, a slow grin spread across his face. “Or… is it because you’re scared?”

Mydei’s gaze snapped back to him. “Scared?”

“Yes,” Phainon said, eyes glinting. “Scared that maybe I might actually be a better boyfriend than you are.”

The room went still.

Mydei furrowed his brows, lips parting just slightly. “...What did you just say?”

Phainon leaned in, lowering his voice like a conspirator whispering a forbidden secret. “I think you’re afraid to admit that I can be sweeter. Gentler. More romantic. More considerate.” He punctuated each word with maddening calm, the croissant still hovering just before Mydei’s mouth. “I mean, who’s the one bringing breakfast to bed right now? Hm?”

“You are so annoying.”

“And you still haven’t taken a bite.”

Mydei glared at him for a long beat. Then, very slowly, he leaned forward and bit the piece of croissant right out of Phainon’s fingers—aggressively.

Phainon blinked in surprise.

“Well?” Mydei said, chewing pointedly. “There. Happy now?”

Phainon’s lips curled into a slow, utterly pleased smile. “Ecstatic.”

Crumbs stuck to the corner of Mydei’s mouth, and before he could wipe it off, Phainon reached forward and brushed it away with the pad of his thumb, lingering just a moment too long.

Mydei’s breath hitched—not noticeably, but Phainon caught it anyway.

“Fine,” Mydei said eventually, glancing away again to hide the red blooming in his ears. “You win this round.”

Phainon chuckled, quietly victorious. Locking eyes with Mydei as he licked the crumbs off his thumb, he whispered “Oh, I’m not stopping at just one round.”

There was a pause as Mydei processed what Phainon had just said. He blinked, face heating up. “Deliverer you—” he started, then visibly hesitated. His ears turned pink. “Never mind,” he coughed, looking away quickly and pretending to be interested in adjusting the blankets around his waist.

Phainon raised a brow, something devilish sparking in his eyes. It took him half a second to put two and two together, and when he did, the grin that spread across his face could only be described as sinful.

“Oh?” he said, voice lilting with amusement. “What were you thinking, sweetheart ?”

Mydei groaned internally, wondering why he had even decided to open his big mouth.

Before he could make another retort or maybe throw a pillow at Phainon’s face, Phainon reached over, one hand lifting to gently cup Mydei’s jaw. His fingers were cool against warm skin, and the touch made Mydei freeze.

With deliberate slowness, Phainon turned his face to meet his own. Their eyes locked.

“Patience, Mydei,” he murmured, his voice low, warm, and maddeningly close. “You said you wanted us to get to know each other first. Don’t tell me you’re already trying to skip ahead.”

“I wasn’t—!” Mydei sputtered, the tips of his ears now positively scarlet. “You’re the one twisting my words.”

Phainon only leaned in further, their foreheads almost touching now. “I’m not twisting anything . You’re the one who looked like he was imagining something very specific.”

Mydei clamped his mouth shut and narrowed his eyes at him. “You’re enjoying this.”

“Unquestionably.” Phainon beamed. “I think I’ve found your weakness, oh mighty prince.”

“Shut up,” Mydei muttered, but he didn’t pull away. He simply ducked his face, bringing his hand up to shield it slightly, which only made Phainon chuckle.

“You’re adorable when you’re flustered.”

“I’m going to throw this pastry at your face.”

“You won’t,” Phainon said, smug and unbothered.

“And why wouldn’t I?” Mydei challenged, glaring directly at him now, eyes narrowed with that familiar spark that said you just made a mistake .

Phainon leaned in again, unfazed. “Because deep down, you like being pampered. You like waking up to fresh coffee and pastries and—”

“Keep talking, Phainon,” Mydei warned, sitting up straighter and reaching for the croissant again.

“—and you especially like it when I call you sweetheart,” Phainon continued, utterly delighted with himself, voice dipping into something syrupy and insufferably smug. “You’re practically glowing right now.”

Mydei didn’t even blink. He grabbed the croissant, leaned over in one swift motion, and shoved it into Phainon’s mouth, crumbs and all.

“Wha—mmph!”

“Eat that. Quietly.” Mydei said, triumphant, as he stood and stretched, the blanket falling off his shoulders. “I’m going to take a shower. Try not to collapse from heartbreak while I’m gone.”

Phainon sat there, stunned, mouth full of croissant, eyes wide as he chewed in slow, dramatic disbelief.

“…You’re cruel,” he mumbled around the mouthful.

“And you talk too much,” Mydei tossed over his shoulder with a smirk before disappearing into the bathroom, the sound of the shower turning on a moment later.

Phainon swallowed the bite, still grinning.

“Titans, I’m in love.”

After Mydei had finished washing up and packed everything he needed for class, he stepped out of his room to find Phainon already waiting by the door—dressed in his uniform, hair swept back neatly, and holding a small bag of extra pastries in one hand like some overenthusiastic househusband.

“You ready, my love?” Phainon asked with a grin that should’ve been illegal before 9 a.m.

Mydei rolled his eyes but couldn’t entirely suppress the ghost of a smile as he brushed past him. “Let’s just go.”

The walk to campus was quiet—at least on Mydei’s end. The streets were still bathed in morning haze, golden light casting soft highlights on the worn stone pavements. Birds chirped in lazy intervals from the trees lining the pathway, and a soft breeze carried the smell of dew and distant flowers.

Phainon, on the other hand, was practically buzzing with energy. Every few steps, he’d not-so-subtly brush his hand against Mydei’s. At first, it was accidental. Then it became very, very intentional.

“Are you trying to hold my hand?” Mydei finally asked flatly, glancing sideways at him with a brow raised.

Phainon blinked, feigning innocence. “Trying? No. Succeeding? Sadly, also no.”

Mydei exhaled. “Keep your hands to yourself, lover boy.”

Phainon dramatically clutched his chest like he’d been stabbed. “You wound me.”

“Good.”

Despite the playful banter, a subtle warmth lingered between them—unspoken but present, threading itself into the silence like the golden light overhead.

As they neared the main courtyard where they’d have to part ways, Phainon slowed his steps, glancing around for a quiet spot away from student traffic. “Hey,” he said, tugging gently at Mydei’s sleeve. “Come here.”

Mydei gave him a wary look. “What is it this time—”

Before he could finish, Phainon swiftly pulled him into a quiet corner, shielded by one of the ivy-covered pillars.

And without giving Mydei time to object, he leaned in and pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to his forehead.

“See you later,” Phainon whispered, already stepping back with a grin before turning and jogging off toward his lecture hall.

Mydei stood there, stunned, blinking at the empty space Phainon had just occupied.

It took him a full five seconds to register what had just happened.

“…What the hell was that,” he muttered, his hand subconsciously brushing the spot where Phainon had kissed him. His ears burned as he turned and resumed walking toward class, refusing to acknowledge the smug look he knew would be waiting for him the next time they met.

-x-

It was one of those painfully mundane days—one of the few times in the week where Mydei had class alone without Phainon or Hyacine. Normally, he wouldn’t have minded. But this particular class—“ Principles of Health and Nutrition ”—moved slower than molasses.

He sighed to himself as he strolled into the lecture hall. The air-conditioning was too cold, the fluorescent lights too harsh, and the professor’s voice had the uncanny ability to turn even caffeine into a sedative. Half the content could be found in any generic textbook—or better yet, a quick search online. He wasn’t sure why he was still showing up in person.

As he approached his usual seat at the back near the window, something stopped him short.

Someone was already sitting in the spot beside his.

They were curled into the chair, hood pulled up—cat ears and all—fiddling with a pen between fingers painted a faint icy blue. Mydei stared at her for a second, exhaling through his nose. The hoodie. The posture. The weird vibe. It was way too familiar.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Not another cat girl.”

He slid wordlessly into his usual seat and pulled out his tablet, hoping she wouldn’t say anything. Maybe if he avoided eye contact, the universe would show him mercy.

No such luck.

“Heya~!” came a cheerful voice from beside him. “You must be Mydei, right?”

His shoulders tensed. Slowly, he turned his head.

The girl had tousled grey hair that had white streaks in the light, and eyes so bright and blue they bordered on unnatural. She wore a pleated plaid skirt and a white blouse with a cropped cardigan layered over it, along with a gray cat-shaped crossbody bag resting on her lap. She looked like someone who walked out of an anime convention and made a wrong turn into real life.

She beamed at him like they were old friends.

“…Depends on who’s asking,” Mydei said flatly. “Do I know you?”

“Hmm, probably not,” she replied with a thoughtful tap of her finger against her chin. “But I know you ~! Cassie told me all about you.”

Cassie?

It took him a second to realize she meant The Castorice.

His eyes narrowed. “You know Castorice?”

“Mmhmm! She’s my friend. Kind of like… a discord mutual? Sort of.” She tilted her head, grinning. “Anyway, I’m Cipher. Transfer student. First week here.”

Transfer student?

He gave her another once-over. Her demeanour was bubbly, her energy borderline radioactive. Yet there was something...off. Something practiced beneath all that sunshine.

“…Are you a celebrity or something?”

She blinked, surprised. “Nope! Just a normal girl.” Her smile widened, playful and unreadable. “Why? Are you into celebrities?”

“Not particularly,” Mydei muttered, crossing his arms. “I just tend to avoid people who somehow already know my name.”

Cipher giggled. “Well, too bad. Fate says we’re sitting next to each other, so you better get used to me~!”

Mydei groaned internally. First Hyacine. Then Phainon. And now this. Titans were giving him the toughest battles that even Nikador themselves probably couldn’t win.

However, Mydei found it… odd.

Suspicious, even.

Cipher knew his name before he had even said a word. That in itself wasn’t too strange—Castorice was a talker—but what really caught his attention was something else.

No one had introduced her to the class.

Every transfer student—without fail—had at least gotten a quick, awkward introduction at the start of their first lecture. Hell, even Phainon , a literal celebrity, had been roped into standing awkwardly at the front while everyone whispered and stared, at least, according to Dan Heng. And yet Cipher?

Nothing.

“If you’re a transfer student,” Mydei said, keeping his tone casual but guarded, “then why didn’t the professor introduce you to the class?”

Cipher didn’t seem remotely fazed. She swung her legs slightly under the desk, the cat ears on her hoodie twitching as she tilted her head toward him. “Mmm… I’m shy~,” she said, voice lilting. “I hate talking in front of a crowd. All those eyes staring at you? Ugh. No thanks.”

She wrinkled her nose in an exaggerated pout, then leaned in a little closer with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“Besides,” she added, voice lowering just slightly, “Anaxa told me that going to you would be my best bet.”

Mydei blinked.

Of course. Anaxa again.

He barely stopped himself from groaning aloud. That man had to be doing this on purpose. It was always him, wasn’t it? First Phainon, and now this girl—Cipher. Why him of all people? Was there a cosmic curse placed on him that marked him as the official babysitter for every stray Anaxa picked up?

He dragged a hand down his face, already regretting showing up to class.

“Right,” he muttered dryly. “Of course he did. Because I clearly have the time and emotional bandwidth to deal with new transfers.”

Cipher just giggled, tapping the side of her cheek with one finger. “You’re so dramatic, you know that?”

“I call it realistic,” Mydei said flatly.

Still, despite his suspicion, he found himself softening just a touch. He did hate being in front of crowds too. Maybe he could sympathize with that part. Maybe.

But it didn’t mean he was letting his guard down.

He side-eyed her again, watching the way she calmly doodled in the margins of her notebook without a care in the world. Cheerful, overly familiar, and somehow always in the right place at the right time?

Yeah. He was definitely keeping an eye on this one.

Cipher could most definitely feel his doubt. She didn’t even need to look directly at him to know what he was thinking—the slight narrowing of his eyes, the faint crease in his brow, the subtle way his body leaned ever so slightly away from her. Mydei wasn’t exactly subtle when he didn’t trust someone.

She sighed and paused in her doodling, then spoke without turning. “You must think I’m suspicious, right? Can’t blame you there.”

Her tone was light, almost joking, but there was a weariness behind it. Like she’d said that line a hundred times before. Like she knew exactly what kind of first impression she gave.

“I’m not really good with people. Cassie told me you were kind of the same. You know—preferring to be alone, drifting through life like none of it really sticks.”

That caught Mydei’s attention.

He looked over, his expression slightly more guarded now, though his silence gave her space to continue.

“I came to Okehema to get away from the mess back in Dolos. I… didn’t have a good life there. Things got really bad. And someone I trusted…” She paused, pressing her pencil a little harder into her notebook. “Well. Let’s just say betrayal changes a person.”

Her voice had dipped lower. More serious now.

“I just wanted to start over. Somewhere new. Somewhere far from everything I used to be.” She finally turned to him then, her bright blue eyes meeting his with a flicker of something raw and genuine. “With the one creature in my life who never let me down. My cat, Can.”

Mydei stared at her for a moment, studying her carefully. The pleated skirt, the oversized hoodie with cat ears, the animated smile—all a little eccentric. But there was something familiar underneath. Something in the way she deflected vulnerability with humor. In the way she kept people at arm’s length, even while trying to connect.

He exhaled slowly. “...I see,” he said finally. “I’m from Castrum Kremnos. So yeah. My life was pretty fucked too.”

Cipher blinked. “No way. You too?”

“Mm.” He looked away, his voice softer now. “I came to Okehema for the same reason. To get away from it. Everything there was… heavy. Like I couldn’t breathe unless I left.”

“I get that,” Cipher nodded. “Sometimes you have to leave everything behind to survive, huh?”

He nodded. For the first time since she sat beside him, the tension in his shoulders loosened a fraction.

“I don’t have many people I trust either,” Cipher continued. “It’s just me and Can now. I figure, as long as she’s fed and I’m not dead, we’re doing okay.”

That pulled a reluctant huff of laughter from Mydei. “You sound like someone I know.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“No,” he said, too quickly. Then, “Maybe.”

Cipher beamed, twirling her pencil between her fingers like she’d just scored a win.

Mydei didn’t smile, not fully—but he also didn’t pull away when she nudged his elbow lightly with hers.

Maybe she was suspicious. But maybe… she was also just another runaway, trying to build something out of broken pieces.

Just like him.

Chatting with Cipher made class strangely tolerable. Despite her odd quirks—and the cat-eared hoodie that drew far too much attention—she had a way of making the dullest topics feel mildly entertaining. Mydei still wasn’t entirely sure if he liked her, but… he didn’t dislike her. Which, for him, was saying a lot.

Time passed faster than he expected. Before he knew it, their lecture had ended, and as it turned out, Cipher was also heading to the same classroom for the next module. The conversation simply continued without pause, flowing effortlessly from one topic to the next. Her pace was hard to keep up with, but she had a strange charm when she wasn’t being suspiciously evasive.

By the time lunch rolled around, Mydei was already resigned to the idea that Cipher would follow him like a particularly chatty shadow. And true enough, she trailed right behind him as they made their way to the usual lunch spot.

As expected, Phainon and Hyacine were already there. Phainon was talking animatedly to Caelus, who was halfway through a sandwich, and Dan Heng, ever the quiet one, sat across from them, arms folded and expression unreadable.

The moment Mydei approached—with Cipher in tow—Phainon’s eyes locked onto the unfamiliar face beside him.

“Uh—who’s this?” he asked, blinking in surprise, his gaze flicking between Cipher and Mydei.

Cipher grinned. “Hi~ I’m Cipher!”

Phainon tilted his head. “Cipher?”

“She’s a transfer student,” Mydei muttered, already anticipating the barrage of questions.

“Oh! Wait a sec…” Hyacine’s eyes widened slightly as something clicked in her memory. “Cassie mentioned someone recently… Oh! That means you’re Aglaea’s—”

“Niece!” Cipher interrupted, her voice a touch too loud, her hands shooting up in a dramatic gesture. “I’m her niece. Sorry—I didn’t want to bring up Agy because we haven’t really talked in a while. You know… family drama.”

The group fell quiet for a beat.

Hyacine, who had been halfway through sipping her drink, nearly choked as she realized her mistake. “Oh no—sorry! I didn’t mean to bring up something sensitive!”

Cipher waved it off with a breezy smile, but Mydei had caught it. The speed of her interruption. The flash of panic behind her eyes. The odd tension in Hyacine’s posture.

He narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. “...Right.”

However, Phainon had other plans.

He leaned forward slightly, arms folded across the table, golden eyes narrowing with pointed curiosity. “If Aglaea sent you here, you must be here because of me , right?” There was a sharpness behind the casual tone—a thread of skepticism woven through the words that didn’t go unnoticed.

Cipher paused mid-chew, blinking at him. “Agy didn’t actually say much… The only thing I know is that you’re a celebrity, and she told me I could trust you!” she chirped, her voice light and bubbly. “She said if anyone bothers you, I have to beat them up.”

She raised a fist in exaggerated seriousness, which only made the moment more surreal. Her bright eyes sparkled with mischief as if she genuinely believed she could defend Phainon against a mob with nothing but her willpower and a bento box.

Phainon blinked slowly. “Right…” He glanced at Mydei, who was clearly thinking the same thing— Was she serious, or just good at pretending?

Her innocent, child-like tone made it maddeningly difficult to tell whether she was lying through her teeth or just clueless. Mydei frowned, eyes flicking to Hyacine, expecting some kind of reaction—but she kept her gaze firmly on her noodles, clearly choosing not to intervene.

That in itself was suspicious.

Phainon tapped his fingers against the table in thought, his jaw tight as he tried to read her. Cipher smiled back with infuriating serenity.

The silence dragged for a beat longer before Phainon finally huffed, brushing a hand through his hair with a scoff. “Well,” he muttered, “anyone related to Aglaea is… suspicious by default. But I guess you seem alright.”

“Yippie! So I’m guessing we’re friends now!” 

Cipher beamed, rocking slightly in her seat with uncontainable energy, as if she'd just won a prize. She leaned closer to the group, her wide grin nearly splitting her face, the tips of her cat-eared hoodie swaying with the motion. There was a brief, expectant silence.

Then, with a bounce of her shoulders and a soft clap of her hands, she pulled out her phone, practically glowing. She turned to the others and began tapping quickly on the screen, her fingers nimble. One by one, she nudged her phone toward each of them, nudging for usernames—her expression innocent, but just a little too eager.

Without needing to say it aloud, it was clear what she wanted: connections.

Caelus raised his brow but handed his over first, amused. Dan Heng followed suit with minimal fuss. Mydei exchanged a brief glance with her and then shrugged, sharing his profile too.

Phainon was the last. His gaze remained skeptical, unreadable. Cipher tilted her head and offered him a look so sweet and expectant, it bordered on manipulative—eyes wide, smile coy, posture just slightly leaning in as if physically urging him to cave.

Eventually, Phainon exhaled a long breath and gave in. He scrolled through his phone with a resigned look, then tapped his screen a few times before setting it facedown beside his tray.

Cipher’s smile deepened as the notification popped up. She made a small triumphant noise and immediately dove into browsing his profile, her eyes gleaming in mischief.

The group relaxed again, drifting into idle chatter about nothing in particular. Lunch trays clinked. A breeze drifted past, stirring the edges of wrappers and napkins. The sounds of the courtyard filled the air—laughter, distant footsteps, birds overhead.

Then— click . Faint, sharp. Followed by another. Click-click.

The sound was soft enough to miss if one wasn’t paying attention. But Cipher froze. Her shoulders stiffened beneath her hoodie, eyes narrowing slightly as she turned her head just enough to scan the edges of the courtyard. Her cheerful demeanor faltered—not broken, just briefly peeled back.

“Did you hear that?” she said softly.

Hyacine titled her head in confusion,  “...Hear what?”

Phainon straightened. His posture shifted from relaxed to alert in a heartbeat, gaze cutting toward the far end of the courtyard.

His expression darkened instantly. “Paparazzi.”

Two figures stood in the distance, partially obscured by the hedge and columns—cameras raised, long lenses glinting under the sunlight. They didn’t move. Didn’t even pretend to hide.

Cipher lowered her phone slowly, the cheer drained from her expression. She didn’t speak. Instead, her hand tightened slightly around her fork, her lunch momentarily forgotten.

Mydei followed her line of sight and caught a glimpse of the lenses aimed their way. His brows furrowed.

Phainon’s jaw tensed, a breath slipping through his nose. He didn’t look surprised. Just tired. As if this had happened one too many times before. 

The moment passed in a taut silence.

Then Cipher leaned back in her seat, the smile slowly returning to her face—but this time, it was smaller. Tighter. Not quite reaching her eyes. She picked up her sandwich again and took a slow, thoughtful bite, chewing deliberately.

But beneath the table, her leg bounced—just slightly. The only outward sign of the tension still coiled under her skin.

Mydei watched them for another beat, unusually quiet, shifting uncomfortably.

“You want me to scare them off for you?” Cipher asked, tilting her head innocently. Her fingers tapped against her phone like a cat flexing its claws.

“What are you planning to do…?” Dan Heng asked warily, eyeing her with caution.

“Don’t worry, guys. I have a baseball bat,” Caelus added far too cheerfully, ducking under the table and actually pulling out a worn metal bat like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Why do you even have that?” Mydei muttered.

Hyacine, stunned, could only blink, unsure whether to intervene or stay out of the crossfire. She opted for silence, sitting stiffly as her friends schemed like they were planning a high-stakes heist instead of dealing with nosy photographers.

Cipher stood up slowly and stretched, her back arching like a cat just waking from a nap. Then, without warning, she bolted—fast enough that her hoodie whipped behind her.

The paparazzi barely had time to react. They scrambled backward, clutching their cameras, but Cipher was already on them. Her foot swept low and fast across the stone pavement, sending one man crashing to the ground with a startled grunt. The other stumbled, trying to flee, but she lunged and grabbed his collar before he could escape.

In one motion, she yanked both cameras free and snatched their phones from their pockets. The men reached for her ankles in desperation, but she danced out of reach and stomped hard on one of their hands with a muted crack , making him yelp.

“You shouldn’t spy on people,” she muttered under her breath.

Calmly, she sank to a crouch beside the nearest bush and began sorting through the stolen devices. The screens lit up in her hands, her expression blank as she flicked through the photo galleries. One by one, she deleted every image of Phainon—candid shots at the library, walking through campus, eating lunch, even one of him just tying his shoelaces. They were obsessive. Dozens of angles. Some taken from trees or rooftops. Cipher’s brows furrowed.

But as she continued scrolling, her fingers paused.

Mixed in between the images of Phainon were shots of Mydei. Not nearly as many—but enough to feel intentional. In one, he was walking alone near the east gardens. In another, leaning against a wall with his headphones in. Some looked recent. Others, months old.

Cipher’s grip on the camera tightened.

She deleted the images without a second thought, her thumb jabbing the trash icon with force. But even after the galleries were cleared, the discomfort remained—like a thorn just beneath the skin. Why Mydei too?

She stood slowly, slipping the SD cards into her hoodie pocket. The paparazzi groaned at her feet, cradling their sore limbs. Cipher spared them only a glance before turning on her heel and striding back to the table, the afternoon sunlight flickering through her hair.

As she returned, her usual grin was gone. She looked… thoughtful. Focused.

She handed Phainon the cracked remains of one of the SD cards.

“Cleaned up,” she said softly, voice void of her usual sing-song lilt.

Phainon took it with a nod, though his eyes were fixed on her face—he noticed the change. 

Cipher sat back down without a word. She didn’t touch her lunch again. Just stared at the table, lips pressed in a tight line. Mydei glanced at her, frowning slightly, but didn’t speak either.

The tension returned—but this time, it wasn’t from the cameras.

Sensing the heaviness hanging over them, Hyacine quickly pulled out her phone.

“Okay, okay—everyone stop being weird. Look what Ica did yesterday,” she said, tapping rapidly before flipping her screen toward the group.

On it, a picture of the round creature sprawled on its back, tangled in a pile of laundry with a sock stuck over its nose. Its round, bewildered eyes drew a collective laugh from the table.

“Titans above—he looks like he’s going through it,” Caelus chuckled, leaning over Phainon to get a better view.

“He is going through it,” Hyacine said, smiling. “He got stuck under my bed for like two hours. I only noticed when I heard him yowling.”

Phainon huffed a soft laugh. “You spoil that thing too much.”

“And you’re one to talk,” Caelus chimed, nudging him with his shoulder. “Last week you bought that limited edition snack just for Meowy, remember?”

Phainon rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched in amusement. The mood, slowly, began to settle—soft laughter replacing the earlier edge.

Even Dan Heng, who was usually the quietest of them all, leaned across toward Mydei. “By the way, I tried that split-shoulder routine you showed me last time. My back’s wrecked in the best way.”

Mydei blinked, a little startled by the casual shift in topic, but eventually nodded. “Yeah? You’re probably overcompensating with your traps. I can show you how to fix your form later.”

Dan Heng gave a satisfied nod, then went back to sipping his tea, conversation drifting into a comfortable lull.

Cipher stayed quiet through it all, her hands loosely folded on her lap. She forced a smile once or twice when someone looked her way, but her thoughts remained distant—looping over the images she had seen. The way those pictures of Mydei were taken… they hadn’t been random. They weren’t curious fan shots.

They were deliberate.

Her eyes flicked to Mydei once more, watching him as he leaned into conversation with Dan Heng, face calm, if a little tired. She wouldn’t bring it up now. Not while he was laughing. Not while he was safe here.

But she tucked the memory away like a folded note in her pocket.

She’d figure out what it meant soon enough.

After lunch, the group slowly dispersed. Caelus and Dan Heng headed off in their own direction—Caelus dragging Dan Heng toward a vending machine he had “spiritually bonded” with—while Hyacine stayed behind for an elective. Phainon, however, lingered.

He stood a short distance from the table, arms crossed, gaze flitting between Cipher and Mydei. Something about Cipher still didn’t sit right with him, but he said nothing. Mydei, sensing the storm clouds gathering behind Phainon’s eyes, took the initiative.

“You should head home first,” Mydei said, brushing invisible lint off his sweater. “It’s been a weird day already. If there are more paparazzi hanging around, I don’t want you dealing with them.”

Phainon didn’t move.

“And besides,” Mydei added with careful casualness, “I’ll be fine. Cipher’s with me.”

He didn’t say it aloud, but part of him wanted privacy and time away from the rest of the group. Cipher had kept something to herself, he could feel it. She had gone quiet after deleting the pictures. Unnaturally quiet for someone like her.

Phainon finally exhaled through his nose. “Fine. But in exchange, you owe me a favor...”

Mydei rolled his eyes. “I knew this was coming. What are you planning now?”

Phainon straightened, a little too pleased with himself. “Do you mind if I renovate some stuff and add furniture?”

Mydei narrowed his eyes. “That depends. What kind of ‘stuff’?”

Phainon shrugged, a coy smirk playing at his lips. “You’ll see.”

“Deliverer,” Mydei warned, folding his arms.

“Look—if it’s ugly, you can kick me out. But I promise it’ll be an improvement. Just trust me.”

“As long as I’m not paying for it,” Mydei muttered, turning away. “And if you so much as move my indoor plants, I’m throwing you off the balcony.”

Phainon gave a mock salute, already backing away. “Noted, your highness.”

With one final glance toward Cipher—more of a silent warning than anything—Phainon turned and headed off, his figure eventually vanishing into the flow of students leaving campus.

Mydei and Cipher were left behind in the quieter corridor. As they started walking toward their next class, the air between them felt heavier than it had at lunch. Cipher didn’t speak right away, and Mydei didn’t push.

But he had questions.

And sooner or later, she was going to have to answer them.

-x-

“Cipher, what did you see?”

The words slipped out the moment they were seated in the quiet hum of the next lecture hall. Mydei didn’t even glance at her as he asked, eyes fixed on the front where the professor’s slides hadn’t even loaded yet. His tone was low, measured—but Cipher could feel the strain coiled behind it.

Cipher hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly around her pen. She glanced around to make sure no one was listening, then leaned in and whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

“Sorry I didn’t want to cause any panic so I kept quiet back there but… I saw pictures of you,” she murmured. “Everywhere. All around campus—by the gates, outside lecture halls, even from the back courtyard. They weren’t just random shots either. They looked… deliberate.”

Mydei’s brows furrowed.

“Like with Phainon or the rest of the group?”

Cipher shook her head. “No. Just you. Alone. Some of them looked recent, but there were older ones too. Months back, judging from the lighting and the differences in trees. Someone’s been watching you for a while.”

Mydei sat back in his chair, jaw tightening. 

“I see.”

He didn’t react beyond that—not visibly. But Cipher caught the slight shift in his posture, the tension that settled between his shoulders like a weight he was used to carrying. His eyes stayed fixed on the screen in front of him, but she could tell his mind had gone elsewhere—somewhere heavier, older.

He would be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed it before—that creeping sense of being watched, of eyes on him when no one was supposed to be looking. Of moments that felt off for no particular reason, like standing under a spotlight in a room that should have been dark.

It was true that Mydei never liked attention. He wasn’t shy—he just didn’t see the point in being seen. He preferred blending into the periphery, half-forgotten, just another face in the crowd. To most people, it just seemed like the temperament of an introvert.

But there were deeper reasons—ones he’d never shared. Not with Phainon. Not even with Hyacine.

Mydei didn’t just crave privacy. He needed it. It was survival. It was safety.

He had spent most of his life perfecting the art of being unremarkable. The move from Castrum Kremnos to Okehema hadn’t been out of academic ambition or a fresh start. It had been an escape. A calculated vanishing act.

Cipher was silent, but her eyes hadn’t left him. The crease in her brow deepened as she studied him—not out of judgment, but with quiet calculation. There was more to Mydei than he let on. That much was clear now. Regular people didn’t get stalked for months unless there was a reason. Unless someone was looking for something.

And he wasn’t the only one hiding things.

It was only her first day here, and yet—this. Paparazzi. Surveillance. Mydei. Secrets.

Things were already happening. Too fast, too sharp. It didn’t feel like a coincidence.

Anaxa must have anticipated this.

Cipher's thoughts circled back to the night before, when she arrived. The vague instructions from Aglaea. The offhanded tone Anaxa had used, as if all of this was preordained. As if Cipher had been moved into position on a gameboard long before she knew there was a game being played.

She had been told to keep an eye on Mydei. Protect him, if necessary. But neither of them had told her why. And now, with the memory of those photographs still fresh in her mind, Cipher wasn’t sure what she had signed up for. Or who exactly she was supposed to be protecting.

The rest of the afternoon passed without incident, though a quiet tension still lingered beneath the surface. Cipher kept glancing at Mydei when she thought he wasn’t looking—he always was. But neither of them spoke of the earlier conversation again. Instead, they sat through lectures, side by side, as if the day had been ordinary.

By the time the final bell rang, the sun was beginning to lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the courtyard as students filtered out of the building. Mydei and Cipher stepped outside, the crispness of late afternoon brushing against their skin. Just as they descended the main steps, a familiar voice called out.

“Hey, Mydei!”

It was March, bounding across the square with her usual buoyant energy, tugging along a guy Mydei hadn’t seen before. Her smile was bright, her hair catching the light as she waved.

Without hesitation, she threw her arms around Mydei for a quick hug, then pulled back and blinked at Cipher, curiosity lighting up her face.

“Oh! Hi there! Are you new?”

Cipher offered a sheepish smile. “Yeah. First week.”

March’s eyes sparkled. “Welcome, welcome! You gotta give me your socials, obviously.”

Before Cipher could even react, the boy beside March stepped forward. His eyes landed on Mydei with a flicker of admiration, almost star-struck.

“Whoa… sorry, I just—You look cool as hell,” he said, voice low and almost awkward. “Do you mind if we exchange socials too? I’m Daimoinis, it's my first day too.”

Mydei blinked, caught off guard. It wasn’t the first time someone had said that to him, but it always felt strange somehow.

“…Sure,” he replied after a beat, pulling out his phone. He exchanged info with Daimionis, then Cipher, whose profile March had already added with lightning speed.

Daimionis turned to Cipher next, visibly trying not to trip over his own words. “You too, by the way. I really love the cat-theme you have going on.”

Cipher’s face broke into a huge grin. “Aww thanks!”

March beamed as she glanced between them. “Everyone’s making new friends lately. Dan Heng and Caelus have been getting along very well with their new buddy,” she said, her tone teasing as she threw a sideways glance at Mydei. She didn’t name names, but the implication hung in the air.

Mydei let out a small laugh, almost under his breath. “That’s good to hear,” he said, softer this time. “Tell Dan Heng I owe him. One day.”

March gave a knowing nod. “I will. He’d probably say it’s no big deal, but I think he secretly enjoys the chaos.”

She checked her phone, eyes widening slightly. “Oops—gotta run! Duty calls. But I’ll see you both around!” And with that, she looped her arm through Daimionis’ and tugged him away before he could ask any more questions, chatting animatedly as they disappeared down the path.

As they walked along the shaded path leading out of campus, the orange light of the setting sun cast a soft glow around them. Leaves rustled quietly in the breeze, the day’s chaos fading into the background.

Cipher broke the silence with a grin.

“So, Mr. Popular,” she teased, nudging Mydei lightly with her elbow. “Do people always ask for your Enstagram?”

Mydei huffed out a breath, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “It’s fine. I don’t post anyway.”

“Honestly? I didn’t even think you’d have an account,” she said, eyebrows raised. “You strike me more as the mysterious-lurker type.”

“I am the mysterious-lurker type,” he replied dryly. “Phainon made me create one. Now I just use it to stalk others.”

Cipher gasped theatrically. “How scandalous. A stalker and a heartthrob?”

Before he could roll his eyes or offer a comeback, Cipher had already snatched the phone from his hand with an impish glint in her eyes “Alright, social media time. Come on—smile, or at least pretend you don’t hate me.”

She tugged on his sleeve, pulling him down slightly to match her height. Mydei didn’t resist, though his expression stayed somewhere between amused and resigned as Cipher angled the camera.

The light caught their faces just right—her grinning like a gremlin with half her hair in her face, and him staring straight into the lens with that deadpan stare of his. Click.

Cipher stared at the photo for a moment, then pulled the corners of her mouth into a pleased grin. Her thumbs moved quickly, tweaking filters, adding a soft pastel tint, sketching over their heads with cartoonish cat ears and tiny whiskers. Every movement was quick, deliberate, like she already knew exactly how she wanted it to look.

When she was satisfied, she posted it without asking.

Mydei watched in silence as the phone was handed back to him. On screen, the caption blinked up at him ‘ first post! >:3 ‘ accompanied by a photo of the two of them in the golden hour light. Cipher’s grin was wide and unfiltered. He, in contrast, looked half-amused, half-done with the world.

There it was—his first ever post. Bright, chaotic, painfully cute.

Cipher watched him closely, ready to run if he deleted it on the spot.

But Mydei just blinked… then sighed. 

“…Of all the things you could’ve posted,” he muttered, though a subtle twitch of his lips betrayed the faintest hint of a smile.

“Hey,” Cipher said, throwing her arms behind her head smugly. “You didn’t stop me.”

“I’ll let it slide. Just this once.”

“Uh-huh,” she sang, clearly pleased with herself.

They walked on together, the noise of the campus thinning behind them. Birds chirped faintly overhead. The air smelled faintly of pine and sun-warmed stone.

And though Mydei didn’t say it aloud, there was something strangely grounding about the presence at his side—like a tether pulling him back to earth after too many days adrift.

Eventually, Mydei and Cipher parted ways as they headed back to their own homes. The walk to his apartment complex was uneventful, but as he stepped into the lift and the familiar hum of ascending floors wrapped around him, something in his chest coiled with unease. He didn’t know why—just a gut feeling. And his gut rarely lied.

The lift dinged open at his floor, and immediately, Mydei’s eyes narrowed.

A team of construction workers—at least four of them—were filing out from the direction of his apartment, carrying toolboxes and rolls of blueprints. They nodded politely as they passed him, sweat-drenched and laughing amongst themselves in a language he only half-understood. One of them even muttered, “Tell your friend we left the custom bolts by the counter.”

Mydei didn’t respond. He stared after them, blinking slowly, a mounting dread stirring in his gut.

By the time he reached his door, his suspicions were confirmed.

There, at the far end of the living space, his balcony was completely concealed by a mess of semi-translucent plastic sheets—hung from ceiling to floor and taped haphazardly. A bold, hand-scrawled sign fluttered in the evening breeze coming in through a crack in the glass door:

"DO NOT ENTER :)"

Mydei closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. The kind of exhale reserved for people teetering on the edge of snapping, but too tired to commit to it.

He opened his mouth. “HKS. Deliverer, what the fuck did you do.”

From the kitchen, a familiar voice rang out—far too casual for someone facing the threat of eviction.

“I swear it’s going to look cool. Trust me!”

Mydei dropped his bag onto the floor with a dull thud , then stalked toward the kitchen, peeling off his outer shirt as he moved. “You said you were going to renovate some stuff . Not rip apart my balcony like you're launching a black market rave. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kick you out right now.”

Phainon scratched the back of his head, trying and failing to look innocent.

“Uhh… I got us dinner?”

Before Mydei could fire back with another withering glare, Phainon was already moving—grabbing a chilled bottle of champagne from the counter with one hand and clasping Mydei’s wrist with the other. His fingers were warm, a little flour-dusted, and strangely persuasive.

“Come on. Just… humor me,” he said, tugging him gently upstairs.

Mydei let himself be led, more out of curiosity than forgiveness.

The upper floor was dim, the lights switched off, but a soft glow spilled from the far room—flickering and warm. As they stepped in, Mydei blinked, the scene unfurling before him like some absurd romantic drama.

Candles. Dozens of them.

Lining the shelves, crowding the windowsills, clustered on the dining table. Their flames danced quietly, casting molten gold shadows on the walls. The air was saturated with scent—rich pomegranate layered with a deeper, crisp undertone of pine. It wasn’t overpowering, but it clung to the air in a way that made it feel like something sacred—or at least, something delicately staged to look sacred.

At the center of it all was a table set for two. Real glassware, folded napkins, even wine flutes. The food, that was clearly takeout, had been plated with almost obsessive care. There were roasted vegetables stacked like sculpture, rice molded into perfect domes, and sauce drizzled with the flourish of someone who had watched far too many cooking videos but had never attempted any of them.

Phainon set the champagne down with a tiny pop and beamed at his own work like a proud child.

Mydei stood frozen at the doorway, arms crossed and expression unreadable. The soft candlelight made his silver hair gleam, eyes catching firelight in gold.

“…If I didn’t just walk past a post-apocalyptic construction site, I might almost forgive you.”

Phainon grinned. “Good. That means it’s working.”

“Don’t get cocky.”

“No promises.”

Mydei sighed, long and slow, before stepping into the room. The candlelight caught the smallest twitch of a smile at the corner of his lips—just enough for Phainon to notice.

Giving in, he lowered himself into the chair, shifting slightly until the candlelight stopped casting long flickers over his face. Phainon, already half-humming to himself, wandered over to the speaker in the corner and put on music—soft piano chords, unhurried and dreamy, weaving gently into the room like smoke.

The glass of champagne in Mydei’s hand caught a glint of light as Phainon poured with practiced ease, then took his seat across from him. The food was still warm. Mydei picked up his fork and started eating, expression unreadable, movements precise. Despite himself, a quiet sound of appreciation escaped him on the first bite.

Phainon, on the other hand, didn’t touch his food. Instead, he sat there, elbow on the table, chin resting lazily in his palm as he watched.

“…Why aren’t you eating?” Mydei finally asked, not looking up. “Is there something on my face?”

Phainon’s lips curved into a slow smile. “No. I just wanted to take a moment to admire the view.”

Mydei paused, fork mid-air. His expression soured—subtly, the way milk curdled under heat. “...Okay?”

He didn’t bother to dignify the compliment with a real response, but Phainon chuckled anyway, pleased with himself as he finally began to dig into his own plate.

“You know,” Phainon began after a few bites, “I saw your post with Cipher.” Mydei gave him a slow, side-glance over the rim of his glass as Phainon pouted theatrically. “It’s not fair that she gets a post with you.”

Mydei scoffed. “What do you propose then, Deliverer? I can’t just post photos with you now, can I?”

“That’s exactly what I propose.”

“Mm,” Mydei muttered. “Tempting. But I’d rather not have strangers speculating about my deeply personal taste in poor life decisions.”

Phainon gasped. “Excuse me?”

“I’ve let you live in my home. That already says a lot about how far I’ve fallen. Besides, all your fans would come after me.”

A grin tugged at Phainon’s lips, unfazed. “Well, you can’t post it but I can.”

He reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his phone, and turned the camera on. Mydei immediately gave him a warning glare.

“Aw, come on my love,” Phainon said, voice low and sweet. “Do it for your boyfriend.”

“My boyfriend can choke.”

“But it’d make him the happiest man in the world”

Mydei exhaled, slow and flat, expecting Phainon to take the photo from across the table. But instead, Phainon stood, circling around behind him. Before Mydei could protest, an arm slid loosely around his shoulders, warm and casual—possessive in that effortless way only Phainon could manage.

He froze. “You’re not serious—”

“Smile,” Phainon murmured beside his ear, already tilting the phone.

Mydei turned his face slightly away, not quite scowling but close. Still, the heat rising to his cheeks betrayed him.

The shutter clicked.

In the image, the candlelight gilded the contours of their faces. Mydei, caught in that liminal space between annoyance and reluctant amusement, and Phainon, grinning wide as if he had just won something. His arm remained draped over Mydei’s shoulders a second longer than necessary before he finally let go and moved back to his seat, utterly pleased with himself.

Mydei muttered under his breath and resumed eating, ears faintly pink.

Phainon studied the image like a prized sketch. He didn’t post it, not yet. Instead he tucked the phone away quietly, a small, private smile playing at his lips.

The last of the dinner plates had grown warm and quiet under the low flicker of candlelight. Shadows danced lazily along the edges of the walls, softened by the golden halos cast from the scattered candles. The scent in the air—faintly sweet pomegranate laced with pine—curled like a hush between them, as if the room itself held its breath.

Phainon leaned back slightly in his seat, one arm draped over the backrest as he swirled what was left of the champagne in his glass. The soft notes of piano music played on from the speaker in the corner, distant and restrained, like a memory just out of reach.

“You and Cipher… had class after lunch?” he asked, tone light, almost idle.

Across from him, Mydei’s fingers moved to the stem of his glass, tilting it just enough to catch the glow of the candles on the champagne’s surface. He didn't look up at first—his profile still, guarded, outlined in firelight.

“There weren’t any more paparazzi if that’s what you’re worried about,” he said, the words measured, almost too composed.

There was a stillness after that—Phainon’s gaze lingered, quiet and searching. He didn’t reply immediately, just let the silence stretch, waiting for Mydei to say more. But Mydei didn’t. His mind was elsewhere—on Cipher’s voice, low and serious, telling him about the photos.

Pictures of you… from months ago.

He could still hear it, like a cold fingertip trailing down his spine. Someone had been watching him long before Phainon arrived. And yet, he said nothing. Instead, he set his glass down with slow precision and leaned back into his chair, deflecting smoothly.

“What exactly were you doing with the balcony?”

The shift in topic was transparent, but Phainon didn’t push it. His expression softened into a sheepish grin, one brow arching in playful guilt.

Mydei followed his gaze toward the balcony, where the soft outline of scaffolding and tarp could just barely be seen through the glass. The faint outline of warning tape, the unmistakable chaos of half-finished plans.

“Don’t tell me you’re turning it into a damn rooftop playground,” Mydei muttered, the tone dry but not without a trace of amusement.

Phainon lifted his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “You’ll see.”

Mydei turned back to his plate with a barely contained sigh, his fork tapping once against the edge before settling back into motion.

“And you’re planning to keep this up?” he asked, gesturing faintly with his utensil. “Breakfast and dinner like this every day?”

Phainon chuckled under his breath and tilted his head in mock thought, eyes narrowing with exaggerated contemplation.

“Depends,” he said finally. “Do you like being spoiled?”

Mydei shook his head, exasperated, though the faint tug of a smile betrayed him. He didn’t answer—not directly. But the way he finished the last of his food without another word, the way he lingered in the warm candlelit hush, said enough.

And across the table, Phainon watched him—satisfied, but thoughtful. A flicker of something deeper played behind his eyes, though he didn’t name it either. The candles kept burning between them. The piano kept playing. And outside, the city’s evening hum pressed softly against the glass.

After the last drop of champagne slipped down their throats and the quiet clink of glassware faded into the background, Phainon rose to his feet with a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He extended a hand—unspoken, unhurried—and Mydei took it, though his expression remained guarded.

They walked in silence, past the remnants of the candlelit dinner, past the still-shrouded construction site beyond the balcony. Mydei didn’t ask questions, not yet. He simply let himself be led.

Phainon stopped at the threshold of the bathroom and opened the door with a small flourish, a note of mischief still lingering in his eyes. The warm glow of candles spilled outward, and Mydei paused.

Inside, steam coiled gently in the air, kissed with the faint, intoxicating scent of sandalwood and something sweeter—maybe citrus, or honeyed florals, hard to place. The bath was already drawn, the surface of the water sparkling faintly with golden shimmer, as if someone had melted down stars and poured them in.

Candles flickered around the edges of the tub, their soft flames mirrored in the ripples of water. The tiles glowed with low, ambient warmth. It looked less like a bathroom and more like some private sanctum, curated with care.

Mydei blinked once, then turned his gaze toward Phainon, who only gave a cheeky shrug in response.

“Don’t worry, I’m not joining you,” he said with a wink before stepping out and shutting the door behind him.

The moment the latch clicked, Mydei exhaled and pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Clothes peeled away slowly, deliberately, and he sank into the water without ceremony.

Heat wrapped around him like silk, seeping into his skin and bones. His muscles eased, the tension between his brows smoothing just slightly. The glitter stirred around him in lazy spirals, catching the light as it clung faintly to his skin.

He let his head fall back against the edge of the tub. For a moment, everything was quiet—no questions, no glances, no ghosts.

Still, the silence didn’t bring peace.

Mydei’s gaze flicked to the candlelight dancing along the tiles. Phainon’s name surfaced in his thoughts, uninvited. Along with it came Cipher’s voice, her warning, and the slow-burning dread that had rooted itself in his spine ever since.

Someone’s been watching you for a while.

The water lapped gently at his collarbones, soothing and golden. And yet his thoughts remained elsewhere.

Phainon had done all this—prepared dinner, lit candles, drawn a bath as if it were all second nature. As if he knew exactly how to make someone feel seen. And it was working.

That was what unsettled him most.

Mydei closed his eyes, letting the scent of warm wood and shimmer wrap around him. He didn’t trust him. Not yet. Not with what he’d buried. Not with what he’d run from.

But the line between comfort and vulnerability had blurred—and Phainon, somehow, was always at the center of that line.

Mydei wasn’t sure how much longer he could stay on the safe side of it.

By the time Mydei stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in a robe and towelling off the last traces of glittering bathwater from his hair, the lights in his room had been dimmed. A soft amber hue pooled across the marble floor, catching the faint shimmer of dust motes in the air. The candle scent from the bathroom still clung to his skin—pomegranate and pine, now mellowed into something more intimate.

Phainon sat casually on the edge of Mydei’s bed, already showered, dressed down in a loose shirt with his sleeves rolled up. Meowy was curled in his lap, purring under the slow, lazy strokes of Phainon’s hand. The sight was strangely domestic. Too natural.

Phainon glanced up, eyes flicking briefly over Mydei’s damp hair before settling back on the feline. “You know,” he began, tone light but thoughtful, “I never really looked around your room before. You have a lot of accessories. Jewellery too.”

Mydei blinked, then followed his gaze to the glass display tray near the dresser—rings, cufflinks, vintage chains, all arranged with quiet precision. The design seemed ancient, most of them inlaid with stones that weren’t quite modern. A few pieces were locked in cases—delicate but worn.

“They’re from Castrum Kremnos,” Mydei said eventually, his voice calm. “Passed down through my family.”

Phainon’s hand didn’t pause in its movements. “Do you have a signet ring too?”

There was a slight hitch in Mydei’s breath. Barely perceptible, but there.

He turned to face the closet, pretending to straighten his robe. “I used to,” he answered. “But I must’ve lost it when I moved to Okehema.”

It was a rehearsed lie, delivered too easily. The truth was heavier—resting in the velvet-lined drawer of his nightstand, hidden beneath old letters and sealed envelopes. The ring had been a gift from his mother. His last tie to a name he no longer spoke.

He hadn’t told anyone about it.

So how did Phainon know?

The thought prickled at him, but he let it pass without confrontation. Not tonight.

“Mmm,” Phainon mused. “Read something about it in history class. About how families in Kremnos passed down signet rings. Usually meant you were descended from nobility or… royalty, didn't it?”

Mydei kept his tone flat. “I am simply a regular civilian.”

He moved to the opposite end of the bed and sat down, keeping a quiet distance between them. Meowy leapt from Phainon’s lap and padded over to curl against Mydei’s side instead, tail flicking idly.

Sensing Mydei’s reluctance to stay on the subject of his heritage, Phainon leaned back on his palms and let the silence settle for a beat before shifting gears.

“Anyways,” he said lightly, “will you skip school with me tomorrow?”

Mydei turned slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

Phainon grinned, tilting his head. “Because I want to take you on a date.”

The expression Mydei gave him was somewhere between exasperated and amused. “Can’t it wait till the weekend? Anaxa would murder us both. Then Aglaea would be after us next.”

“Weekends are too crowded,” Phainon countered without missing a beat. “No privacy. And what if the paparazzi or fans find me? I want us to actually enjoy it.”

Mydei leaned back against the headboard, exhaling through his nose. He didn’t answer right away, but the faintest crease appeared between his brows as he weighed the consequences—against the rare and ridiculous charm of the offer.

“... Fine,” he relented. “But if Aglaea starts asking questions, I’m not dealing with her.”

Phainon leaned closer, smirking. “Don’t worry. I’ve got it covered.”

Their eyes met for a brief moment, neither smiling quite fully—but there was a quiet understanding between them. Maybe even anticipation.

“Sleep well, Mydei.”

Phainon’s voice was gentle, unexpectedly sincere. Before Mydei could respond, Phainon leaned in with a swiftness that felt out of character for him—pressing a quick, almost clumsy kiss to Mydei’s forehead.

It startled him. Not the kiss itself, but the warmth it left behind. Brief as it was, it lingered longer than it should have.

Phainon didn’t give him the chance to react. He was already moving, already halfway to the door as if escaping the weight of the moment he’d created. Mydei watched his silhouette disappear as the door closed gently behind him.

Left alone in the silence, Mydei’s hand moved slowly to the lamp beside his bed. The soft click dulled the light, leaving the room bathed in amber shadows. He exhaled, settling back into his pillows with a sigh as he murmured under his breath, “Goodnight, Deliverer.”

The door had already closed, but Mydei had the distinct feeling that Phainon had paused just outside. As if he’d heard it.

He probably had.

And even if he didn’t answer, the smile he left with hadn’t faded.

The room was quiet now, save for the muted hum of the city outside and the occasional soft rustle of sheets. Mydei lay still for a while, eyes tracing the ceiling, thoughts tangled and half-formed.

He didn’t quite trust him. Not yet. But maybe—maybe something in him wanted to.

He turned toward the side of the bed that still held the lingering warmth of the bath, the candles, the dinner, and the fleeting kiss. The breakfast in the morning, still at the back of his mind. Events from the afternoon, forgotten. 

And slowly, for the first time in a long while, Mydei let himself drift.

Notes:

finally some lore drop!! the plot is getting somewhere... i think.... i cant comment much about the plot without spoiling it so um have fun theorizing! this chapter is longer as i wanted to build the story... i hope you enjoyed cipher's role so far though! she will have more relevance too. regarding phaidei's relationship now, i want to take a bit more time to build trust between them. mydei is still learning to trust phainon while phainon is trying his best to hold back lololol. the slow burn is killing you as much as it killing me HAHAHAHA as much as i want them to get it on, there has to be plot!!!!! also i rly love joshua waters' cover of weige (phainon's en va). ive looped it the entire time i was writing this chapter. i play hsr in japanese & i rarely listen to the en voices but wow i love josh so much...

but anyways, the next chapter will be a phaidei date :3

thank you for being patient with me and for reading the story thus far!!!!

tumblr: grayyxv / X: aschxv

Chapter 6: Ghost in a Flower

Notes:

title is inspired by yorushika's song which has the same title! it helped me alot w imagery and getting the feel of writing this chapter. i hope this will be able to last yall till the next update which... idk how long ill take but hopefully ill be done in a week.

anyways, sorry for any errors and inconsistencies! hope u enjoy the chapt hehe

The train platform buzzed with motion—clicking luggage wheels, static-laced announcements, and the distant hum of engines revving for departure. Amid the crowd, Phainon stood beside Mydei, practically bouncing on his heels with anticipation. One hand tugged their shared suitcase, the other latched comfortably around Mydei’s wrist as if afraid he’d bolt.

Mydei, for his part, looked less like someone going on a romantic weekend getaway and more like a prisoner on transfer.

“This was not the date I agreed to,” he grumbled under his breath, narrowing his eyes at the flashing departure board.

Phainon squeezed his wrist gently. “It’ll be fun. You’ll love Aedes Elysiae once we get there.”

Mydei exhaled through his nose. “And who, exactly, is watching over Meowy while we’re off skipping across countries?”

“Oh, that’s settled. Hyacine said she could stay at your place for the weekend. She even offered to bring Ica. Everything’s taken care of,” Phainon replied far too cheerfully, as if that explained everything .

Mydei slowed his steps. “The Hyacine I know doesn’t leave her bed for anything short of divine revelation.”

Phainon gave him a side glance, lips twitching. “Well… it didn’t take much to convince her.”

Mydei turned his head sharply. “What did you do ?”

— The night before.

Hyacine’s thumbs paused mid-scroll, the faint hum of her playlist continuing in the background. Her eyes narrowed.

A freshly uploaded Enstagram post from Mydei caught her attention—his first, no less. It was him and Cipher, side by side with the golden sunset in the background. The glow of warm lights caught the edges of their smiles, and drawn crudely over both their heads were blue cat ears and scribbled whiskers.

Hyacine blinked.

Then zoomed in.

Then zoomed out again.

“…Are you kidding me?” she muttered, glaring at the screen as if the pixels had committed treason.

That’s his first post?

Not a perfectly posed Hyacine photo? Not one of the dozens of candid shots she had artfully curated—ones where she looked divine even mid-laugh? Not even the one where she and Mydei were both holding Ica and Meowdei (Meowy) under a sakura tree?

But Cipher ? And cat ears ?

Her thumb hovered over the “unfollow” button like a cartoon villain ready to launch missiles—but she never pressed it. Not really.

Hyacine huffed, sinking further into her velvet beanbag as Ica waddled up and plopped against her thigh.

“I’m not mad,” she said to no one. “I’m just… annoyed.”

Ica meowed in quiet support.

“Okay, maybe I’m a little mad.” She pouted, scrolling back up to stare at the photo again. Cipher looked genuinely happy, laughing with that stupid dimple showing while Mydei had the most deadpan stare as he looked straight into the camera. They looked… cute.

Hyacine couldn’t bring herself to be mad at either of them. Cipher was too much of a sweetheart, and Mydei—well, she’d always wanted to be his first post. Just a little selfish wish, kept quiet and silly.

So now, she was going to throw a mild tantrum.

Just a small, glorious one.

As if Aquila heard her prayers, her phone buzzed. A message popped up at the top of her screen.

Phainon: hyacine! can u house-sit at mydei’s for a few days? need someone to watch Meowy. u can bring Ica too. 

Her eyes narrowed. Normally, she’d have rejected it outright. But she was still fuming, and suddenly the idea of being in his apartment—possibly rearranging his things, definitely taking selfies with Meowdei, and maybe leaving glitter and stickers all over his shelves—felt very cathartic.

Hyacine: why should i help that traitor? >:( he posted a pic w cipher before me!!!!

Phainon: PLEASE it’s an emergency!!!!

Phainon: also i’ll cover anything u spend while ure there… and i could get Cas to come hang out w you.

Hyacine didn’t even wait a full second.

Hyacine: REALLY?? U R THE BEST PHAI <3

— 

Mydei stared flatly at Phainon as the memory of that devil’s deal played out in his mind.

“You bribed her.”

“I negotiated with her,” Phainon replied, unbothered, tugging him gently toward the boarding gates. “Besides, you said she’s territorial, right? She’ll probably vacuum your carpets just to assert dominance over Cipher.”

Mydei sighed deeply, letting himself be led toward the train. The scenery of the station blurred behind them as they passed the gates, and the announcement chimed for final boarding.

He wasn’t ready. He didn’t even pack —Phainon had done it all. But at the very least, Meowy was safe. Admittedly, some part of him, some small, stupid part , was also curious to visit the place Phainon had grown up in.

“…Deliverer, I swear on Nikador’s wrath that if anything goes wrong in my apartment, no amount of money from Aglaea or begging would ever make me forgive you,” he muttered, giving in to his fate.

Phainon grinned. “No promises.”

The station was barely waking when they arrived—dim, quiet, with morning mist curling in the air. The sky hadn’t yet decided if it wanted to be day or night. Pale blue light spilled through the glass ceilings, diffused like watercolor. Mydei followed behind Phainon with the sluggishness of someone still half-asleep, pulled more by the steady grip of Phainon’s hand than any real sense of direction.

He hadn’t even realized they were leaving the country until the terminal signage flashed Aedes Elysiae – Platform 4 , and the smooth white bullet train rolled into view with a soft hiss. Mydei blinked, wind catching the edges of his coat.

“Wait, we’re actually going overseas ?” he’d asked, incredulous.

Phainon only smiled, the kind of too-charming grin that meant yes, and I planned this all along.

Everything had happened so quickly. One moment, he was being roused out of bed in a haze of warm blankets and the faint scent of coffee; the next, his bags were mysteriously packed— “ Just trust me ,” Phainon had said—and they were stepping onto the sleek, silver train.

Now, seated by the window, Mydei’s forehead gently leaned against the cool glass, trying to gather his thoughts as the scenery blurred past. The city disappeared within minutes, replaced by sprawling plains, patchwork fields of soft gold and green, and jagged hills that rose like sleeping beasts beneath the horizon. The train hummed softly beneath them, gliding fast but smooth, slicing through the early light.

Mydei folded his arms, sighing.

He had only ever heard about Aedes Elysiae.

Back in Castrum Kremnos, foreign travel was a rarity. The country had always felt like a fortress, removed and self-contained. Aside from Janusopolis—a short voyage away and a necessary ally—he’d never crossed borders. On the other hand, Aedes Elysiae had been a name on a map, a place conjured through books and hushed school lectures: sprawling medieval towns, sacred forests where light filtered down like ribbons, and skybridges stretching across cliff sides. Now, he was hurtling toward it on a four-hour journey that felt both surreal and unearned.

He glanced at Phainon, who was tapping idly on his phone, utterly relaxed.

“This is insane,” Mydei muttered under his breath. “You’re insane.”

The gentle rhythm of the train soon lulled him. Hills rolled by like waves, trees blurred into green strokes of motion. Somewhere between yawns and soft piano music filtering through his earbuds, his body gave in.

His head tipped to the side, coming to rest against Phainon’s shoulder—slowly, unconsciously.

Phainon stilled for a moment, sensing the weight against him. He tilted his head slightly to glance at Mydei, only to find him completely dozed off, breathing softly with his lips parted slightly. A small smile tugged at Phainon’s mouth. He said nothing, only adjusted his posture to make it easier for Mydei to rest.

It wasn’t long before sleep caught him too.

When the train finally began to slow, the soft announcement echoed through the cabin in a melodic chime. The landscape outside had changed—lush trees had given way to wooden architecture nestled between forested valleys, and the distant shimmer of cascading waterfalls sparkled under the rising sun.

Mydei stirred awake first, blinking drowsily. He blinked again, eyes adjusting to the brightness of their new surroundings.

He sat up slowly. “…Are we here?”

Phainon, still half-asleep and cradling the weight of Mydei’s lean, nodded groggily.

“Welcome to Aedes Elysiae,” he murmured with a slow, crooked grin.

Their adventure had only just begun. 

The moment they stepped off the train, Mydei was greeted by the heady perfume of spring. Aedes Elysiae unfolded before them like something plucked from the pages of a fairytale—elegant, timeless, and bathed in soft, golden light.

Phainon casually tugged off his cap and peeled away the mask that had obscured the lower half of his face. The glamour that blurred his features shimmered faintly, then dissolved into the spring air like mist caught in morning light. His silver hair spilled out in full view, tousled slightly from sleep, and his eyes—vivid, unmistakable—reflected the bright bloom of cherry blossoms overhead.

The town outside the station looked as though it had been preserved from a different century. Cobblestone streets meandered between aged stone cottages with arched doorways and ivy crawling up their sides. Gabled roofs were dusted with fallen red and orange leaves, and wrought-iron lanterns swayed gently from balconies wrapped in flowering vines. Church bells tolled faintly in the distance, echoing off the sloped hills and winding alleyways.

The maple trees lined the roads, branches heavy with clusters of orange leaves. Gusts of wind carried them through the air like confetti, and where they landed, they carpeted the ground in a sunset colored hue—warm and dreamlike. It was as if the roads themselves had been painted in strokes of red, winding through the countryside like ribbons unravelling from a spool.

Azaleas bloomed everywhere—cascading from terracotta planters on windowsills, spilling over low walls in bursts of red, rose, and coral. The flower was clearly native to this place, lovingly tended and celebrated, their rich, velvety petals catching the light like flames. It was a country of blooms, caught in eternal spring.

And then there was Phainon.

In the middle of this warm-toned world—of azalea reds, maple oranges, and sun-kissed stone—stood a figure cloaked in deep sapphire. His coat shimmered slightly under the sunlight, crisp and rich against the petal-strewn background. A sharp contrast. His silvery hair caught the wind as he turned his head, and the golden light played along the seams of his sleeves, turning his silhouette regal.

He looked out of place.

But not in a bad way.

Mydei watched him walk a few steps ahead, head turned skyward as if trying to drink in every detail—the stained-glass windows, the sloped towers in the distance, the way the breeze carried music from somewhere unseen. There was something strangely poetic about it all. In a country cloaked in red and orange, Phainon looked like a prince wandering through someone else’s dream.

And perhaps he was.

A gentle breeze passed, stirring the leaves once more. Phainon turned over his shoulder, his smile soft but knowing. The sunlight hit him just right—and for a moment, Mydei forgot how to breathe.

He quickly looked away.

As the station faded behind them, Mydei felt a familiar tug at his sleeve. Phainon had already moved ahead, eyes bright with some quiet excitement, pulling him along into the waiting sunlight. 

He hailed a carriage with a brief wave, speaking quickly to the driver in a dialect Mydei didn’t quite catch—fluid and lilting, with soft consonants that made the name of the destination sound like part of a song. Mydei blinked, bewildered, but was too tired to question it. He simply followed.

The ride took them further from the bustle of the town, winding past gentle hills dotted with wild azaleas, red maple and soft-blushing cherry trees, until civilization melted into soft countryside. When they arrived, the landscape had changed completely. 

They had reached a village surrounded by fields of tall golden wheat, swaying lazily in the spring breeze. Flowerbeds lined cobbled paths, and the homes—small stone cottages with tiled rooftops and ivy-covered walls—looked like they had been plucked from the pages of a fairytale. 

The village moved slowly, peacefully. A few farmers worked in the distance, their forms hunched and rhythmic. Nearby, a woman in a long linen dress stood with a handful of schoolchildren, pointing toward the hills with a stick of chalk.

The moment the carriage doors shut behind them, heads turned.

There was no whispering of fame here—no wide-eyed fans or flashing cameras. Just familiarity.

From across the path, the teacher paused mid-lecture, her voice faltering. Her eyes widened as she took a cautious step forward.

“Could it be? Is that really you, Phainon?”

Phainon turned toward the voice, confused for a moment, then visibly lit up with recognition. “Ms Pythias? Yes, it’s me!”

The children peered up at him, their curious gazes flickering from Phainon to Mydei and back again, as if trying to understand why someone who looked like a storybook character had stepped into their quiet world.

The village air was warm with sun and nostalgia as Ms. Pythias took a step closer, her eyes misting with recognition and delight.

“Praise Oronyx! How many years has it been?” she exclaimed, clasping Phainon’s hands tightly. “And is that gentleman behind you—your spouse? Oh, how wonderful! We must prepare a feast!”

Phainon laughed nervously, lifting a hand in protest. “Oh, don’t worry, we—”

But she was already waving him off. “No, no, I insist! You know how long it’s been since we’ve had you back. This is a celebration, Phainon. We’ll have bread, stew, and fresh apple pie by sundown.”

With a brisk nod, she turned her back, guiding the children toward the chapel down the path. Her voice was already rising in instruction, the soft scuffle of little shoes following in her wake. Phainon could only stand there, half-laughing with a sheepish expression, throwing a glance over his shoulder toward Mydei— or rather the spouse in question.

Mydei, meanwhile, lingered just a few steps behind, looking distinctly out of place against the cozy, pastoral scene. His dark attire and polished bearing stood in sharp contrast to the soft-worn earth and playful hum of the village children. He shifted awkwardly, unsure of whether to follow or stay behind.

That was when a small figure broke away from the group.

A little girl with golden curls bouncing at her shoulders and eyes like pale blue glass came scampering up to him, clutching something in her hand. She stared at him, wide-eyed and serious.

“H-hello,” she said shyly, then straightened with a sudden spark of courage. “Are you a prince?”

Mydei blinked, visibly startled. Then—without meaning to—he smiled, soft and genuine, and knelt to her height with practiced grace. He reached out and patted her head with a gentle touch.

“No,” he murmured, voice tender. “I’m afraid I’m only a knight, my dear princess.”

The girl giggled, delighted. “Aw! You look like a prince though! Here—this is for you!” She held out a single blue azalea, slightly bent from being clutched too tightly, but vibrant all the same. “I grew it myself.”

Mydei accepted it like it was the rarest of gifts. “Thank you,” he said, eyes warm. “It’s very pretty like yourself.”

The girl blushed, let out another giggle, and gave a small wave before skipping back to her group, beaming.

From where he stood, Phainon had watched the entire interaction unfold. Something in his chest stirred—soft, aching. The way Mydei had spoken to the girl, the rare ease in his face, the kindness in his voice. Phainon had never seen that side of him before. Not fully.

And Titans, it made his heart flutter.

He looked away before Mydei could catch him staring.

“Come on,” Phainon said, clearing his throat and adjusting the strap of his bag. “We should head to the cottage before they really try to throw a feast.”

With the azalea still cradled gently in his hand, Mydei followed him, silent. But there was a faint smile at the corner of his lips.

As they strolled along the winding path that led from the village square to the far edge of the fields, the air was thick with the scent of blooming azaleas and sun-warmed earth. Wheatgrass swayed in waves to the rhythm of the breeze, and birdsong drifted lazily from the trees overhead. Along the cobbled trail, villagers tending to flowerbeds or hanging fresh laundry caught sight of Phainon and called out to him with warmth that felt almost reverent.

“Phainon, our little hero! You’ve returned!”

“We thought you’d forgotten about us!”

“Is that your lover with you?”

They waved as he passed, grinning wide and bright, some even stopping in their tracks to clasp his hand or offer baskets of fresh bread and jars of honey. Phainon returned every greeting with familiarity, laughing softly, exchanging quick words and promises to catch up soon.

To Mydei, it felt surreal—like walking beside a local legend. There was no arrogance in how Phainon carried himself, only a gentle humility. But it was clear from the villagers’ eyes: Phainon had once been the heart of this place. They adored him.

“Seems like you were very well loved here,” Mydei commented, tone a little too casual to hide the genuine curiosity behind it.

Phainon chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Haha, yeah… I grew up with most of them. I know every face in this village, and they’ve always been really supportive—especially when I told them I wanted to leave and explore the outside world.”

Mydei raised an eyebrow, lips quirking slightly. “Should I be doing anything to win them over?”

Phainon grinned, eyes glinting in the sunlight. “Pft. Please. The moment they saw you, they already thought you were a prince . They adore you. You already passed the princess test earlier, remember?”

Mydei rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

Eventually, they reached a narrow lane flanked by rows of poppies and pale pink tulips. Nestled between two gentle hills stood a quaint stone cottage with a sloped, shingled roof, ivy crawling up its sides like a green veil. Smoke curled faintly from the chimney, and wooden shutters framed the windows, painted the same deep blue as Phainon’s coat. A few wind chimes clinked softly in the breeze.

Phainon pushed open the gate, letting it creak familiarly on its hinges as they stepped into the garden. Wildflowers clustered at the edge of the path, their colors spilling over in gentle chaos.

The inside was as charming as the exterior—cozy, dim with warm amber light, and filled with the rich scent of old wood and hearth ash. Dark oak beams crossed the ceiling, and the walls were built from mottled gray stone, rough but strong. A small fireplace sat nestled in one corner, with an old, handwoven rug laid out before it. Every detail—every candle, every little potted herb—felt like it had been placed with intention.

Mydei's gaze drifted across the room, stopping at the fruit basket atop the wooden table. Among oranges, apples, and pears, he spotted a few glossy pomegranates nestled neatly at the center.

He blinked.

That wasn’t a coincidence.

This wasn’t something Phainon had thrown together at the last minute. The space was lived-in but clean, prepared and thought-out. And that fruit—of all things to include—pomegranates.

Mydei glanced at Phainon, who was already shrugging off his coat, acting like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“…You’ve been planning this,” Mydei murmured.

Phainon didn’t answer at first, but there was the faintest upturn at the corner of his mouth as he hung his coat by the door. “Maybe.”

And Mydei, standing there in the warm light of Phainon’s hometown, with the azalea still in his hand and the pomegranates catching the glow from the window—felt something in his chest tighten. Something soft. Something dangerous.

The warmth inside the cottage was unlike anything Mydei had felt in a long time—not just the flickering fire in the hearth or the spring sun spilling through the windows, but something quieter, deeper. It was the warmth of being wanted. Of being thought of.

“I was always planning to bring you here someday,” Phainon said softly, standing by the fruit basket, turning a pomegranate over in his hands like it held the answer to something unspeakably important. “But I didn’t think it’d be this soon. So I had a friend set up everything I needed last night.”

He looked up, his smile touched with a rare tenderness. “Did you also know that Aedes Elysiae is well-known for their pomegranates? It’s like… fate wanted us to meet.” He gave a small, breathless laugh, but even that felt shy around the edges, like he was saying something heavier than he dared to admit.

Mydei didn’t answer right away. He walked toward the table and gently placed the little blue azalea down as if it were sacred.

His heart was quiet—but not still. It stirred, full and soft and aching, like it had only just realized it had been holding its breath this whole time. Two months ago, Phainon had fallen into his life like stardust. A celebrity—no, an icon—who could’ve lived in the glimmering peaks of Okehema, surrounded by luxury and acclaim. He could’ve chosen anyone. And yet, here they were. Together.

In a quiet village surrounded by maple trees, in a cottage filled with fruits he liked, flowers he didn’t even remember mentioning, and silence that didn’t feel lonely.

There were too many coincidences. Too many threads knotted between them.

Mydei had never been one for faith. He didn’t believe in the stories of Mnestia—the Titan of romance whose golden thread bound two souls across lifetimes. That myth had always seemed far-fetched, something meant for poets and daydreamers.

But standing here, in the red-and-orange landscape of Aedes Elysiae, Mydei felt like maybe—just maybe—the stories weren’t just stories.

Because there were no such things as coincidences. 

“I think…” Mydei said quietly, almost to himself, “I like Phainon of Aedes Elysiae more than Phainon the Deliverer.”

He blinked as the words left him, realizing too late what he’d just said.

Phainon turned. His eyes widened a little, caught somewhere between disbelief and something gentler—hope, maybe. Then he smiled. A full, open smile that made Mydei’s chest squeeze.

“What did you say?” Phainon asked, already stepping closer. “Can you repeat that?”

“What?”

But Phainon didn’t press. He reached for Mydei’s hands and took them both into his own, cradling them like something delicate. Slowly, reverently, he raised them to his lips and kissed them.

It was the kind of kiss that carried a thousand unspoken truths. No fanfare. No dramatic declarations. Just quiet devotion.

“And I like you , Mydeimos,” Phainon murmured against his fingers, voice almost trembling. “No matter what name I go by, or where we are.”

And for the first time in a long, long while—Mydei believed him.

Meanwhile in Okehema, Castorice stepped out of the airport and took a deep breath, rolling her shoulders to ease the tension from the flight. Her oversized sunglasses shielded half her face, and her hoodie was pulled up to avoid drawing attention—not that many people recognized her this early in the morning, especially without makeup and dressed like an off-duty university student.

When Phainon had messaged her the night before, his exact words had been: “You need a break Cas. Why not come to Okehema? Hyacine’s here and you can stay in my apartment while I’m away. <3”

He was right, as always.

Castorice had been coasting on the edge of burnout for months now. Even Trianne, her usually relentless manager, had begun treading carefully around her. The glamour of magazine covers and studio lights had dulled somewhere along the way. Everything she touched felt routine, mechanical. There was no space to breathe. But here—just walking through the foreign streets with nothing but her backpack—she finally felt weightless.

She couldn't deny the flutter of excitement either. Hyacine.

It still felt surreal that she was about to meet her favorite VTuber in person. She’d been following Hyacine’s streams religiously since Hyacine’s debut. The girl had a magnetic warmth to her—even through the screen, she radiated a kind of gentle chaos that Castorice found deeply comforting. It was like being wrapped in soft blankets after a long day.

And now she was here. About to meet her. In real life.

She giggled to herself.

It was crazy how excited she felt.

She made her way toward the train station and boarded the line that would take her to the campus district. According to Phainon, Hyacine had classes that morning, so her best bet was to find her somewhere near the main university buildings.

But Castorice had another plan.

A little spy that was currently in Okehema University would most definitely know where Hyacine would be.

Sure, Aglaea would probably come for her ass when she found out she was skipping an entire weekend’s worth of work. But Castorice had never traveled beyond Aidonia and Styxia before. Her life had been carefully curated—events, rehearsals, photoshoots, interviews. Always on the move, yet never anywhere new . She had never once rebelled, never once said “no.” So if this was her first offense, didn’t she deserve to be selfish just this once?

She didn’t care what anyone said—this was already better than any fashion week.

Somewhere in his office, nestled in the highest wing of the faculty tower, a mint-haired professor paused mid-sip of his tea.

The steam curled gently past his face, but it wasn’t the heat that made him shiver. A chill ran down his spine—sudden and inexplicable. His gaze flicked toward the window, brows furrowing. The skies were clear, the air calm. And yet…

“Not again…” he muttered, setting the teacup down with a quiet clink.

There was a peculiar, unmistakable feeling in the air—like static before a storm, or the hush before a fire alarm went off. He knew this sensation far too well. The distinct, sharp premonition of chaos wrapped in designer labels. The kind that entered the campus wearing sunglasses and secrets.

Principal Anaxa sighed deeply and leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking beneath him.

It felt eerily like the last time… when a certain blue-haired megastar had infiltrated his school halls under the flimsiest of disguises. And now, the universe was whispering that history was about to repeat itself.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath, “Why do celebrities keep treating this place like their personal playground?”

Whatever—or whoever—it was, he had a sinking suspicion he’d be needing a stronger cup of tea.

-x-

After settling into the cottage and changing into something more casual, Phainon led Mydei out into the village. The midday sun filtered softly through the trees, their leaves tumbling in the breeze like confetti from some unseen celebration. Mydei trailed slightly behind Phainon, watching as the man—so often mysterious and polished—seemed to melt into something warmer, something simpler in the presence of his roots.

Phainon brought him to the places that had shaped him: the sloping hill where he and Cyrene used to tumble through fields of wheat, the modest stone schoolhouse still adorned with hand-painted murals, and a crumbling statue of Oronyx, the village’s oldest monument—weather-worn, but revered. He laughed as he recounted how he once tried to climb it and chipped a tooth in the process.

“This is my favorite spot,” he murmured as they reached a glistening lake nestled behind the chapel. The surface of the water shimmered in the golden light, dragonflies skimming across it. “Whenever I needed to be alone… or to think… I came here.”

The villagers they passed along the way greeted Phainon with wide smiles and open arms, eager to share stories of his youth. Many remembered his parents, Audata and Hieronymus, with great fondness, often noting how the two of them had once brought the entire village together during harsh winters and plentiful harvests alike.

Much to Phainon’s dismay—and Mydei’s delight—some brought out old photographs. Grainy images of a young Phainon grinning mischievously, face stained with jam, or striking a heroic pose in a makeshift cape alongside a small, pink-haired girl, Cyrene.

“Here we go again,” Phainon groaned, hiding his face behind his hand as Pythias, now older but still sharp-eyed, ushered them into the schoolhouse and pointed out a photo pinned to a corkboard. “He always said he was destined to become a hero,” she chuckled. “And look at him now. Told you he was dramatic.”

By the time the sun hung lazily in the sky, they had retreated to one of Phainon’s secret hideouts—a swing beneath a twisted old tree, overlooking a tranquil pond. Moss softened the stones, and wildflowers burst in untamed blooms around the clearing. It was quiet here, save for the chirping of birds and the gentle creak of the swing in the breeze.

They laid out the food they'd bought from a village vendor—flatbread, grilled vegetables, honeyed figs, and iced herbal tea—on the stone table carved into the hill.

As Mydei settled on the bench beside Phainon, a soft rustling emerged from behind the tree. A small ginger cat padded out from the underbrush with the nonchalance of royalty, hopped onto Mydei’s lap, and curled up as though it had always belonged there.

Mydei blinked, frozen in momentary surprise. “Oh. Hello.”

Phainon laughed, the sound light and familiar. “Congrats. Fig Stew has chosen you!”

Mydei looked down. “Fig Stew?”

“He’s the village cat—or, at least, a descendant. The original Fig Stew was around when I was a kid. Probably his great-great-grandkitten or something.” He leaned back with a smile, watching the cat knead at Mydei’s sleeve. “No one really owns him. He just… shows up.”

Mydei reached for his phone and took a photo, his expression softening with unguarded fondness. The cat purred contentedly in his lap.

Just as Phainon opened his mouth to speak again, a blur of white fur burst through the grass. A fluffy dog came barreling toward them with uncontainable joy, barking once before launching itself straight into Phainon’s chest. The man stumbled back a little with a startled laugh as the dog eagerly licked his face, tail wagging like a pendulum.

“Vigethos? How have you been?” Phainon beamed, ruffling the dog’s thick, cloud-like fur. “Look how you’ve grown!”

The dog barked again as if in response, eyes shining with recognition, before circling Phainon and pressing his head against his leg.

Mydei watched the scene unfold, his lips curling into a smile. He looked from Phainon to the dog and back again, realizing how uncannily similar the two were—both energetic, affectionate, and with eyes full of mischief and warmth. It was like watching a man interact with a fluffier, four-legged version of himself.

“Of course he’s got a doppelgänger,” Mydei murmured with a quiet chuckle and raised his phone again, snapping a candid picture of Phainon grinning as the dog climbed into his lap.

After their small picnic by the pond and some time spent lazing with Fig Stew and Vigethos in the late afternoon sun, they packed up and wandered further. Phainon led him through winding paths and glades only a local could know, where the scent of wildflowers clung to the breeze and the crickets had begun their twilight song.

As night fell, the village transformed.

Torches were lit, casting flickering gold across the cobblestone paths. A bonfire was erected before the ancient statue of Oronyx, its flames crackling high into the night. Villagers gathered in colorful attire, laughter ringing through the air as traditional string instruments filled the square with a melody as old as the village itself.

Long tables were laid out with roasted meats, herbed rice, pomegranate wine, and trays of sweet cream-filled pastries. The air was filled with the comforting aromas of home, of celebration, and of a tight-knit community eager to embrace not only their returning hero—but the man beside him.

Phainon mingled easily among them, his arms thrown around old friends, catching up with cousins and teasing the elderly baker who had once scolded him for sneaking cookies. Every few minutes, he’d look over his shoulder, as if to make sure Mydei was still there—still watching him.

And Mydei was.

Sitting near the bonfire, a plate of dessert in one hand and Fig Stew curled like a guardian around his ankles, Mydei observed quietly. His gaze followed Phainon’s movements, the way he lit up around others, and the way the villagers kept glancing toward him—toward Mydei . Whispering and nudging Phainon, who only responded with flushed cheeks and bashful smiles in his direction.

The warmth of the fire made his skin glow. Or maybe it was something else. The pomegranate wine, perhaps. Or the laughter. Or simply Phainon .

He bit into his pastry, the sweetness melting on his tongue, and leaned back on his palms.

Eventually, as the embers began to die down and the moon hung high like a watchful eye, the villagers began to retire. One by one, they waved Phainon and Mydei off with bright grins, gentle teasing, and sincere well-wishes.

The path back to the cottage was lit only by lanterns and moonlight. Mydei walked beside Phainon in comfortable silence, his body tired but his heart full.

“This whole place feels like a dream,” Mydei murmured again, more clearly this time, repeating the words he’d said earlier.

Phainon looked at him, face bathed in silver light. “It’s real,” he said, softly but firmly, as if willing Mydei to believe it. “And you’re here with me.”

Mydei turned to him with a look that was half-smile, half-surrender.

“I know.”

They didn’t need to say more. Their fingers brushed, and eventually, without thinking, laced together. The breeze carried the last notes of the village song behind them. And ahead, the little cottage glowed warmly in the dark like a beacon. Like home.

Once they stepped into the warm comfort of the cottage, Mydei instinctively stretched his arms above his head with a soft groan, feeling the exhaustion of the day catch up to him.

“I’m going to shower,” he muttered, already padding toward the bathroom.

“Take your time,” Phainon called after him with a lazy grin, already kicking off his shoes.

As Mydei walked past the bedroom, he paused—eyes narrowing at the large bed in the center of the room.

One bed.

Of course. He shouldn’t have expected anything else. This was Phainon, after all. The man who flirted like he breathed, and acted like everything could be a shared experience if you just said yes.

He exhaled and shook his head, muttering under his breath, “Unbelievable,” before continuing into the bathroom.

To his surprise, the bathroom was beautiful—lined with cool stone tiles, a tub deep enough to soak in, and shelves full of luxurious bath oils, salts, and soothing scrubs. The scent of lavender and sandalwood lingered in the air, a subtle indulgence that made his shoulders drop just slightly.

He really thought of everything…

Mydei took his time, letting the hot water work through the tightness in his body. For a moment, it felt like he was back in the public hot springs of Castrum Kremnos, where he could shut the world out and simply be. It was one of the few things he missed from home—the simple serenity of submerging in warmth, steam curling around tattooed skin, silence echoing through stone chambers.

But this… this was a close second.

By the time he stepped out and toweled off, his body was warm and relaxed, if not his thoughts. He slipped on a pair of sweatpants and exited the bathroom, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, droplets trailing down his neck.

Phainon was still in the living room, probably finishing up something, so Mydei took a seat by the desk in the bedroom. The only light came from the soft glow of a lamp, casting golden shadows against the dark oak walls.

The large bed sat there—soft, inviting, and impossible to ignore.

He stared at it, towel still slung around his shoulders, and frowned in thought. Should he sit on it? Should he just offer to take the couch? Did Phainon even expect them to share the bed?

No. It was just one night. He could deal.

Still… the thought of lying side by side, under the same blanket, close enough to—

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “ Stop thinking, ” he hissed under his breath.

With the time he had spent standing there, debating whether he wanted to sit on the bed, Phainon stepped in with towel wrapped low on his hips, skin still glistening from the shower. His silver hair clung slightly to his collarbones, and there was something deeply unfair about how effortlessly gorgeous he looked.

He paused when he saw Mydei, one brow raised. “What’s wrong?”

Mydei gestured stiffly to the bed. “There’s only one.”

“I know.”

“…You should take it. I’ll sleep outside.”

Phainon gave him a look. Calm. Unbothered. Eyes shining with just a flicker of mischief.

“No, you won’t,” he said, drying his hair with a towel.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Mydei stared. “You’re not making this easy.”

Phainon grinned. “Do I ever?”

Mydei rubbed the back of his neck, unsure if it was the steam or the tension that was making his skin feel too warm. “Fine. But if you snore, I’m throwing you off the bed.”

“Fair enough. But I’m warning you—I am a cuddler.”

“…Phainon.”

Phainon only laughed, genuinely and warmly, and turned to put his towel away. “Relax. I’ll keep to my side.”

Mydei stood there for a second longer before slowly walking to the bed and pulling back the covers. He slid in, back to the other side, facing the wall. He heard Phainon shuffle in beside him a moment later, the bed dipping with the weight of another body.

Mydei flicked the lights off and silence fell over the room.

For a while, there was only the sound of the night outside. The gentle rustle of leaves outside was soothing, but not quite enough to lull Mydei to sleep. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts an incoherent mess of warmth, awkwardness, and… Phainon .

Honestly, it was way too early for bed. Or maybe it was the nerves. Either way, sleep was clearly not on the table.

With a quiet sigh, he gave up. Reaching over, he flicked the bedside lamp back on, casting a soft amber light across the room. He half expected Phainon to be asleep, but when he turned, there he was—propped up against the headboard, phone in hand, pretending very badly to read something.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Mydei asked.

Phainon shrugged, tapping on his screen. “Nope. Though this novel might bore me into unconsciousness, it's mostly just some story about a vampire falling in love with a girl. I’m pretty sure it’s just someone’s fanfiction.”

Mydei let out a small chuckle and shifted to sit upright as well, the blanket pooling around his waist.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, the light humming quietly overhead. The stillness felt less awkward now, more like a lull in conversation rather than an absence of it.

Then Phainon broke it, his voice softer than usual.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… is your braid an aesthetic choice, or is there meaning to it?”

Mydei blinked, fingers unconsciously brushing against the long braid resting over his shoulder. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to talk about it,” Phainon quickly added, eyes lifting from his screen.

“No, it’s fine,” Mydei replied, thumb grazing the end of the plait. “It’s a Kremnoan tradition. An old one. The braid represents strength—resilience through time and hardship. It’s something young Kremnoans do as a rite of passage, after their coming of age ceremony.”

He hesitated, his tone softening as he added, “Back then. my mother used to do it for me everyday. It just… became something I never stopped doing. Now, it’s habit. Or comfort. I’m not sure.”

Phainon listened quietly, head tilted, a rare look of calm respect crossing his features. “I really like it,” he said after a moment. “It suits you. It always looked… purposeful.”

Mydei gave a faint smile. “Thanks.”

There was a pause, then Phainon leaned a little closer. “Can I braid your hair for you?”

Mydei’s head turned so fast, his braid flipped over his shoulder. “ What? ”

Phainon grinned. “Come on, I’m serious.”

“Do you even know how to braid?”

“You’d be surprised. Cyrene made me learn when we were kids. She insisted I practice on her whenever she wanted to play ‘warrior princess.’ I got pretty good, actually.”

Mydei raised a skeptical brow, crossing his arms. “I find that very hard to believe.”

“Then let me prove it. What’s the worst that could happen? I mess it up and you get to insult my braiding skills for the rest of the trip?”

After a beat of thought, Mydei gave in with a soft sigh and turned, pulling the braid loose with practiced fingers. His soft hair fell like a silken curtain over his shoulders, catching the lamplight in soft hues.

“…Fine. But if you tug too hard, I will bite.”

Phainon chuckled, already shifting closer behind him, the bed dipping slightly with his weight. “Duly noted. I’ll be gentle.”

His fingers grazed Mydei’s scalp as he ran his finger through his hair, gathering the strands, careful, reverent. Mydei didn’t expect it to feel so… intimate. It wasn’t just the touch—it was the attention, the care, the way Phainon worked slowly, almost like he was afraid to mess up something sacred.

They sat like that for a while, wrapped in warmth and quiet trust, the occasional sound of hair being shifted and woven the only noise in the room. When Phainon finished, he tied off the braid with the same hair tie Mydei had left beside the lamp earlier.

“There,” he said softly. “All done.”

Mydei reached up, fingers running along the smooth, even plait. It was… surprisingly perfect. He looked at the braid once more in the mirror above the desk and, for the first time in a while, felt an odd lightness in his chest.

“…Thanks,” he said, not quite facing him.

The room was quiet—still, except for the distant hush of leaves swaying in the night breeze. Lamplight softened the edges of the room, casting a golden haze across their skin.

Shadows stretched long over the bed where Mydei sat, his back pressed against the headboard, hair trailing over one shoulder. The sheet draped loosely across his lap, barely covering the taper of his hips. His chest—bare, marked, beautiful—rose and fell with controlled, steady breaths, though tension curled tight beneath his skin.

Phainon hadn’t said a word since the braid. He just sat close beside him, legs folded beneath him on the mattress, turned fully toward Mydei with a look unreadable in the low light.

His eyes followed the tattoo on Mydei’s cheek, bold against pale skin.

Then his hand moved.

Not quickly—not even with certainty. His fingers hovered in the space between them, caught in hesitation, like touching Mydei would disturb something fragile.

When he finally made contact, it was almost imperceptible. A single fingertip brushed the inked line, tracing the arc with reverence.

Mydei didn’t move.

He didn’t stop him.

Phainon’s touch continued, slow and deliberate, his fingers dragging from temple to cheekbone, then sweeping lightly beneath the hollow of Mydei’s eye. His fingers didn’t wander; they studied . Like the markings were a language—one only he could read.

Mydei’s breathing slowed, though his pulse betrayed him beneath his skin. He felt exposed, not in body, but in the unguarded way Phainon looked at him. Not with hunger, but with intent. With care.

Phainon’s hand shifted, gently cupping the side of his face. Then he leaned forward—not to kiss, but to rest his forehead against Mydei’s temple. His exhale was soft, shaky.

Like touching him had done something to him , too.

Then, lower.

His hand slipped down to Mydei’s neck, thumb brushing over the quick, hard rhythm of his pulse. From there, his fingers followed the tattoo that crawled down across his collarbone, ink woven into skin like vines and chain links.

He traced it slowly.

Deliberately.

Each stroke a little bolder than the last, but never greedy.

His hand moved over Mydei’s chest, the pads of his fingers following the ridges of muscle, occasionally glancing over scars—softened by time, but not forgotten. The tattoos wove between them like ancient script, crimson ink pulsing faintly under the warm light.

Mydei’s body twitched slightly when Phainon’s thumb swept across a nipple, but he said nothing. He barely breathed. He simply let him.

Phainon bent forward, lips brushing the crimson mark just over Mydei’s heart. The kiss was light. Not sexual, but full of something far more dangerous: devotion .

It left Mydei frozen—mouth parted, golden eyes burning a hole into the ceiling. He didn’t know what was happening between them, only that if Phainon didn’t stop, something would .

The tension stretched between them like a bowstring. Not a single touch was wasted. Not a single breath was quiet.

Phainon’s hand moved lower still, grazing the sharp line of Mydei’s abdomen, where more ink spiraled around his waist and vanished under the sheet.

And then—just as the moment reached its edge —Phainon spoke.

“Your tattoos… what do they mean?”

Mydei blinked, as if surfacing from deep water. The haze shattered. That single question splintered the mood like glass.

Phainon hadn’t meant it cruelly. His voice was low, curious. Sincere.

But the question was a knife, all the same.

Mydei’s fingers twitched. His mouth opened—but nothing came.

The patterns told a story. A language of pain and loyalty. They weren’t just symbols—they were bindings . A curse. A contract. The mark of the Lance of Strife—Nikador’s legacy—etched into skin as a blood oath. Most Kremnoans chose it to honor the crown.

Mydei had never been given that choice.

He swallowed, then finally muttered, “I… I’ll tell you one day. Just… not now.”

Phainon immediately withdrew his hand, concern flickering across his face. “There’s no rush. I didn’t mean to make it heavy—I’m sorry.”

But before he could retreat fully, Mydei reached out and caught his wrist, fingers tightening just enough to hold him there. Then—more hesitantly—he laced their fingers together.

“No. It’s okay. I just…” He looked away, ears red, voice quieter. “I just need time before I can… before anything.”

Phainon looked at him for a moment, soft-eyed and steady. “Then I’ll wait,” he said simply.

No expectation. No frustration. Just a promise.

Their hands stayed locked between them, warm, unmoving. The tension from before lingered in the air, but it had changed shape—no longer heat without direction, but something softer. More careful.

It wasn’t over.

Just… paused .

-x-

Back at Okehema University, the rhythm of the campus pulsed on as usual—students flowing through the courtyards like blood through veins, laughter and low chatter filling the spaces between classes. The buzz of normalcy should’ve settled Cipher’s nerves, but it didn’t.

She sat on the edge of the stone planter near the health science faculty building, one leg crossed over the other, ankle bouncing restlessly. The spot was where Mydei would pass by everyday, according to Anaxa at least. 

But today, he didn’t come.

She had waited—at first with mild confusion, then impatience, and finally, an odd sense of unease. He hadn’t responded to her messages, which was strange. He wouldn’t simply ignore her for no reason, Mydei wasn’t that type of person. Something about his absence clung to her skin like a film—wrong in a way she couldn’t quite name.

The minutes dragged. Her eyes kept darting to her phone, screen dark and still. The sky above had clouded over slightly, dulling the warmth of the afternoon light. Everything around her felt unusually muffled.

Then, the vibration in her hand startled her. A message.

The name on the screen read Castorice .

Cipher had been eager to meet Castorice as it had been some time since they had last met, with her last visit to Aidonia being almost 5 years ago. She hadn’t expected the fashion darling to appear so suddenly on campus, especially after hearing she was still abroad for a show just last week. So when she got the text earlier in the morning from Castorice asking how she could find Hyacine on campus, she had made a mental note to meet up with Castorice later to ask why she was in Okehema.

Once the notification appeared, Cipher didn’t hesitate—she practically jogged to the meeting point, brushing past startled students and ignoring the humid stickiness in the air. There she saw Castorice, in some kind of disguise while Hyacine stood beside her, beaming brightly, both hands wrapped around a paper cup of iced tea, waving energetically the moment Cipher appeared. Castorice greeted her with a breezy wave and that familiar lazy grin. 

Castorice then explained everything—how Phainon had texted unexpectedly, asked the both of them to house-sit while he and Mydei were away on a short holiday. Nothing dramatic, just a quick escape from the city, according to him.

Relief seeped into Cipher’s chest, loosening the coil of anxiety that had been steadily winding itself inside her all morning. Mydei was fine. He hadn’t ghosted her. He hadn’t gotten hurt. He was just being himself , vanishing without warning on a romantic getaway with a celebrity .

That said, she was suspicious. Or curious.

After Cipher was updated on Castorice and Hyacine’s little plan, she waved them both goodbye, turning on her heel with a polite nod—though her mind was already elsewhere.

Within minutes, she had made her way across campus to the upper wing of the administration building. Her pace quickened as she approached the back hallway, weaving through the maze of closed doors until she reached the one she wanted.

Cipher slipped into Anaxa’s office without a sound. The click of the door locking behind her echoed faintly in the stillness of the room. Dim lamplight pooled in the corners, but the center of the space was dominated by the soft, flickering glow of the monitors. Anaxa sat at his desk, hands moving steadily across the keys, not once looking up.

He didn’t need to.

Cipher approached quietly, the soles of her boots muffled against the carpet. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The tension hung heavy between them, charged by unspoken urgency.

He knew why she was here.

Without a word, Anaxa tapped in the final string of code, and the flurry of characters on the screen blinked and shifted. Cipher moved closer, her breath hitching slightly as the monitor's pale light washed over her face. It was the kind of light that made shadows deeper—sharper. The kind that made secrets feel colder when they were finally brought to the surface.

The file opened.

One by one, images began to load—hundreds of them.

At first, they looked like standard paparazzi shots, but as Cipher leaned in, her stomach twisted. These weren’t the usual distant or blurry frames she’d seen before. These were high-resolution, obsessively detailed. Mydei’s face filled the screen again and again—his tattoos in perfect clarity, caught from multiple angles. Some close enough to count his eyelashes.

But the background—

These weren’t taken anywhere in Okehema.

There were stone pillars behind him in some. Marble walls gilded in gold and red in others. And Mydei himself—he was dressed not in his usual casual attire, but in elaborate robes, finely tailored garments laced with ceremonial trims. Each outfit more ornate than the last. Jewelry gleamed at his ears, around his wrists, at the hollow of his throat. 

He looked regal.

Untouchable.

And nothing like the Mydei that Cipher knew.

“These files weren’t easy to access,” Anaxa said at last, his voice low and clinical. “The encryption was set to destroy the contents if accessed incorrectly. Whoever placed it here anticipated this data falling into the wrong hands.”

He adjusted the screen, fingers stilling on the desk.

“The metadata indicates they were taken in Castrum Kremnos.”

Cipher’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. She wasn’t sure what to say. A quiet unease slithered beneath her skin. There were so many photos. Too many.

This wasn’t interest.

It was surveillance.

Obsession.

The images painted a version of Mydei she had never known—a figure of prominence, or power. Someone she might’ve never spoken to had he remained in that life.

He looked cold in those photos. Distant. Tired.

“As you can likely guess,” Anaxa continued, “Mydeimos isn’t just some foreign student on scholarship. He may have once been an official—or even someone of royal descent, depending on the political structure in Kremnos. These photos weren’t taken by random chance. They were catalogued. Archived. Studied.”

Cipher finally tore her eyes from the screen, her voice barely a whisper. “But why? Who would want these?”

Anaxa leaned back, eyes narrowing.

“There are… possibilities,” he said. “An estranged family member trying to track him down. A political enemy. A jealous suitor. These aren’t casual photos—they were taken by someone with access. Someone close, at one point.”

Cipher didn’t reply right away.

The fluorescent hum of the computers filled the silence, along with the faint ticking of a wall clock. Her thoughts spiraled as she stared at the final image frozen on the screen—Mydei standing at the steps of what looked like a marble palace, eyes hard, head turned just enough that he seemed to be looking right at the camera.

At whoever was watching him.

“There’s something else I’ve been wondering…” Anaxa cut in, breaking Cipher’s train of thought. “Why aren’t there any tabloids or online chatter about Phainon being enrolled at Okehema University yet? I don’t believe his fanbase is that well-behaved. Surely, there should’ve been at least one article. One sighting. And yet, I’ve found nothing.” He leaned forward slightly and frowned. “Is this the Goldweaver’s doing?”

Cipher held her breath.

It was a fair question—one she hadn’t thought too deeply about until now. There had been paparazzi loitering near campus gates the day Phainon first arrived (according to Agalea), and some students who saw through his terrible disguise had tried snapping discreet photos. She remembered how Phainon would always wave them off with a charming smile—or sometimes a cold, unreadable look that sent them scurrying away.

But that was just it.

People had tried.

So why weren’t there any traces left behind?

No blurry social media posts. No forums buzzing with gossip. No leaked photos of the celebrity in a university lecture hall or lounging at the courtyard café. It was like he’d ghosted through the school—present but invisible.

The only images that existed were the ones Cipher had personally seen on the stolen SD card. Those, too, hadn’t been published anywhere.

So what were they for?

She frowned, fingers tightening around the edge of the desk. “Phainon always refused to take pictures with anyone. That much I knew. But I figured some fan would’ve snuck one eventually. Maybe someone did. But… nothing ever made it to the public. Not even a single tweet.”

While she had no doubt that Aglaea and Tribbie—the two tireless managers from Phainon’s agency—did their best to protect their artists from the ugliness of tabloids, it felt improbable that even they could scrub Phainon completely from the public’s eye during his stay in Okehema.

“No,” Cipher muttered, almost to herself. “If it was them, Agy would’ve told me. She’s good at keeping secrets, but not that good. And this… this feels bigger.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose, trying to ground herself.

“I could ask Mydei,” she added, voice lower now. “Ask him how Phainon’s able to stay so hidden—but he’s not around either. Skipped class the past few days. They’re both in Aedes Elysiae now, apparently. On some holiday.”

She didn’t bother hiding the frustration in her voice.

Phainon vanishing made sense, being a celebrity and all. He was always a mystery wrapped in glitter and riddles. But Mydei ? He’d started opening up to her. He was the type who kept people at arm’s length, yes—but Cipher had thought they were beginning to trust each other. There were glimpses of warmth beneath the surface, small, careful truths he’d allowed her to see. And now, without warning, he was gone.

“Did you just say Aedes Elysiae?” Anaxa asked, voice suddenly sharp.

Cipher blinked. “Yeah? Why?”

Anaxa didn’t respond immediately. He leaned back into his chair, brows furrowed in thought as he stared past her, connecting lines that hadn’t existed until now.

Aedes Elysiae. Of all places.

He knew of it—most did. Not because it was a tourist destination, but because of what it used to be. A lush, quiet kingdom nestled on the border of the continent’s edge, swallowed up decades ago by the infamous Black Plague. Almost the entire population had been lost. The country never quite recovered, at least, to his knowledge. What remained was more of a ghost-state, silent and grieving. There were no major cities anymore, only ruins and distant whispers of what once was. Few traveled there now, and even fewer stayed.

Why would they go there?

Unless… Phainon was from Aedes Elysiae.

Anaxa narrowed his eyes. That thought didn’t sit right.

Hadn’t Phainon publicly claimed he was born in Okehema? He was sure Aglaea’s agency profile listed him as a native. All his early interviews mentioned his upbringing there—vague as they were. It wasn’t like the Goldweaver’s agency to make such a slip. But if it wasn’t a mistake, then Phainon had intentionally hidden the truth about his origins.

Still, something didn’t align.

The name Phainon was distinctly Okehemian, used mostly in old city-states. In Aedes Elysiae, names were drawn from different roots entirely. Their language, their phonetics—it was all unlike anything in Okehema. If Phainon truly was from Aedes Elysiae, then where did his name come from? Why build an identity around something foreign to his homeland?

An alias?

A planted identity?

Anaxa’s fingers returned to his keyboard as he silently brought up several government registries—most of which he’d hacked through years ago and still had backdoor access to. He searched birth records in both countries. Immigration. Death registries. Nothing concrete came up. It was as if Phainon existed only in fragments, appearing at will and disappearing just as fast.

“Strange…” he muttered under his breath.

Cipher watched him, unease settling in her chest.

Something about this didn’t feel like celebrity gossip anymore. It felt bigger . Heavier. Like the shadows were shifting behind the curtain, and she’d only just realized there was a curtain to begin with.

“Regardless—” Anaxa said after a moment, fingers tapping through layers of encrypted records and outdated surveillance logs. “I’ll need you to keep an eye on them. Especially once they’re back from their little holiday . In the meantime, I’ll keep digging. There’s more to our glitter-drenched celebrity than what meets the eye.”

His tone was calm, but something in his posture was rigid—like even he didn’t like the direction things were heading.

Cipher could only nod, tension stiffening her shoulders as her gaze returned to the monitor.

The images of Mydei lingered like ghosts on the screen, too unlike the man she knew. His tattoos gleamed under the lens, strange and ceremonial. His posture wasn’t relaxed but posed , like someone used to being watched. And his eyes… those weren’t the eyes of someone hiding. They were the eyes of someone waiting .

She swallowed.

A sense of unease crept into her throat and settled heavy in her chest. Something didn’t sit right. Mydei had secrets—and now she wasn’t sure if they were his to protect… or someone else’s to exploit.

Cipher leaned back, arms crossed, trying to convince herself that this was still within her grasp. That she could handle whatever was coming.

But deep down, she knew—

This was only the beginning.

Notes:

the plot thickens! i should probably update the summary and tags but i kinda dont want to spoil anything about the story... so uhm ill deal w it for now i guess. i also just came back from hoyofest and wow i died. i bought so much phaidei merch that there is a literal hole in my wallet but all is well!!!!!!!! i saw his standee up close and nearly got a heart attack bc he is so handsome and tall... why is a cardboard cutout of a 2d man able to evoke so many emotions in me... kms

anyways uhmm the plot is getting serious. its not just some au of celeb!phainon anymore. its...something bigger... i tried feeding yall with phaidei content. i think itll only hit harder once you've played 3.4 LOL ive been wanting to write about mydei visiting aedes elysiae for awhile now. also i know the other name for phainon's chimera is beagle coconut or something but vigethos is easier so yeah

and; do you guys want to read about castorice & hyacine's weekend or would you rather i give a summary? let me know!
thank you for being patient with me and for reading the story thus far!!!!

tumblr: grayyxv / X: aschxv

Chapter 7: Spring Thief

Notes:

HELLOO im finally back with a new chapter. it took longer because i wanted to make sure the lore was consistent. i had to re-read it several times just to make sure fml. also, hyarice has been added for the ship tag! i never expected people to actually like them tbh. but im so glad other people liked the hyarice portions bc it was fun to write them. anyways ill yap at the end.

Pls note! I made a minor change in chapter 1. Hyacine has known Mydei since they both entered university.
This doesn't affect the story but just for consistency purposes, i changed it.

On the Sunday morning, the comforting hiss of the kettle filled the air, steam curling from its spout like a lazy ghost stretching after sleep. Morning light spilled through the tall windows, casting warm golden streaks across the marble floors and catching motes of dust that danced lazily in the quiet. 

In the kitchen, Hyacine hummed a chirpy, off-key tune—something bright and cheerful that didn’t quite match the sleepy hour. She swayed on her feet with each note, her pink twin tails bouncing as she leaned over the countertop.

With practiced ease, she sliced through strawberries, arranging the quarters into a delicate spiral on a porcelain plate. Her tongue stuck out in concentration. She wasn’t just prepping fruit—this was breakfast art. “Presentation matters,” she’d said earlier with a grin, brandishing the knife like a paintbrush. “Even if we’re the only ones seeing it!”

Beside her at the stove, Castorice was flipping pancakes with a steady hand, the scent of butter and batter filling the apartment. She cast a sidelong glance at Hyacine, her features softening with an affection that came unspoken. Despite herself, she smiled. There was something infectious about Hyacine’s energy—like a bird that didn’t realize it was singing, and sang anyway.

It was a strange feeling, being in someone else’s home. Stranger still to feel so at ease in it. The apartment was clean and stylish, with just enough clutter to be real. This wasn’t a temporary bachelor pad, nor a sterile celebrity hideaway—it was lived-in. Intimate. Comfortable in the way that only came from two people building a life together.

And that made it all the more surreal that they were the ones house-sitting.

In the sunlit living room, the low rumble of chaos unfurled as Ica and Meowy launched into another one of their dramatic duels. The chubby white cat darted beneath the coffee table, while Meowy bounced after him with a triumphant mewl. Feathers flew. A chair tipped dangerously. Something small clattered to the floor.

Castorice sighed, her gaze flicking back over her shoulder. “They’re going to destroy that rug.”

“They’re bonding,” Hyacine chirped with a shrug, popping a strawberry slice into her mouth. “Besides, if Phainon didn’t want things destroyed, he shouldn’t have asked me to house-sit. This is what he gets.”

Castorice huffed out a laugh, shaking her head fondly. She flipped another pancake and carefully stacked it atop the growing tower. “Fair point.”

Still… there was a note of unease buried under the easy conversation. The home technically belonged to Mydei—a person Castorice had never met. Phainon on the other hand, was supposedly just a “guest.” And yet, the little details scattered throughout the apartment told a very different story.

A pair of mismatched mugs nestled together in the cupboard. A long coat that clearly didn’t belong to either of the house-sitters, draped over the back of a dining chair. A photo frame—small, unassuming—partially hidden behind a potted orchid on the windowsill. In it, Phainon and Mydei seemed to be having some kind of candlelit dinner; it looked too intimate for it to be staged.

Castorice took a slow breath, her fingers brushing crumbs from the edge of the counter. It was a strange intimacy to be wrapped in. And yet—here she was. With Hyacine . Someone she had idolized for years, laughed with in voice calls, and longed to meet in person. Sharing a kitchen, sharing breakfast, in the quiet comfort of someone else’s home.

“How are the strawberries?” she asked gently, nudging Hyacine with her elbow.

“Sweet!” Hyacine beamed. “You want one?”

Castorice leaned in and let her pop a slice into her mouth.

A beat passed.

“So… did Phainon tell you where they were going?” Hyacine asked, sliding the now beautifully arranged fruit plate to the center of the counter like it belonged in a bakery display.

Castorice began transferring pancakes onto a fresh dish. “Yeah. He said something about Aedes Elysiae.”

Hyacine paused mid-reach for a fork, blinking. “Wait—Aedes Elysiae? That tiny country near the southern border?”

“Mmhmm. Ever heard of it?” Castorice asked, licking syrup from her thumb.

“I mean, yeah, but only in geography class. There’s like, nothing there. It’s… weird. I’ve never heard of anyone actually going to that place.”

Castorice raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Exactly. It’s them . Do you really think this is just a vacation?”

Hyacine giggled, covering her mouth. “Oh titans, no .”

They both looked toward the living room, where the cats had collapsed into a cuddle pile in a sunbeam, utterly exhausted by their morning chaos. The apartment, for all its strange closeness and unanswered questions, had fallen quiet again. Peaceful. But that stillness felt borrowed.

And Castorice, for all her amusement, couldn’t shake the feeling that something larger—something deeper—was happening just beyond their reach.

Just then, the doorbell rang, slicing clean through the cozy stillness. Castorice blinked, pulled from her thoughts, as Hyacine skipped lightly toward the door.

“Coming!” she chirped, wiping her hands on a dish towel before swinging it open.

Standing on the other side was Cipher, dressed in casual black with her ever-present edge of mystery, her sleek cat Can peeking curiously from the zip of her bag. The feline’s amber eyes blinked at Hyacine before leaping out with a quiet chirp of excitement.

“Hi!” Hyacine grinned. “And hi to you too, little explorer.”

She stepped aside quickly, ushering Cipher inside just as Can dashed forward, tail up like a proud little banner. Ica and Meowy perked up at once—ears twitching, eyes narrowing with the dramatic suspicion only cats could muster. Then, recognizing the visitor as feline kin and not a threat, the trio launched into tentative sniffs and paw-taps, their tiny social ritual unfolding at the edge of the rug.

Castorice turned from the stove, her eyes lighting up at the sight of Cipher. “You made it.”

Cipher gave a small nod, setting down her bag. “With bougatsa, as promised.” She handed over a paper bag still warm with flaky pastries.

“Oooh! You’re the best,” Hyacine exclaimed, immediately peeking into the bag like it was a treasure chest. “I haven’t had these in forever.”

“I figured we could use a little sugar rush,” Cipher replied with a smirk.

She stepped deeper into the apartment, taking a slow glance around—her gaze briefly snagging on the makeshift curtain draped over the far balcony. A large sheet had been tacked up to obscure whatever mess lay behind it, fluttering slightly in the breeze from an open window.

“What on Amphoreus is Phainon building out there?” Cipher muttered as she walked past it, brows raised in suspicion.

Castorice and Hyacine exchanged a look and shrugged almost in unison.

“We have no clue,” Castorice admitted. “He did it right before they left. Told us not to peek.”

“That’s not ominous at all,” Cipher said dryly, before settling into the soft cushions of the couch. Can, meanwhile, had already made herself comfortable in a patch of sun, flopping onto her side with a contented sigh.

By then, Castorice had plated the last of the pancakes and Hyacine had returned to help bring the rest of the breakfast spread to the table—syrup, fruit, bougatsa, butter, and a small pot of tea that steamed gently in the middle. It was a strange but heartwarming scene: a quiet domestic morning shared between three women who were in the private home of two very suspicious men.

Conversation began easily enough, flitting between updates and memories, laughter flowing as freely as the tea.

But eventually, Cipher shifted forward just slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. Her eyes flicked toward Castorice with something subtler behind the smile—a focused curiosity.

“Cas,” she said lightly, “just wondering… how did you first meet Phainon?”

Castorice blinked, caught a little off guard. “Oh! That was ages ago. I was eighteen, just starting out—and Phai was twenty. We both ended up at some small-time modeling gig in Aidonia. He was just visiting then, I think.”

“Modeling?” Cipher echoed, lifting an eyebrow. “Then how’d he get into acting?”

Castorice laughed softly, reaching for a strawberry. “Honestly? I think it was Agy who pushed him. He told her he wanted to give acting a try, and she helped him line up a few auditions. Small roles at first—but he’s always been good at, you know… slipping into a persona.”

Cipher’s tone turned slightly more casual, though her gaze remained steady. “Did he have any formal experience? Or like… training?”

A pause.

“I’m not sure,” Castorice admitted. “He never really talked about his past. The only thing he told me was that he left Okehema when he was sixteen. Said he had some kind of training, but never explained what it was. Then one day, he just came back and auditioned for Chrysos.”

Cipher hummed in thought, but her mind was already racing ahead.

Phainon had joined Chrysos seven years ago. That much was public knowledge. But if he had left home at sixteen, then there were four missing years between his disappearance and reappearance in the public eye. Four years of silence, training, and—what? 

She stared quietly into her teacup as if it held the answers.

Castorice looked like she was about to continue—perhaps share another story—but her ringtone cut through the air, loud and sharp. She flinched slightly and pulled her phone from her back pocket.

“Sorry, just a sec…”

She checked the caller ID and her expression shifted.

Aglaea.

Hyacine noticed first. “Everything okay?”

Castorice didn’t answer right away. Her brows furrowed slightly, lips pressed together in a thin line as she stood and turned away, answering the call in a low voice that carried an edge of concern. Cipher guessed Aglaea had probably realized that Castorice had skipped her work commitments to be in Okehema.

While Castorice stepped away to take her call—voice muffled, tone gradually dipping into something more serious—Cipher wasted no time turning her full attention to Hyacine. Her expression sharpened, but her tone remained light, almost playful, as she leaned forward slightly over the rim of her tea cup.

“So, how did you meet Mydei then, Cinny?” Cipher asked, lips curving into a sly smile.

Hyacine perked up at the question. “Oh! We were in some lecture hall during orientation at the university. Everyone was either shouting or handing out flyers, and there he was—just sitting alone at the very back of the hall like he was about to bolt.”

Cipher chuckled. “Classic.”

“I thought he looked cool,” Hyacine continued, eyes gleaming with mischief. “So, naturally, I sat right next to him. He was livid. Like, full-on icy glare. I thought he was going to teleport away.”

Cipher snorted. “That’s exactly how he looked when I sat beside him during lectures. Like I’d just committed a crime.”

“He’s just so fun to tease!” Hyacine giggled, leaning back against the couch with a soft bounce. Then her playful grin turned mock-wounded. “By the way, I still haven’t forgiven you for that post you made with him on Enstagram. I wanted to be the first.”

Cipher blinked, then grinned. “Oops. Didn’t realize I was stepping on sacred ground. I’ll make sure his next ten posts will feature you in different filters and lighting.”

“I’m joking! ” Hyacine huffed, puffing her cheeks in mock indignation. “...I think. But seriously, it was really sweet to see him finally get over his fear of social media. He used to flinch when I even mentioned posting stories.”

“Fear of social media?” Cipher tilted her head. “That’s a new one. I figured he just hated attention.”

“Oh, um… well,” Hyacine glanced to the side, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers, “he did say something happened back when he was still living in Castrum Kremnos. He never went into detail, but I always got the feeling it was bad. Maybe a stalker situation… or an ex that wouldn’t leave him alone?”

Cipher’s eyes narrowed slightly. That wasn’t nothing.

“Interesting…” she murmured. “So when did he move here to Okehema?”

“About four years ago. Same year I did, actually. He enrolled at the university just before the semester started.”

Cipher nodded slowly, filing the detail away in her mind alongside everything Castorice had just told her. Four years ago. Which meant that Phainon had already been in Chrysos for three years. If she recalled correctly, it was also when Phainon had his first breakout role in ‘As I’ve Written’.

“No wonder you two are close,” Cipher remarked.

Hyacine smiled faintly, a more thoughtful expression settling on her face. “Yeah… I just wish he’d let more people in. Mydei’s always been kind, you know? Quiet, sure, but kind. I used to worry a lot about him. He didn’t have any friends—barely even spoke unless someone approached him first.”

Her gaze drifted toward the balcony, as if remembering something from long ago.

“But ever since Phainon came into the picture…” She trailed off for a moment, then smiled again—this time with a gentler sort of warmth. “He’s been changing. Bit by bit. I think he feels safe now. I’m just… really happy for him.”

Cipher watched her quietly. For a second, the weight of Hyacine’s words hung between them—intimate, real, and slightly too tender for the kitchen chatter they’d just shared.

She glanced toward the hallway, where Castorice’s voice had gone quiet.

“Do you think Phainon had anything to do with what happened back in Castrum Kremnos?” Cipher asked softly, almost to herself.

Hyacine blinked, startled. “Huh?”

“Never mind.” Cipher waved it off with a smile, though the look in her eyes was anything but casual.

Somewhere behind her, the cats tumbled lazily into each other’s fur, oblivious. The smell of pancakes lingered in the air, sweet and buttery. The morning still felt calm, but Cipher could sense it again—that slight tension beneath the surface. Like a ripple just under glass.

Cipher leaned back slightly on the couch, fingers gently grazing the rim of her now-empty teacup, her eyes distant. The conversation still lingered in her mind like the faint scent of syrup in the air.

There was too much that didn’t add up.

What Castorice said about Phainon. What Hyacine let slip about Mydei.

Individually, they seemed like bits of celebrity trivia—harmless, even charming. But strung together, the pattern was starting to form. And it unsettled her.

Mydei had a stalker. That much was clear now. Someone had been watching him even before he left Castrum Kremnos. The photos Anaxa retrieved, the way Mydei’s name kept reappearing in obscure footnotes from years ago—it all pointed to something more.

Cipher was certain Mydei had once been someone important, someone known, back in his home country. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it yet, but the fabrics he wore in those photos—regal, ceremonial—weren’t the type you bought off a rack. They were made for significance.

So what did the stalker want?

Revenge? Obsession? Or something political?

And then there was Phainon. Cipher’s gaze flicked briefly toward the balcony again, the mysterious tarp still flapping gently in the wind. Something about him didn’t sit right either. He claimed to be from Okehema and had even told Castorice the same thing. So was he truly just visiting Aedes Elysiae as a tourist? 

More importantly, did Phainon tell Mydei the truth about his origins… or was hiding something from him?

Cipher wondered if Aglaea had any idea. That woman wasn’t just their manager—she was sharp, brutal, and connected. If anyone had strings in the entertainment industry, it was her. Maybe she knew more than she let on.

Her thoughts were cut short by the sound of footsteps slowly padding towards them.

Castorice re-entered the room with a heavy sigh, her phone dangling between her fingers like a curse she couldn’t shake. She moved like a defeated soldier returning from the battlefield, all dramatic limbs and exaggerated groans, before collapsing onto the couch beside Cipher.

Without hesitation, she flopped sideways, resting her head squarely on Hyacine’s lap like it was the only safe place in the world.

“Aglaea chewed me out,” she mumbled, eyes shut, the weight of frustration etched into her voice.

Hyacine’s hands froze mid-motion as she was about to set down a cup. “Oh no… what did she say? Did she ask you to return to Aidonia?” Her voice pitched with immediate concern, already leaning over Castorice like she could shield her from the wrath of her manager with sheer proximity.

“Worse,” Castorice groaned. “She’s coming to Okehema to pick me up.”

“WHAT?! When?” Hyacine gasped, full panic-mode activated as she clutched Castorice’s shoulders. Cipher arched a brow, trying not to smirk at the dramatics.

“She said she was going to fly in tomorrow.” Castorice paused, then added in a whisper, “But I begged. Told her I needed a proper break. Played the ‘overworked talent’ card. So she reluctantly agreed to let me stay here for a couple of days before she comes to murder me in person.”

“Oh… isn’t that great ?” Hyacine said, attempting to sound hopeful, though her smile wavered. “I mean, you still get to stay a while, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s a countdown, Hy,” Castorice moaned. “She’s going to vaporize me the moment she steps off that plane. You’ve never seen her angry in person… She’s like if a legal department could walk and scream at the same time.”

She groaned again and burrowed her face into Hyacine’s side, muffling the last of her complaints into her soft sweater. Hyacine instinctively began stroking her hair in soothing circles, frowning in solidarity.

Cipher couldn’t help but watch them both—Castorice’s theatrical distress, Hyacine’s panicked affection, the low hum of domestic warmth that made the whole scene feel oddly safe, despite everything that was unspoken beneath it.

For a moment, Cipher considered telling them more—about the information she had, the photos, the things Anaxa had shown her—but the timing wasn’t right. Not yet.

She had more pieces to gather. More to dig through. And if Phainon and Mydei were involved in something deeper than fame, she wasn’t about to blow the lid off too early.

Instead, she leaned back into the cushions and gave them both a reassuring smile.

“Well, if Aglaea murders you, Cas, I’ll make sure Can inherits all your belongings.”

Castorice lifted her head just long enough to shoot her a look. “You’ll have to fight Meowdei for them. That bastard’s already claimed my clothes.”

“Fair,” Cipher said with a chuckle.

They quickly fell back into easy chatter, the tension of earlier conversations melting away in the warmth of familiarity. Cipher wasted no time turning the tables on Castorice, teasing her mercilessly about her very public obsession with Hyacine’s Vtuber model.

“Honestly, the way you thirsted after her PNG—I'm surprised you didn’t propose through Superchats,” Cipher laughed, flipping her phone around. “Look! Look at this! ‘I would let her slap my face with those gloved hands.’ Castorice.”

Hyacine’s face burned a bright pink. “Wait, what?! A slap?”

Castorice could only groan and bury her face in Hyacine’s shoulder, muffling her scream while shaking her head in mock despair. “Cipher, delete that or I’ll strangle you with my own hands—!”

“Oops! I accidentally sent it to the Enstagram group chat with everyone inside~,” Cipher said in sing-song tone, dramatically scrolling. “Oh look, here’s where you said ‘Hyacine is literally the embodiment of my dream girl—’”

“I was being poetic!”

“You were being a total gooner,” Cipher grinned.

Ica and Meowy darted around their feet in chaos, chasing a squeaky plush shaped like a fish. Meowy attempted a dramatic pounce, only to flop ungracefully onto the rug. Ica, as always, looked utterly unbothered and victorious. Hyacine reached down to scratch Meowy’s ears, and the calico responded with a happy trill before sprawling over Hyacine’s lap like a queen.

As the afternoon light filtered in, golden and soft, Hyacine turned to Castorice with a gentle smile. “You should stay with me… at least until Aglaea comes. I have space, and—well, I’d like your company.”

Castorice blinked, surprised by the offer—but her eyes softened quickly. “You sure?”

“I’m so sure,” Hyacine said, grinning. “Besides, I need someone to protect me from Cipher’s screenshots.”

Cipher raised her hands in mock surrender. “Hey I’m innocent! Mostly.”

They all laughed.

Eventually, Cipher stood and began gathering her things. “Thanks for today! It was fun hanging with you again Cas. We better meet more often now that you are here in Okehema. Make sure you guys don’t have too much fun without me! ” She winked, scooping up Can into her arms with a smirk. 

“See you both soon~,” she said before waving her goodbyes and stepping out into the afternoon sun.

The apartment quieted down after Cipher’s departure, her energy fading like a breeze that had stirred the curtains and now passed through. What remained was a hush—gentle, domestic, warm. The kind of silence that made itself known only after the excitement had gone. Outside, the rustling of leaves carried on in a soft lullaby, and from the kitchen came the clink of dishes and the occasional splash of water as Castorice dried and set utensils aside while Hyacine washed.

In the far corner by the window, Ica and Meowy lay curled into each other in a blissful, tangled heap, their chests rising and falling in time. The sun poured over them in lazy golden rays, as if the universe had pressed pause on its chaos, allowing them to soak in the quiet without fear or urgency.

It was hard to believe this borrowed peace would end so soon.

They had only a few hours left in this place. Phainon and Mydei were expected to return later that night, and the apartment would no longer belong to just them—to late-night snacks in socks, whispered laughter over dumb dramas, the shared silence of soft mornings where no one had to pretend.

Sure, she would be staying with Hyacine but the memories of their first holiday were etched deeply into her mind. Once it was time for her to return to Aidonia, she wasn’t sure when would be the next time she’d be able to come back.

But for now, it was still theirs.

Castorice glanced over at Hyacine, sleeves rolled to her elbows, brow furrowed as she tried to scrub at a stubborn stain on a bowl. Her hair was pinned messily atop her head, a stray strand slipping loose and brushing her cheek. She looked beautiful—effortlessly so. As if she belonged here. As if they belonged here.

Castorice smiled faintly and turned back to her drying cloth, her fingers moving on autopilot.

Her time with Hyacine felt different from all the other ‘breaks’ that she had. No cameras. No false smiles. No publicist whispering reminders about image control. Just her, and the girl she had idolized for years and eventually grew to love, now standing beside her in the kitchen like it had always been this way.

It was the first real break she had ever taken. The first time she allowed herself to breathe.

And in that breath, she began to feel something dangerously tender.

For people like her—living on borrowed time, carrying shadows behind every smile—they rarely got to keep something so gentle. And yet, the thought of returning to her spotlighted world without ever telling Hyacine how she felt?

That scared her more.

She looked up again, watching Hyacine rinse the last plate with a hum under her breath, then turn to her with a bright smile and foamy hands.

Castorice’s heart ached, but in the softest way.

Maybe… just maybe, before this borrowed time was up, she’d finally gather the courage to say it.

But not yet.

She decided that she would cherish the next few days they had together. She would wake up to the smell of Hyacine’s cooking, argue about the best way to fold laundry, laugh at bad movies on the couch, and live in the moment like it was hers to keep.

Because even if it wasn’t forever—this feeling was real.

And it deserved to be held.

Meanwhile, the rest of Phainon and Mydei’s short escapade to there was something out of a dream.

Laughter echoed between the mossy trees, and sunlight dripped like honey through the canopies as they wandered through secret gardens known only to the villagers of Phainon’s childhood. They tasted unfamiliar fruits with names that sounded like spells, shared meals under strings of paper lanterns, and danced—albeit awkwardly in Mydei’s case—to the slow, rustic tunes of fiddle and flute around a village bonfire.

Mydei, ever the observer, had at first watched quietly from the side, a faint smile tugging at his lips. But under Phainon’s gentle coaxing, he loosened. He laughed harder, spoke more freely, even let the children of the village braid wildflowers into his hair—though he grumbled about it afterward. Phainon had never seen him look so radiant. So unguarded.

When it was time to leave, Mydei barely lasted fifteen minutes into the train ride before his head dropped onto Phainon’s shoulder, fast asleep. His breathing slowed into something soft and heavy, his body gently swaying with the rhythm of the tracks. By the time they returned to the city, he was completely out cold.

“Unbelievable,” Phainon had muttered fondly, carefully shifting Mydei onto his back. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

With surprising ease, he carried him bridal-style through the station, up the lift, and into their apartment. The key was awkward to fish out one-handed, but somehow he managed it. Mydei mumbled something in his sleep about “rude goats” before letting out a soft snore. Phainon couldn’t stop smiling the entire time.

He tucked Mydei into bed with a blanket and a kiss to the forehead. Neither of them talked about it the next day—but something shifted after that.

-x-

Weeks passed.

And with each quiet sunrise and shared evening, the distance between them shrank. Even within the halls of Okehema University, the shift was undeniable.

Phainon only had eyes for one person.

No matter where they were—be it a classroom, the student lounge, or the bustling campus café—he would be found orbiting Mydei’s space like a loyal moon to its planet. He’d pull up a seat next to him in lectures that didn’t even require his attendance, draping his arm lazily around the back of Mydei’s chair as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

On days when the lecture was particularly long, Phainon would subtly shift closer, fingers brushing against Mydei’s under the desk, only to have his hand slapped away with a deadpan look.

Still, Mydei rarely told him to go. And when Phainon pouted dramatically like a kicked puppy, Mydei would lean in and whisper, just soft enough for only him to hear:

“You can cling to me all you want later. Just behave for now.”

That alone would brighten Phainon’s face for the rest of the day.

Cipher, who usually sat on Mydei’s other side, had grown more exasperated by the day. She would be in the middle of discussing their upcoming project only to stop mid-sentence, her eyes flickering uncomfortably between Mydei and the lounging presence of Phainon beside him. Mydei, half-aware of the way Phainon’s leg had drifted too far under the table again, would glance at Cipher and sigh.

“Sorry,” he’d murmur, nudging Phainon with his elbow. “Go to your class already.”

Phainon would whine but relent, walking off with a wink as Cipher groaned and rested her forehead against her notebook.

“He acts like you’re his damn soulmate.”

In more private moments, it was harder to argue against that.

Even outside of Mydei’s presence, Phainon’s conversations with Dan Heng and Caelus were littered with subtle hints. He would talk about something he and Mydei cooked the night before or mention that they’d finished a new show together. Whenever Caelus heard “we” , he’d grin and nudge Dan Heng.

“Sounds like he’s officially a taken man.”

Dan Heng, ever the voice of reason, would deadpan, “It’s none of our business.”

But even he couldn’t ignore how Phainon had become undeniably happier—his moods lighter, his laughter more frequent, and the glimmer in his eye unmistakably softer.

Caelus, of course, wouldn’t let it go.

“What about that day you and Mydei mysteriously skipped all your classes? Hm?”

Phainon blinked, then grinned sheepishly.

“We… got sick?”

“Sure,” Caelus drawled, raising a brow. “And I’m pregnant with Dan Heng’s child.”

Dan Heng nearly choked on his tea while Caelus slapped his back as he cackled. 

Things came to a head one sunny afternoon during lunch when their circle had gathered under the shady courtyard pavilion. Cipher, Castorice, Hyacine, Dan Heng, the twins, and March all chatted across scattered food containers and half-done assignments.

Phainon had taken his usual spot beside Mydei—legs nudging under the table, shoulder brushing his—and casually leaned over to steal a sip of Mydei’s drink like it belonged to him.

Mydei gave him a withering look but made no move to stop him.

Their private lives had changed too.

Phainon had started posting more regularly on his private Enstagram account. They were glimpses of their lives—hands brushing over books scattered on the floor, the pile of laundry that had ended up on the couch, two mugs of hot cocoa with pastries at the side. Never a face, never a name—but for those who knew, it was clear who the other half of the picture was.

Mydei had even started teaching Phainon to cook. It started with simple things: peeling fruit, stirring sauces. But soon it became part of their routine—shoulders bumping, teasing over spice levels, Phainon trying to get a taste of the barely finished stew while Mydei slapped him (playfully).

One particular evening, Phainon came into Mydei’s room to find him already asleep on the bed with Meowy guarding his feet. In his hands, still clutched gently, was the blue azalea.

The flower, that had been pressed and preserved in a clear acrylic casing, became Mydei’s quiet talisman.

It was always with him—on his desk when he studied, by the window as he watered the plants, tucked into the pants pocket of his jeans whenever he left the house. It reminded him of the little girl in Aedes Elysiae who gave it to him with wide eyes and a shy smile. It reminded him of peace, of healing… of Phainon.

Of course, Mydei would never admit that last bit to Phainon.

Finally during lunch on a random Wednesday afternoon, March had taken one for the team and voiced what everyone had been wondering.

“Okay but seriously… are you guys dating?” she asked, eyebrows raised as she pointed her chopsticks between the two.

This time it was Caelus’ turn to choke and he nearly spat water all over Stelle, who was too stunned to avoid the splash and ended up coughing anyway. Dan Heng silently muttered, “Karma.” as he watched Caelus’ suffering. 

Then, the entire table fell into stunned silence.

Cipher blinked. Castorice froze mid-bite. Even Hyacine looked like she was holding her breath.

Phainon paused—then grinned, the kind of grin that split wide and bright with no room for denial. He reached over and laced his fingers with Mydei’s, gently tugging their hands into the space between them.

“Yep.”

Mydei stared at him blankly for a beat.

They hadn’t really talked about what they were yet. No long, serious conversations. No labels. No defining moments marked by confessions under the stars or dramatic proclamations in the rain. It was just… happening. Slowly. Quietly. Unfolding between shared spaces and stolen glances.

They were trying, whatever this was.

But in the back of Mydei’s mind, a quiet voice reminded him that Phainon had been keeping his word. Every step of the way.

He hadn’t tried to rush him. Not after that sparring incident—where things could’ve gone too far. Not in Aedes Elysiae either, when they’d shared a bed and Phainon had respectfully curled up on his side, careful not to invade Mydei’s space unless invited.

Even now, Phainon looked smug with victory, sure—but his grip was gentle, almost tentative, like he’d let go if Mydei so much as twitched.

And there was everything in between. The way Phainon made space for him in every part of his day. The meals, the morning greetings, the little gifts he kept giving to him from random shops just because they reminded him of Mydei. The way he watched him, not like someone trying to win, but someone who had already decided Mydei was enough.

So no, they hadn’t defined anything. But Phainon had proven—through patience, not performance—that he was serious. That he was trying, not just playing a part.

Mydei let out a breath, his ears tinged with heat.

He didn’t deny it and he didn’t pull away.

Perhaps… it was time for him to reciprocate Phainon’s feelings.

That thought lingered with him all throughout the evening, echoing quietly in the corners of his chest like a steady drumbeat. Mydei had spent so long waiting for the catch, for the moment things would fall apart. But the longer he waited, the clearer it became—that Phainon wasn’t going anywhere.

So, later that night, when the apartment had settled into its usual calm and the buzz of the city outside had dulled to a low hum—Mydei stood in his doorway and called for Phainon.

“Do you want to sleep in my room tonight?”

Phainon blinked from where he was sprawled on the living room sofa, a half-eaten snack in one hand. “Wait. Really?”

Mydei nodded once, arms crossed, eyes purposefully looking everywhere except at him.

“You’re not joking?” Phainon had already leapt to his feet, abandoning his snacks entirely. “You’re sure ? I mean, really sure? Because this is like—this is—”

“This is the fifth time you’ve asked me,” Mydei cut in, his voice dry but not unkind. “Do you want to or not?”

“I do! Titans, yes. Just—double, triple checking.” Phainon was beaming, practically vibrating with restrained excitement as he trailed after Mydei down the hallway.

The room was dimly lit, bathed in the gentle glow of the moon filtering through the half-drawn curtains. Mydei climbed into bed first and sat quietly as Phainon hovered awkwardly in the doorway like he didn’t quite know where to put his hands. It was almost comical—seeing the usually smooth and smug Phainon looking like a bashful teenager.

Eventually, Mydei reached out and tugged the blanket beside him. “Come on. I’m not going to bite.”

“You say that now,” Phainon muttered, but he climbed in eventually. 

There was a long silence, comfortable and warm. Mydei shifted closer, his head resting gently against Phainon’s shoulder. He could hear the way Phainon’s breathing hitched ever so slightly.

Phainon lay perfectly still, like any sudden movement might shatter the moment. “You know, I’ve imagined this a thousand times,” he whispered, his voice soft, reverent.

Mydei rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips. “And how does the real thing compare?”

“It’s better,” Phainon said simply, without hesitation.

That night, nothing more needed to be said. No kisses, no fireworks. Just the quiet sound of two heartbeats growing used to each other. And when Mydei drifted off to sleep with Phainon’s warmth beside him, for the first time in a long while, he felt safe.

What began as a single night soon melted into a habit.

At first, it was Phainon knocking on his door with sheepish smiles and poorly disguised excitement. Sometimes he came bearing snacks, or a drink, or a book they promised to read but never got past the first few pages. Most nights, they talked in soft voices—about nothing and everything—until their words slowed and the rhythm of their breathing aligned. Other nights, they said nothing at all, letting the weight of each other’s presence do all the talking.

They fell asleep facing each other more often than not, legs occasionally tangled. Mydei would pretend not to notice how Phainon always made sure to keep a respectful distance, unless Mydei was the one to close the gap.

But mornings were a different kind of war.

Phainon had a death grip.

Every single morning, Mydei would awaken to find himself locked in a full-bodied, steel-arm backhug, Phainon’s face tucked into the crook of his neck like he belonged there. It was  like an oversized furnace. It wasn’t until the promise of breakfast or the threat of feeding him something horrid (or poison) that Phainon would finally loosen his grip.

“Every morning,” Mydei muttered once, half-asleep, with his face smushed against the pillow. “You’re going to break my ribs.”

“Worth it,” came the mumbled reply, accompanied by a sleepy kiss to the top of his shoulder.

Still, Phainon never stopped doing it.

And eventually, Mydei stopped fighting it quite so hard.

In those quiet, in-between moments—half-dressed and brushing their teeth side by side, cooking dinner together, arguing over who left the towels unfolded—Mydei found something he never thought he’d have again. Not after Castrum Kremnos. Not after everything.

Something safe. Something soft.

Something real.

And slowly, ever so slowly, he began to believe that this happiness wasn’t just fleeting.

That maybe, it was here to stay.

As for the thing that Phainon had been building…

It remained a mystery for a while—obnoxiously so. Each time Mydei so much as stepped near the balcony, Phainon would materialize out of nowhere, dramatically flinging his arms out like a bodyguard protecting a sacred treasure.

“You can’t look yet,” he’d say with a grin. “It’s not ready.”

“You’ve been saying that for three weeks.”

“Greatness takes time, darling. ”

Mydei eventually gave up trying to peek, resolving to ignore whatever Phainon’s eccentricity was producing this time. That is, until one lazy Saturday morning when he shuffled out of bed, half-awake and wearing a lopsided shirt that wasn’t his. The apartment was unusually quiet—Phainon wasn’t snoring in bed or dramatically singing in the shower. Mydei padded toward the source of the morning light.

And froze.

The balcony doors were wide open. The white sheet that had once concealed the mysterious structure? Gone.

Mydei blinked.

Standing in the center of his balcony—no, consuming the entire balcony—was an opulent, open-air bath that looked like it had been ripped straight from the royal spa of Okehema’s capital palace.

It had marble. Real marble. White with gold veins. There were embedded gemstone lights lining the edges. Warm steam curled into the air from the water’s surface like a mystical fog. A built-in mini waterfall trickled peacefully down the tiled back wall. There was even a circular gold-plated table in the center of the bath, with matching submerged seats facing the skyline like it was meant for decadent tea parties in the nude.

There was a jacuzzi function. A jacuzzi function.

Mydei squinted at the silent swirl of bubbles. “Is that a floating tray with… grapes?”

As if on cue, Phainon strolled in from the kitchen, yawning and stretching like a satisfied cat. He spotted Mydei and grinned, casual as if he hadn’t just turned their apartment into an imperial retreat.

“Good morning,” Phainon said cheerfully, arms draping over Mydei’s shoulders from behind. “Ah, I see you’ve discovered the bath.”

“You—HKS. Don’t play dumb. Why did you build this?” Mydei snapped, turning to face him, still stunned.

“Because you like baths?” Phainon said innocently, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I thought—hey, wouldn’t it be nice if you had your own personal hot spring? Minus the noisy tourists and fungus.”

“I don’t remember ever telling you that I liked them.”

“You didn’t. But I saw it. Back in Aedes Elysiae—you were always so relaxed after a soak. You even fell asleep on me twice in the bath.” Phainon looked smug, then added under his breath, “Which was very cute, by the way.”

Mydei let out a groan, rubbing his temples. “That doesn’t mean you had to recreate the entire royal bathing chamber of Okehema in my apartment. This looks like a place the demigods go to have wine and gossip.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Phainon laughed, stepping past him and gesturing grandly at the setup. “Besides! I reworked the piping. Took forever. But the water comes straight from the blessed springs of Phagousa.”

Mydei turned slowly. “… What? ”

“Yep. Only slightly illegal. And I paid extra for the purification sigils.” Phainon winked.

Mydei stared at him in complete disbelief. His annoyance warred with a reluctant sense of awe. Because as ridiculous as it all was—this thing was beautiful. Thoughtfully built. Carefully crafted. The water even shimmered with a subtle magical glow, and the stone had been polished to perfection. And though Mydei would never say it aloud—it reminded him of his old home. Of better days. The kind he didn’t allow himself to miss too often.

He wasn’t mad, not really.

He just couldn’t fathom how—or why—Phainon had gone to such absurd lengths.

“…You’re not even trying to hide that you’ve basically moved in, are you?” Mydei muttered, arms crossed.

Phainon shrugged. “Why would I? I make a great roommate. I clean. Meowy likes me. I build luxury bathing experiences.”

“And yet, you leave your laundry everywhere. ”

“That’s just texture.”

Mydei shot him a flat look, then gestured broadly toward the lavish spa setup. “And just how am I supposed to afford this once you’re gone?”

Phainon beamed. “That’s why Aglaea is paying you every week.” He gave a cheeky wink. “Think of it as a royal maintenance allowance.”

Mydei made a strangled sound, rubbing his forehead again. “Unbelievable.”

Then Phainon added, more softly, “I just thought… maybe this place could feel like home for you. Like really yours. Not a halfway point or a place you’re waiting to leave.”

The sincerity in his voice made Mydei pause.

He looked at the steam curling up from the bath. The golden edges catching the sunlight. The dumb floating tray with grapes.

“…We’re never inviting Caelus here,” he said finally. “He’ll piss in it.”

Phainon threw his head back laughing. “Agreed. But hey, summer break’s coming. We could let the others try it, just once. Make it a thing.”

“You just want to show off.”

“And you don’t?” Phainon nudged him. “Come on, admit it—you’re impressed.”

“…It is impressive,” Mydei admitted, voice reluctant but honest.

And Phainon looked like he’d just won a medal. “That’s it. That’s all I needed.”

Mydei rolled his eyes, turning away. “You’re lucky I haven’t thrown you out the window.”

“You say that every morning, and yet—here I am.”

Mydei sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips as he walked toward the bath and dipped his fingers into the warm, enchanted water. It rippled gently beneath his touch.

And just like that… it did feel a little more like home.

-x-

After weeks of waiting, it was finally happening.

For perhaps the third time since she’d transferred to Okehema University, Cipher managed to catch Mydei alone—truly alone. It wasn’t that he was hard to talk to; in fact, their friendship had grown steadily over the past weeks. But privacy? That was a different beast entirely.

Phainon was always around. Hovering like a shadow with a smile. Cipher had long given up trying to guess if he was simply overprotective or just deeply in love—possibly both. And sending Mydei a text? Risky. She had no idea how tightly wound Phainon’s net of surveillance might be. Even if Mydei had nothing to hide from Phainon, Cipher knew better than to underestimate her own instincts.

So when Phainon had an exam that afternoon and Mydei didn’t, it was her rare moment. She didn’t hesitate. As soon as the professor collected the last of the test scripts, Cipher leaned over with urgency, barely keeping her voice low.

“I’ve got news,” she whispered. “But we can’t speak here. Let’s go somewhere safe.”

Mydei studied her for a beat, then gave a curt nod. No questions. No hesitation. Just that ever-calm poise.

They made their way across the quiet corridors and climbed to the rooftop of the administration office. The space was empty, save for a few pigeons and the rustle of late spring breeze. Cipher dropped her bag and sat against the shaded wall, motioning for him to sit beside her.

Mydei lowered himself wordlessly, crossing his legs with the air of someone prepared for a serious conversation.

Cipher pulled out her phone, fingers moving quickly before she handed it to him.

“These are from a second SD card that I stole from the paparazzi the other day. The one that Phainon didn’t destroy. I got someone to decrypt the files.”

Mydei took the phone, expression neutral as always.

“There were pictures of you,” she continued, her voice quiet. “But this time they aren’t from Okehema. These were from Castrum Kremnos.”

He scrolled slowly. Images flicked past—blurry shots of him in ceremonial clothes in the inner city of the Kremnoan kingdom. Some of him in more modern clothing, still within the confines of the palace. A few others were more candid, taken at a distance. However, someone was watching. Always watching.

“Oh,” was all he said.

Cipher blinked. “ Oh? That’s it? You don’t look surprised.”

“I’m not,” he replied, eyes still on the screen.

“You have an idea who did this, don’t you?”

Mydei’s thumb paused on one photo, then he turned off the screen and passed the phone back. Silence settled between them, and Cipher felt the weight of it pressing.

She could tell he was debating— how much to tell her. Whether she had earned the right to hear the full story. In truth, they had only been friends for a matter of weeks. Maybe it was unfair of her to expect him to open up now. And yet…

“Look,” she said, more gently this time. “I care about you. And I’m not trying to pry. But I want to help, Mydei. So… who are you, really?”

Mydei turned his head, watching her carefully now. Then, with unnerving precision, he said slowly, “Before I answer, it’s your turn. Tell me your real goal. I know you’re not here just to make friends or to protect Phainon.”

Cipher’s heart jumped. For a second, she forgot how to breathe.

Busted.

She bit her lip, unsure if she should lie—or if there was even a point anymore. Mydei’s gaze wasn’t cruel, just… resigned. Patient. As though he’d expected this from the very beginning.

“Aglaea sent me to protect you. ”

The silence was heavier now.

Mydei leaned back, head resting against the wall. His voice dropped a little, quiet but firm.

“Hephaestion. That’s the name of the stalker. The man I once dated. That’s all you’re getting from me.”

Cipher blinked. “Okay…? So what happened? Did you guys fight or—?”

“Why are you asking like we broke up over a bad dinner date?” Mydei muttered, tone dry. “He’s not just a jealous ex. He’s a manipulator. A data broker. Someone who knows how to hide in plain sight. If those photos exist, he’s trying to get my attention.”

Cipher frowned. “So then… what exactly does he want from you?”

Mydei’s eyes darkened. “Control. The same thing he’s always wanted.”

There was a long pause as Cipher digested the weight of that. Then, Mydei turned the question back.

“What does Aglaea know about me? What did she say when she sent you?”

Cipher hesitated. “Honestly? I don’t know. She never told me anything specific. Just that you might be in danger, and I had to keep an eye on you.”

They sat in that uneasy quiet again. Neither fully trusting the other, and yet… both too deep now to back away.

Eventually, Mydei sighed. “Whatever her reasons are, I don’t need protecting. I can handle Hephaestion.”

Cipher narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure? Because from where I’m standing, this guy’s dangerous. You’re literally being watched. That’s not normal, Mydei.”

He looked away. “I know.”

“If he’s that powerful, why not tell Phainon? Surely with his fame and power, he could do something about it.”

At that, Mydei’s jaw tightened. He didn’t answer right away. A breeze stirred his hair, but he didn’t move.

“…No,” he finally said. “I haven’t told him yet.”

Cipher crossed her arms, exasperated. “Why not?”

“Because I don’t want him to look at me the way everyone else does,” he muttered. “Like I’m fragile. Like I’m some porcelain doll who’s about to break.”

Cipher snorted, albeit gently. “Yeah, well. I think he already looks at you like that.”

“That’s different.”

A beat.

“Look, I get it. But you can’t keep this to yourself forever. He’s going to find out eventually.”

“I’ll tell him. Soon. Just… not today.”

Cipher gave a long sigh, tapping her phone idly before glancing over. “Alright. Fine. But I’m still watching your back whether you like it or not.”

Mydei gave a rare half-smile. “I figured.”

They sat in companionable silence for a while longer, the tension slowly unraveling into something easier, if not quite safe. The shadows of their secrets lingered between them, but for now, there was understanding. Not quite trust—but the beginning of it.

They linger a while longer until Cipher excused herself—muttering something hurriedly about feeding her cat—Mydei only offered a faint nod in return. He didn’t watch her leave, didn’t call after her. The moment the rooftop door clicked shut behind her, he exhaled softly, as if releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Silence settled like a fog.

He remained seated, back still pressed to the sun-warmed concrete wall, legs folded loosely. From a distance, he looked composed—aloof, even. But a closer look would have revealed the way his hands rested tensely on his knees, fingertips twitching ever so slightly, as if itching to dig into his own skin. The breeze tousled his hair, tugging at the hem of his sweater, but he made no move to fix it. His gaze was fixed on the distant skyline, eyes empty.

He knew this day would come.

Hephaestion’s shadow had followed him for years, stretching long and quiet, always out of sight but never out of mind. And now, the trail of ash he left behind was curling back toward him. The presence of the cleaners—their invasive surveillance, the recovered photos—meant only one thing: someone had betrayed him. Someone close.

But who?

Cipher was easy to rule out. She had been assigned to watch him, yes—but she’d admitted it. Openly. And more importantly, she didn’t act like someone hiding a knife behind her back. Her protectiveness felt clumsy yet sincere.

Still… someone had cracked the door open for Hephaestion again.

Mydei leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. His hands moved up to rake through his hair, dragging across his scalp before resting over his face. For a moment, his mask slipped. His shoulders tensed, breath held. Then he lowered his hands and straightened up again, dragging his palms over his thighs in a slow, grounding motion.

He stared out across the campus. Students below looked so small—some running, some laughing, all oblivious. He almost envied them.

The son of Gorgo will be crowned in blood.

The words echoed in his mind, sickly sweet like a rot that never truly left. He had been raised with them. Trained under their weight. Every step he took in Castrum Kremnos, every glance from the court, every gesture of his mother’s—it had always been there.

That sentence wasn’t supposed to have any truth. And even if it was, he had done everything in his power to defy it. Leaving the capital. Changing his name. Denying the crown. Denying everything.

His mother had sacrificed too much to make his escape possible. She remained behind, alone in that cold kingdom of gold and marble, pretending to be unaffected by the absence of her only child. Mydei had cut ties so cleanly he’d convinced himself it was permanent.

And now it was unraveling.

He leaned back again and let his head rest against the wall, tilting it to the side to stare at the sky. His expression remained unreadable—but a closer look would betray the subtle tremor in his jaw. The way his teeth were gritted behind closed lips. The way his foot tapped once, twice, and then stopped, heel pressed hard to the concrete as though trying to root himself.

And Phainon…?

He didn’t want to think about him. Didn’t want to imagine the look on his face when the truth finally surfaced. Mydei had worked so hard to become someone else here. Someone lighter. Someone freer.

But Phainon wasn’t naïve. He’d always sensed the gaps in Mydei’s story—he just never pushed. That was the danger, wasn’t it? Phainon would accept him no matter who he was. But acceptance was never the problem.

It was pity.

And worse—fear.

If Phainon knew what Mydei had been trained to become, if he knew the weight he carried in his blood, would he still touch him with the same reverence? Would he still kiss him like he meant it? Or would he flinch?

Or maybe, he’d end up the same as Hephaestion.

Mydei’s fists curled against his thighs again. His jaw tensed.

He couldn’t risk it.

But he also couldn’t stay still any longer.

He sat up fully and stood, brushing imaginary dust from his pants. The motion was slow, deliberate, like someone preparing for a battle. His shoulders squared against the weight of memory, the threat of discovery, and the terrible longing for a future he might not deserve.

It was time to act. He couldn’t afford to wait.

Even if it meant blood.

Even if it meant finally facing the past he’d buried.

Even if it meant losing everything—especially Phainon.

-x-

Cipher burst through the concealed door of Anaxa’s office, the mechanical lock sliding shut behind her with a hiss. The space, tucked behind a false wall of bookshelves in the faculty archives, smelled faintly of old paper, soldered wires, and bergamot tea. Low light from amber-tinted lamps cast long shadows across scattered blueprints and blinking monitors.

As always, Anaxa never looked up. His eyes remained trained on the wall of surveillance feeds flickering silently before him—students rushing down corridors, a janitor sweeping a hallway, and, at the center of one frame, the now-vacant rooftop.

“You’re late,” he said dryly, already tapping a key to open a new screen.

Cipher stood still for a beat, catching her breath, before stepping forward to hand over a small flash drive. “It’s Hephaestion,” she said quickly. “He’s the one behind the surveillance.”

Anaxa didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he inserted the drive and watched it sync with his system. Then, without a word, he opened a sequence of encrypted folders on his own. Files unlocked with cold precision.

Government records. Medical logs. Archival footage.

Anaxa scrolled through them with mechanical efficiency before selecting a single item. A faded article opened on screen—text in high Kremnoan dialect, bearing the emblem of the Castrum Kremnos royal seal.

Cipher leaned in, eyes scanning rapidly. The headline translated loosely to: Crown Prince Mydeimos Declared Unfit for Succession After Disappearance. A grainy image accompanied it: a younger looking Mydei in ceremonial robes, face shadowed beneath a gold circlet. The resemblance was unmistakable—same sharp eyes, same defiant chin.

Another file. A short surveillance clip. Mydei, or rather, Prince Mydeimos, dressed in black, exchanging glances with a tall man whose face had been blurred by interference. He looked younger, gaunter, almost frightened—but it was him.

Anaxa clicked again. An official census record blinked to life, lines of data cascading downward:

 

Name: Mydeimos

Title: Crown Prince (Revoked)

Status: Missing, presumed defector

Guardian Listed: Krateros 

New Civilian Alias: [REDACTED]

Cipher stared.

These weren’t just stories, or rumors. These were hard facts—sealed files scraped from corrupted databases, filtered through layers of misinformation and buried beneath fabricated identities.

On another monitor, Anaxa had pulled up Mydei’s falsified Okehema student profile: orphaned, Kremnoan immigrant, legal guardian deceased. No mention of royal blood. No history before the age of sixteen.

And yet, the truth was embedded in the seams. The inconsistencies in his records. The gaps in public data. The name “Hephaestion” appearing faintly in one of the earliest redacted correspondences, tagged with notes from a former intelligence operative.

Cipher watched in silence as Anaxa zoomed into a photograph buried in one of the government leaks: a private royal banquet, years ago. The queen—Gorgo—was seated at the head of a long glass table. Beside her, a younger Mydei sat poised, unmoved, as foreign diplomats surrounded him like wolves in velvet. Even then, he didn’t smile. His expression was too guarded. Too aware.

It wasn’t just power Hephaestion wanted—it was Mydei’s power. His legacy. His proximity to the throne, however renounced it may have been. Hephaestion wasn’t after the crown—he was after the person who could deny it.

Cipher folded her arms tightly across her chest, eyes narrowing as the pieces began to slot together in her mind. This wasn't just a case of obsession. It was retribution. Control. A desperate bid to keep Mydei tethered to a past he had severed.

On another monitor, a document flickered open briefly before Anaxa closed it again. It bore the stamp of Castrum Kremnos' former Intelligence Division. The title read: Contingency Protocols for Threats Against The Royal Family.

Cipher’s blood ran cold.

Even now, Mydei was still being hunted—not just by a spurned lover, but by remnants of a regime unwilling to let go of its lost prince.

No words passed between Cipher and Anaxa for a long while.

The monitors continued to hum, cycling through data—each file proof that Mydei’s attempt at freedom had always been shadowed by ghosts.

Cipher hadn’t moved from her spot. The soft glow of the monitors painted her skin a pale, unnatural hue as she stared, transfixed, at the images on the screen. Every new revelation about Mydei—no, the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos—felt like it was pushing her further into a story that was spiraling out of her control.

She crossed her arms tighter, brows furrowed. “You don’t think…” she started slowly, almost as if afraid of her own thoughts, “…they’re going to kidnap Phainon and use him as leverage against Mydei, right?”

Her voice barely rose above a whisper, but the weight of the question hung in the room like a storm cloud. “He doesn’t know anything about this. Not the royal lineage, not Hephaestion. He’s just—” She hesitated. “He’s just Phainon . Loud, obnoxious, Phainon. But…”

Anaxa finally looked up from the screens, brow furrowed in rare contemplation.

“I’ve thought about that possibility,” he admitted, voice unusually grave. “It would make strategic sense. Phainon is the only constant in Mydei’s life. The only soft spot.” He leaned back in his chair, fingers laced loosely under his chin. “But I don’t think it's that simple. If this were a conventional operation, they would’ve taken him already. ”

“Then why hasn’t anything happened?” Cipher asked, stepping closer. “Why all the surveillance? Why wait?”

“Because Phainon is a celebrity, which means he is virtually untouchable. It is not as easy to kidnap a public icon when there are so many eyes on him all the time. Even on hiatus, people can still see that he is around.”

Anaxa shook his head. “Besides, there’s more to Phainon than we understand. So I’ve been digging for information on his identity since he arrived in Okehema 7 years ago.” 

He clicked a few keys, pulling up a dossier under Phainon’s name—half of it redacted in bright red. “He has an ID but he’s not registered under any familial lineage and has no known relatives. So tell me, how on Amphoreus could Phainon have any kind of official government records in Okehema if he supposedly came from Aedes Elysiae?”.

Cipher’s mouth went dry. “Aglaea.”

A renowned spy who went by the alias Goldweaver for those who knew her.

She was Phainon’s manager, and she was retired from her previous career as a spy—yes—but still had connections and deep ties to information networks and powerbrokering behind Okehema’s curtain. No one really knew who she answered to. If anyone.

“She’s the one who personally approved Phainon’s application into Chrysos seven years ago,” Anaxa confirmed. “No auditions, no interviews. She had met him once in their building and he was in. I don’t think it was a coincidence.”

Cipher tried to wrap her head around it, pacing the office now. “You think she knew about Mydei’s identity from the start? Maybe even paired them up deliberately so their existence could protect each other?”

“I wouldn’t underestimate her. The Goldweaver’s network is ancient. But I must admit, I hadn’t anticipated her to drag us into her own plans.” Anaxa’s tone had gone cool again, almost distant. “She’s set to arrive soon. Until then, all we can do is speculate.”

He tapped a key, and another window opened—flickering briefly before stabilizing into a digital copy of a tattered newsprint article. The interface protested, data fragments still missing, but it was mostly legible.

Cipher leaned in. “What… is this?”

The headline hit like a punch to the gut:

‘ Crown Prince Mydeimos Kills King Eurypon in Cold Blood’

She recoiled as if the screen had burned her.

Below the headline was a grainy black-and-white image—Mydei, slightly younger but unmistakable, being escorted by faceless armored guards, his eyes cast to the ground. His hands, covered in blood. Behind him, the dark spires of the Castrum Kremnos palace loomed, shrouded in smoke.

The article was brief—hurriedly written and heavily redacted—but the implications were clear: regicide. A prince who turned on his father. A royal family torn apart.

Cipher’s heart pounded in her ears. Everything in her gut screamed that something was missing—this couldn’t be the whole truth. Not with how Mydei acted. Not with the pain behind his eyes when he spoke of his past.

Anaxa sat back, letting her process. His expression was unreadable, but his silence said enough.

Nothing about this was going to be easy.

And whatever the truth was—someone, somewhere, wanted it to stay buried.

 

Notes:

alright i think we are reaching the climax of the story slowly. i know not everyone is going to like that i fast forwarded the story in the middle but realistically, id have to if not id be writing about every single day they spend together and this fic would end up at 500k words. i will kms if it does. but the good news is that it is time i write the phaidei smut. so in the next chapter, you can finally look forward to that. please be assured that every single plot point will be explained. example: why is phainon a celebrity, the whole aedes elysiae thing etc. i swear i have it all figured out.

but of course, pls forgive me if there are any mistakes or inconsistencies as ive no beta reader or anyone to proof read whatever i write LOL im kinda just going insane on my own.

lastly, sorry it took slightly longer to update as i was busy attending hoyofest.... i cosplayed phainon!!! whoopie!!! if you wanna see it, feel free to checkout my tumblr or X HAHAHA

tumblr: grayyxv / X: aschxv

Chapter 8: Tracing a dream

Notes:

sorry this chapter took longer... this is my first time actually posting smut and everything i have learnt is through years of reading BL some research so uhm. yeah! it took me awhile and a lot of re-reading... sorry if it doesnt meet your expectations. but in case it does meet your expectations, uhhh please lower them.... this is a one off i swear. like. ill probably write more phaidei smut but idk if itll ever be good..... haha... the updated tags are gonna be crazy after this chapter...

btw if you know me irl and you are reading this, pls DONT mention anything about this to me or ill kms

also for any new readers, this chapter could technically be read as a one-shot standalone chapter if u see it as a reincarnation AU with version 3.4 as the context! but if you decide to read the whole thing i might love u forever <3

anyways, i hope u enjoy...

For as long as he could remember, Phainon had been haunted by the same recurring dream.

Or rather, a nightmare.

It always began the same way, with him lying on the ground. Soft light filtering through the trees, the distant chime of bells, the whisper of wind through sun-drenched arches. He’d awaken in Aedes Elysiae, surrounded by scentless red azaleas, only to find Cyrene leaning over him, brushing strands of hair from his face. Her voice, melodic and patient, always carried the same words:

“ Wake up, you’ve been asleep for hours. ”

Then hand in hand, they’d make their way through the winding path in the forest to the Membrance Maze. Tiny bunny-like creatures with long ears and large eyes would flutter out from the hedges to greet them, their laughter barely audible over the rustling leaves. The entire place shimmered with unreal clarity, a sanctuary untouched by time.

At its center, Cyrene would draw a single card from her prized deck of divination cards. Always the same.

The Worldbearer.

Even in the dream, Phainon could feel the weight of the card in her hands. Its depiction—a lonely figure that stood in the middle, carrying a sword with the weight of the world in their hands—never changed. She would never explain its true meaning, once mentioning something along the lines of a hero. Then. she'd only offer him a knowing smile. A silence that grew heavier each time.

After which, without fail, the sky would darken.

It would begin as a flicker. A pulse. Then all at once, the ground would quake, the sky would split, and Aedes Elysiae would collapse into dust. Fire would consume the meadows. Screams would echo through glass and stone. And Cyrene—

Cyrene would vanish.

But the dream didn’t end there. It never did.

Because just as everything was swallowed by darkness, Phainon would blink—and suddenly, he would be standing in Okehema. Not the bustling city he now called home, but an ancient, mythic version of it, steeped in golden grandeur and long-forgotten magic. 

Towering spires of marble and gold loomed above him, etched with sacred sigils and inlaid with shimmering stones that pulsed softly with divine light. Wide avenues stretched like veins through the city, lined with flowering trees and glistening archways. 

Fountains carved by masterful hands spilled blessed water into crystalline pools, their surfaces enchanted to reflect not only one’s image, but their fate. Terraced gardens floated high above the streets, suspended by unseen power, where rare birds sang in tongues long dead.

It was a city of wealth, vision, and miracles. A place where gods once walked among mortals.

And yet, for all its majesty, it felt cold beneath Phainon’s feet. Foreign. Not in hostility, but in essence. The grandeur could not mask the emptiness in his chest. He admired its beauty, even marvelled at it—but he never truly belonged there. The wind carried the faint scent of azaleas, yet none that reminded him of home.

However, Cyrene’s voice would always linger and urge him to look for a group called the Chrysos Heirs.

He knew nothing about them. He didn’t know all their names, or how they looked, but in every dream, they felt familiar like forgotten friends. Kindred souls drawn together by fate. Warriors, scholars, poets. They carried themselves with the gravity of those who bore the burden of the world. They were destined—he somehow knew—to stop something catastrophic.

And among them was someone he always gravitated toward. One person. Always there. Always by his side.

The one who mattered most.

The one whose life would end by his hand.

No matter how the nightmare twisted or turned, it always led to that moment—Phainon standing over them, breathless and broken, golden blood staining his hands, and that person, smiling up at him with eyes full of love.

They loved him even as their life slipped away.

Every. Single. Time.

He never remembered their face. Not clearly. Just the warmth in their voice. The ache of their loss. The unbearable sense that he had failed them. Again and again.

Phainon had these dreams for years. Since he was a boy—barely ten—curled up in the little cottage he shared with his parents, crying into Cyrene’s lap. He remembered the warmth of her hand running through his hair as he choked on fragments he couldn’t understand. He had no words for the way the dreams clung to him long after waking, like soot in his lungs or the echo of a scream that never left his throat. It wasn’t just fear. It was familiarity. A terrible intimacy.

It didn’t feel like imagination.

It felt like remembrance.

Each time he experienced the dream, it always ended the same. Aedes Elysiae in flames and darkness. Cyrene fading into dust. The world crumbling beneath his feet. Death swallowing all he loved. And when the silence fell—when he stood alone amid ash and ruin, the only thing left behind—a familiar voice would always reach out to him through the void, steady and patient.

“What is your dream?”

That question haunted him more than any vision of destruction ever could.

For the longest time, he had no answer. He had too many dreams, all scattered like stars across different ages of his life. At ten, he dreamed of becoming an antique appraiser—he loved old things, forgotten things, wanted to unearth relics and breathe new life into them. Sometimes he fantasized about becoming a treasure collector, not for wealth, but for the stories each item might tell.

At sixteen, when the walls of Aedes Elysiae began to feel too tight and too safe, he dreamed of escape. He wanted to walk beneath a sky he didn’t recognize, meet strangers who would become family, and discover who he was outside the sanctuary he’d grown up in.

At twenty, he wanted to be someone who brought joy. A weaver of miracles. A deliverer of dreams. He wanted to make the people around him smile, to grant wishes not because he had to—but because he could. Because it meant something to him.

But now…

Now, at twenty-seven, when the voice came again in the ruins of his sleep and asked that question once more— What is your dream? —the answer had changed.

He no longer wished for greatness. Not even for adventure. What he longed for now was something far more fragile. Far more rare.

A normal life.

To live quietly, free of the burdens others tried to place on him. To find the one who had loved him—truly loved him—and to spend the rest of his days by that person’s side, away from thrones, prophecies, or the weight of forgotten histories. 

Over the years, the nightmares had dulled. Became less frequent. Just fragments and images. Symbols he couldn’t decipher.

Until recently.

Ever since he met Mydei, spent time with him and lived with him, his dreams had sharpened again. Became painfully vivid. Whole. Almost lucid. Like something inside him was remembering faster than he could understand.

He was close . He could feel it. Something was drawing the past forward. Unravelling it.

Whose dream memories were these?

And why did they feel like his?

When he told Cyrene once about his nightmares when they were much younger, she had only smiled. Touched his cheek and said nothing. But her eyes… her eyes had looked so sad.

As if she already knew the truth, but couldn’t bear to say it.

The day he left Aedes Elysiae, he made a silent vow. That whatever it all meant—whatever weight the dream carried—he wouldn’t let it trap him. He wouldn’t be a puppet to fate.

This time, he would make his own path.

This time, he wouldn’t lose the people he loved.

Not again.

“Deliverer… Wake…u.p…”

“Phainon.”

Phainon jolted awake, his breath ragged and shallow like a man pulled too suddenly from deep waters. His chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, sweat clinging to his temples and the nape of his neck. For a heartbeat, the image of Aedes Elysiae crumbling to ash still burned in his mind’s eye.

But it was Mydei’s voice that anchored him now.

The room was dimly lit, cast in silver by the moonlight seeping through the curtains. The only sounds were their soft breathing and the distant hum of the city below. Phainon blinked the haze away, his vision slowly adjusting to the present. He was no longer in that shattered world. He was here—in this quiet, borrowed apartment—wrapped in the soft linen warmth of the bed they now shared.

Mydei didn’t press for answers. He never did. But his concern was clear in the way his brows knit together, in the way he leaned in closer, one hand reaching up with gentle certainty. He brushed the damp strands of hair from Phainon’s forehead and cupped his cheek with a softness that startled Phainon every time. Mydei’s thumb moved in slow, comforting circles, wordless but full of care. His touch grounded Phainon more effectively than any incantation ever could.

Even without a word, Mydei’s presence soothed him.

Phainon managed a faint smile, the corners of his mouth tugging up despite the fatigue etched into his face. He reached up and placed his hand over Mydei’s, letting their fingers rest together for a moment. Mydei’s skin was warm, steady, real.

This—this quiet intimacy—was what Phainon cherished most.

When Mydei had asked him if he wanted to start sleeping in the same bed, Phainon had practically lit up with joy. The idea of falling asleep next to someone he loved had been everything he longed for. But since then, the dreams had only grown more vivid—more consuming. As if being close to Mydei unlocked something deeper, more ancient within him. The nightmares had sharpened like blades, but strangely… so had the comfort.

Because when Phainon awoke to Mydei by his side, it reminded him that he wasn’t alone. That he had something real in the waking world—something worth holding onto.

He watched as Mydei gently pulled the blanket higher, tucking it around them both. Then Mydei shifted closer and slipped an arm around Phainon’s waist, wordlessly offering the shelter of his body. His presence radiated a quiet strength, a silent promise that he would stay.

“Are you alright?” Mydei asked softly, breaking the silence.

Phainon let out a slow, calming breath. “I am now,” he murmured, hand still resting over Mydei’s.

“Go back to sleep. I’ll be here,” Mydei whispered.

And with Mydei beside him, Phainon closed his eyes again—not because the nightmares had vanished, but because now, even in the darkness, he had something to return to.

As Phainon’s chest rose and fell, slowly easing into the rhythm of sleep, Mydei remained awake. His fingers gently threaded through Phainon’s damp hair, smoothing it back with quiet care. The tension in Phainon’s brows had softened. Still, the remnants of whatever dream haunted him lingered like smoke. Mydei’s hand moved in slow, soothing strokes, making a silent promise.

He sighed.

Even now, Mydei didn’t know exactly what Phainon had seen—but he knew the weight of dreams that didn’t feel like dreams. He recognized the kind of fear that came not from the unknown, but from memory. And though Phainon hadn’t said a word about it, Mydei believed in time, he would. He trusted that Phainon would let him in. Eventually.

But even if he didn’t… Mydei would still be here.

Which was why, he needed to tell Phainon soon.

He couldn’t keep running from his own past—not when it threatened to swallow the only peace he had found in years.

It had been a week since the rooftop conversation with Cipher. A week of silent preparations. Letters. Old documents. Memories he had tried to bury. He had spent that time walking with Phainon in the gardens, stealing lazy kisses in quiet corners, studying together, and laughing over bad reality shows. Small things. Mundane things. But Mydei had cherished every second of them, knowing what was coming.

He had used the week to care for Phainon a little more tenderly. To hold him a little longer when they embraced. To linger in the sound of his laughter.

Because after he told Phainon the truth, everything might change.

And once spoken, it couldn’t be taken back.

He glanced down at Phainon’s sleeping form, a quiet chuckle slipping from his lips despite the heaviness in his chest. It was still surreal. This man—this star beloved by millions—was now tangled up in Mydei’s sheets, curled against him like a lover, like something fragile and precious that the world hadn’t quite managed to break.

Just a few months ago, Mydei had been just another face in the lecture hall. A name on a roster. A student with no ties and no expectations. Alone by design.

He never expected to fall so quickly—or so deeply.

It sounded like a bad romantic drama. A celebrity falling in love with a quiet, guarded student? Fate tying two lives together with a golden thread? The old myths of the Titan of Romance would’ve had a field day with them. And maybe, just maybe, those stories held some truth.

But the titans rarely gave gifts without cost.

And Nikador still had plans for him. Plans that did not include peace. Plans that would drag Phainon down with him if he wasn’t careful. So if the golden thread truly existed… 

Mydei would sever it with his own hands to protect him.

All he needed was one last push. Just enough strength to say it out loud. Then, as if sensing the storm gathering in Mydei’s chest, Phainon stirred. His fingers twitched, then gently curled around Mydei’s hand, holding tight even in sleep.

A wordless plea: Don’t go.

Mydei’s heart squeezed.

He brought their joined hands to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to Phainon’s knuckles. The decision had already been made. He couldn’t run from it any longer.

He would tell him.

Later at night, when the world was quiet.

When it was just the two of them—and whatever came next.

When Phainon fell asleep for the second time that night, the dreams changed.

Gone were the ruins and voices that haunted him. Instead, he dreamt of warmth—of Mydei curled into his side, fingers trailing lightly over his chest, laughter echoing softly in some sun-drenched memory that hadn’t happened yet. It was hazy and soft, but for once, it wasn’t tinted by dread. It was just him and Mydei. It was peace.

He stirred awake sometime past morning, blinking slowly against the golden light that spilled in through the curtains. The sheets beside him were cold. Empty.

His heart sank for just a moment.

But then—soft clinking. The low sizzle of something frying. And the faint scent of butter and eggs.

Phainon pushed himself up with a groan, his limbs still heavy with sleep. He ran a hand through his tangled hair and stumbled barefoot out of the bedroom, following the sound and scent that beckoned him forward.

In the kitchen, there he was.

Mydei stood at the stove, wearing only a red apron tied loosely over a pair of low-hanging shorts. The morning light cast a soft halo around him as he stirred scrambled eggs in a pan, movements unhurried but precise. His hair was still a little messy from sleep, falling into his eyes, and his expression was unreadable—quiet, focused. A little too still.

Phainon smiled to himself.

Like a moth to flame, he drifted toward him and wrapped his arms lazily around Mydei’s waist from behind. He leaned in, resting his chin comfortably on Mydei’s shoulder, nuzzling into the warm crook of his neck.

“Good morning, my love.”

Mydei didn’t startle. He simply tilted his head slightly to the side, allowing the contact.

“Did you sleep well?” he asked softly.

“Thanks to you, I did.”

It was the truth.

Mydei finished plating the eggs and toast with the kind of quiet elegance he always had, and Phainon helped move everything to the small dining table now situated in the living room, where the light was better and the mood was cozier.

From the corner of the couch, Meowy roused herself with a stretch and padded over, brushing her head insistently against Phainon’s ankle.

“Well, good morning to you too,” Phainon chuckled, crouching down to scoop her up. The cat purred contentedly as he scratched beneath her chin.

Breakfast was simple but comforting. Mydei had even brewed fresh coffee, just the way Phainon liked it—dark, with a hint of honey.

They sat across from each other, eating in the easy silence that had become familiar between them. But something tugged at the edge of Phainon’s awareness.

Mydei was unusually quiet.

He didn’t make his usual morning quips, didn’t tease Phainon about his bedhead, didn’t sneak a bite off his plate when he thought he wasn’t looking. His gaze drifted—sometimes to the table, sometimes to the wall behind Phainon. And when he did look up, it was fleeting, as if the eye contact burned.

Phainon’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth to say something—

But then Mydei beat him to it.

“Phainon. There’s… something I need to tell you… later at night.”

There was a pause, heavy and deliberate.

Phainon looked at him for a long moment.

The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly, like the calm just before a storm, and he felt it in his gut—the way Mydei’s voice had faltered. The way his eyes didn’t meet his. Whatever it was, it wasn’t small.

Still, Phainon offered a gentle nod. “Okay.”

He didn’t press.

If Mydei needed time to find the words, he would wait. Even if his heart started to beat a little faster. He glanced out the window, toward the sky already beginning to turn pale with the threat of rain.

Tonight would come quickly.

-x- 

Throughout the entire day, Mydei had been a bundle of nerves. Even if he didn’t say anything, Phainon could tell—how he paced subtly between rooms, how he fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, how his gaze would drift to Phainon and then quickly look away. He was somewhere else in his mind, and whatever he planned to say weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Phainon had always been sensitive to Mydei’s moods, so he didn’t push. Instead, he smiled gently and offered, “How about we talk in the bath tonight?”

Mydei blinked in surprise.

“I mean… we’ve got a new, oversized one on the balcony that we haven’t used yet,” Phainon continued with a chuckle, leaning casually against the kitchen counter. “Seems like the perfect opportunity to. I’ll take care of everything. Just relax, alright?”

Mydei could only nod mutely. His throat felt dry. The thought of talking—finally talking—was already anxiety-inducing. But adding in the image of sitting together with Phainon in a bath? It made his entire system short-circuit.

He retreated into his room, not daring to come out as Phainon moved about the apartment preparing things. He spent the afternoon pacing, rehearsing versions of what he might say aloud, discarding every one of them with a frustrated groan. He thought about messaging Hyacine or Cipher, but… he had never fully told anyone the whole story. How could he start now?

When the knock came at sunset, Mydei froze.

“It’s ready,” Phainon called gently through the door.

Mydei panicked.

He stared at the mirror. His reflection looked back at him like he was about to face execution. He wasn’t ready. He was never ready. But he had to be. There wasn’t time to delay anymore.

Still, another problem emerged.

They would be naked.

Of course, that was the norm. Men bathed together all the time in Kremnoan baths. But this wasn’t just any man. This was Phainon. They had kissed. Touched. Slept beside one another. Yet somehow, being completely bare in front of him like this—while talking about his past—felt… almost more vulnerable than anything else they had done so far.

So, robe it was.

He pulled open the bottom drawer of his cabinet and fished out the bathrobe he hadn’t used in ages—a rich maroon fabric embroidered with golden patterns, sheer in places but elegant. It was something he used to wear back at the royal baths in Castrum Kremnos, back when status and poise still mattered.

It was the best he could do.

Clutching the robe tightly around himself, he stepped quietly through the hallway and out onto the balcony—only to pause when he saw what Phainon had prepared.

The bath shimmered like molten gold in the light of the setting sun. The water steamed gently, filled with soft bubbles, rose petals, and aromatic oils that glowed faintly under the evening light. The balcony itself was surrounded by soft lanterns Phainon had set up, casting warm halos around the space.

Mydei’s breath hitched. 

It was beautiful.

Mydei stepped into the bath slowly, testing the water. It was warm, rich with scent and comfort. He settled into the seat carved into the stone ledge of the pool, letting his back rest against it. The robe clung to his skin almost immediately, but he didn’t care. The heat soothed his muscles. The sound of water gently rippling around him calmed something in his chest.

He sighed—unconsciously—and leaned his head back against the ledge, closing his eyes for a moment.

Phainon arrived a minute later, robed in royal blue silk that shimmered against his skin. Mydei was quietly thankful he wasn’t the only one who had opted for modesty. His nerves relaxed, even if just a little.

Phainon didn’t say anything at first. He simply slipped into the water beside Mydei, the two of them soaking in silence under the orange-purple sky.

Then, gently, he turned to him.

“You don’t have to start right away,” he said, his voice low and kind. “We can just sit here first. Breathe. No pressure.”

Mydei looked at him then—really looked. And something in his chest softened.

The truth still sat heavily in his gut, but the water was warm, the sky above them was endless, and Phainon’s presence beside him felt unwavering. Like no matter what he said later, Phainon would still be here.

The thought anchored Mydei, so he plucked up his courage and began to speak.

“I… was the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos,” Mydei started, voice soft and trembling only slightly under the weight of his confession. “I left my country because of a man by the name of Hephaestion… who was my ex-lover.”

Phainon didn’t react immediately, save for a slow blink.

The prince thing didn’t come as much of a surprise. He had long suspected it as there were many signs. No one owned that many rare ornaments, gold or wore thousand-year-old heirlooms without some level of noble blood behind them. He had assumed, quietly, that Mydei had once been someone important. A person that he had been looking for.

But an ex-lover?

That was new.

It struck something inside him. Sharp. Unpleasant.

Phainon’s fingers tensed under the water, resting against the marble ledge of the bath. His gaze dropped to the surface, suddenly too aware of how close they were—skin to skin, warmth to warmth—while somewhere, out there in the world, there was a man who had once been allowed that same closeness with Mydei. A man who had once been kissed by him. Touched by him. Loved by him.

The image of someone else holding Mydei seared through him. And it wasn’t just that. It was that Mydei had cared. Cared enough to leave behind an entire kingdom. Cared enough to run.

Phainon’s jaw clenched. A gnawing, possessive heat built in his chest. He had to push it down, but it pressed harder with every word Mydei said.

“He’s been keeping tabs on me for a while. I’ve been on the run but he’s found me again.”

The words were said quietly, almost shamefully. Mydei looked down, his wet robe clinging to his frame, the water rippling gently around him. He had no idea how Phainon’s expression had darkened. How still he had become.

Something in Phainon twisted. He didn’t know if it was jealousy or rage. All he could think about was the fact that he hadn’t been the first person Mydei trusted. That this Hephaestion—whoever he was—had once known Mydei in ways Phainon hadn’t yet been allowed to. The idea that Mydei had once loved someone else made Phainon’s gut coil with something ugly.

But worse—far worse—was that this man had been watching him. Stalking him.

And Phainon hadn’t even known.

Mydei reached for his phone and unlocked it, navigating with quiet, resigned fingers to a hidden folder Cipher had helped him create. He handed the device to Phainon without a word, as though bracing for the reaction.

Phainon took it and scrolled. His grip tightened almost instantly.

The pictures weren’t just distant shots from the street or candid glimpses. They were intimate. Shots taken at angles that suggested long-term surveillance. Phainon’s heart pounded with something deeper now. Something colder.

This man had seen him like this.

Had seen his Mydei like this.

The thought made his blood boil.

These images weren’t just invasions of privacy. They were violations . A collection of stolen moments that belonged to no one else. This wasn’t just obsession. This was ownership—Hephaestion trying to lay claim to something that was no longer his.

Phainon’s voice was low, and final.

“That man needs to fuck off.”

But what he didn’t say—couldn’t say—was that it made him furious. That jealousy burned so hot in his chest he didn’t know how to hold it in without shattering something. That the thought of Mydei ever offering that softness to another man—especially one so twisted—felt like a theft Phainon would never be able to forget.

And yet, sitting beside him now, Mydei looked so small in the water. So guarded. So tired. Phainon had to swallow it all down for now.

Mydei sat with his knees drawn close to his chest, the soft sheen of steam clinging to his skin. His eyes were fixed ahead, but they saw something else entirely. Something buried behind time and memory. Phainon didn’t press. He knew that look too well.

Then, quietly, Mydei began. “Before he was my lover, he was a friend.” There was no bitterness in his voice. Only weariness. “A trusted one. We grew up in the same area. I lived outside the city.”

Phainon watched the way Mydei’s hands folded in his lap, almost carefully—like he was trying to contain the past before it spilled out too fast.

He could already feel the edges of a much bigger picture beginning to form. A friend… outside the city? For a prince to grow up without recognition. 

The signet ring…

Finally, the answer settled into place.

“Did you live by the sea?” Phainon asked, too softly, as though trying not to scare something fragile away.

Mydei blinked, startled. “Yes, I did,” he said after a pause. “With my mother.” He hesitated again. “She wanted nothing to do with the legacy of Kremnos. She raised me far from the throne. In a quiet town by the sea.”

Phainon didn’t respond. But he remembered. Vividly. The smell of saltwater. The black rocks veined with silver. A garden that bloomed year-round despite the wind.

Mydei didn’t notice the flicker in his gaze.

“She thought I’d be safer that way,” he continued. “The politics… the bloodshed in the capital… my father—the king, Eurypon—he was becoming unrecognizable. They called it divine madness, but I knew it for what it was. Guilt. He had ordered too many deaths. Some say the land itself turned on him.”

Phainon had read the reports. Vague mentions in old military ledgers and diplomatic archives. Half-redacted communications. The Kingdom of Castrum Kremnos had been volatile for years before the king’s downfall.

“And Hephaestion?” Phainon asked, though he already knew the shape of the answer.

“He was from my town too,” Mydei said, almost absently. “He wasn’t anyone special then. Just a boy. But he was kind to me. Gentle. I never told him who I really was. Not until…”

His words trailed off, dissolving into silence.

But the sadness lingered in his expression.

Phainon could picture it: a younger Mydei, laughing freely on a windswept shore, unaware that the boy beside him would one day become his cage. He could imagine the moment Hephaestion found out. The betrayal. The shift. The obsession. The hunger for power wrapped in the guise of love.

Mydei looked down again. There was no need to speak it aloud—Phainon could see it all in the way his fingers trembled just slightly as he tapped through his phone. The photographs from earlier. The whispers. The pressure to marry. The escape.

A flash of something appeared on the screen.

A headline.

‘Crown Prince Mydeimos Kills King Eurypon in Cold Blood’

Phainon’s chest grew tight.

He reached for the phone and scanned the article. There were too many inconsistencies. No witness statements. No mention of Mydei’s presence prior to the murder. Only a single, strategically timed leak from a source “close to the palace.” The body had been discovered the day after Mydei left for the capital.

Framed.

The pieces clicked into place too easily. Too cleanly.

“You were framed for the king’s murder,” Phainon said at last.

Mydei didn’t confirm it. He didn’t need to. His silence was loud enough.

It made sense now. Why Mydei moved to Okehema. Why he didn’t want to have any social media. Why he was so disconnected from the entire world. It was also the very reason why Phainon couldn’t let Mydei slip past his fingers ever again. 

Phainon glanced down again at the article, then at the previous folder of photos. There were too many. Taken over years. Stalking wasn’t even the right word anymore. It was archiving. Hephaestion hadn’t just wanted Mydei back—he had been building a narrative. A war of perception.

No one had cared to stop it.

Phainon’s jaw clenched. He wanted to break something. Scream at the injustice of it. But he didn’t. Instead, he set the phone down gently and leaned back into the bath, his eyes fixed on the stone ceiling, watching the reflections of water ripple faintly above them.

The air between them shifted.

Phainon’s jaw was still tight, but his gaze was no longer on the ceiling—it was locked on Mydei, unreadable and sharp, as if he were calculating something beneath the surface. He didn’t speak for a long time. He simply let the water lap gently at his shoulders, the petals floating aimlessly around him, the scent of oils soft and almost mocking in how tranquil it all felt.

Truthfully, he had already known. Not everything, of course, but whispers. Years ago, there had been rumors—ones buried by time, covered in so many lies that even the most curious wouldn’t be able to trace them. He had always suspected. But he didn’t want confirmation like this.

Not when it meant watching Mydei’s voice crack on every confession. Not when it meant seeing the look in his eyes—resigned, cornered, desperate to protect Phainon by pushing him away.

“Anyways… I was thinking… it’d be best if I stayed elsewhere and moved out of Okehema. That man is dangerous.”

Those words echoed like a slap.

Phainon’s breath caught. The calm he had forced himself into splintered with each syllable. He wasn’t even angry at Mydei—not really. But at everything else. At the situation. At the fear in Mydei’s voice. At the nerve of that man, Hephaestion, still having this kind of grip over him. Enough to make Mydei think he needed to run again. Enough to convince him that Phainon couldn’t, or wouldn’t, stay by his side.

His mind went blank with a different kind of fury. Possessive. Irrational.

It wasn’t fair. After everything—after the trust Mydei had slowly handed over like fragile glass—how dare someone still have that kind of control over him?

He wanted to destroy the man. Not just hurt him. Not just kill him. He wanted to erase every trace Hephaestion had ever left on Mydei’s life. Wanted to claw every shadow of him from Mydei’s memories. Wanted to make sure Mydei never had to speak his name again.

Mydei didn’t get it. He didn’t see what Phainon saw. The fear. The trauma. The way Mydei smiled sadly when talking about the man who once was his friend. How he still carried the burden of guilt that was never his to begin with.

And worst of all, Mydei thought the solution was to run.

Like always. Like he had done since the beginning. Like Phainon wouldn’t come looking for him again if he disappeared. Like he was just someone temporary in Phainon’s life.

Phainon had worked too damn hard to get this far. Too hard to peel away Mydei’s walls and earn his fragile trust. He wouldn’t allow Mydei to run from this. From him.

He could feel it bubbling inside him, something darker and colder than jealousy—though jealousy, too, gnawed at him. The idea that Hephaestion had once touched Mydei, been loved by him, had memories with him—it made Phainon’s vision blur. He couldn’t stomach it. 

Mydei was his now.

That man didn’t deserve a shred of Mydei’s concern. Didn’t deserve to have ever been part of his life.

Phainon leaned back into the bath, steam curling around his face like smoke. He didn’t speak, not right away. But inside, something snapped into place. If Mydei was afraid of dragging him into a mess, then Phainon would become the kind of mess that swallowed Hephaestion whole.

But he would show Mydei that no one could protect him better.

And no one—no one—would ever take him away.

The silence sat heavy, but it wasn’t peaceful. It pulsed, alive with all the things unsaid. Then Phainon finally spoke, voice low and dark.

“And I'm not?”

Mydei blinked.

“Pardon?”

“I’m more dangerous than he is,” he said, the words slow, deliberate. “Trust me. I can do much worse to him.”

The air tensed.

Mydei let out a breathless, bitter laugh—a dry sound that didn’t reach his eyes. He leaned forward just slightly, like something sharp had finally snapped in him too.

He had been running from his past his entire life and nothing was suddenly going to change because Phainon was here. He didn’t have any kind of power or authority that Mydei knew of. Yet, Phainon sounded extremely confident. Mydei almost wanted to believe him. 

“Pft. You’re just some actor,” he said, venom flickering under his voice, though the pain beneath it was impossible to miss. “Sure, you can hold your own in some fight—but what can you really do against someone like him? Tell me, Deliverer.”

His gaze met Phainon’s then, cold and furious and maybe a little bit desperate.

“Do you truly think you could give up everything for me? Could you submit yourself to my fate?”

There it was. The wall. The last defense. Mydei wasn’t taunting him—he was trying to scare him away. Testing him. Pushing him back before Phainon could get too close, before Phainon could realize what loving him actually meant.

It wasn’t just about a stalker or a ruined title.

It was about Mydei’s past being cursed, untouchable. About bloodlines and betrayals and the fear that anyone who got too close would be poisoned by proximity.

But Phainon didn’t flinch. Not at the words. Not at the weight of them.

He saw right through it.

Beneath Mydei’s harshness, he saw the fracture—the part of him that still thought he wasn’t worth protecting. That believed love meant letting go before he ruined someone else’s life.

But Phainon had made his choice long ago.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

The air shifted the moment Mydei said it. Not from words—from tension. Something subtle but sharp sliced through the steam, making the water between them feel heavier. Still.

He turned slowly.

Mydei wasn’t looking at him anymore. His arms rested loosely on the edge of the bath, his expression set into something detached—but his throat gave him away. A single swallow. A tensed muscle under skin too pale and flushed from heat.

Phainon’s eyes dragged down.

The robe Mydei wore clung to every inch of him now—slick, near translucent where the fabric met water. It outlined the ridges of his chest, the lines of muscle across his abdomen, the way his legs shifted restlessly beneath the surface. There was a drop of water at the hollow of his throat, trembling before it slid down over his collarbone. And all he could think of was—

Someone else had seen this.

He blinked once, twice, and he saw flashes of gold. He had seen this happen in his dreams. A time where Mydei and him had bathed together. A time where they were inseparable. But also, the countless times where he had lost him.

Phainon’s grip tightened and he moved.

He crossed the space between them with quiet, deliberate control. The water rippled around him in slow circles. Mydei tensed—not visibly, not in any way that would show weakness—but his lips parted, just slightly, when Phainon reached him.

He didn’t speak.

Instead, he lifted a hand—wet, fingers steady—and cupped Mydei’s jaw and Mydei’s eyes darkened.

The angle was soft, but the pressure wasn’t. His thumb dragged along the curve of Mydei’s cheek, tracing the delicate ink that marked his face. The pad of his finger paused at the line beneath his eye, then followed it downward in a slow stroke that didn’t feel casual. It felt intentional.

Phainon’s hand slid lower—across the damp slope of Mydei’s neck, following the lines of his collarbone with reverence, memorizing them. He didn’t rush. Every inch was touched, mapped, lingered on.

His fingers slipped beneath the loose fold of Mydei’s robe, pushing it aside just enough to reveal the slick stretch of skin underneath. 

The water clung to Mydei’s chest like oil, catching candlelight in subtle glints. His skin was flushed—not from heat alone. Phainon watched the rise and fall of his breathing, the way his abdomen flexed under restraint, how his fingers curled tighter against the gold rim behind him.

When Phainon leaned in, he didn’t kiss.

He exhaled against Mydei’s throat, slow and hot. The skin there twitched in response. A pulse jumped beneath his mouth. 

Then he dragged his lips lower—along the line where water met skin, over the top of Mydei’s sternum. No words. Just the wet press of mouth to chest, the slow parting of robe and restraint. He paused just beneath one nipple and let his teeth scrape gently across the skin.

Mydei inhaled sharply.

Still, no sound.

Phainon’s hands moved beneath the water now—gripping Mydei’s waist, fingers spreading wide across his hipbones. His thumbs traced idle circles against the exposed V of skin just above his now hardening cock. Mydei’s thigh brushed against him under the surface—tense, twitching.

Mydei hadn’t told him to stop, so he kept going.

He didn’t stroke. He didn’t take.

He teased.

One palm slid along Mydei’s inner thigh, slow enough that the anticipation was almost cruel. He didn’t press in, didn’t touch the place his hand seemed to orbit around. Just danced close—over and over—like he was daring Mydei to shatter.

A shiver rippled through Mydei’s body despite the heat.

Phainon finally pulled back just enough to look at him.

Water beaded along Mydei’s lashes. His lips were parted now, flush with restrained tension. His hands had moved—one gripping Phainon’s wrist beneath the water, not to stop him, but to anchor himself.

The robe had slipped half off his shoulder. His chest heaved, wet and glistening. A single drop rolled down the center of his sternum, over a shallow ridge of muscle, and disappeared beneath the water where Phainon’s hand still hovered.

It was then, Phainon truly understood his purpose. Even if he had to bend the skies, even if he had to go against the Titans, or fate itself. 

“I would do anything for you.”

The water shifted.

Not from Mydei, but from Phainon.

His hand slid down further beneath the surface, beneath the fold of Mydei’s loosened robe, until his palm hovered just over the swollen heat pressing against wet fabric.

Mydei’s breath caught.

Phainon didn’t look at him. His eyes were on the water—on the way the surface trembled around them, steam coiling up in slow, sensual ribbons. His hand moved with a patience that made time stretch into something cruel.

Then, finally.

His fingers pressed against Mydei’s length through the soaked fabric, cupping it firmly, slowly. No urgency. No mercy. Just pressure—enough to make Mydei’s hips jerk, instinct overriding restraint, sending a shock of pleasure. 

Phainon exhaled, and the sound brushed the edge of a chuckle.

He gripped harder, dragged his hand upward once—just once—and Mydei’s reaction was immediate. His head tilted back, lips parting in a sharp breath he didn’t release.

The robe shifted on his chest, the fabric slipping further from one shoulder, exposing more slick skin to the candlelight. Water ran in slow rivulets down the hard lines of his abdomen, gliding over his trembling waist and the fingers Phainon had wrapped around him.

Still, he didn’t stroke.

Just held.

Controlled.

“My dear Mydei,” Phainon murmured, finally, his voice low and close. “You always act like you’re so composed.”

His thumb rolled over the tip of Mydei’s cock—slow, wet, deliberate.

“But this time, you should just leave it all to me.”

Mydei gritted his teeth, jaw tight. His knuckles were white where they gripped the bath’s edge.

Phainon moved again. Now his strokes began—barely there. Up and down, through the fabric, slow enough to be maddening. He kept his eyes on Mydei’s face, drinking in every twitch, every flinch of his throat, every flicker of heat across his cheeks.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “So responsive.”

Mydei let out a low, strangled sound—not a word, just a broken breath.

“You want to come already, don’t you?”

Mydei didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

The pulse in his neck said everything.

Phainon leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear, his hand never stopping its slow rhythm under the water.

“I could let you,” he said. “Right now. Let you come all over my hand like you’ve been aching to.”

Mydei shuddered.

“But it isn’t time yet.”

Suddenly, he stopped.

Hand pulling away. All contact gone.

Mydei inhaled sharply, eyes wide, chest heaving as his cock twitched violently beneath the water, still pulsing with the edge of denied release.

Phainon tilted his head, watching him with that cool, unreadable gaze.

“You can do it for me, can’t you?”

Mydei’s throat worked hard to swallow, his hands twitching like he didn’t know whether to drag Phainon back or fall apart where he sat.

“I want you to hold it back,” Phainon murmured. “Feel every second of it. Let it soak into you.”

He leaned in again, lips brushing Mydei’s cheek.

“I’m going to bring you back there again and again until you'll beg me to stay.”

-x- 

Mydei was a mess.

Phainon smirked wickedly as he continued his teasing assault on Mydei's body. He licked and sucked at the sensitive skin of Mydei's neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark. Mydei arched into his touch, seeking more friction, a strangled moan escaping his lips. 

Chest heaving, thighs trembling beneath the water, robe twisted and clinging to him like second skin. His hands were no longer gripping the edge of the bath—they were tangled in Phainon’s robe, clutching, clinging like a man on the edge of drowning.

"Please," he breathed. "Phainon—just—please."

His voice cracked around the word. His body was flushed, twitching from the aftermath of restraint, of being teased and denied again and again until all that was left was need.

Phainon held his jaw, tilting his face upward, watching him come apart.

“I need—need you to take me,” Mydei gasped, words barely formed between ragged breaths. “I’ll do anything. Just—please let me cum—”

There was a beat.

And then Phainon kissed him.

Hard.

Mydei melted into it instantly, moaning into his mouth as Phainon’s hand finally wrapped around his throbbing erection beneath the water—no hesitation this time. He stroked once, twice, and that was all it took. Mydei’s whole body jolted. A broken sound spilled from his throat as he came—his seed hot and thick, mixing with the water, hips bucking helplessly into Phainon’s hand as his muscles gave out beneath him.

But Phainon didn’t let him go.

Didn’t stop.

Even as Mydei whimpered, overstimulated, boneless, eyes fluttering from the high, Phainon’s grip remained firm. His free hand slid down to grab Mydei’s waist beneath the water, pulling him close until their bodies were flush. 

He leaned in, mouth brushing the edge of Mydei’s ear.

“Once isn’t enough,” he whispered.

Mydei barely had time to breathe before Phainon stood, lifting him with strength that shouldn’t have looked so effortless. Water spilled over the edge of the bath, robes dripping, clinging tighter now than before.

Phainon made no sign of stopping. 

He guided Mydei to his feet, then spun him slowly—pressing him forward until his chest met the glass window of the balcony. Outside, the city of Okehema was bustling. The city lights outside glittered faintly behind the distorted reflection of his body—tensed, trembling, open.

And if anyone had decided to look up…they’d see everything.

“Look at you,” Phainon murmured. “All spread out for me like you were made for this.”

Phainon pressed his chest to Mydei’s back, hands running down his sides, possessive and unrelenting. His hands explored Mydei’s body with reverence, dragging over muscles that tensed beneath his touch, slowing whenever Mydei shuddered too hard or leaned too far into him, chasing more.

There was no rush.

Just worship.

Phainon’s fingers slid over the dip of Mydei’s spine, following its path downward. His touch was soft. Devotional. Every inch was memorized again, as if it were the first time. As if he feared forgetting what Mydei felt like under his palms.

“You want everyone to see you like this?” Phainon whispered, hot against the shell of his ear. “Shaking. Begging. So needy you can’t even speak."

Phainon’s hands mapped every part of him slowly. One glided up Mydei’s side, fingertips brushing against the curve of his ribcage, moving upward to graze the sharp line of his shoulder blade. The other trailed down, cupping the swell of his hip with firm possession.

He didn’t thrust.

Not yet.

Instead, his mouth brushing the dip between shoulder and neck. His lips moved slowly there—pressing kisses into damp skin, praising without a single word.

Every movement was intentional.

Mydei’s fingers twitched against the glass. His thighs still quivered from his previous release, barely keeping him standing, all while Phainon pressed his erection hotly between the dip of his ass as if to mock him. Mydei’s lips parted on a soundless moan, hips bucking helplessly.

“Do you still want it?” he asked, low and rough.

Mydei nodded.

Phainon smirked, mouth against his neck. “Good. Then I’ll give it to you.”

And he did.

His hands moved again, gripping Mydei's hips, pushing his legs apart. After lubing up his cock with the essential oils placed at the side of the bath, Phainon rubbed it between the crack of Mydei’s cheeks teasingly once more. Mydei’s lips parted on a soundless moan, hips grinding desperately onto Phainon. Sensing Mydei’s impatience he finally slid the tip of his hardened length into him from behind.

Mydei groaned as he finally felt relief from having his hole filled. Phainon however, only slid in halfway before he slowly pulled out and pushed in again, stretching the tight ring of muscle that was greedily swallowing him up.

“You are so good for me, my dear Mydeimos. You can take it all the way in, can’t you?” Phainon crooned. 

Mydei choked down a whimper, and clenched his fists, the praise sending a shiver down his spine. The worries he had throughout the day disappeared as he was fucked out of his mind. If Phainon didn’t do something soon he was going to collapse. His cock was slowly hardening again and all he could do was stare at the people and cars that drove on the streets, hoping no one looked up. 

“Phainon… please .”

Phainon laughed, then bent over to whispered,

“As you wish.”

In one smooth movement, Phainon slammed his entire length into Mydei and buried himself to the hilt, making Mydei feel it even in his stomach. Mydei’s chest slammed against the cool glass, steam and sweat fogging the window as his body was taken again, deeper even after he thought he'd already given everything.

Mydei nearly yelped in pain as he held on to Phainon to balance himself. Phainon on the other hand, hissed as Mydei clenched even harder around him. He shifted himself so that one hand was securing Mydei’s hip while the other had Mydei’s hand caged on the glass pane. 

As Phainon began to move, Mydei’s body began to rock with him—slowly, gently, surrendering to the rhythm Phainon set with nothing but breath and weight. Mydei’s breath fogged it in quiet bursts—rhythmic, shaky, drawn from somewhere deep and already exhausted. The candlelights flickered faintly against the window, their reflections fractured by the sheen of condensation and sweat. 

The window began to fog more.

Phainon’s mouth stayed close to his skin, never straying far. His teeth grazed just enough to make Mydei jolt, then he soothed it with a kiss, and another, trailing a path of heat across his shoulder, along the nape of his neck, up to the shell of his ear.

He shifted again, angling himself better, whispering praises in Mydei’s ear. One hand reached around Mydei’s waist, fingers splayed across his lower abdomen, pressing lightly on it to feel himself inside Mydei. Mydei responded by clenching down harder while Phainon smirked, amused. The other stayed firm on his hip, guiding him, keeping the pace slow. So slow.

“You feel that?” Phainon breathed. “That’s how deep I am inside you.”

Mydei’s body trembled, aching with arousal yet, he felt so full .

And still Phainon didn’t rush.

Every slow grind of their hips sent shivers up Mydei’s spine, tension building again, the echo of earlier release still present in the way his legs wobbled, in the way his hands dragged down the glass for support. Mydei could only whine helplessly, his cock leaking with pre-cum, as he stared at the city outside.

With every slow, languid stroke, Phainon repeatedly pressured his prostate over and over again. Mydei’s mind was only filled with want as he melted into nothingness. The sounds were wet, squelchy, and absolutely fucking obscene, but it turned Phainon on all the more.

“Do you like that? Letting the world know that the celebrity, Phainon, is over here filling up the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos.”

Mydei’s back arched instinctively. His breath hitched.

His palms flat to the glass, fingers splayed. His body trembled beneath the weight of Phainon behind him—skin still damp, robes long discarded at some point, all bare heat and presence now. The silence between them wasn’t empty.

Phainon then slid the hand from his waist over to Mydei’s neglected cock, the heat causing Mydei to groan. Phainon dragged his thumb gently over the slit, the pre-cum still leaking, and smeared the liquid on the bottom vein, eliciting a loud noise from Mydei’s throat.

“I'm going to make everyone know you are mine.”Phainon went on, voice darker now. “Every twitch of your body, every sound you make—it’s mine.”

A single stroke was all it took before Mydei's knees buckled slightly, caught only by Phainon’s unrelenting grip. His whole body was flushed, coated in sweat, his eyes fluttering as his head fell back against Phainon’s shoulder as Phainon repeatedly plunged into his hole and stroked him at the same time.

“F-fuck…Nghh...P-Phainon…” Mydei cried.

Phainon, steady as gravity, held him through it. He tightened his grip and moved with intent—each motion heavier than the last, every shift of his hips a silent praise pressed into Mydei’s back. His mouth trailed up the column of Mydei’s neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses that left heat blooming in their wake and bites that were sure to leave a mark later on. 

And Mydei let it happen.

Let his body be moved, guided, held in place, giving in to Phainon’s control. His hands rose again to brace against the glass, palms flattening as his legs spread instinctively to stay balanced beneath the surging tempo behind him. Mydei’s eyes rolled to the back of his head, barely speaking aside from occasional grunts with the pace that Phainon was going. 

Phainon growled, with his head buried in the crook of Mydei’s neck, thrusting into Mydei so hard that Mydei didn't even realize that tears had begun streaming down his face from pure pleasure. He chanted Phainon’s name along with a string of curses like a prayer. The noises speeding up, without any sign of stopping.

Sensing Mydei's limit, Phainon whispered, “Come for me, my love...”.

Mydei’s breath caught once—just once—like a tremor snapping through ice. His body arched into Phainon’s touch, knees trembling, palms slipping lower on the fogged glass. Then without warning, Mydei immediately came undone with a hiss. His body pulsed and spasmed. White streaks painting the glass as Mydei let out a trembling exhale, his fingers clawing for any kind of support.

Phainon doesn’t let up as he continued to fuck Mydei though his orgasm, leaving Mydei a broken whining mess. Then when Phainon came soon after, with a choked grunt he pulled on Mydei’s hair gently. He remained inside of Mydei as he buried his seed, making sure that not a single drop was spilled as he watched Mydei’s reflection on the glass.

Mydei stood still, panting, trying to catch his breath while Phainon’s cock still throbbed inside him. When Phainon’s pulse had steadied, his load completely emptied, he didn’t pull out. Mydei's limbs remained pliant, as though his body had remembered what it meant to surrender. 

It was only a matter of seconds before Phainon’s hands moved again.

Gentle at first. Tracing familiar paths over skin already worn and warm. One hand slid down Mydei’s side, fingers skating along his waist with reverence. The other spread across his chest, anchoring him to the glass with a pressure that was possessive, but never cruel. His cock slowly hardening again inside of Mydei. 

And then, the rhythm returned.

The room filled with the sound of skin on skin, the sharp wetness of their bodies colliding, the thud of Mydei’s breath against the window. Candles flickered wildly in their pools of wax, casting golden glows across the fogged-up glass. Phainon kissed the back of his neck, mouth open and hot against damp skin, and held him through every motion until Mydei gave himself over again.

“You love this,” Phainon growled softly. “Bent over and filled until you forget your name."

Mydei arched, neck bare and vulnerable, hands trembling now not from collapse but from need rekindled, want sharpened by being seen, by being held through his breaking point and now drawn back to life through touch alone. Logically, he shouldn’t even have been able to survive a third round but he wanted Phainon.

No. He needed Phainon. He needed someone to shoulder the weight of all his burdens. For once in his life, he wanted to be selfish. Mydei had never once wanted the throne nor did he ask for his life to be filled with worries and fear. All he wanted was the freedom to choose how he wanted to live his life. 

And Phainon was no different.

Phainon's chest ached whenever he thought about Mydei. The kind that burned clean through a man’s spine and left only ash. But it never went away. It worsened . It clung to his ribs like ivy, wrapped around his throat every time Mydei laughed, or looked at someone else, or walked out of his reach.

The dreams he had made sense now.

It has always been about Mydei. 

Phainon couldn’t take it anymore as he flipped Mydei around so that he was now facing the blonde, white fluids mixed with water droplets leaking down the side of his leg as Phainon surged forward, kissing him hard.

It was everything he had been holding back for years, decades, lifetimes of quiet longing and restrained desire exploding into one desperate, fevered moment. He had finally found the person he’d been searching for across different timelines and ages, and now that he had it, he refused to let it go.

He kissed Mydei like the world was ending—like this was the last breath before the plunge, like the stars themselves would collapse if he didn’t. His hands moved up to Mydei’s face, cupping his cheeks, thumbs brushing just beneath his eyes with reverence even as his lips claimed his.

And Mydei melted.

At first stunned, he trembled under the force of it, lips frozen—but only for a moment. Then he gave in. Like something inside him shattered—something that had been waiting, aching, dying to be touched like this. His arms curled around Phainon as if he needed proof that this wasn’t another dream.

Their breaths tangled. The world outside the bath, outside this moment, didn’t exist. Just the feel of each other—the rush of heartbeats, the warmth of skin, the unbearable gravity of finally, finally touching.

They pulled apart as Phainon aligned himself and re-entered Mydei once more. Their mouths crushed against each other again, teeth grazing lip, breath stolen between the clash and slide of tongues. One of Phainon’s hands rose to cup Mydei’s jaw, tilting his face with care despite the force behind the kiss—as if he needed him to feel the intensity and Mydei moaned, letting Phainon devour him, consume him.

Their mouths moved in tandem now, fast, then slower, then deep and hungry again. Each press of lip to lip was a question. Each breath stolen between them an answer.

Phainon kissed him like he wanted to disappear inside him.

Like if he didn’t hold him tighter, he might vanish.

Like this kiss could brand something into his soul that all the roughness before hadn’t managed to say.

With their bodies still fused, Phainon looped his arms under Mydei’s thighs, Mydei’s legs instinctively wrapped around Phainon and clung on tightly, Phainon moved them back indoors like he weighed nothing. Still, he continued fucking into Mydei, splitting him open with his cock even as they moved to the kitchen counter. Afraid that if he stopped, Mydei would leave and disappear.

The cold marble counter met them in silence as Phainon set Mydei down slowly, never letting go even as Mydei’s back met the smooth surface. His hands stayed on him, dragging from hips to thighs, then up to ribs, as though checking every part was still real, still his.

Phainon leaned in, his palm coming to rest against Mydei’s cheek. Damp skin. Warm. Breathing. Eyes open and watching him with that maddening, unbearable softness.

“Are you still good, my love?” he asked, voice low. Controlled. But there was a tremble beneath the words—an old fear trying to claw its way out.

Mydei didn’t answer right away. He raised his hand slowly, fingers weaving into Phainon’s hair with a ghost of a touch, grounding them both.

“You could never hurt me, Phainon,” Mydei murmured.

He meant it. Not out of naivety. Not because he didn’t know what Phainon was capable of.

Mydei wasn’t blind to the shadows that curled around the edges of Phainon’s heart. He’d seen them before—in flashes of rage, in the way he burned with jealousy, in the way he looked at other people like he wanted to unmake them from existence. Mydei had seen darkness before, had been raised in the ruins of a crumbling kingdom, and watched his father go mad from power and blood.

But Phainon’s darkness wasn’t the kind that swallowed. It wasn’t a void.

It was pain, tightly wound into something sharp and divine. And underneath it, there was tenderness—buried deep, hidden beneath layers of hardship and grief, but there. And Mydei had seen it in Aedes Elysiae.

In the way Phainon had looked at him like he was something sacred.

Phainon didn’t move. His body was still between Mydei’s legs, his hands at Mydei’s ribs and cheek, but his eyes stared through him—distant. Haunted. He bent forward, letting his forehead rest against Mydei’s, as though he couldn’t bear the weight of that look in Mydei’s eyes anymore.

He didn’t understand it.

Didn’t understand how Mydei could still love him after everything. After all the cycles. All the lives. Even when he’d burned, consumed, destroyed—how could Mydei look at him like he was worthy of anything?

How could he hold onto that same love for 33 million cycles, across 200 billion years, without once asking for more?

Phainon had seen empires rise and fall, had watched the world collapse under their own weight. Then, he witnessed the universe reset like clockwork. But nothing had made less sense than this—than the constant, unwavering affection in Mydei’s gaze.

It scared him more than death.

Because if Mydei ever stopped loving him… there would be nothing left worth returning to.

His thumb brushed against Mydei’s cheek again, reverent.

And still he said nothing. Because there were no words that could hold the weight of what this was.

Instead, Phainon’s hands dragged down Mydei’s sides again, over the rise of his chest, down onto his hips. He leaned in, brushing his lips against the corner of Mydei’s mouth—not kissing. Just feeling. Just reminding him. Then he slowly began to grind his hips into Mydei’s once more, working back up to his fervent pace.

Phainon carefully pushed Mydei’s legs further apart and lifted his thighs before resting them on his shoulder, making his already swelling cock seem to go much deeper than before. Mydei’s lips parted and a little pleased gasp escaped as he scrambled to hold onto the ledge of the kitchen counter. 

“I’m going to take care of you so just relax.” Phainon promised, cupping Mydei’s face in his hands.

Mydei felt his hole go taut as Phainon’s cock glided smoothly with the lubrication from the previous load still in Mydei, making him feel every inch. His own cock is painfully hard as it leaked and pressed against his abs. He let out an embarrassingly loud moan as Phainon rubbed against his prostate, causing him to clench around Phainon who groaned.

Then, Phainon grinned viciously as he moved one hand down to Mydei’s cock giving it a few hard strokes before covering the slit with his thumb, denying the pre-cum from spilling as payback. Then, he bent down and mercilessly licked and sucked on Mydei’s pink nipples. Mydei jerked his hips helplessly against Phainion, as if begging Phainon to go harder.

“HKS… P-Phainon. Faster .” Mydei pleaded, raw and desperate. His face flushed, lips parted with drool threatening to slip out. 

Just the sight of Mydei looking so wrecked, being so needy and wanting, hearing him beg for Phainon to touch him instantly made Phainon’s cock twitch. He continued to kiss and squeeze Mydei’s absurdly large pecs, worshipping them for a little while longer before finally giving in.

“As you wish.”

Phainon tightened his grip on Mydei’s hips and moved at a punishing pace, overwhelming Mydei with sensation. Tears were beginning to well up in Mydei’s eyes as Phainon continued to praise and kiss him through it. Mydei wasn’t the type to be loud as all his noises thus far had been soft, but enough for Phainoin to hear. However, Phainon moved like it was his personal mission to make the entire building hear Mydei’s moans.

In the heat of the moment, Mydei didn’t care, putting all his concentration into the feel of Phainon in him as Phainon continued to abuse his prostate. He was literally about to meet Kephale themself at this rate. Then his cock twitched once, twice and he couldn’t hold back any longer as he came hard, spurting the sticky fluid all the way on his face. 

Still, Phainon continued to move, chasing his own high as he fucked Mydei through his own. He bent lower and dragged his tongue along the side of Mydei’s throat where the cum had been, all the way up to Mydei’s face. Mydei gritted his teeth, his hands clawed at Phainon’s back from the overstimulation as Phainon looked directly into his eyes, holding his gaze.

Mydei wasn’t sure when it happened or how long they had gone on for before they had shifted to the room or when the desperate heat between their mouths turned into something softer, quieter. When the storm in his chest gave way to something unbearably tender.

The last thing he remembered clearly was Phainon’s hand against his jaw, thumb brushing the corner of his lips, as if he were afraid Mydei would disappear if he looked away for even a second. The way Phainon whispered his name between kisses, like a prayer trying to remember itself.

And then… nothing.

Just warmth.

A gentle weight pulling him under.

Sleep claimed him like a wave. He didn’t know when it had taken him—whether he’d passed out from exhaustion or sheer emotional collapse. Everything had bled together: the bath, the confession, Phainon’s breath against his skin, the feeling of finally being held like he was someone who mattered.

When he finally woke up, he found himself in his bed.

The room was quiet, save for the low whirr of the fan and the subtle shifting of bedsheets with every breath. Morning light slipped through the curtains in pale stripes, illuminating the soft curve of Phainon’s back beside him. He was still asleep, bare-chested, hair a little messy from the pillow.

Mydei blinked slowly, unsure if this was another dream. His limbs and lower back ached like it hadn’t before, though he was clean and showered. For a moment, he almost reached out to touch Phainon’s face—to make sure he was real.

But then he noticed it.

Something weighty and cool around his finger.

His breath caught.

There, resting snugly on his left hand, was the signet ring. The very same signet ring he had thought lost years ago. Gold and obsidian. The symbol of Castrum Kremnos’s royal bloodline, unmistakable in its design.

It pulsed against his skin like a heartbeat.

His eyes widened, heart thundering in his chest. He hadn’t seen it in years , ever since he moved back into the inner city of Castrum Kremnos. So how was Phainon able to get his hands on it?

The air shifted with a strange, quiet gravity.

Mydei sat up slightly, careful not to wake Phainon. He stared down at the ring, turning his hand slowly in the light. A million questions surged through him, tangled with disbelief and the beginnings of something that looked dangerously like hope.

Phainon shifted behind him in his sleep, one hand reaching instinctively toward where Mydei had been lying. Still half-asleep, he mumbled something incoherent—his brows furrowed like he could feel the weight of the moment even in his dreams.

Mydei looked back at him.

And though his mind was in chaos, though the ring burned against his skin like a mystery he wasn’t ready to solve yet… he smiled. Just faintly.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t alone.

Notes:

,,,lemme know ur thoughts bc boy, i have no clue if its spicy enough or not... but not to worry bc next chapter, exciting plot related things will happen! the next time there'll be smut will probably be a few chapters later... uhmm but yeah! things are heating up. phainon's story will be explained soon. but i hope this chapter had enough hints for you to figure out what is really up with him hehe. as always, thank u for reading and big big thank you if you decide to leave a comment bc i do try to read and respond to as many as i can!!!!!! i do take ur feedback into account too. after all, this isnt just my story now. its something that's shared with the readers so yeah!!!!!! but with that said, i probably wont write myphai.... dont think i can. but pls trust me when i say mydei will be the dominant one next time....

ok see u in the next chapter hehe

tumblr: grayyxv / X: aschxv

Chapter 9: Chronos

Notes:

wanted to update just before 3.5 dropped so u guys will have something to read in case i spend all my time playing hsr... this chapter is just lore/worldbuilding so i hope you wont be too disappointed... but at least... aglaea is here!!!! and more cipher!!!!!!!!

With all the clues Cipher had painstakingly gathered, she hit what felt like a suffocating dead end.

She finally had a name: Hephaestion. But for all the supposed significance that name carried, there was barely anything concrete about the man himself. No dark secrets. No criminal records. Not even so much as a traffic fine. Everything about Hephaestion’s documented life painted a frustratingly mundane picture.

He’d grown up by the sea on the outskirts of Castrum Kremnos—a sleepy coastal town with a reputation for peace and predictability. Oddly enough, it was the same place where Mydei, despite being the crown prince, had spent most of his childhood. Their paths had clearly intertwined from early on, but the records didn’t say much about how… or why.

That alone wasn’t suspicious. Royal children often hid in plain sight, especially if they were part of complicated political arrangements. But what was suspicious, was how deeply obsessed Hephaestion remained with Mydei—even after Mydei had supposedly committed regicide.

Cipher leaned back in her chair, frowning at the holographic profile flickering above her desk. One would think a brutal betrayal—murdering the king—would be enough to snap someone out of their infatuation. But not Hephaestion. If anything, he’d doubled down, chasing Mydei across the world like a madman hell-bent on reclaiming a divine right.

It didn’t track. 

Unless, of course… it wasn’t Mydei who had murdered King Eurypon at all. But instead, it had been Hephaestion —and Mydei had taken the fall.

The theory was thin, but it made more sense than a lovesick stalker pursuing a man who’d murdered his own father figure. There was something wrong with the way Hephaestion behaved. Something unnerving in how his devotion didn’t falter, even when it should have shattered completely.

But Cipher couldn’t jump to conclusions. Not without proof.

And that led to her next problem.

Was Hephaestion even capable of murder?

Anaxa had graciously slipped her a thick file—school records, disciplinary reports, psych evaluations, all legally sealed but hacked open through Anaxa’s usual untraceable methods. Cipher had combed through it all with a fine-toothed comb, searching for anything out of place. A tendency for violence. A pattern of cruelty. Any sign of deviance.

There was nothing.

As a child and teen, Hephaestion had been nearly angelic. Teachers adored him. Classmates described him as gentle, considerate, and patient. He was top of his class, always polite, and though chronically ill, he never used it as an excuse. He volunteered at animal shelters. Wrote poetry for school journals. Played the harp.

The man practically oozed sincerity.

So how the hell had this boy grown into someone who could calmly orchestrate an empire-wide manhunt for the man he claimed to love? Where had the switch flipped? There was also the issue of someone from the friend group potentially leaking information about Mydei’s whereabouts too.

Cipher sighed and dropped her head onto the desk with a dull thud .

She didn’t get paid enough for this shit.

In truth, her job didn’t require this level of involvement. She’d been contracted to protect Mydei, not psychoanalyze his deranged ex. Hell, in most of her past gigs, she didn’t even know her clients’ real names, let alone their tragic royal backstories. Spy work was supposed to be simple. Detached.

But somewhere along the way, she’d gone off-script.

Maybe it was the way Mydei listened and related to how detached she felt sometimes, or the way he would agree to things he didn’t like just because it’d make Cipher happy. Or perhaps she enjoyed gossiping with Hyacine and Castorice like highschoolers. How Caelus and his gang would hangout with her on days that Mydei wasn’t in school. Phainon, though he had his flaws, would always make sure he had her coffee order memorized.

Titans, even Anaxa, for all his morally grey tendencies, had been kind in his own, brutal way.

At some point, this mission had stopped being just a job.

The university was a front, her identity a fabrication, her purpose a state-secret. But the memories she had made there—the laughter, the shared drinks, the Enstagram and TeleSlate group chats, the weird late-night conversations in hallways—they were real. As real as it got.

And if real danger was closing in on them?

Then Cipher would be the one to meet it head-on.

She groaned again and scrubbed her hands over her face.

“When the hell did I get so soft ?”

She stared at Hephaestion’s smiling school photo again. His harmless face felt like a mockery. Cipher narrowed her eyes. There just has to be something off about Hephaestion but, what? She scanned her notes one last time, hoping for a missed clue. But nothing stood out. Finally, she shut the file with a tired huff. 

It was almost time for her dreaded meeting with Aglaea.

Aglaea’s return to Okehema should have been a cause for celebration. After all, she’d been gone for months on some secretive, high-stakes errand assigned by Cerydra herself—founder of Chrysos and queen of micromanaging everyone’s lives from several continents away. Now that she was finally back (and with the triplets in tow, no less), Cipher had looked forward to their long-overdue discussion about their favorite golden boy: Phainon.

There was just one tiny problem.

Said discussion required Aglaea and Anaxa to be in the same room.

For more than five minutes.

Without attempting to strangle each other.

Frankly, Cipher wasn’t optimistic.

Officially, Aglaea was listed in the Chrysos records as Cipher’s mentor. Unofficially? She was more like a godmother, with a liberal dash of overbearing aunt energy. They weren’t far apart in age—Aglaea had her young prodigy era, Cipher had her child spy phase—but the woman still had a frustrating habit of fussing over her like an overprotective mum. Whether it was forcing her to eat something green, nagging her about sleeping properly, or insisting she text when she got home, Aglaea played the role to perfection.

Anaxa, on the other hand, was her actual mentor. The terrifying kind. The kind who made her read theoretical essays at age thirteen and taught her how to dismantle a bomb with a spoon. Cipher had learned everything she knew from him—hacking, fieldcraft, how to flirt with border control agents to get past immigration. You know. Normal things.

But the real mystery wasn’t their individual résumés. It was just how on Amphoreus Aglaea and Anaxa had ever crossed paths.

As far as Cipher knew, the only thing they had in common was a mutual boss and a long, simmering tension that could only be described as: “We were definitely involved in something messy, and now we can’t make eye contact without causing atmospheric instability.”

Aglaea despised Anaxa’s lack of empathy—his cold efficiency, his moral flexibility, and the fact that he once referred to love as an “evolutionary misfire.” Anaxa, on the other hand, found Aglaea insufferably idealistic. Too soft. Too eager to please. Always advocating for people who, in his opinion, didn’t deserve the energy.

To Cipher, it was like watching divorced parents fight at parent-teacher conferences. No raised voices—just biting remarks, passive-aggressive smiles, and enough veiled hostility to set the air on fire.

Still, she couldn’t bring herself to hate either of them.

They were, in their own chaotic ways, deeply loyal. And maybe, just maybe, they both cared about her more than they’d ever admit.

She let out a long sigh and stood from her desk, sliding on her backpack with the resigned air of someone preparing to walk into a diplomatic minefield.

First stop: Anaxa’s office.

May the titans have mercy on her soul.

When Cipher stepped into Anaxa’s office, she was hit with an unnatural, heavy silence—the kind that didn't just suggest tension, but promised it.

The room was bathed in the warm glow of the lamps lit dimly around the room, but she somehow still felt it was too exposed. Aglaea was already seated in the far corner of the room, angled away from Anaxa just enough to make it obvious she was deliberately not looking at him. 

She cradled a delicate porcelain teacup in both hands like it was a shield, pinky slightly lifted in that elegant way she did when she was trying to stay composed. Her expression was perfectly serene, but the way her eyes flicked once—just once—toward Anaxa’s direction betrayed her.

Anaxa, as expected, was planted in his high-backed chair like a statue carved out of irritation and caffeine. His fingers moved swiftly across the keyboard, the faint clack-clack of keystrokes echoing in the quiet. Cipher didn’t even try to guess what he was doing. “Research,” probably. Or pretending to be busy so he didn’t have to engage.

Judging from the atmosphere, Cipher suspected this exact setup had been playing out for at least twenty minutes before she arrived. She could picture it too clearly: Aglaea arriving early like the responsible adult she was, Anaxa suggesting they begin immediately in his usual brisk, emotionless tone—and Aglaea coolly refusing, insisting they wait for Cipher before any discussion could commence.

Classic.

Cipher cleared her throat awkwardly and made her way to the seat directly between them, the designated neutral zone, where she could act as both buffer and hostage. She adjusted her backpack straps and offered a half-smile to no one in particular.

“Cifera is here,” Anaxa said flatly, barely looking up from his screen. “Shall we begin?”

Aglaea placed her cup down on the side table with quiet grace, the porcelain clicking gently against the saucer. She didn’t so much as glance at Anaxa. Instead, she shifted slightly forward in her chair and turned her full attention to Cipher, her warm smile a little too forced.

“Cifera, how have you been recently?” she asked, voice soft but clear. “Are you eating properly, dear? You look a little tired.”

Cipher froze in place for a beat, her eyes darting nervously between them. She could feel the temperature drop two degrees from the passive-aggression in the air. She sweatdropped, internally kicking herself for not faking a stomach ache and staying in bed.

“Um… I’ve been okay, Agy! Just busy with school, homework and—uh—trying not to die. You know.”

Aglaea gave a soft, sympathetic hum, clearly about to continue fussing when Anaxa abruptly cut in.

“ Goldweaver, ” he said sharply, his voice laced with the kind of cold impatience he reserved for meetings that had already gone off-track. “What do you know about Phainon?”

Cipher flinched slightly.

Here they go.

Aglaea let out a soft sigh, placing her teacup back on its saucer with a quiet clink.

“I believe you have your own theories, don’t you, Professor?” she said smoothly, her voice dipped in subtle challenge. “Why don’t you share what you’ve dug up before I explain my side of the story?”

Anaxa’s fingers paused mid-type. His eyes flicked toward her with an expression bordering on exasperation, brows twitching ever so slightly into a furrow.

Cipher, seated awkwardly between them, tensed. She should’ve known Aglaea wouldn’t sit passively through this. Their little game of intellectual one-upmanship had been ongoing for years—and neither of them ever walked away without drawing blood.

With a short, irritated breath through his nose, Anaxa turned back to his screen. His fingers resumed their rhythm, brisk and efficient. A few sharp keystrokes and the wall-mounted monitor behind him flickered to life, displaying a profile. Or at least, the official version of a file. There was a file, yes—but it was like someone had painted a portrait of Phainon and then sliced out the background with a scalpel.

Line after line of text appeared, interspersed with Anaxa’s digital annotations—sharp red arrows and question marks pointing at the conspicuous gaps. Cipher leaned forward slightly, scanning the contents. Even at a glance, the file was suspicious. There was no information about his family, medical history, educational records— nothing.

Aglaea gave the screen one disinterested glance before scoffing lightly. She resumed sipping her tea as if someone had just shown her a crude finger painting and asked for a critique.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she asked coolly. “You and I both know he isn’t really from Okehema. Those records are as fake as Caenis’ attempt at praising you for your research.”

Anaxa's jaw twitched. “Why did you do it?” he asked, tone clipped, his patience beginning to fray at the edges.

Aglaea’s smile curled faintly, coy and unreadable. “Would you believe me if I said Cerydra wanted me to?”

“That’s not why I’m asking.”

Cipher blinked, her gaze darting between the two of them like she was watching a play in a language she barely understood. The tension in the room had become heavy and brittle, like glass on the verge of cracking.

She had no idea what was going on anymore. Aglaea had faked Phainon’s records? On Cerydra’s orders? But why? Why would the president of Chrysos want someone like Phainon hidden in plain sight?

And most of all—what exactly was Phainon?

The silence that followed was tense, stretched thin by years of unspoken history between the two adults in the room. Then, as if sensing Cipher’s complete confusion, Anaxa clicked again—this time more forcefully—and a new image replaced the file on the screen.

Cipher leaned in instinctively. What she saw made her heart skip.

It was an old photograph—no, older than that. A scanned image of a worn, yellowed parchment, delicate-looking and obviously ancient. In the center of the parchment was the black-and-white portrait of a young boy. His hair was shorter, his expression much lighter, but his eyes—

They were unmistakable. They were Phainon’s.

Beside the image, in fading, ornate script, was a profile:

Birth Name: Khaslana
Origin: Aedes Elysiae
Date of Birth: xx.xx.350

A wax seal at the bottom corner read: Aedes Elysiae.

Cipher stared, eyes widening. Her lips parted, but no words came out. More than a hundred years ago. That boy— Phainon —should be long dead.

But he wasn’t.

And that fact alone made the silence in the room feel heavier.

The image finally seemed to catch Aglaea’s attention. For the first time in their conversation, she set her teacup down—carefully, deliberately—onto the table. The faint clink of porcelain against wood rang like a bell of intrigue. She stood slowly, her eyes narrowing as they focused on the parchment.

A smile tugged at her lips, small and knowing. She pointed to the image of the boy.

“What are your thoughts, Professor?” she asked, tone almost playful. “Do you think this boy is Phainon?”

Anaxa didn’t answer immediately. His frown deepened, and his eyes lingered on the screen.

“Aedes Elysiae…” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

It was a name wrapped in mystery, almost myth. The only surviving accounts described it as the sacred land of Oronyx, Titan of Time—a place shrouded in mystery. The Elysians, devoted worshippers of Oronyx, were isolated people. Few ever left their borders, and those who did were said to bring with them a terrible curse. In turn, outsiders were never welcomed, often turned away at the gates or worse—vanished without a trace.

After the Black Plague, that already-precarious wall of silence became permanent. The country, already secretive, was cut off entirely. Then came the fire—a massive, consuming inferno that swept across the land. Officially, it had been to purge the sickness. But many suspected there was more to it: a deliberate erasure, a cleansing of something far older and darker than disease.

Today, Aedes Elysiae was little more than scorched earth. A ruin. A ghost nation. Most had forgotten it ever existed at all.

Anaxa folded his arms, eyes still fixed on the parchment. “There are barely any reliable records. The land’s considered dead. Its history, wiped.”

He continued, voice more focused now, slipping into his academic tone.

“Scientists have always attributed the region’s instability to natural causes—the magnetic field anomalies, erratic weather patterns, the way it seems to repel technology. Travel was nearly impossible, and survival even harder.”

He paused.

“But the spiritualists had their own theories. They believed the Titans punished the Elysians. That their ancient practices—divination, witchcraft—angered the divine. That the destruction of Aedes Elysiae was divine retribution.”

Aglaea raised an eyebrow. “You don’t strike me as a man of faith, Professor.”

“I’m not,” Anaxa said plainly. “I’m a man of logic. But even logic has its limits.”

His hand moved to the mouse, slowly zooming in on the boy’s face.

“If magic doesn’t exist, and time travel isn’t a technology we’ve developed yet… then we have to consider the remaining possibility.”

He turned slightly toward Cipher now, as if to include her in the explanation. She still looked stunned, but she was listening.

“There are theoretical models,” he continued, “about how our universe might not be the only one. That it’s just one leaf on an ‘Imaginary Tree.’ Each leaf a universe. Each branch a reality.”

He tapped the monitor lightly.

“If that’s true—then perhaps Phainon came from another leaf. A different universe. One that splintered from ours a long time ago.”

Cipher swallowed. “So… you’re saying he’s not from this world?”

Anaxa gave a slow nod. “Perhaps he never was.”

Aglaea clapped her hands lightly, the sound sharp in the still air of the office. Cipher couldn’t tell if it was genuine applause or the kind of mocking gesture Aglaea enjoyed slipping in when she thought no one could call her out. Her smile was pleasant enough, but her eyes glimmered with something unreadable.

“Well said, professor,” she drawled, each syllable dripping with a delicate mixture of praise and provocation. “You were so close to the truth.”

Anaxa’s eyes narrowed, his posture stiffening in the leather chair. He leaned forward just slightly, elbows resting on the armrests, gaze fixed on her with surgical precision.

Explain , that stare demanded.

Aglaea met it for a few beats too long, unruffled, before turning her attention to Cipher as if to deflect the weight of the moment.

“Frankly speaking, neither Cerydra nor I know the full story either,” she said at last, her voice level but faintly tinged with intrigue. “But there is one thing we can confirm. That image is the Phainon we know. He is from the same universe as we are.”

Her manicured finger tapped once against the weathered photograph displayed on the screen — the face of Khaslana, no, Phainon, staring back from another time.

Anaxa’s fingers stilled on the desk as he mentally rifled through the vast library of theories he had collected over the years. Multiple universes, quantum anchoring, temporal dissonance — nothing slotted neatly into place. His mind snagged on the one anomaly he couldn’t entirely dismiss: the unstable magnetic fields of Aedes Elysiae. Perhaps they weren’t simply unstable. Perhaps they were symptomatic of something far stranger.

“The real, flourishing version of Aedes Elysiae could be a bubble trapped in time,” he said finally, his voice carrying the weight of someone thinking aloud and already building the scaffolding of an argument.

He lifted a hand and traced an invisible outline in the air as he spoke.

“Imagine our universe as a leaf. Aedes Elysiae is a sunspot on that leaf — a burn where the light scorched too long. Damaged. Left in the shadows. Unable to grow with the rest of the leaf.”
His voice dropped, a dry edge creeping in. “Or, in our case, unable to progress with the rest of time.”

It was a concept so absurd it should have collapsed under its own weight, but in this room, with the smell of Aglaea’s tea curling through the air and the worn photograph still on the screen, it was almost possible to believe.

But that didn’t answer the question.

What was Phainon’s real purpose?

If only they understood the reason—truly understood it. Why did he come to the future? Was it to escape the ruin of the past, to outlive its destruction? Or had he chased something the past could never give him, believing the future might hold the answer?

“It’s my turn to ask.” Anaxa’s voice was low, cautious. “How are you so sure Phainon came from the past? Why do you trust him?”

Aglaea’s gaze wavered for a moment, her fingers drumming softly against the table before stilling. A faint crease formed between her brows, the kind that betrayed thoughts she couldn’t easily put into words. Cipher, meanwhile, had long abandoned any hope of following this like a straight line. She slouched back in her chair, arms loosely crossed, wearing the look of someone watching a chess match in which all the pieces were made of smoke.

Without another word, Aglaea reached into her satchel and drew out a book so worn it looked as if the leather binding would crumble at a careless touch. The gold-embossed title was faint but legible: As I’ve Written.

Cipher’s eyes widened, almost comically. She had heard that name before—not in dusty archives or whispered legend, but in theatres. It was the title of the movie Phainon had once starred in. But this wasn’t a screenplay.  What on Amphoreus did that movie have anything to do with Phainon’s past?

Anaxa stiffened as soon as recognition struck. The book wasn’t fiction at all—it was a grimoire, centuries old, believed lost to time. A piece of history coveted by philosophers, collectors, and conspiracists alike.

Aglaea opened it carefully, revealing brittle pages marked by age. “A little over seven years ago, Phainon met Tribbie in Janusopolis. He asked her about something called the ‘Chrysos’… and showed her this.”

The page she turned to bore the heading: The Triplets of Fate. The inked characters were in an ancient hand, but the names and descriptions unmistakably mirrored the Tribios triplets they knew today.

“According to Phainon,” Aglaea continued, “this book was with him the moment he woke in our time. He claimed to remember us—vaguely—from long ago. Of course, we didn’t believe him at first, but…” She turned to another chapter, The Chessmaster Monarch. The text was mostly blurred, the ink long smeared into illegibility, but the title alone was enough to make Anaxa’s chest tighten. The greatest chess player he knew—the only one who could possibly fit—was Cerydra.

She flipped through more empty pages, until two more titles emerged from the blankness: Servant of Death and Weaver of Gold. Both names struck too close to home for coincidence.

Anaxa swallowed, his mind running faster than he could order his thoughts. The weight of the book in the room felt unnatural, as though it bent reality just by existing.

“Phainon was most likely… pushed out of the bubble,” Aglaea said at last, her tone deliberate, “and ended up here—years, maybe centuries ahead of where he should have been.”

Anaxa leaned back, exhaling slowly. A man from the past was already strange enough. But a man who carried an ancient text that might foretell the future—or perhaps came from a different timeline entirely—that was something else. And if this was a trick, it was too perfect, too laced with truths only a handful of people alive could know.

He shook his head slightly. “If the world wasn’t ending then, and he had no plan to destroy it… why would he be pushed forward at all?”

Aglaea closed the book with a soft, almost tender motion. A shadow of a smile touched her lips, touched with something like pity.

“Assuming Phainon really was the boy Khaslana from a hundred years ago… perhaps his only reason for coming here was simple.”

She met Anaxa’s eyes.

“Perhaps… he came to find what he had once lost. His happiness.”

-x-

“Why do you keep calling me Phainon?”

The young boy’s voice was soft, almost lost in the gentle sigh of the wind. His white-silver hair caught the sunlight like spun glass, each strand glimmering against the sea of amber grass. Khaslana—though here, everyone called him Phainon—lay sprawled on his back, hands tucked under his head, feeling the warmth of the earth soak into his skin.

The air was heavy with the scent of blooming azaleas, their coral-pink petals swaying lazily in the breeze. Above, the sky was a pale gold, diffusing the sunlight into something almost dreamlike.

On the swing tied to the gnarled branch of an old tree, Cyrene tilted her head, the sunlight spilling across her cotton-candy-pink hair. Her legs dangled, toes brushing the grass, and she idly kicked forward, the rope creaking with each slow sway. She took her time before answering, her lips curving into a knowing smile.

“Because it means ‘bright’ or ‘shining,’” she said, drawing out the words as though they were a secret meant to be savoured. “Something befitting of a hero like yourself, don’t you think~? ♪”

She winked, and for a second, Phainon caught a glimmer in her eyes—not just playful mischief, but something heavier, something she wasn’t going to say aloud.

“…If you say so…” he muttered, turning his gaze away, letting it drift to the warm horizon where the fields seemed to melt into light.

It was another lazy day, untouched by urgency. No classes. No work. Just the two of them and the quiet. The wind passed through the chimes hanging on the tree, their clear notes tumbling through the air like tiny bells. Near their feet, Fig Stew, the ginger cat, crouched low before pouncing at Mem, Cyrene’s snowy-white cat. The two rolled and darted in the grass, kicking up tiny bursts of petals as they chased each other in uneven circles.

“Say…” Cyrene’s voice came softer this time, almost cautious. She let the swing slow to a stop before slipping off, padding barefoot across the grass. Dropping down beside Phainon, she folded her hands behind her head and stared up at the same sunlit canopy he was watching. “Are you still having those dreams?”

Phainon hesitated before nodding, the faint furrow of his brows betraying him.

“Maybe you should leave Aedes Elysiae,” she said lightly, though her tone carried a weight that didn’t match the playful hum of her words. “Have a change of scenery. Who knows, your nightmares might stop afterwards~”

“I can’t just leave you and my parents here,” he replied quickly, sitting up on his elbows to look at her. “What if something bad happens while I’m gone? Or… what if Fig Stew forgets me by the time I come back?”

Cyrene rolled onto her side, propping her cheek against her palm. “Then it’ll be a story worth telling when you return,” she said with a teasing lilt. “The kind of romantic story they’ll whisper about forever.”

And though she smiled as if it were all in jest, her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer than it should have—like she was already imagining a version of him far from this sunlit village, somewhere he hadn’t yet dared to go.

He let out a long sigh, watching a stray cloud drift overhead. Cyrene gave a soft laugh and reached over, rapping her knuckles lightly against his head.

“See? You’re doing it again. Thinking too much. If you really want something, you should go for it. You’ve been dying to go to Castrum Kremnos for as long as I’ve known you.”

“But…” He hesitated, staring into the distance where the orange-leafed forest met the horizon. “We’re cursed, aren’t we? They say if anyone tries to leave, it’ll bring disaster upon Aedes Elysiae.”

She leaned back on her hands, the swing above her creaking faintly in the breeze. “It’ll be fine,” she said with that confident lilt of hers, the one that always made him believe her no matter how impossible the situation sounded. “After all, I’m the priestess of Oronyx, remember~?”

Cyrene was special, though Phainon could never quite pin down the extent of her abilities. She made light of it, but there was a quiet gravity in her that rarely showed. When he had once told her about his recurring nightmares—the endless ruins, the shadowed figure, the weight of something he could never name—she hadn’t laughed it off like others might have. Instead, she’d closed her eyes, murmured a prayer, and told him his fate was tied to the Worldbearer card, the one linked with remembrance .

Phainon hadn’t understood what it meant, but she had smiled like it wasn’t anything to fear. “I’m in the dream too, aren’t I? A cute girl like me would definitely protect you~” she had teased, tapping his nose. Yet in the depths of her eyes, he had caught a flicker of something else—something she wasn’t saying.

Now, she lay back beside him, her shoulder brushing against his. The scent of azaleas and sun-warmed grass surrounded them.

“Hmm…” she hummed, her tone suddenly softer. “I think you should be selfish for once. You’ve spent your whole life doing things for others—keeping them safe, making them happy, sacrificing every piece of yourself. Don’t you think it’s time to think about what you want?”

The question was like a jolt to his chest. His lips parted, but for a moment no words came.

“I… I just want…”

She turned her head to look at him fully, her expression caught between fondness and something bittersweet. “You’ll figure it out,” she said, almost in a whisper, as if she already knew he wouldn’t be here much longer. Her fingers brushed against his briefly—warm, grounding—before she rolled onto her back again, watching the leaves above.

And somewhere in the quiet, Phainon couldn’t shake the feeling that this moment, too, was something he’d someday remember from far, far away.

But it wasn’t until Phainon was sixteen that Cyrene’s long-guarded plan was finally ready. She had never told him the details—only that one day, he’d need to leave Aedes Elysiae, and when that day came, she’d make sure it happened.

By then, the small, gilded confines of Aedes Elysiae had started to feel suffocating to him. His dreams grew sharper, more intrusive, as though something beyond those marble walls was calling to him. Cyrene seemed to notice.

“You need a holiday,” she’d said, her tone light, almost sing-song. “Just a few days in Castrum Kremnos. I’ll handle everything here while you’re gone.”

But the more she tried to put him at ease, the tighter the knot in his stomach became. Castrum Kremnos was on the other side of the world—an entirely different continent. Why so far? And why now?

The night of their departure, she woke him from a deep sleep. “Time to go,” she whispered, already dressed for travel, a faint smile playing on her lips.

Phainon blinked against the darkness, his head heavy and fogged. The air felt strange, almost thick, as if it wanted to pull him back to bed. Cyrene was tireless, though, moving briskly as she pressed a backpack into his hands—one she had already packed without his input.

He barely had time to protest before she was steering him through quiet streets, the echo of their footsteps swallowed by the night. When they reached the station, she crouched slightly so her eyes met his.

“It’s going to be a looooong journey,” she said with a teasing lilt. “Sleep on the train, okay? You’ll thank me later.”

He tried to speak—tried to ask her what exactly she was sending him into—but his voice felt sluggish. She ushered him aboard with a final, “Good luck, Phainon,” before the train doors closed between them.

The rhythmic clatter of the rails lulled him into sleep faster than he expected.

However, when he woke again, the world had changed.

He was in a bed, the sheets cool and unfamiliar. Sunlight streamed through a window, blinding him for a moment before his vision adjusted. The last thing he remembered was being on a train. So, how did he end up in bed? 

Panic spiked through his chest. He stumbled out of bed, rushing to the nearest window. Beyond it stretched a sprawling city unlike anything he’d seen before—towers of white marble crowned in gold, their spires catching the light like fire. In the far distance, a massive gleaming structure jutted into the sky: the Lance of Fury, a landmark he’d only ever heard of in stories.

Castrum Kremnos.

Cyrene had known all along he would wake here.

And he had no idea what to do next.

His heart dropped. Panic clawed at his chest as he scrambled for his bag, fingers fumbling with the buckles until they popped open. He dumped everything onto the floor in a disheveled heap—two books with worn covers, an unfamiliar sleek device that he would later learn was called a cellphone , and an envelope sealed with Cyrene’s handwriting.

His breath caught. The sight of her looping script made his hands tremble as he tore it open, the sound of ripping paper deafening in the otherwise still air.

To my dearest worldbearer;

By the time you read this letter, you should hopefully be in Castrum Kremnos. You might also realize that much time has passed. 

The truth is… your dreams were always a part of you. They were memories of different lives you’ve led. You spent a long time trying to find the best ending for everyone. This time, I think you should find your own happiness too~! Sorry I had to deceive you. But I feared that you would be stuck forever if I had never pushed you to leave. 

If you find yourself lost, make sure to look for the group of people in your dreams—the Chrysos Heirs. Of course, I’ll be hiding somewhere too~ ♪

When you find me again in the future, it’ll be a different Cyrene. But I’m sure the other Cyrene will greet you like an old friend. Don’t worry about Aedes Elysiae. If you ever miss it, the miracle of Oronyx will surely guide you back. 

Remember to live in the present and may you truly find your happiness this time. Like I’ve said, this will be a romantic story like none that has come before. See you soon~ ♪

Love, Cyrene

By the time he reached the end— Love, Cyrene —he was already staring down at the photograph that had fallen out with the letter. In it, they were smiling, pressed close together, their little furry companions nestled between them. That moment had been real. Warm. Safe.

Now, it felt impossibly far away.

Phainon sat back hard against the wall, the letter crumpling slightly in his grip. His mind was a storm—images of Cyrene’s smile, her laugh, the way she used to walk just ahead of him, trusting he’d follow. But now those memories tangled with the sharp sting of betrayal. She had known she was sending him away. She had decided for him.

A knot formed in his throat. He understood—he knew she wanted the best for him—but understanding did nothing to dull the hollow ache in his chest. It was the same as losing her, only worse, because this time she had been the one to let go.

His gaze drifted to the unfamiliar device, to the alien skyline beyond the window. This was not his home. He had no bearings, no allies, not a single coin to his name. Even the people she mentioned—the Chrysos Heirs —were nothing but blurry faces from half-remembered dreams.

He pressed the heel of his palm to his eyes, trying to keep the chaos in his mind from swallowing him whole. But the truth pressed in from all sides—he was adrift, torn from everything familiar, with only her letter and a fading photograph to cling to.

And for the first time in a long while, he felt utterly, hopelessly lost.

Until, a voice broke through the haze in Phainon’s mind.

“Oh! You’re finally awake!”

His eyes fluttered open to a stranger’s silhouette framed in the doorway. The young man had longish light brown hair that caught the pale morning light, and a smile that seemed almost too quick, too easy. He looked close to Phainon’s age, dressed in an unremarkable t-shirt and slacks—nothing ostentatious, nothing to suggest wealth or power. In some ways, that made Phainon even more uneasy.

“…I… Who are you?” Phainon’s voice rasped, the words tasting like sand.

“The name’s Ptolemy,” the man said, stepping inside. His tone was light, casual—like this was an ordinary meeting between friends. “A friend of mine saw you collapsed on the side of the road and brought you here to his home. Do you remember how it happened?”

Phainon’s brow furrowed. He searched his memory and found only scattered fragments, like torn paper scattered in the wind. “I… don’t know. Where am I? What year is it?”

“Seems like you’ve got a bad case of amnesia, huh?” Ptolemy replied with a small chuckle, though there was no mockery in it. “Lucky for you, you’re free to stay here as long as you like. In exchange, you just help out with our work. Come, I’ll show you around.”

Phainon didn’t move at first. Generosity from strangers was never without cost—that much life had taught him. And yet, something in Ptolemy’s voice was disarmingly plain, without the oily undertones of someone setting a trap. Still, his muscles remained taut, ready to spring if this ‘hospitality’ turned out to be a cage.

Eventually, he rose, following Ptolemy out of the room. The air was cooler here, touched by the scent of paper and dust. The house was larger than he’d expected, its rooms lined with shelves sagging under the weight of books—old, worn, and clearly well-used. Not a place for showpieces; these were meant to be read, studied. Still, for all its size, the place felt empty, as though the air itself held a silence that no amount of furniture could fill.

Outside, Ptolemy led him to a small clearing beside the house. A chalkboard stood against a weathered wall, surrounded by a handful of mismatched desks. It reminded Phainon—faintly, uncomfortably—of classrooms in Aedes Elysiae, though far humbler.

“It’s simple,” Ptolemy said, gesturing toward the space. “All you’ve gotta do is teach the kids how to read. You can read… right?”

Phainon gave a curt nod. “If it’s in English,” he muttered under his breath.

“Great.”

The tour continued into the neighbourhood—a modest collection of homes, gardens, and winding dirt paths. People waved to Ptolemy as they passed, their faces open and unguarded in a way that felt foreign to Phainon. He found himself studying them as if they might suddenly bare their teeth.

He could hardly believe that someone could be this generous without asking for something in return. Every step only deepened the tension in his chest. When they paused by a shaded bench, Phainon finally asked the question that had been gnawing at him.

“So, what’s the catch?”

Ptolemy looked at him for a moment, as if weighing how much to say. Then he gave a small, lopsided smile. “There isn’t one. A long time ago, someone pulled me out of a place I couldn’t escape. Saved me, no questions asked. Now I’m just passing it on.”

The simplicity of the statement hit harder than any grand speech. Phainon didn’t fully believe it—he wasn’t ready to—but something in Ptolemy’s eyes was steady, unflinching. And for the first time since waking, the coil of suspicion in his chest loosened, if only a fraction.

“Your friend… Where is he now?”

Ptolemy glanced toward the shuttered window, the pale sea light catching in his hair.
“He… moved back into the city. But he left his house to me. Told me to take care of it and help those in need. So don’t worry about it.”

Phainon leaned forward on his elbows.

“...How could I ever repay him?”

“If you could somehow find my friend’s signet ring, that’d be really great.” Ptolemy smirked faintly. “But don’t worry if you can’t— it’s probably somewhere buried in the sea by now.”

Phainon didn’t laugh. His jaw tightened.

“Was it important?”

Ptolemy hesitated, his voice softening. “...Yeah. It was a gift from his mother, passed down through generations before him.”

“Then I’ll find it.”

The days that followed began to take on a rhythm, as if the tide itself were marking time.

At dawn, before the sun had fully broken the horizon, Phainon would wade into the cold embrace of the sea. The salt stung his eyes, currents tugged at his limbs, and sharp coral bit into his palms as he combed the seabed. His lungs burned, but he learned to hold his breath longer and longer, diving past swaying kelp forests and darting schools of silver fish. Some mornings he would emerge with nothing but scratches and sand in his hair—yet his determination never dulled.

By afternoon, the salt was replaced by the chalk dust of the small schoolhouse. Children gathered around him in a half-circle, some cross-legged on the floor, some leaning on desks too big for them. He taught them letters, numbers, stories of the world beyond Castrum Kremnos. In return, they taught him the world’s new ways—the latest maps, modern histories, new words for old things.

At night, lamplight would pool over stacks of books in the quiet of his borrowed room. He read until the flame guttered low—histories of the last century, philosophies he had missed, political changes that had reshaped kingdoms. The words grounded him as much as they reminded him how much time had slipped through his fingers.

The seasons turned. Winters came with storms that made the sea too violent to swim in, forcing him to pace the coastline like a restless predator. Summers brought clear waters and more dives, each deeper than the last. His body grew leaner, stronger. He began to dream of the ring—not as a trinket, but as a promise kept.

Four years later—on a cloudless morning, the sea was glass. He dove as he had hundreds of times before, sifting through the sand until his fingers brushed something cold and unyielding. Pulling it free, the light caught on the engraved crest. The signet ring.

“...I found it, Ptolemy! I can’t believe it!”

Ptolemy’s smile was slow, warm. “You should hold on to it. When you finally meet him, you can return it to him.”

“But… I don’t even know anything about him or what he looks like.”

Ptolemy only shrugged. “He’s a private man. Never wanted his identity revealed. Only told me he was someone ‘important.’”

“You’ll definitely know when you see him. He’s handsome and looks like royalty.”

Phainon snorted. “Thanks. That totally doesn’t help.”

In the four years Phainon spent in Castrum Kremnos, he had taken Cyrene’s words to heart—though at first, they felt like a cruel demand rather than a gift.

Live in the present, she had told him, as if she didn’t understand that the present was a stranger to him. But slowly, painfully, he tried. He learned to measure his days not by what he had lost, but by what he could still hold in his hands.

It was not happiness—not yet—but the relentless ache in his chest began to soften. Even his dreams changed. Once, they had been endless requiems for Aedes Elysiae, visions of fire and ruin he could not change. Now, they shifted into something gentler. He dreamt of someone—someone who had loved him through every lifetime, their face blurred by the haze of memory but their presence unshakable. They existed here, in this lifetime. That much, he knew. 

But how was he to find them in such a vast world?

Among the books Cyrene had left for him, one stood out: As I’ve Written . The first time he opened it, the words were meaningless—Triplets of Fate, Chessmaster Monarch, Weaver of Gold. He had no frame of reference for any of it. But over the years he taught himself about the world and its layered histories. Piece by piece, the strange phrases began to align into something tangible. Chrysos Heirs. It wasn’t just a name; it was a lineage, a hidden thread woven into the world’s design.

The second book was even stranger. It was a child’s drawing book, belonging to a girl named Livia from his village. One drawing in particular unsettled him—three figures: a man in blue, a girl in pink, and a man in red. The man in blue was unmistakable—himself. The girl in pink was Cyrene. But the man in red… 

Phainon had no memory of such a figure from their childhood. Whoever he was, he was clearly significant. And the color red… it lingered in Phainon’s thoughts like an unanswered question.

Then there was the signet ring, bearing the mark of Strife . If As I’ve Written was to be believed, each Chrysos Heir bore a mark tied to one of the Twelve Titans. If that was true, then this ring was no mere relic. It was a signpost. Yet according to Ptolemy, the ring’s original owner was no longer in Castrum Kremnos.

Phainon understood then that his time in the city had reached its end. He had gathered what knowledge he could; the rest of the answers would not be found among these familiar streets. On the morning he left, the golden gates of Castrum Kremnos gleamed in the dawn light, gold filigree catching the sun. 

Then, with the ring kept safely in his breast pocket and the weight of Cyrene’s books in his satchel, Phainon stepped through the gates and into the wider world—toward the red figure, toward the Chrysos Heirs, toward a future he could no longer outrun.

-x-

“Then why did Phainon even become an actor?”

Cipher asked suddenly, her brow furrowed as she leaned back in her chair. It was a question that had been lingering in the back of her mind as it seemed rather...out of place of some sorts. Phainion could have picked any career and yet he chose to be…an actor?

Anaxa, seated across from him with a book still in hand, did not answer immediately. He sighed as he slowly looked up, regarding Cipher with the kind of mild exasperation reserved for students asking questions they should already know the answer to.

“In an era without magic,” Anaxa began, his voice calm but deliberate, “what is the fastest way to become someone trusted and loved?” He set the book aside and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“The answer is to become a celebrity. If you wish to be loved and accepted by others without controlling them by force or with money, you must win them over with something far rarer—your charisma. Or rather…” He paused, with a faint smirk, “your personality.”

Cipher blinked, processing the words, her lips parting slightly as if to respond—then closing again.

From her seat near the wall, Aglaea crossed one leg over the other and tilted her head thoughtfully. “When Phainon joined us,” she said, her voice warm but faintly nostalgic, “he told us that he simply wanted to be someone who could make others happy. So we accepted him.”

Her eyes softened in a way that contrasted sharply with the sharp professionalism she usually wore. “He was never interested in power, politics, or wealth. He only cared about people smiling when they saw him. That was… all he ever asked for.”

Cipher found herself staring at the faint reflection of the room in the polished surface of Anaxa’s desk, mulling over their words. Somehow, the explanation was simple—too simple—and yet it made perfect sense.

“Isn’t it weird that Phainon’s movie has the exact same name as the book though?” Cipher leaned back in her chair, fingers drumming on the armrest. “What, did the director somehow know he had this book?”

Aglaea shook her head. “No. It was the opposite, actually. He saw an open casting call for a role in the movie, and for some reason, he was drawn to it. That’s how he met Cyrene.”

Cipher raised an eyebrow. “So, completely by chance?”

“Perhaps. But you know Phainon—sometimes it’s hard to tell if chance was really chance,” Aglaea replied, her voice thoughtful.

While naming a film after a book was nothing unusual, there was something uncanny about this one. The book As I’ve Written was a sprawling collection of  tales—accounts of the Chrysos Heirs across centuries, their victories and tragedies etched into history. 

The film, however, was an intimate, romantic tragedy: two lovers whose lives were cut short in an accident before they could wed, fated to find each other again after reincarnation.

In the movie, the man remembered everything from his past life. That memory became his compass, guiding him back to the woman he loved. Against all odds, they found each other again.

Cipher’s brow furrowed as the parallel sank in. A man haunted by a former life. A quest to reclaim his lost love. The resemblance between the film’s male lead and the real Phainon was almost unsettling—not in looks, but in essence.

She tapped the book on Anaxa’s desk. “The stories in here… the plot of that movie… and Phainon’s own past…” The realization hit her mid-sentence, a slow-burning clarity. “What if… Mydei was a Chrysos Heir and used to be his lover?”

The air shifted. Not a word was spoken, yet the silence that followed was far from empty—it was the weighted kind, where truths lingered unspoken because they didn’t need to be confirmed.

Cipher’s gaze dropped to the open pages before her. She flipped through the book again, skimming the gilded chapter headings. Twelve chapters. Twelve Titans. Her pulse quickened. One of the Chrysos Heirs had to embody the Titan of Strife… and Mydei was the crown prince of Castrum Kremnos—the kingdom that had worshipped that very Titan for generations.

Her fingers stilled on the page. 

Did Aglaea anticipate this from the start?

It made too much sense. Aglaea’s request for Cipher to protect Mydei hadn’t been random—it must have been rooted in the knowledge that the prophesied figure was most likely from Castrum Kremnos. Perhaps she hadn’t known for certain that Mydei would end up being Phainon’s lover, but… Cipher knew that woman’s intuition was rarely wrong about matters like these.

She glanced up. Aglaea sat poised in her chair, her expression unreadable, eyes fixed on some distant thought. No flicker of surprise. No denial. Just the quiet assurance of someone who had already made peace with the truth long before anyone else had caught up.

Meanwhile, Anaxa’s attention was nowhere near them. He was hunched slightly toward his desk, the blue glow of his computer screen illuminating his face. His fingers tapped steadily across the keyboard, pulling up documents with meticulous precision—files on Mydeimos, an archived article detailing King Eurypon’s murder, another set on Hephaestion, and a dossier on Mydei himself.

If he had heard Cipher’s realization, he gave no sign. Whatever Anaxa was piecing together, it was entirely separate from the puzzle Cipher had just solved.

And in that moment, Cipher was certain—Aglaea had orchestrated this from the very beginning.

“Their fates have been woven together a long time ago, and Mnestia’s golden threads are never wrong.” Aglaea’s voice was soft but final, the kind of statement that felt like it could close a chapter in a book. Cipher had to physically resist the urge to sigh, pressing her lips into a thin line instead.

“The real problem,” Aglaea went on, her gaze turning distant as if she were already looking at the worst-case scenario, “is that if something bad were to happen to Mydei… Phainon wouldn’t be able to remain calm.”

Cipher froze, the weight of the words settling into her like stones. Her mind immediately pulled up images—recent memories—of Phainon’s behavior. Ever since he and Mydei had returned from Aedes Elysiae, he had been… different. Unshakably attached. It wasn’t just affection; it was an almost feverish closeness. He was never more than an arm’s length away from Mydei unless forced by necessity.

From what Caelus and Dan Heng had told her, even when Phainon was with them, Mydei still dominated the conversation—his smile, his voice, the way he laughed. Phainon spoke about him like someone trying to etch the memory into permanence.

Cipher thought back to that afternoon when March had casually asked if they were dating. Phainon had said “yes” without hesitation, almost proudly. After that, Cipher had barely gotten the chance to see Mydei alone. The home they shared now was proof enough of their growing bond—intimate, intertwined in ways that made it almost impossible to imagine one without the other.

She could picture it too clearly: if someone tore Mydei away from him, Phainon would shatter. And when someone like Phainon shattered… there was no telling what destruction would follow.

On the large display screen, Anaxa’s calm, steady motions contrasted the tension thickening in the room. He flipped through an e-book, the crisp sound of the page-turning animation breaking the silence. The screen settled on a section titled Royal Blood and the Throne of Strife . The text scrolled slowly, detailing in stark, unemotional lines the bloody traditions of Castrum Kremnos.

“Castrum Kremnos has a tradition of killing their ruler for the next in line to take over the throne,” Anaxa said, matter-of-fact, his tone the same as if he were reading out the results of an experiment. “For now, Gorgo, the Queen, holds the seat. If she were to be murdered, Mydeimos would have to take over. Unless…” He paused, eyes flicking up briefly before returning to the screen. “…he is killed too.”

Cipher felt a cold shiver creep up her spine, pooling like ice at the base of her neck. “So basically,” she said slowly, her voice dropping, “Mydei could be murdered… and Phainon would go crazy.”

“Yes,” Aglaea replied, her expression unreadable, but her eyes glinting with something like forewarning. “Or if Mydei’s lineage, Phainon’s past, and their relationship—any aspect of their private lives—were to be exposed, the consequences will be dire.”

The room seemed to grow smaller, the air heavier. Cipher’s eyes flicked between Aglaea, who seemed to be speaking from a place of certainty, and Anaxa, who was already absorbed in cross-referencing historical footnotes and modern security reports. In their own ways, they both understood the danger but… they were unsure of how big of a threat it’d become.

Aglaea’s fingers moved swiftly across her phone screen, the glow of the device catching in her sharp, amber eyes. Without a word, she sent a file over to Anaxa. The ping from his laptop was soft, but it seemed to echo in the otherwise quiet office.

Anaxa’s gaze narrowed as he accepted the file, suspicion flickering over his face before he opened it. The screen shifted, flooding the room with the pale light of a digital map. Okehema University spread across the display in intricate detail—buildings, courtyards, dormitories—all outlined with crisp precision. Tiny, moving dots marked every student’s location. Some dots pulsed with a faint red glow.

Cipher leaned forward slightly, her eyes scanning the display. The realization hit her like a drop of cold water. Those red marks weren’t random.

“They’re… yours?” she asked.

Aglaea’s lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “My eyes and ears. They blend in perfectly. Some are faculty, others are… students—at least on paper.” Her voice was cool, almost too casual for the gravity of her words. “That is how Phainon’s presence here has remained an unbroken secret from the rest of the world.”

Cipher’s chest tightened. She couldn’t tell which was more unsettling—the existence of the network or how flawlessly it operated. Now that she thought about it, she should have guessed. There had been no whispers, no paparazzi, no slip-ups at all. Not a single headline about Phainon being in Okehema University. Aglaea’s reach was wider than she’d imagined.

But Aglaea’s next words were edged with something heavier. “Even with this… it still isn’t enough. That is why I had you transfer here, Cifera. You may wear the guise of a student, but you’re here to watch them—closely.”

Cipher sat back in her chair, crossing her arms. The weight of her assignment felt different now, heavier.

Aglaea’s gaze sharpened. “Tell me… how much does Mydei know about Phainon’s past?”

Cipher hesitated, lips parting before she could decide how much to say. “…I’m not sure. They went to Aedes Elysiae, but… I don’t think Mydei even realizes what that place is supposed to look like now. If he saw it, he didn’t recognize it for what it was.”

Anaxa, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke, his tone low and deliberate. “Then that’s a problem.” He turned the laptop toward himself again, the shifting light reflecting off his glasses. “If Mydei is kept in the dark, he won’t trust Phainon when the truth comes out. Worse—someone could use that ignorance against him. Twist the story. Pin a crime on Phainon… maybe even frame him for the murder instead.”

The implication hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Cipher glanced between them, her pulse steady but her fingers curling against her armrest. Aglaea’s expression remained unreadable, but the way she tapped her phone again—once, twice—was deliberate, like she was already making contingency plans.

Anaxa leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming lightly on the table as his mind worked. The low hum of the overhead lights seemed to deepen the silence between them until he finally spoke.

“Here’s the plan,” he began, his tone deliberate, each word weighted. “I’ll focus on tracking down Mydeimos’ stalker—discreetly. At the same time, the Goldweaver will assist me in deciphering the remaining members of Chrysos.”

He glanced at Cipher, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. “You, on the other hand, will stay embedded. Keep earning their trust. The deeper you’re in, the more you’ll be able to notice before anyone else does.”

Cipher nodded slowly, already feeling the weight of the unspoken expectations settle on her shoulders. Before she could respond, all three of their phones buzzed in unison, the sound sharp against the stillness of the room. She reached for hers, thumb swiping across the screen—

—only to see a cheerful message pop up in their group chat.
Phainon: Summer party at our place on Saturday! Bring whatever you like. Everyone’s welcome.

Cipher felt her stomach twist.

“Perfect,” Aglaea said, her voice almost too calm. She set her phone down and fixed Cipher with a steady look. “Use this chance. Find a way to… hint to Mydei that something is off. Don’t push too hard. Just enough to make him start asking questions himself.”

Her words carried no room for negotiation, but her gaze lingered as if measuring Cipher’s resolve. “The professor and I won’t be attending so we’ll expect a full report.”

Cipher forced her expression into something neutral, even as her pulse quickened. She nodded once, sharply. “Understood.”

She tapped out a brief reply in the group chat— I’ll be there!! —and set her phone aside. The device felt heavier than usual, as though the simple invitation now carried the weight of a ticking clock.

Somewhere in the pit of her chest, a small, persistent voice whispered that whatever happened at that party might be the beginning of the end. And when it was over—if she even made it through—Cipher swore she would take the longest holiday of her life.

Notes:

phaidei and hyarice will return in the next chapter trust! also let me know your thoughts on the ship between anaxa & aglaea! im curious to know. i personally like it but i know alot of people dont which is why i wont push for anything romantic between them in this fic. and yes i do know about the lore between cerces and mnestia. this chapter was truly a test of how well i knew the amphoreus lore tbh. i wanted as many things to be canon compliant as i could. the coloring book is real too btw! but im sure all phaidei fans already knew that LOL the lore regarding imaginary tree and stuff were ideas i took from the other hoyo games. i played hi3 and genshin so it helped alot. also regarding mydei and phainon's characterization, i do try my best to not make them ooc.... as a psych graduate, i hope to explore the other negative parts of their personality while making sure i dont mischaracterize them. lmk ur thoughts tho!

anyways thank you for reading!!!!! i cant believe we are at 700 kudos wtf?? thank u for having trust in me.... i promise ill try my best not to disappoint!!!!!!!!!

tumblr: grayyxv / X: aschxv

Chapter 10: Summer Haze

Notes:

this chapter is for the people who wanted hyarice. im finally closing their little plotline (kinda). also we are about 66% done with the story. it will most likely have a total of 15 chapters and maybe +1 epilogue depending on your reactions LOL but anyways, dont worry too much about the future of the story and just enjoy this chapter for now. its a little more lighthearted.... i think... i tried to make it a little less depressing... so please enjoy!

Morning light filtered in through the thin curtains, casting pale gold across the tangled sheets. Mydei sat upright against the headboard, knees drawn slightly up, his fingers absently turning the ring on his hand over and over.

The cool metal felt almost mocking against his skin. There was no possible way this could be the original. Not after all these years. Not after it had been lost to the sea. For such a small thing to vanish in the depths and return again… the odds were nothing short of impossible. And yet here it was, glinting faintly in the sunlight.

His gaze flicked to the other side of the bed. Phainon was still sprawled across the mattress, face half-buried in the pillow, hair an unkempt halo.

The faintest stir—Phainon shifted, stretching lazily before cracking open one eye. A low, muffled, “Morning…” slipped from his lips, his voice still thick with sleep. Without lifting his head fully, he reached out, his fingers curling around Mydei’s wrist in a gentle tug, coaxing him back down.

Mydei let out a reluctant sigh but allowed himself to be pulled, lying on his side so that they were face to face.

He hesitated only a moment before speaking, voice low and careful. “Deliverer… about the ring…”

Phainon’s lips quirked into that familiar, unreadable smile. “Before I came to Okehema,” he began casually, “I lived in Castrum Kremnos. Do you know a man named Ptolemy?”

The name struck Mydei like a sudden gust of wind. His breath caught, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

“…Ptolemy?” he repeated slowly, as though tasting the syllables for the first time in years.

He remembered the boy clearly—a scrawny figure found by his mother on the side of the road, abandoned and shivering. She had taken Ptolemy in, tended to him, fed him, given him shelter and books to read. He had grown up under her care in the quiet little house Mydei still thought of as home.

When Mydei left for the city, he’d entrusted that house—and everything in it—to Ptolemy. On his last day there, history had repeated itself: he had found a man collapsed by the roadside. Without a second thought, Mydei had carried him home, instructing Ptolemy to nurse him back to health. That was more than ten years ago.

He stared at Phainon now, the question lodging like a stone in his throat. “…That man… it was you?”

Phainon’s expression didn’t shift much—just the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes. He shrugged lightly, as though this were nothing more than a passing coincidence. “Ptolemy told me about the ring. Said it belonged to someone important. I figured I’d return it to its rightful place.”

Mydei’s fingers tightened unconsciously around the ring, his mind reeling. The whole thing felt like a thread from the past had been yanked straight into the present, tying knots he wasn’t sure he wanted to untangle.

“It is the original ring, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Phainon said, his grin small but unmistakably proud. “I spent four years finding it. Wasn’t too sure whether you were the real owner but… when you said you were the crown prince, I knew it was you.”

Four years.

Mydei stared at him, his chest tightening. As someone who despised the sea—the endless black water, the crushing cold—the thought alone made his skin crawl. He could almost see it: Phainon plunging into the dark waves day after day, lungs burning, salt stinging his eyes, fingers groping through silt and kelp for something no larger than a coin.

It was insane. Absolutely insane. The kind of devotion that didn’t make sense. The kind of willpower that bordered on obsession.

And yet… Phainon had done it.

The mixture of fear and gratitude churned unpleasantly in Mydei’s stomach, leaving him unsettled.

He shifted, meaning to turn away, to put some space between them, but Phainon’s arm came up swiftly—effortless and inescapable—looping around his waist. In one smooth motion, he drew Mydei back against him, their legs tangling in a way that pinned him exactly where Phainon wanted him.

Before Mydei could protest, Phainon cupped his jaw with one hand, thumb brushing just under his cheekbone, and made him meet his eyes.

“It was worth it,” he said, his voice low and steady, carrying none of the teasing lilt he so often used. “Like I told you before… I’d do anything for you.”

The sincerity—or was it intensity?—in his gaze was almost suffocating. Mydei searched those eyes for something he could name: truth, madness, love, manipulation.

In his mind, the question burned unspoken. Why?

The more Phainon gave, the more undeserving Mydei felt. Yes, he had offered him a roof over his head even though he wasn't informed about the arrangement, guided him through school, shown him a ‘normal’ life, different from his celebrity one and given him a little stability. But those were simple acts of decency—fleeting, ordinary. 

They weren’t worth four years of diving into the merciless sea. They weren’t worth this level of single-minded devotion.

Unless…

The thought slithered in, unwanted but persistent: perhaps this wasn’t devotion at all. Perhaps Phainon wasn’t returning a kindness—perhaps he was weaving a net. A net that closed tighter with every favor, every sacrifice, until escape became unthinkable.

Mydei didn’t know.

And not knowing terrified him.

Mydei sighed, his mind still caught in the tangle of unanswered questions. There was probably more to Phainon than he understood—more than Phainon would ever willingly say. He could contact Ptolemy, ask about what Phainon had been like back then… but would that seem suspicious? Would it tip Phainon off that he was digging?

Before he could decide, Phainon’s thumb brushed against his lips, slow and deliberate. Then, without warning, he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to Mydei’s forehead—a quiet, almost tender gesture.

Mydei didn’t move.

So Phainon’s lips descended again, this time capturing Mydei’s mouth with a sudden, deliberate fervour.

It was like being caught in a current—one moment he was standing still, the next he was swept into motion. Phainon’s mouth pressed harder, warmer, coaxing his lips apart. A teasing flick of his tongue traced the seam, and Mydei’s breath caught before parting for him instinctively.

The kiss deepened. Phainon tasted of something sharp and faintly sweet, his tongue moving with an unhurried confidence that left Mydei’s pulse stumbling. One hand cradled the back of his head, anchoring him in place, while the other slid over his side, the warmth of his palm seeping through the fabric until it rested against his chest.

Mydei’s thoughts blurred at the edges, the weight of suspicion and uncertainty slipping further away with every passing second. His body reacted before his mind could catch up—his hands finding the small of Phainon’s back, curling against him, holding tight like letting go was no longer an option.

Their tongues moved together, not evenly but with a push-and-pull that Phainon seemed determined to win. Every tilt of his head, every shift of pressure, was calculated to pull Mydei further under.

When they finally broke apart, Mydei barely had time to catch his breath before Phainon moved—flipping them in one smooth, almost predatory motion so that he hovered above, his weight caging Mydei in.

He didn’t speak immediately. He just looked at him, gaze intense enough to make the air between them feel charged.

“You are so beautiful,” Phainon whispered, the words almost reverent.

The sudden compliment struck Mydei harder than he expected. Heat crept up his neck before he could stop it, and he turned his face away sharply, hoping the shadows would hide the telltale flush on his cheeks. One hand came up, half-shielding his expression from view.

“...Shut up,” he muttered, voice low but lacking its usual bite.

Phainon’s gaze only grew more intent. “Don’t be shy, my love. Do you like it when I praise you?” His tone was teasing, but there was a quiet edge beneath it, like he was savoring every flicker of Mydei’s reaction.

When Mydei didn’t answer, the corner of Phainon’s mouth curled upward. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Mydei narrowed his eyes, finally snapping, “HKS. Just you wait, Deliverer. One of these days, you’ll be the one under me.”

Instead of being threatened, Phainon’s smile deepened into something slow and infuriatingly self-assured. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Mydei opened his mouth to retort, but before he could, Phainon shifted his weight and caught both of Mydei’s wrists, pinning them gently above his head. The movement was playful, but the proximity—the press of Phainon’s body against his—made Mydei’s breath falter.

The heat in his face spread lower, curling in his chest. His pride demanded he push back, but the way Phainon’s eyes lingered on him, warm and unyielding, made it difficult to muster the will.

Phainon leaned down, his voice a low murmur against Mydei’s lips. “You talk too much.”

And before Mydei could spit another word, Phainon kissed him—slow at first, almost coaxing, then deeper, surer, as if daring him to think of anything else.

Phainon’s lips moved with deliberate patience, drawing Mydei in before he even realized he’d been caught. The kiss was firm yet unhurried, his mouth shaping against Mydei’s as though he had all the time in the world to savour him. Mydei told himself he should pull away—that he should fight the hold on his wrists—but every second that passed seemed to strip another layer of his resistance.

Phainon tilted his head, deepening the kiss, his thumb brushing lazily against Mydei’s knuckles where he still held him pinned. It wasn’t forceful restraint—it was possession. A quiet, unspoken you’re not going anywhere.

Mydei’s breath hitched when Phainon’s teeth grazed his lower lip, a teasing scrape before he claimed his mouth again. His own heartbeat was loud in his ears, drowning out any coherent thought. The earlier suspicions, the nagging doubts—they dissolved, slipping away like sand between his fingers.

Phainon’s free hand slid along Mydei’s jaw, thumb sweeping over the heat blooming there, coaxing his chin up just enough for him to take control of the kiss entirely. Mydei, without realizing it, arched into him, his body betraying his mind.

The kiss grew hungrier, their mouths moving in a rhythm that was half battle, half surrender. Mydei tried to push back with his tongue, but Phainon only met it with greater insistence, as though dominance was simply his nature and Mydei’s resistance was an unspoken invitation.

Pinned beneath him, Mydei’s world narrowed to the weight of Phainon above him, the press of his chest, the faint heat of his breath when they broke for air. The bed seemed smaller, the air thicker, as though Phainon’s presence filled every inch of space between them.

When Phainon finally pulled back just enough for their lips to part, his forehead rested against Mydei’s. His voice was a low, satisfied murmur. “See? You fit perfectly here.”

And Mydei—against every stubborn bone in his body—let it be true.

-x-

It was a few days later when the day of the ‘summer party’ had arrived.

The sunlight in Okehema felt almost too bright that afternoon, as if the town was trying to make her remember it in its most vivid colors before she left. Castorice tightened her grip on the paper bag in her hands, filled with the peach pastries she’d spent the entire night baking with Hyacine. 

She had been staring at the invitation in their group chat for days, reading it over and over like the words would somehow change. Summer party at our place on Saturday! Bring whatever you like.

It should have been simple. Just another gathering. Just another summer afternoon. But this was also the last day she would spend in Okehema before leaving for good as Aglaea had arrived in Okehema for her. The thought made her chest feel heavy, even as the excitement of seeing everyone buzzed in her stomach.

The streets were alive with summer—cicadas droning in the distance, the scent of ripe fruit drifting in from the marketplace. But Castorice’s mind kept skipping ahead to what would happen when she walked into Mydei’s house. What it would be like to have fun with her friends, what it would be like to be in Hyacine’s world for the last time.

Sensing Castorice’s anxiousness, Hyacine’s hand brushed against hers before their fingers gently intertwined. The small, warm contact grounded Castorice more than she expected.

“You alright, Cassie?” Hyacine’s voice was soft, almost coaxing.

“I’m alright. I was just… thinking…” Castorice replied, but the words felt thin even to her own ears.

Hyacine’s usual brightness dimmed for a moment. She knew exactly why Castorice was upset—she had overheard everything. The night before, long after the lamps had been switched off, Hyacine had laid awake when the faint sound of Castorice’s phone rang. She’d kept her eyes shut, pretending to sleep, while Aglaea’s voice carried through the quiet.

Castorice’s pleading had been subdued but desperate—asking, bargaining, for just a little more time in Okehema. Hyacine heard the pause on the other end, the tone of refusal. And then the soft, broken sound of Castorice crying as she slipped back into bed, turning away to hide it.

Hyacine had wanted to reach out, to hold her, to tell her she didn’t want her to go—but the words had caught in her throat.

After months of late-night video calls and countless messages, these past days of being side-by-side had made something in Hyacine’s chest ache in a way she couldn’t quite name aloud. The thought of that connection being cut so abruptly left a hollow, panicked feeling in her.

“Let’s enjoy today, alright?” Hyacine said at last, forcing a smile that she hoped didn’t look as strained as it felt. “I don’t want your last day to be so sad.”

Castorice glanced at her, lips pressing together, and nodded silently. They didn’t speak after that—there was no need to. Their joined hands said enough, holding just a little tighter as they walked down the sunlit street toward Mydei’s home, both determined to make these final hours count, even if neither had yet found the courage to confess.

Meanwhile, Caelus’ group had also received the same summer party invitation from Phainon. March, ever the enthusiastic instigator, had pleaded with Mydei for permission to bring along “just a few more people.” She’d insisted that a real party needed energy, laughter, and more than “the same old familiar faces.”

Mydei, against his better judgment, had agreed—mostly to keep March from sulking. In his mind, “a few” meant perhaps one or two extra guests.

What arrived instead was… an army.

Caelus and March seemed to have emptied half the student population of Okehema University, bringing in classmates, acquaintances, friends-of-friends, and possibly people who didn’t even know whose party they were attending. Mydei’s home was spacious by local standards, but it wasn’t that spacious. The walls seemed to hum with the chatter and laughter of bodies packed shoulder to shoulder, the warm summer air thick with the smell of food, perfume, and the faint tang of spilt drinks.

In the chaos, Meowy had made her feelings about the matter abundantly clear. The moment the first wave of strangers crossed the threshold, she darted upstairs like a shadow, disappearing into Mydei’s bedroom and resolutely refusing to come out. From time to time, her faint, irritated yowls could be heard, as if scolding Mydei for allowing such madness in her domain.

At the very least, most of the attendees looked somewhat familiar to Mydei. Many were the random acquaintances March had once introduced to him and then promptly asked to follow his Enstagram, or faces he’d seen floating through school corridors but had never exchanged more than a nod with. 

Still, Mydei was willing to bet a good number of them were here for one reason—to see Phainon. Thankfully, Cipher was present as well. If anything spiraled out of control, she’d be able to report it directly to Aglaea. Plus, he was sure Anaxa probably had some kind of way to spy on them.

By the time Castorice and Hyacine reached the front door, the air outside was still warm and calm, cicadas singing in the fading light. Their walk through Okehema’s quieter streets had been slow and measured, their hands still lightly linked, conversation soft and sparse. But the moment Mydei’s front door opened, they were hit by a wall of noise, heat, and motion. 

The living room had been completely transformed into a chaotic makeshift dance floor, bass thumping loudly, that it almost made it seem like the marble floor moved. Laughter rang over the music, mingling with shouts of greeting, the smell of snacks, perfume, and something slightly burnt wafting in from the kitchen.

Castorice’s steps faltered at the threshold, her wide violet eyes sweeping over the scene. She tugged lightly on Hyacine’s hand, almost as if she might retreat back into the quiet of the street. Hyacine, on the other hand, lit up, her posture straightening with the energy of the room. Her lips curved into a grin as she spotted familiar faces weaving between the crowd.

They didn’t have time to decide their next move—because March and Stelle had already spotted them.

“CASSIE! HYA!” Stelle’s voice cut through the music, and before Castorice could even react, the two girls came barreling over, all smiles and unrestrained enthusiasm.

“Your favorite song is playing Hya! Come on, come on—dance floor, now!” March grabbed Hyacine’s free hand while Stelle looped her arm around her other side.

“Wait—” Castorice began, but Hyacine was already laughing, eyes sparkling as she let herself be pulled away. She shot Castorice a quick, apologetic look over her shoulder.

“Just for a song, Cass!” Hyacine called, her voice carrying easily over the beat.

Left at the edge of the churning crowd, Castorice shifted awkwardly, her fingers curling against her palm as her gaze darted between the bodies pressing close together in the makeshift dance floor. She’d never been one for loud parties; the sheer press of people was enough to make her shoulders tense.

Hyacine in contrast, was always an extrovert. She was the type who could make friends easily and strike a conversation with just about anyone. Sometimes it made Castorice wonder if Hyacine would really return her affection, after all, Hyacine could go for someone more loud or open. Castorice might be a model but even she knew that looks weren’t everything.

Suddenly, a familiar voice slid in at her side.

“I’ve got ya, Cassie!” Cipher appeared with her usual calm assurance, looping her arm through Castorice’s before she could protest. Without giving her time to refuse, she began steering her toward a quieter corner near the wall, away from the heaviest crush of the crowd.

Castorice let out a small, relieved exhale. The noise didn’t feel quite so suffocating with Cipher’s steady presence anchoring her in the room.

“Thanks, Cipher. I thought I was going to die back there,” Castorice breathed, pressing a hand to her chest.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here.” Cipher gave her a quick, reassuring squeeze of the arm before adding, with a faint smirk, “Besides, I didn’t think there’d be this many people either. We really don’t want the crowd realizing there are two celebrities here.”

Her tone was half-joking, but the caution was real. With both Phainon and Castorice in the same room, it wouldn’t take much for the gossip to spiral. The attendees already knew Phainon had been at the university for months, so they’d probably keep their mouths shut. Castorice, however, was an entirely different story—while she wasn’t on Phainon’s level of fame, her arrival on Okehema was still a tightly kept secret. If the wrong person recognized her, it could snowball into a very public hassle.

“Who on Amphoreus are all these people anyway? Are they all friends with March and Caelus?” Castorice asked, her brow knitting as she scanned the dance floor again.

Cipher’s lips twitched. “Uhh… yeah, I guess? Let’s just say Mydei was absolutely livid when they all suddenly showed up.”

She leaned against the wall and began recounting the scene from earlier.

Cipher had been the first to arrive, helping Phainon and Mydei set up the tables, string lights, and lay out trays of food. Everything had been in perfect, manageable order—until the clock struck three.

The doorbell rang once. Then twice. Then five times in quick succession. The first wave of people trickled in behind Caelus and March… but they didn’t stop. More arrived in clusters—students dressed in beachwear who definitely weren’t on the invite list but waved cheerfully like they belonged.

By the tenth minute, the living room looked like the prelude to a festival.

Dan Heng, ever the picture of stoic misery, trailed behind Caelus with a pained look, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. When Mydei finally cornered him, he sighed and said in the most exhausted voice imaginable, “I tried to stop them. I failed.”

Mydei just stood there for a moment, mouth agape, his gaze flicking between the swarming guests and Caelus—who was grinning like he’d just solved world hunger by bringing “more fun” to the party.

Then, in a voice that could have cracked glass, Mydei exploded.

“ Caelus. ”

The room stilled—well, as much as it could in the middle of a mob.

“Which fucking titan possessed you to bring an entire amphitheatre's worth of people to my fucking house?!”

Caelus blinked, completely unfazed. “We just wanted it to feel lively?”

March piped up from behind him, beaming. “It’s not a party if it’s not packed!”

Phainon and Cipher, standing off to the side with matching this is not my problem expressions, exchanged a glance. Phainon’s brows were slightly raised in silent amusement, while Cipher fought to keep her lips from twitching.

The yelling lasted a solid three minutes before Mydei finally gave up, muttering something about “never trusting March with invitations again” and storming off to rescue his cat and his snacks from being devoured.

“…and that,” Cipher finished with a small shake of her head, “is how we went from ‘a cozy summer get-together’ to ‘half the island is in Mydei’s living room.’”

Castorice’s lips twitched despite herself. “Sounds… intense.”

“Oh, you have no idea,” Cipher replied, scanning the crowd with a practiced, calculating glance. “I give it twenty minutes before someone spills a drink on the stereo or March starts a conga line.”

Castorice shifted awkwardly, tugging at the hem dress. The music thumped through the floorboards, the bass rattling in her ribs. Out on the makeshift dance floor, Hyacine was already laughing with Stelle, twirling under the string lights without a shred of hesitation.

Cipher noticed her gaze lingering and gave her arm a light tug. “Come on. If we stay here too long, someone’s bound to notice you staring like a lovesick poet.”

“I am not —” Castorice began, but Cipher was already cutting through the crowd, tugging her toward the sliding glass doors at the far end of the room.

The moment they stepped outside, the blare of the party faded to a low, muffled thrum. A warm summer breeze swept past, carrying the faint scent of saltwater and flowers from the distant coast.

The balcony was massive—more like a terrace than a simple extension of the house—and in its center, sunk into gleaming marble, was a grand open bath styled like something out of ancient Amphoreus. Gold pillars framed the corners, strings of soft golden lights dangling between them, casting the water in a romantic glow. The jacuzzi bubbled lazily, steam curling into the cool air.

And in the middle of that luxury, Caelus floated face-down like a very relaxed corpse, arms and legs spread wide, hair drifting lazily with the ripples.

Beside the bath, seated on cushioned wicker chairs, Mydei, Phainon, and Dan Heng lounged with colorful fruit punches in hand, umbrellas and orange slices bobbing in the glasses. They were chatting as if discussing the weather, their expressions utterly calm—eerily calm, given that one of their friends appeared to be drowning .

Cipher froze mid-step. Castorice stared. Neither of them knew whether to laugh or call for help.

The three men looked up at the same time, as if on cue.

“Oh, hey. Good to see you Cass,” Mydei said casually, raising his glass in greeting. Phainon gave them a lazy wave. Dan Heng simply nodded.

“Are we… interrupting something?” Castorice asked, her voice caught somewhere between concern and disbelief, eyes locked on Caelus’ suspiciously still form.

“No. Why’d you think that?” Dan Heng replied without missing a beat, taking another slow sip of his drink.

Cipher’s brow arched. “Maybe because Caelus looks like Phagousa came up here and murdered him?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” Mydei said with breezy certainty and totally not like someone who had his house invaded by people without being informed prior. “He’s having fun.” 

The jacuzzi gurgled loudly, as if to protest Mydei’s statement.

Cipher glanced at Caelus one more time, decided that if he drowned it would probably be natural selection at work, and let it go. She tugged Castorice toward the low table set between the wicker chairs.

Phainon, ever the charming host when he wasn’t being a menace, reached for the glass jug and poured each of them a tall drink. He even slid the glasses across with an almost theatrical flourish—complete with tiny umbrellas and orange slices perched neatly on the rim.

Castorice gave a small laugh as she took her seat, setting her bag beside her. The warm glow of the balcony lights painted everything in an inviting gold, and the faint hum of the city below added a strange calm despite the muffled chaos of the party inside.

They slipped into conversation naturally, Cipher leaning back in her chair while Mydei and Phainon drew Castorice into recounting her time in Okehema.

She was animated as she spoke, eyes lighting up at the memory of wandering through the bustling Marmoreal Market with its riot of colors and scents—the clatter of merchants, the perfume of spiced breads and roasted meats. She described afternoons spent soaking in the old public baths, steam curling in the cool air, and evenings trying street food she couldn’t even pronounce.

“And there was that day I went undercover at Okehema University,” she added with a grin, “pretending to be just another student. I don’t think anyone suspected a thing.”

It was obvious she treasured these small freedoms. “Honestly,” she admitted, twirling her glass by the stem, “this trip has been the first time in years I’ve been able to just… do what I want.”

Like Phainon, she had never really experienced ordinary student life. She’d been home-schooled since childhood, her schedule dictated by casting calls and runway shows, traveling only for work under the constant gaze of stylists, managers, and photographers. This—sitting on a balcony with friends, drink in hand—was almost foreign.

“Staying with Hyacine was my first sleepover,” she confessed, “and with my idol, no less.”

Dan Heng tilted his head, his curiosity breaking through his usual stoicism. “Why doesn’t Aglaea allow you to stay in Okehema?”

His tone was even, but the question carried genuine interest. He wasn’t well-versed in the mechanics of celebrity life, but it struck him as odd that Castorice had less freedom than Phainon when they were in the same agency.

“It’s not that I can’t ,” she clarified, “but I have several exclusive contracts with Aidonian fashion houses—brands that expect me to be available for last-minute fittings, shoots, and events. Most of my work is there, and these contracts tie me down pretty tightly. If I relocated, even temporarily, it would cause scheduling nightmares. Flights alone can take a full day, and that’s before accounting for customs, stylists, prep… It’s easier for them if I stay put.”

She gave a small, rueful smile. “It’s the trade-off. They give me a career, I give them my time—and a good chunk of my freedom.”

The conversation drifted on from there, the group laughing easily, ignoring the still-floating Caelus, who occasionally made lazy ripples in the water like a sea creature deciding whether to surface.

Time slipped by unnoticed, their conversation flowing as easily as the fruit punch. At some point, the warm daylight softened into the honeyed glow of golden hour. The balcony was bathed in amber light, the sky above streaked with watercolor shades of pink and orange, as if the world had decided to pose for a painting.

It was into this tranquil scene that the glass doors slid open with a sharp shhhk , and three curious faces poked through—March beaming as usual, Stelle looking mildly amused, and Hyacine with the bright-eyed eagerness of someone about to greet friends.

The eagerness didn’t last. Her gaze fell on the jacuzzi, and she froze mid-step.

“…What the—?!” Hyacine yelped, stumbling forward and pointing dramatically at Caelus’ body, which still floated facedown and utterly motionless like a particularly lazy corpse.

Her reaction earned… absolutely no urgency from the others. Mydei didn’t even look up from stirring the ice in his glass. Cipher casually crossed her legs. Phainon picked a seed from his orange slice.

“It’s his punishment,” Mydei said flatly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, “for inviting so many fucking people to my party.”

Stelle burst out in a muffled snicker. March, on the other hand, scratched at the back of her neck with a sheepish wince, very aware of her partial guilt.

It had started innocently enough—March had planned to invite maybe ten people. Then Caelus got involved. And by “got involved,” he had apparently leaned over her shoulder and said, ‘Invite everyone we know.’ The result was an influx of unfamiliar faces and Mydei spending half the night evicting strangers from rooms they had no business being in.

Hyacine’s eyes softened at the story. “I think he’s suffered enough,” she said, her voice lilting with genuine pity.

From the jacuzzi came a stream of lazy bubbles, as if Caelus himself was trying to second her motion.

Mydei’s brow twitched, but before he could object, Hyacine added brightly, “Dannie, you should help him out! Before he prunes into a raisin.”

Dan Heng closed his eyes for a beat, sighed like a man who’d been through this before, and set his drink aside. He rose with unhurried grace, strolling over to the jacuzzi while the rest of the group watched in silent, entertained anticipation.

Squatting by the edge, he reached down, hooked one arm under Caelus’ shoulder, and dragged him out in one fluid motion. Water sloshed everywhere, splattering over Dan Heng’s sleeves and onto the tiled floor. Caelus flopped onto the ground like a beached seal, blinking blearily as if emerging from another realm.

“Ugh…” he groaned, voice rasping like he’d just survived a shipwreck.

“At least he didn’t piss in the bath,” Phainon announced cheerfully, raising his glass in a mock toast. Mydei shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass.

“…Probably,” Phainon added under his breath, earning a disgusted snort from Cipher.

Dan Heng, unbothered, set Caelus down on the cool tile and promptly abandoned him there, returning to his seat without so much as a backward glance.

March and Stelle immediately crouched beside Caelus, their expressions a mix of mock concern and blatant amusement. Stelle gave his cheek a little poke, while March pressed the back of her hand to his forehead like a melodramatic nurse from a soap opera.

“Dan Heng,” March gasped, clutching at her chest, “I think you might need to give him CPR!” She even squeezed out a fake sniffle, pretending to wipe a tear from her eye.

Dan Heng didn’t even look up. “No.”

That should have been the end of it—but then Caelus, with all the dignity of a half-drowned raccoon, began crawling across the floor toward Dan Heng’s chair. The wet slaps of his palms and knees on the tile made everyone collectively wince.

He latched onto Dan Heng’s leg like a desperate castaway clinging to driftwood. “Save me,” he pleaded hoarsely, “CPR… it’s the only way…”

Dan Heng’s face remained unreadable, though one could almost hear the silent prayer for patience echoing in his head.

Mydei stared at the scene, frozen between disbelief and second-hand embarrassment, while the rest of the table dissolved into helpless laughter. Cipher nearly snorted her drink. Phainon had to grip the arm of his chair to keep from tipping over. Hyacine was doubled over, covering her mouth to hide her grin.

It was chaos—ridiculous, loud, and entirely on brand for Caelus.

While everyone else dissolved into laughter at Caelus clinging to Dan Heng’s leg like a barnacle, Castorice sat stiffly, her fingers tightening around her glass until the condensation seeped into her palms. 

Their laughter echoed, bright and careless, but it slid off her ears like water. She couldn’t join in. Not when Hyacine was here—finally free, finally close, the chance she had been waiting for tugging at her chest with painful urgency.

She should confess. She had to. 

Say something, anything. Or just… smile and enjoy Hyacine’s company without words. But every second she sat there, the weight of silence pressed harder against her ribs.

Before she could drown in it, Castorice pushed her chair back and stood abruptly. “I—I’ll just head to the washroom.” Her voice came out too high, too fast, and she cursed herself for sounding like she was fleeing the scene.

Hyacine noticed. Of course she did. She always did. “Wait, I’ll come with you,” she said lightly, rising to follow Castorice out of the balcony and into the quieter hallway.

The muffled sounds of laughter and chatter fell away behind them, leaving only the hush of their footsteps. Castorice’s pulse pounded in her ears. Her throat felt tight, but she forced herself to speak.

“Hyacine… I…” Her voice trembled, her hands twisting together nervously.

“Hmm?” Hyacine tilted her head, patient, her eyes soft and curious. “What is it?”

Castorice swallowed hard. Her heart felt like it might crack through her ribs. This was it—she could finally say it. Finally tell Hyacine what had been burning inside her for so long.

“I…”

But the words never made it out.

“Hyacine!”

A voice cut through the moment, bright and familiar. A guy from the party, a little tipsy, came striding over. “There you are! I saw you dancing just now and didn’t get the chance to say hi—oh!” His gaze flicked to Castorice, lingering with sudden recognition. “Sorry, was I interrupting something? Wait… you look kinda familiar. Are you—”

“Woah, hey! Let’s talk over there, I can’t really hear you here!” Hyacine cut in quickly, stepping forward before the man could finish the thought. Her tone was light, but her urgency was obvious as she took his arm and steered him away from Castorice.

And just like that, Hyacine was gone again.

Castorice stood rooted to the spot, her mouth half open, the words she had been about to speak dissolving into nothing. The chance slipped through her fingers once more, leaving only the hollow ache in her chest.

Maybe she wasn’t meant to confess at all. Maybe the world would always find a way to silence her before she could say it.

Castorice slipped away from the noise, her footsteps soft against the staircase as she climbed to the second floor. The air shifted as soon as she left the party behind—lighter, quieter, almost sacred in its stillness. Technically, this part of the house was off-limits to guests, but Castorice figured Mydei and Phainon wouldn’t mind. She wasn’t just some guest. She was their friend.

Leaning over the railing, she looked down at the living room. The bass from the music pulsed through the walls, and the crowd of bodies below swayed, laughed, and shouted in a haze of summer euphoria. On the balcony, Caelus was still groveling pathetically at Dan Heng’s feet, his cries punctuated by the occasional roar of laughter from the others.

And yet, from up here, the whole scene looked like a play unfolding on a stage—one she had no part in.

She sighed, a small, tired exhale.

Castorice was never good at these things. The lights, the noise, the sheer crush of people pressing in on all sides—it drained her, pulled her apart thread by thread. Everyone assumed that being a celebrity meant she thrived in crowds, that she loved the spotlight. But the truth was, it was all just performance. She could survive in front of an audience, could smile and pose and pretend she belonged there. But at parties like this, where the masks fell and the noise turned personal, she always faltered.

If the gathering had been smaller—just their close circle of friends—she would have been fine. She might have even been happy. But here, surrounded by strangers and laughter that wasn’t hers, the weight of her own silence pressed down until she couldn’t breathe.

With one last glance at the golden-lit party below, she turned away. She had already lost her moment with Hyacine. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.

She slipped into Phainon’s bedroom, a place far removed from the noise, and left the door ajar as she coaxed Meowy from Mydei’s room with soft whispers and outstretched hands. The calico cat trotted over obediently, tail flicking, and followed her inside.

Castorice sank into the chair at Phainon’s desk. The heavy wooden table felt grounding beneath her palms, as if the world had finally stopped spinning. Meowy leapt gracefully onto the desk, circled once, then tucked herself into a neat little loaf.

Castorice reached out, brushing her fingers through the soft fur. The cat purred instantly, leaning into her touch, as if sensing exactly what Castorice needed.

“What should I do, Meowdei?” she whispered, her voice carrying both desperation and fondness. It was easier to confide in a cat than in people. Easier to pretend Meowy could understand, could answer.

Meowy’s only reply was a gentle trill, followed by a deeper, steady purr. She pressed her head into Castorice’s hand, nuzzling insistently. The warmth seeped into Castorice’s chest, loosening the knot that had been lodged there all evening.

A laugh slipped out of her, quiet and shaky. She lowered her face into Meowy’s fur, breathing in the comforting scent of her soft coat. For a moment, the noise of the party, the pressure of her own unspoken words, and the ache of almost-confessions all melted away.

For now, it was just her and Meowy—one lost girl and one patient cat, keeping each other company in the quiet.

The minutes slipped by in silence, only broken by the steady purr of Meowy and the faint hum of music filtering in from downstairs. Castorice kept her hand pressed against the calico’s fur, absently stroking her, when the quiet click of the door broke her reverie.

She glanced up to see Phainon step inside. His gaze softened the moment it landed on her, a flicker of concern crossing his features. He shut the door behind him with a gentle nudge and crossed the room, dropping himself onto the edge of the bed with the weight of someone who wasn’t intruding but… staying close, just in case.

“Hey, Cassie,” he said, voice low, careful. “Wanna talk?”

Her throat tightened. For a moment, she wanted to say no, to keep it locked inside. But the question slipped out before she could stop it.

“…Have you ever felt like sometimes things were just not meant to be?”

Phainon tilted his head, lips parting, but no answer came right away. His eyes searched her face, as if trying to measure the storm behind her words.

She pushed further, her voice cracking ever so slightly. “What if someday you had no choice but to leave Mydei, and never have the chance to see him again? Or if you had to wait years before you could? What would you do?”

The question landed heavily between them. Phainon’s hands tightened against his knees. For a heartbeat, he said nothing.

Because in truth, he had already lived that nightmare.

200 billion years and 33 million cycles. A fractured eternity where he fought, broke, and bled against the merciless hands of time, against aeons and titans that decided his fate for him. Different versions of himself had clawed through those lifetimes, each one yearning, desperate, just to build a reality where his friends—and above all, Mydei—could live. To lose that again? To be forced apart once more?

The thought scraped raw at the back of his mind. And yet, he could not tell Castorice the truth. She didn’t know that if he wanted, he could bend the fabric of fate itself until it snapped. She didn’t know that the man sitting here beside her carried lifetimes of grief behind his calm smile.

So instead, Phainon exhaled slowly, forcing himself into the present, into something she could understand.

“Cassie,” he said at last, his voice low but firm, “even if I had to go against a god or a titan themself, I’d never let something as stupid as ‘fate’ decide whether I get to be with someone I love. If we were separated, then I’d wait—no matter how long it takes. And when that day finally comes, I’d find a way. Always.”

His words were simple. But the fire in his eyes when he said them—it was the kind of fire that belonged to someone who had already walked through the end of the world and dared fate to stop him again.

And yet Castorice, sitting across from him, only heard it as reassurance. She didn’t see the memories hiding beneath. She didn’t know that Phainon’s promise wasn’t just hypothetical—it was a vow he had already proven, time and time again.

“Sounds exactly like something you’d say, Phai.” Castorice’s lips curved into a faint, melancholy smile. “If only I could be more like you.”

The words slipped out softer than she intended, but they carried the weight of truth.

Because she wasn’t Phainon. She couldn’t throw herself at destiny with reckless defiance, couldn’t sacrifice everything for the sake of one person, no matter how much she loved them. She cared about too many people—her family, her colleagues, the fans who had given her a career, the ones who had believed in her. They were threads woven into her life that she couldn’t just sever.

Her gaze dropped to her hands, curling against each other in her lap. Even if I wanted to wait for Hyacine… would Hyacine really wait for me? Is it fair to want someone to put their whole life on pause because of my choices?

Her chest tightened, the thought tasting bitter. It seemed selfish. Unfair. And she had never wanted to be unfair to Hyacine.

“Cas.” Phainon’s voice was gentle, yet it cut through her thoughts. She looked up, startled by the conviction in his tone. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his blue eyes fixed on her with that steady, unshakable fire of his.

“You are more than enough. Don’t think for a second that you aren’t.” He shook his head, almost as if scolding the thought itself out of existence. “Love doesn’t have to mean throwing everything else away. You don’t have to fight fate the way I do. You just… have to be you. And that’s already enough for Hyacine.”

Castorice’s throat caught. “…You really think so?”

Phainon’s lips twitched into a small smile—sincere, almost boyish, but anchored with certainty. “Cas, I swear to Kephale, that girl likes you back. The way she looks at you? She’s already halfway gone. All you gotta do is tell her.”

Something in his voice made it sound less like encouragement and more like fact. As though he had seen the truth himself.

Castorice let out a shaky laugh, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You make it sound so simple.”

“That’s ‘cause it is,” Phainon replied without hesitation, his grin widening just enough to lighten the air between them. “Trust me. Hyacine’s not going anywhere.”

With Phainon’s steady words anchoring her heart, Castorice felt the fear inside her loosen its grip. For once, the thought of confessing didn’t feel like a cliff she’d tumble from—it felt like a step she could finally take. Her pulse raced, but it wasn’t dread this time. It was anticipation. Hope.

She drew a breath so deep it almost hurt, then exhaled with trembling resolve. She was going to do it. No more running away. No more waiting for the right time.

“She’s waiting alone at the balcony if you’re looking for her,” Phainon said, a sly wink flickering in his amber eyes as though he had been reading her thoughts all along.

Castorice laughed breathlessly, her nerves breaking into a smile. Before she could stop herself, she leaned in and pressed a quick, grateful kiss against his cheek. “Thank you, Phai,” she whispered, voice light but brimming with sincerity.

And then she was gone—darting out of the room, down the stairs, her feet carrying her faster than her doubts ever could.

The music and laughter of the party dimmed as she reached the balcony, and there—bathed in the last glow of twilight—stood Hyacine.

She seemed almost unreal. The dying sun had painted the horizon in shades of rose and violet, and somehow Hyacine’s twin tails shimmered in perfect harmony with the sky, strands of pink catching the light as though spun from clouds at dawn. Her outfit mirrored the twilight’s palette, soft gradients of blue and pink flowing together like the heavens themselves had clothed her.

The evening breeze teased her hair and ribbons, setting them swaying as if the very sky was moving with her. In that moment, Hyacine wasn’t just standing there—she looked as if she had descended from the twilight itself, a vision too radiant to belong entirely to the earth.

Castorice’s breath hitched. Her chest ached with something fierce and tender all at once. Seeing Hyacine framed against the horizon like that, she wanted to laugh and cry all at once.

How could anyone not fall in love with her?

Her hands curled into fists at her sides—not from fear, but to hold onto the courage burning through her now. She finally believed she could say it.

“Hyacine, I—”

But Castorice never finished. Before the words could even form, Hyacine’s smaller hands rose to her cheeks, soft and trembling but certain, and gently cupped her face. Castorice’s breath caught, her mind blanking in surprise—then Hyacine pulled her down, closing the distance in a heartbeat.

Their lips met, and the world fell away.

Castorice’s eyes widened, shock and joy colliding all at once in a dizzying rush. The music from the party inside faded into nothing but a muffled hum, the voices of the crowd swallowed by the sound of her own heartbeat drumming in her ears.

Hyacine’s lips were warm, sweet, almost fragile against hers, yet the kiss carried a quiet certainty that melted Castorice from the inside out. Her body trembled, her knees threatening to give way as every emotion she had bottled up—longing, fear, hope, love—spilled loose in that one perfect moment.

When Hyacine finally pulled back, her teal eyes glimmered like stars caught in twilight, her breath brushing soft against Castorice’s skin. Castorice stared at her, dazed, lips tingling, chest heaving with emotions too vast to name.

And then, before doubt could creep in, before she could even think, Castorice leaned in and captured Hyacine’s lips once more. This time it was her turn to kiss with all the feelings she had held back for so long—gentle but fierce, tender but desperate, as if she was afraid this moment might vanish if she didn’t hold onto it.

She finally pulled away, her forehead resting against Hyacine’s, both of them flushed and breathless.

“Hyacine…” Castorice whispered, her voice trembling with a laugh that was half-tears, half-joy. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”

“Me too. Guess it took us long enough huh.” Hyacine giggled.

“I… I really like you, Hyacine.” Castorice’s voice wavered, but she held Hyacine’s gaze, refusing to let her eyes stray away. “We’ve only known each other for months, but I feel like… I’ve known you my whole life. It sounds crazy, I know, but when I’m with you… I just feel happy. Happier than I’ve ever been.”

Hyacine’s lips parted in a soft breath, her expression shifting into something luminous, vulnerable. Slowly, she reached up again, brushing her thumb over Castorice’s cheek as though memorizing the shape of her face.

“Cassie…” she whispered, her own eyes shining faintly in the fading twilight. “I like you too. I understand what you mean. Somehow… it feels like we were always meant to find each other.”

Castorice’s chest tightened, her heart so full it almost hurt. She laughed softly, shakily, the sound breaking under the weight of relief and joy. Hyacine smiled with her, small and tender, and leaned forward just enough that their foreheads touched.

Neither of them rushed to speak again. The words weren’t necessary anymore.

Castorice’s hand slid down, hesitant at first, until her fingers brushed against Hyacine’s. Hyacine squeezed back immediately, as if she had been waiting for it all along. Their hands fit together so naturally, so easily, that Castorice couldn’t help but marvel at how right it felt.

They stood like that for a while, silhouetted against the soft twilight, hands entwined, leaning quietly into each other. No audience, no stage lights, no noise of the party below—just the steady comfort of being together.

For Castorice, it was enough. More than enough.

And so the night faded around them, as the two simply stayed there, side by side, savouring the quiet certainty of what they had found.

-x-

Near the entrance of the house, a very different kind of conversation was unfolding.

After Phainon excused himself to check on Castorice and Hyacine, Cipher seized the moment. Her sharp eyes flicked toward Mydei, and with a subtle tilt of her head, she beckoned him to follow. Mydei hesitated only briefly before slipping away after her, curiosity tugging him along.

Cipher led him to the doorway of the home, just beyond the warm spill of lamplight. Outside, the night air was cooler, the muffled hum of the gathering fading behind them. She glanced around to be certain no one was listening. Even if Phainon finished quickly, there was no chance he’d find them out here right away.

Then, without hesitation, she asked, “Do you know what Aedes Elysiae really looks like?”

The question caught Mydei off guard. He blinked at her, brows furrowing. 

“Huh? Yeah… of course. We literally went there not too long ago, remember? What are you talking about?”

Cipher’s expression didn’t waver. Instead, she pulled out her phone, unlocking it in a swift motion before thrusting the screen into his hands. “Then explain this.”

On the screen were images—ruins, collapsed marble arches half-buried in dust, an endless wasteland where proud spires should have stood. The captions beneath them detailed the fall of Aedes Elysiae in clinical, undeniable words. A country that once thrived now reduced to fragments of land, abandoned and desolate.

Mydei stared at the screen, his pulse quickening.

…This couldn’t be real.

And yet the sources were reputable, the kind that couldn’t be so easily faked. Article after article described the same thing: Aedes Elysiae was no longer the radiant haven he had walked through. It was gone. Erased from reality.

But that didn’t make sense. He remembered it vividly—the vibrant city, the sound of voices in its streets, the towns and villages that Phainon had led him through. He hadn’t dreamed it. He couldn’t have.

A cold unease coiled in his chest. If these records were true… then where had he gone?

He looked up at Cipher, his grip on the phone tightening, his voice low with doubt.

“…Then how the hell do you explain this?”

From his pocket, Mydei pulled out the delicate blue azalea charm he had gotten from Aedes Elysiae. It caught the faint light spilling from the house, its petals shimmering faintly, perfectly preserved—as if it had just been plucked. He held it up between them, his voice trembling with equal parts frustration and conviction.

“This… I didn’t imagine this. And it wasn’t just some passing hallucination either. I went there, Cipher. I walked through the streets. I saw the people. The whole place looked like it belonged in a storybook—untouched, radiant. And I took pictures.”

He scrolled through his phone and showed her—images of cobblestone paths, villagers throwing a feast, sloping hills with blooming azaleas. A far cry from the wasteland she had shown him only moments ago. Cipher’s breath caught. Her gaze flicked between his photos and her own, disbelief twisting her features. The contrast was jarring—two entirely different realities—but one detail clawed at her attention.

The statue.

In both sets of images, the colossal figure of Oronyx remained. Weathered in hers, pristine in his. But it was the same statue. The same placement. The same carved expression frozen in stone.

The only constant.

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Mydei’s eyes searched her face, desperate for answers she wasn’t sure how to give.

“Look,” Cipher said finally, her voice low, almost conspiratorial. “I know this sounds insane, but… Aedes Elysiae isn’t what you think it is. The one you saw—it doesn’t exist here, not anymore. It’s a place… trapped in time, fractured between what was and what remains. And if my guess is right…” she hesitated, glancing back toward the house as though fearing someone might overhear, “…Phainon is the only one who can reach into that past. He’s the only one who can take someone there.”

It sounded absolutely absurd—and even Cipher seemed to know how insane it must sound. Her brows were drawn tight, lips pressed thin, as though she hated every word spilling from her mouth but couldn’t stop herself from speaking them.

But for Mydei, the weight of it all was crushing. He didn’t know if Cipher was trying to wedge herself between him and Phainon with some elaborate web of lies, or if she was genuinely concerned for his safety. Both possibilities gnawed at him.

Phainon, the person who had stayed by his side, who had been nothing but loving with him and—more importantly—for him. Phainon, who carried himself with such desperate sincerity that doubting him felt almost unthinkable.

And yet… Cipher’s sharp eyes, her persistent warnings, the intensity of her presence—it all made him falter.

“…How do you expect me to believe that?” Mydei muttered at last, his voice edged with weariness. “Do you have any proof?”

Cipher exhaled sharply, shoulders tense. “Has he told you about his past yet? Or the book?”

Mydei blinked. “…No? But even if he’s—” he almost choked on the word, “—some kind of time traveler, what does this have to do with me? I don’t see how it’s supposed to be dangerous.”

Her frustration broke through then, though it wasn’t anger directed at him. She clasped her hands together tightly, knuckles white, before letting them fall apart again in agitation. “It isn’t just that he can travel through time, Mydei. You don’t understand. He’s known you for a long time. Not this you—but other versions of you. He’s crossed timelines, met them, carried their memories.”

Her eyes softened, searching his face, almost pleading. “Don’t you think that’s strange? That he looks at you like he’s already lived a hundred lifetimes with you? Don’t you feel it? The way he talks to you like he thinks you are his soulmate?”

Mydei’s stomach twisted. He had felt it before—Phainon’s gaze, heavy with a kind of knowledge and longing that seemed deeper than words. At the time, he brushed it off, choosing not to question it. But now Cipher’s words forced the thought to the forefront, and it unsettled him.

He shook his head, raking a hand through his hair. “You expect me to take your word for it? Just like that? A few weeks ago, you dropped the bomb on me that you were sent to ‘protect me.’ And now you’re telling me the one person I’ve trusted most isn’t who he seems. You could just be trying to turn me against him.”

Cipher stepped closer, her voice low but firm, her expression raw. “If I wanted to hurt you, I had plenty of chances to do it already. Why would I waste time spinning lies when I could’ve just let you walk blindly into whatever Phainon has planned?” She clenched her fists, forcing herself steady. “I’m telling you this because you deserve to know the truth. Even if you hate me for it.”

The silence that followed was thick, broken only by the distant sound of laughter and music from inside the house. Mydei’s chest rose and fell unevenly as doubt tore at him from both sides—Phainon’s familiar warmth against Cipher’s cold but earnest warning.

And the more Cipher looked at him, unflinching and desperate, the harder it became to dismiss her outright.

He hated to admit it, but Cipher’s words did carry weight.

The signet ring was the clearest example—Phainon’s determination to retrieve it had gone far beyond the call of duty. It wasn’t the kind of loyalty that could be explained away by simple gratitude. And then there were the smaller moments, fleeting but undeniable: the way Phainon sometimes looked at him as though déjà vu had struck, the way he always seemed to know what Mydei was about to say before he said it.

These weren’t just coincidences.

If Phainon truly had met him in other lives, it would explain the familiarity, the relentless devotion. But Mydei’s chest tightened with confusion. Even if it was true, even if Phainon loved him across lifetimes—why was that inherently a bad thing?

Wasn’t it proof of something pure? Something unshakable?

Sure, he could feel it sometimes—that Phainon’s love wasn’t entirely… safe. There was a desperation in it, a feverish intensity that clung too tightly. But Phainon had never hurt him. Phainon had never hurt anyone he cared about. Mydei believed that with every fiber of his being.

“Alright,” Mydei said slowly, lifting his gaze to meet Cipher’s. His tone carried both defiance and uncertainty. “Let’s say you’re right. Let’s say he really is some kind of time traveler, and that he has memories of me from other lives. Why is that a problem?”

Cipher’s lips parted, then closed again. She hesitated, her expression conflicted. Mydei could see it—the silent struggle in her eyes, as though she were weighing the cost of speaking aloud what she didn’t want to say.

At last, she exhaled sharply, her jaw set. Inwardly, she apologized to Aglaea and Anaxa for overstepping the careful line they’d urged her to walk. But there was no way around it; if she wanted Mydei to understand, she had to make him see.

“Because his obsession is the problem,” Cipher said at last, her voice low but steady. She stepped closer, her gaze unflinching. “You don’t know what he would do if something happened to you. None of us do. Love that deep, that consuming—it doesn’t always stop where it should.”

Mydei frowned, arms crossing defensively.

Cipher pressed on, her words sharp with urgency. “What if his devotion doesn’t just end with protecting you? What if it twists into something else? What if he sees anyone who stands between you and him as an enemy? What if he goes after Hephaestion? Or someone else you care about?”

The suggestion hit like ice water. Mydei’s eyes widened, but almost immediately he shook his head, forcing a scoff past the knot in his throat.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said firmly, though his voice cracked faintly at the edges. “He wouldn’t. And I can take care of myself.”

Cipher’s expression softened then—not with triumph, but with pity. She clasped her hands together in front of her, her eyes dark with something heavier than suspicion.

“…I hope you’re right,” she murmured. “For your sake.”

The words lingered in the air, heavy and unshakable, as Mydei’s mind wrestled with the memory of Phainon’s burning gaze—the kind of gaze that could belong to a savior… or to someone who’d never let him go.

The silence that followed Cipher’s words pressed in like a suffocating weight. Mydei’s chest felt tight, his thoughts tangled in a thousand directions—Cipher’s steady gaze, the ring gleaming on his finger, Phainon’s lingering stares that now seemed heavier than before.

He wanted to believe it was all exaggeration, paranoia spun into warnings. He wanted to dismiss Cipher’s concern as manipulation, an attempt to wedge herself between them. But a gnawing unease was already coiling in his stomach, no matter how much he tried to shake it.

The floor creaked.

Both he and Cipher snapped their heads toward the door.

Phainon stood in the doorway, the dim light casting shadows across his face. His presence was as sudden and consuming as a storm—shoulders taut, eyes burning with something unspoken. For a moment, the world seemed to still, and Mydei’s breath caught in his throat.

Cipher’s expression hardened, her hand subtly inching toward the dagger at her side.

Phainon’s lips parted, his voice low, ragged, and absolute.

“Hephaestion is dead.”

The words cut through the room like a blade, cold and merciless, leaving only silence in their wake.

And the world tilted.

Notes:

woah things are happening! i know there are only 5 chapters left but thats at least like 50k more words so i think it'll be more than enough to cover the story till the end... i have plans for another phaidei fic once this one ends. i cant write two things simultaneously bc its kinda confusing for me so uhmm ull just have to wait ig. the next story will be a rockstar mydei & pilot phainon au with no fantasy elements at all. i havent decided whether or not i want it to be a lighthearted fic or a dark one. but just know that i do wanna write more phaidei smut bc i wanna practice writing spicy stuff lolol.
also i played 3.5 and wow. im kinda surprised that the whole sequence with cyrene is kinda similar to my fic in some sense. how it essentially felt like a dream. but anyways, please enjoy the fic while it lasts hehe. let me know what you think for this chapter~

thank you so much for reading!!!!!

tumblr: grayyxv / X: aschxv

Chapter 11: Phony

Notes:

im back! this chapter isnt as long as the others i think. its only about 9.5k words but....... there will be reveals! also i updated the tags to reflect the story better... i didnt know how to add my own tags (not the suggested ones) lmfao 😭 anyways uhm i hope u enjoy the reveals!!! sorry for any errors.... again, no beta reader so.. yeah.........

“What did you do to him?”

Mydei’s voice broke into a snarl before he realized it, his body moving faster than his thoughts. He seized Phainon by the collar and slammed him back against the doorframe, the sudden force rattling the wood. His breath came harsh, shallow—too many emotions clawing at once: shock, rage, grief.

Phainon’s eyes widened. For a moment, he looked more startled than defensive, hands instinctively raised in surrender.

“Me? I didn’t do anything.” His voice carried a raw edge, threaded with disbelief at being accused. “I got a call from some unknown number who told me that.”

“Don’t lie to me.” Mydei hissed, his grip tightening on the fabric at Phainon’s throat.

But Phainon, in a rush, dug a hand into his pocket and yanked out his phone, thrusting it forward almost desperately. Mydei snatched it from him, his pulse hammering in his ears. On the screen was the recent call log—an unknown number, timestamped only minutes ago.

Cipher stepped closer, her arms folded tightly against her chest, suspicion sharpening her features. “But why would they tell you instead of Mydei?” she asked, each word deliberate, her tone edged with accusation.

“I don’t know either,” Phainon muttered, his voice quieter now, the hurt clear. His eyes flicked between them—between Cipher’s distrust and Mydei’s trembling hands still clutching the phone—and something flickered there, something pained.

Mydei’s head was spinning.

It didn’t make sense. None of this made sense.

Was Phainon lying? Was this all another layer in some endless deception? Cipher’s words echoed relentlessly in his mind, her warnings about obsession, time and trust. But he could still feel the desperate sincerity in Phainon’s voice, the bewilderment in his expression when he was accused.

He wanted—needed—to believe him. But the timing was too sharp, too cruel. Just after Cipher warned him to be careful, Hephaestion was gone? Sure, Hephaestion had been cruel to him but he was once a friend. Even though he had changed throughout the years, Mydei didn’t think he deserved death. 

His stomach turned, bile rising in his throat.

He had sworn to himself, over and over, that he wouldn’t let history repeat itself. That he wouldn’t stain his hands in blood the way his ancestors had. That he’d protect his friends.

But Hephaestion was dead.

Mydei’s grip slackened slightly on Phainon’s collar, though his eyes burned with an unsteady, wavering fury. “If you’re lying to me…”

“I’m not,” Phainon whispered, almost pleading now. There was a quiet devastation in his face—like the doubt cutting into Mydei was cutting even deeper into him.

And for the first time, Mydei felt something new stirring beneath the storm of grief and anger—caution. Wariness. The terrifying realization that he no longer knew if Phainon was his anchor… or the one dragging him under.

He was going to be sick.

“Wait, Mydei. Let me check with Aglaea.”

Cipher’s voice cut the tension, firm but hurried. She was already pulling out her phone as she backed toward the hallway. “Stay here.” Her eyes lingered on Phainon a moment too long before she turned away, disappearing around the corner as she dialed.

Silence filled the room, heavy and suffocating.

Mydei stood there by the door, his chest tight, his hands trembling faintly as he raked them through his hair. He stared down at his own phone like it might give him answers if he looked hard enough, scrolling through the blank screen again and again. His breath came in uneven pulls.

“Mydei…”

Phainon’s voice was softer now, almost hoarse. He reached out hesitantly, his hand brushing against Mydei’s arm before curling around his elbow in a plea. His thumb pressed lightly at the crease of his sleeve, as though the smallest touch could anchor him. “I swear it wasn’t me. Why’d you think I did it?”

Mydei froze under the touch, but didn’t shrug him off immediately. His head tilted down, shadowing his expression. The words clawed out of him raw, bitter. 

“Because I know you’re hiding something from me.”

That landed like a blow.

The silence between them stretched, unbearable. Phainon’s lips parted, words fighting at the edge of his tongue, but nothing came out. His silence was louder than any confession. Phainon’s grip faltered. His eyes dropped away from Mydei’s, lashes lowering as his silence stretched too long—too damning. The tension in his jaw betrayed all the words he refused to speak.

Mydei’s chest constricted. The part of him that wanted to lean into Phainon’s touch, to believe him blindly, cracked under the weight of that silence. Slowly, reluctantly, he stepped back, slipping free of Phainon’s hand. He shook his head, backing away another step. The space between them now wider, heavy with unspoken. 

Phainon’s shoulders slumped, his voice broke low, almost pleading. “I’m sorry. But I promise you that I’m doing it for your sake, and the others as well.”

Mydei’s jaw tightened. He swallowed hard against the ache in his throat. “I don’t need you to protect me, Deliverer.” The title was sharper than a blade—spat with distance, unlike the Mydei that Phainon knew.

Before the silence could strangle the air between them further, Cipher came running back, her breath uneven, urgency etched across her face.

“Mydei!” she called, stopping just short of them. “I got through to Aglaea.” She exhaled, steadying herself. “It’s best if you return to Castrum Kremnos immediately. Hephaestion’s body is most likely there.”

Mydei inhaled sharply. 

That was definitely not a good sign. 

His chest tightened at the thought of his mother falling victim to the killer. His mother, the one who had sacrificed herself and stayed behind in Castrum Kremnos so he could lead a normal life. The one who singlehandedly raised him and had to deal with the grief that came with his father’s death. His hands curled into fists, as though bracing himself for a burden too heavy to lift.

Cipher’s gaze flicked to Phainon, sharp and wary. “Aglaea also told you to check your phone.”

Phainon frowned, pulling his phone out. The screen lit up with a message. His eyes darkened as he read Aglaea’s words.

He didn’t question it. Didn’t argue. He only gave Mydei one last, searching look—eyes stormy, as though begging silently to be trusted. Then he straightened, his voice taut but steady.

“I have to go.”

Without hesitation, he turned and left, his steps clipped and urgent. But the tension he left behind lingered like smoke in the air, thick and suffocating.

Mydei stood frozen, staring at the empty space Phainon left behind. His thoughts spun in a storm of doubt and longing, but the one thing he couldn’t escape was the gnawing thought that things weren’t ever going to be the same. 

His spiral was cut short by Cipher’s sharp voice cutting through the murmur of the party.

“Alright—everyone out. Party’s over. Now.”

There was no room for protest in her tone. With a sweep of her arm, she herded people toward the door, ignoring their confused complaints. Some muttered under their breath, others exchanged glances, but the sheer force of Cipher’s presence had them filing out quickly. She shut the music off mid-song, plunging the atmosphere into an awkward hush, and within minutes the laughter and chatter dissolved into silence, the house emptying like a receding tide.

Only a few remained—Hyacine, Castorice, Dan Heng, March, Caelus, and Stelle. The ones close enough to know when something serious had happened. They clustered together in the living room, the faint smell of spilt drinks and summer heat still lingering in the air, waiting for Cipher to explain.

Cipher exhaled heavily and rubbed her temples before speaking, her voice more measured now.

“There’s been… an urgent situation. Mydei has to return to Castrum Kremnos immediately for some family matters.”

The group exchanged startled looks. Castorice’s hand drifted to her lips in quiet worry, while Hyacine leaned forward as though she might offer help before she even knew what was needed. March’s brows knitted, concern softening her normally bright expression.

Dan Heng was the first to speak, calm but firm. “Don’t worry about your house. We’ll check in. If anything happens, we’ll handle it.”

March chimed in with a nod. “Yeah, school too. If anyone asks, we’ll cover for you.”

“And your cat,” Hyacine added quickly, managing a faint smile. “We’ll take care of her. Promise.”

The warmth in their voices chipped away at the cold panic coiled in Mydei’s chest. He nodded, though his throat felt tight. “Thank you… all of you. I’ll entrust my house keys to Cipher for now. If you need anything, call me. Otherwise, just… just keep things steady until I get back.”

“Of course,” Caelus said, his voice gentle. “Focus on your family.”

For a moment, Mydei almost broke—grief and doubt swelling in his chest. But he forced himself to stay composed. There wasn’t time to linger. With a brief, grateful glance at each of them, he turned and dashed up the stairs to pack.

The sound of drawers opening and bags being zipped filled the house, quick and unsteady, like a man running from the weight of his own thoughts. His fingers trembled as he stuffed clothes and essentials into his duffle bag, his mind too clouded to decide what mattered most. All he knew was that he needed to leave.

By the time he re-emerged, his bag slung over his shoulder, he had already booked the next flight out. His friends were still waiting, their presence a small comfort against the storm inside him. 

They had begun picking up empty cups and crumpled napkins, straightening cushions and putting things in order, as though restoring the house would somehow keep Mydei anchored until he returned.

He met their eyes one last time, nodding in silent gratitude before heading for the door. But just as his hand reached for the knob, Cipher’s palm pressed against the wood, stopping him.

“Mydei…” she said softly, her voice carrying all the restraint of someone who had been holding herself together for his sake. “I know it’s hard—but I promise I’ll do everything I can to get to the bottom of this.”

Her words lingered heavy in the quiet, but Mydei shook his head almost immediately, jaw tight. “Don’t. I don’t want anyone else getting hurt because of me.”

Cipher’s brows knitted, the steel usually in her voice wavering just slightly. “You can’t do this alone, Mydei—”

“I can,” he interrupted, his tone sharper than he intended, then softened when he caught the look in her eyes. He placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, his palm warm but fleeting. “Thanks… but really. I’ll be fine.”

For a moment, it looked like she wanted to argue, to demand he let her share the burden, but his tired smile cut her off before she could. It wasn’t reassurance—it was a plea.

With a quick pat on her back, he stepped past her. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Cipher staring at the empty space where he had stood, her lips pressed into a thin line.

All she could do now was hope for the best.

-x-

After a grueling twelve-hour flight, the wheels of the plane screeched against the runway, jolting Mydei awake from the restless half-sleep he had been drifting in. His body ached from the hours spent folded in the seat, but it wasn’t exhaustion that weighed on him most—it was the storm he carried inside.

The announcement rang overhead, welcoming passengers to Castrum Kremnos. Mydei pressed his forehead lightly against the cool glass of the window, staring at the skyline of his homeland. The golden structure of Nikador's lance that loomed above the city in the distance, ancient stone spires jutting upward like the remnants of an older world stubbornly clinging to the present.

Home. The word didn’t sit easily on his tongue.

He hadn’t been back in years, and though the sight of the familiar streets and architecture stirred something faintly warm in his chest, it also pricked at scars he thought he’d left behind. The weight of expectations. The long corridors where he had walked under the eyes of those who whispered about his future. The palace that had always felt less like a home and more like a cage.

Still, there was one thing that cut through the haze of dread—the thought of seeing her. His mother. The queen. The only person who could make this place feel less suffocating.

Once he disembarked, the air of Castrum Kremnos wrapped around him, heavier, cooler than the one he had grown used to abroad. Even the scent was different: the faint iron tang of stone, the musk of rain-soaked earth, the faint sweetness of pomegranates carried from the royal gardens. Every breath dragged him deeper into memories—some bitter, some tender.

He adjusted the strap of his bag, moving with a prince’s posture even if his heart longed to slouch under the weight of it all. As expected, he couldn’t walk freely through the airport like an ordinary traveller. Waiting for him at the gate was one of his trusted guards, clad in the muted gray and deep red of the royal household.

“Your Highness.” The guard greeted, bowing his head.

“At ease.” Mydei replied quietly. 

Without another word, he followed the guard out to the waiting car. The tinted windows cut out most of the morning sun, but Mydei’s eyes still wandered to the passing scenery as the city unfolded before him.

Castrum Kremnos had changed, yet it hadn’t. New gold towers now mingled with the old stone fortresses, modern bridges arcing over canals once lined only with marble. Markets buzzed, children ran through the narrow alleys, vendors shouted the same songs they had for generations. But beneath it all, Mydei could feel the pulse of tension, the unspoken divide between progress and tradition. It was as if time itself was at war here.

And as the car ascended the familiar road toward the heart of the city, the looming silhouette of the palace rose into view, perched high above the terraces like a crown upon the mountainside. Its walls of pale stone gleamed in the morning light, solemn and unyielding, watching over the city with the same cold vigilance Mydei remembered from his youth.

His chest tightened.

This was it.

The car slowed at the great gates, the gilded insignia of his home glinting as the guards recognized him and saluted. The heavy gates groaned open, the echo of metal and stone reverberating through the valley.

By the time the car rolled into the inner courtyard, Mydei’s hands had balled into fists against his knees. He was no longer the boy who had left this place years ago—but stepping out now, his feet crunching against the white gravel, he felt the same weight as though nothing had changed.

Only one thing pulled him forward, steadying his breath as the towering palace doors creaked open to receive him.

His mother, the queen.

The heavy palace doors opened, their hinges groaning as a flood of attendants and courtiers turned to see who had arrived. For a breathless moment, Mydei felt the weight of dozens of gazes pressing into him—recognition sparking like wildfire. Whispers spread, then soft cheers followed, echoing through the marble halls.

The crown prince had returned.

And then he saw her.

Queen Gorgo stood at the far end of the hall, poised as always, her bearing unshaken despite the sudden murmur of the court. The years had touched her gently—her beauty unyielding, her grace undiminished—but there was a faint weariness at the edge of her eyes, the kind that only sleepless nights and heavy burdens could carve.

When her gaze met Mydei’s, the mask of regality slipped for the briefest moment. Her lips parted, her breath caught—and then she was moving, not with the careful, measured steps of a queen, but with the hurried, desperate stride of a mother.

“Mydeimos,” she whispered, the name catching like a prayer on her tongue.

Mydei dropped his bag where he stood and closed the distance between them in a rush. When her arms wrapped around him, he clung to her as though he were a child again, burying his face in her shoulder. The fragrance of her perfume, faintly floral with a trace of spice, was achingly familiar.

For a heartbeat, the world outside that embrace ceased to exist.

“Welcome back, my child,” Gorgo murmured, her voice thick with warmth, her hand smoothing down his hair as if to assure herself he was real.

“Mother,” Mydei whispered hoarsely, his throat tightening. “I have returned.”

The courtiers’ whispers swelled behind them, a chorus of reverence and joy, but neither of them paid it any mind. For them, there was only this reunion—long overdue, yet desperately needed.

When at last she pulled back, Gorgo studied him with the sharp, discerning eyes of both a queen and a mother. She cupped his cheek briefly, her thumb brushing the faint shadow beneath his eye.

“You’ve grown into yourself,” she said softly, though a shadow lingered in her gaze, as if she sensed the heaviness he carried.

Mydei allowed himself a small, bittersweet smile. “And you look the same as the day I left.”

“Oh please,” she teased gently, though her eyes glistened.

Without further ceremony, she took his hand and guided him down the hall. Attendants bowed as they passed, but Gorgo’s expression remained impassive. She led him swiftly into her private office—a chamber lined with shelves of scrolls and tomes, the air rich with sandalwood and parchment. The doors closed behind them, cutting off the noise of the palace.

Here, at last, they could simply be mother and son.

“Before we speak of matters pressing and grim…” she said, gesturing for him to sit opposite her at the low table, “tell me, Mydeimos—how have you been, truly?”

Mydei sank into the chair, exhaling slowly as though the question itself was too heavy. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed—a quiet, weary chuckle. “Where do I even begin?”

Her lips curved faintly, patient, encouraging.

“The first few years were alright,” Mydei admitted, leaning back with a hand raking through his hair. “But the past six months?” He let out a low sigh, shaking his head. “It’s going to be a long story.”

And for the first time in months, he felt like he was in a place where he could finally tell it.

For the next few hours, Mydei spoke without reserve.

He told her of the quiet life he had been building in Okehema, how lonely it had been at first—just him, the silence of his little apartment, and his books. Then came Phainon. He described the day Phainon had barged in uninvited, how outrageous it had felt to have a stranger take up space in his home, and yet… how quickly that stranger had become indispensable.

From there, the story unfolded—Phainon destroying his microwave on the first day, Phainon dragging him out into the city, Phainon arguing with him one moment and looking at him with unnerving intensity the next. Mydei recounted it all, his tone alternating between exasperation and a warmth he didn’t seem aware of.

Then came his friends. He showed her pictures on his private Enstagram account, scrolling through with the ease of someone who had found belonging. Gorgo studied each image carefully—Cipher’s mischievous grin, Hyacine’s poised smile, March’s bright enthusiasm. But more than anyone, Phainon appeared again and again, always by Mydei’s side, as though the two of them were stitched together by fate.

Finally, Mydei spoke of his trip to Aedes Elysiae—the strange beauty of it, its secrets, and Cipher’s claim that Phainon might be a time traveler. He told her about the tension between them, the unanswered questions, and the recent fight that left him shaken.

Gorgo listened silently throughout. She had always been a patient woman, but now her patience was laced with keen observation. When Mydei spoke of his friends, his expression was soft, grateful. But when he spoke of Phainon—whether describing their arguments or their rare, quiet moments—his eyes betrayed something deeper. They lit with an unconscious fondness, his lips curving into a smile before he even realized it.

Call it a mother’s instinct, but she knew.

Her son loved this man—utterly, unknowingly, hopelessly.

And even when Mydei tried to mask his unease with bitterness at Phainon’s secrets, Gorgo saw through it. The way his hand lingered on his phone screen when he scrolled past a picture of the two of them, the way his voice softened when recalling their trip to Aedes Elysiae and Phainon's endless devotion, the signet ring that sat on his ring finger—there was no mistaking it. 

When at last he finished, the room fell into a thoughtful silence. Mydei leaned back in his chair, his shoulders heavy, his eyes searching hers for something—perhaps judgment, perhaps reassurance.

Gorgo reached across the table, her hand brushing over his. “You’ve grown, Mydeimos. More than you realize.”

He blinked, a little startled by her words. “Have I?”

Her lips curved in a knowing smile. “When you left, I worried. I feared you would close yourself off, that you would remain alone. But now, I hear you speak of friends who cherish you and it puts me at ease.”

Her expression shifted then, her gaze shadowed. She leaned back, fingers folding together in her lap. “As for Aedes Elysiae… I have heard stories though I'm not too sure on its relationship with time. But…” She hesitated, her voice lowering, “…regarding Hephaestion…”

The name lingered in the air like a specter. Mydei stiffened, his pulse quickening, his mouth suddenly dry.

“…it’s complicated,” she finished quietly, her expression faltering for the first time.

Mydei stared at her, searching her eyes for answers she wasn’t yet giving, unease twisting in his chest.

“Come with me,” Gorgo said, her tone quieter now, the weight of something unspoken pressing on each word.

She rose from her chair and Mydei followed, unsure of where she was leading him. They passed through familiar corridors of the palace—halls he had once run through as a boy, now echoing with his own uncertain footsteps. Servants and guards bowed as they passed, but their eyes lingered, whispers stirring in their wake. Mydei ignored them, his chest tightening with every step.

Finally, they reached a separate wing of the palace—a place he remembered faintly but had not entered in years. The air here was cooler, stiller. A faint sterility clung to it, tinged with the muted scents of herbs and antiseptic oils. The medical wing.

Down a long hallway, she pushed open a set of double doors. Mydei stepped inside and froze.

There, resting in a coffin of polished dark wood, lay Hephaestion.

The sight nearly knocked the breath from his lungs. Though dressed finely, his face touched with the careful work of morticians, Hephaestion looked nothing like the proud boy who had once been at his side. His features were gaunt, his skin pale and stretched thin over sharp bones. His hands, folded neatly over his chest, were frail and bony, as though all life had been leeched from him long before death took him.

Mydei’s throat constricted.

“He had leukemia,” Gorgo said softly, her gaze fixed on the still form before them. “For the longest time. Since you were both children.”

The words sank into him like ice. Memories flashed—Hephaestion training with him, laughing with him, arguing with him—always so full of fire, never betraying how sickly he truly was. Mydei’s hands curled into fists at his sides.

“He fought it bravely, but… there came a time when the illness began winning,” Gorgo continued, her voice steady but low. “Then, one day, a man appeared. He offered Hephaestion a cure.”

Mydei’s head snapped toward her. “A cure?”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. “In exchange, he wanted Hephaestion to seize the throne. To become king in your place.”

For a long moment, Mydei could only stare at his mother, the weight of her words sinking in. He thought back to all the times Hephaestion had seemed different—more distant, more secretive, more ruthless. He had taken it as betrayal, as ambition… but this? This was desperation.

A strange heaviness lifted in his chest, replaced by a hollow ache.

So that was what had driven Hephaestion into the arms of treachery. He had not sought to destroy Mydei—he had only sought to live. And how could he blame him for that? Still, the betrayal stung, sharp as glass under his ribs.

Gorgo’s voice drew him back. “He went often for treatments in the outskirts of Castrum Kremnos. But something went wrong. One day, the physicians reported that his body could take no more. And then… he was gone.”

Mydei’s jaw tightened, his eyes fixed on Hephaestion’s lifeless face. Questions swirled within him, sharp and bitter. Who was this man who had offered salvation at such a cruel cost? Was it real medicine, or some manipulation dressed as hope?

“How did you find out about this?” Mydei finally asked, his voice low, almost shaking.

“It was me,” a voice answered from behind.

Mydei spun around.

A man stepped casually into the chamber, his stride confident, his expression calm despite the somber air of the room. Brunette hair framed a familiar face—sharp-eyed, sun-warmed, with a hint of a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

Mydei’s breath caught. “Ptolemy…”

The man who had once lived under their roof, saved by his mother’s mercy. The man who had lived by their side in his childhood. The very same man who had rescued a collapsed Phainon when he was in Castrum Kremnos. And now, here he was again, walking back into their lives at the very heart of a secret too heavy to bear.

“It’s good to see you again, old friend. I believe it has been twelve years since we last met,” Ptolemy said with a warm smile, his voice steady and familiar. He reached out and gave Mydei a firm pat on the back, the gesture grounding, almost brotherly.

Mydei returned the smile faintly, his throat tightening with unspoken emotion. For a moment, he let himself remember the boy who had once shared the same roof, the same meals, the same laughter amongst them. Tentatively, he pulled Ptolemy into a quick side hug.

He looked different now—older, steadier. His frame had filled out, strong and healthy, his posture that of a man accustomed to discipline. His attire, scholarly yet practical, carried faint traces of travel-worn wear, and there was a quiet confidence in the way he carried himself.

“How have you been? We have much to talk about,” Mydei said softly, searching his friend’s face.

Ptolemy chuckled. “Much indeed. And you’ve grown into your own, Mydei. It feels strange, doesn’t it? To return after so long, to find so much changed.”

Before Mydei could respond, Gorgo’s voice cut gently between them. “I’ll leave you boys to catch up while I take care of some matters.” Her gaze lingered on her son for a moment longer, her expression unreadable but full of quiet strength, before she turned and departed the chamber, her footsteps fading down the hall.

The silence she left behind settled thick and heavy.

Ptolemy turned back to Mydei, his smile softening into something more serious. He clasped Mydei’s shoulder firmly, his tone lowering.

“I’m sure you have a thousand questions,” he said, his eyes steady on Mydei’s. “And I’ll answer them. But before anything else… there’s something you need to know.”

“We can’t talk here. Let’s go to my private quarters,” Mydei whispered, his voice low but urgent.

After lingering for a moment longer before Hephaestion’s coffin, Mydei bent his head respectfully in silent farewell. Then, without another word, he guided Ptolemy swiftly through the palace halls. The corridors stretched endlessly, gilded walls and marble floors reflecting torchlight in solemn silence. At last, they reached his chambers—a place Mydei hadn’t set foot in for years, yet everything inside felt untouched, frozen in time.

He shut the heavy doors behind them, bolted the lock, and turned to face his friend. Ptolemy, ever direct, wasted no time.

“I think I’ve figured out the real cause of Hephaestion’s death,” he began gravely. His eyes darkened, the lighthearted warmth from earlier gone. “He was poisoned. And the man who did it… was the very same one who offered him a cure.”

Mydei’s breath caught. For a moment, his heart seemed to stop. Poisoned? His hands clenched at his sides, his chest twisting. Betrayal and grief swirled violently inside him. Hephaestion—his childhood companion, his first love—had been strung along, used like a pawn. Promised salvation, only to be discarded.

“So all this time…” Mydei whispered, his voice hoarse. “He was played for a fool?”

Ptolemy’s expression softened briefly, then hardened again. “Yes. The treatment given to him—it was strange. At first, his body seemed to recover. The illness retreated, his strength returned. But alongside it… he began losing himself. Pieces of his personality were stripped away, until all that was left was desperation and obsession. That’s why he turned against you, Mydei. He was manipulated.”

Mydei frowned, his pulse hammering in his ears. The pieces clicked into place—the warmth that had once defined Hephaestion had twisted into something darker. The man who had whispered promises in his ear was not the same boy he had grown up with. The sudden hunger for power, the way Hephaestion had clung to him possessively—it all aligned with what Ptolemy was saying.

Mydei sank onto the edge of his bed, burying his face briefly in his hands before looking up again, eyes blazing with both pain and fury.

“And the media?” he pressed. His voice was sharper now, his prince’s tone creeping through.

“That was my first clue,” Ptolemy explained, folding his arms. “It didn’t add up. Hephaestion never had that kind of influence. Yet suddenly, stories were being twisted, and public perception turned against you overnight. Someone was feeding him power, leverage, connections. And that someone… wanted you stripped of everything.”

Mydei’s chest tightened. The betrayal cut deeper than he thought possible. For years, he had mourned the loss of the boy he once loved, thinking perhaps Hephaestion had simply chosen ambition over him. But now? Now he realized Hephaestion had been little more than a pawn in someone else’s cruel game.

“Long story short, the man grew tired of Hephaestion. When they discovered you had left Castrum Kremnos, the man ordered Hephaestion to bring you back. But when they finally found you…” Ptolemy’s voice dropped lower, almost reluctant. “He must’ve realized nothing would have made you return—unless something drastic happened.”

Mydei’s jaw clenched, his fists curling tight at his sides. The taste of bitterness burned on his tongue. All of it—a performance, a manipulation, a carefully crafted snare. And now here he stood, right where the mystery man had wanted him all along.

His mind wavered. If everything Ptolemy said was true… then perhaps he had been wrong about Phainon. Terribly, painfully wrong.

“Tell me one thing, Ptolemy.” His voice trembled despite his effort to steady it. “Is there a chance the mystery man could actually be Phainon?”

Ptolemy blinked, his expression caught somewhere between disbelief and concern. “Phainon? The actor?” His eyes flicked to the signet ring on Mydei’s finger, recognition flashing across his face. “I take it you’ve met him—and gotten that from him at some point. But why would you suspect him? He’s a good man, Mydei. I’ve seen him with my own eyes.”

“This is going to sound insane,” Mydei admitted, voice low. He hesitated, almost afraid of the words he was about to speak. “But… have you ever heard something about him being a time traveller of some sort?”

For the first time, Ptolemy didn’t dismiss his words outright. Instead, silence fell over him, heavy and deliberate. Slowly, he reached into the satchel slung over his shoulder and drew out an ancient, weathered book. Its leather binding was cracked, the golden ink on its cover dulled with age: The World in Oronyx’s Eyes.

He flipped carefully through the yellowed pages until his finger stopped at a passage. Turning the book toward Mydei, he tapped a line of text under the chapter heading: The Miracles of Oronyx.

“The miracle of Oronyx is to extrapolate a potential past or future… and bring that possibility into existence.”

Ptolemy’s eyes lifted to meet Mydei’s, steady and unflinching. “You should know this by now—Phainon hails from Aedes Elysiae. The Elysians are said to be blessed with Oronyx’s miracle, and because of it, they share a peculiar relationship with time itself. I don’t know the full extent of Phainon’s power… but I am fairly certain he can wield Oronyx’s gift.”

The words struck Mydei like a physical blow. His chest tightened, his thoughts spiraling. If Phainon truly had power over time, then how much of Mydei’s path—his pain, his choices, even Hephaestion’s death—had already been touched, shaped, or doomed by him?

As if sensing the storm raging in Mydei’s chest, Ptolemy spoke firmly, his tone cutting through the silence.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But I don’t believe Phainon had any part in this. We lived together for four years, Mydei. If he had even the slightest intention of poisoning Hephaestion—or manipulating you—I would have seen it. He’s reckless at times, yes, but malicious? No. Never.”

Mydei’s heart dropped. He knew Ptolemy would never lie to him. If he was sure that Phainon wasn’t the culprit then… how was he going to face Phainon again after the way he had left? 

He let out a slow, unsteady breath, relief and doubt colliding inside him. “Then… who? Who else would have the power to orchestrate all this?”

Ptolemy’s jaw tightened, hesitation flickering across his face before he leaned in closer. “The man behind this… he is definitely someone similar to Phainon. Someone with a gift. And the worst part…” His voice faltered, his eyes darkening. “…I fear he may be someone close to the queen.”

Mydei froze, his pulse hammering in his ears. “…My mother?” He searched Ptolemy’s expression, desperately hoping to see denial. “Is it a guard? A maid? One of her advisors?”

“I don’t know for certain.” Ptolemy’s reply was quiet but steady. “But everything I’ve uncovered points in one direction. Whoever he is, he’s buried deep within the palace. And I am almost certain he’s the one who murdered the king.”

The words slammed into Mydei with the force of a blow. He gripped the edge of the table, knuckles pale, as if holding himself together. The death of Hephaestion, the throne, Phainon, even his own return—it all connected back here, to the rot festering inside Castrum Kremnos itself.

Another being with an other-worldly power. Phainon’s case should have been impossible to begin with, but for there to be a second—perhaps even stronger—was madness. Mydei felt his chest tighten, the edges of reality blurring. Suddenly, he wasn’t sure what was real anymore.

Just who the hell was fucking with him? And why him, of all people?

There were rulers far greater than him. Kings and queens of sprawling empires, men and women who commanded armies and wealth beyond imagination. Celebrities, business magnates, politicians whose voices swayed nations. People infinitely more important than a wayward prince of Castrum Kremnos.

So why him? What could he possibly have that was worth destroying everything around him?

“Why am I involved in all of this?” Mydei’s voice cracked with exasperation. He dragged both hands down his face, then let them fall limp against his knees. “I’m barely even a prince. I defected from the throne. I have no special gifts, no miracles, no world-breaking treasure. What does the man want from me?”

For a moment, only silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint crackle of the torches outside his chamber. Ptolemy’s expression softened, and after careful thought, he finally spoke.

“...This is speculation,” he admitted slowly, “but from what I learned of Phainon when we lived together… perhaps in a different time, you made an important choice. One that led directly to these events.”

Mydei let out a hollow, humorless laugh, though the sound was jagged, splintering at the edges. “A choice that killed my father. That killed Hephaestion. That burned my subjects alive, people who had no reason to die.” His hands curled into fists, nails biting into his palms. “So what does that make me, Ptolemy? A cursed man? A scapegoat? A fool?”

Ptolemy leaned forward, his tone steady but gentle, as though anchoring Mydei back from the abyss. “No, Mydeimos. Don’t do this to yourself. It wasn’t you who killed them. Every death, every scheme—it was orchestrated by the mystery man. You were a victim of his game, not the author of it.”

But Mydei shook his head, bitter laughter spilling from him again, this time edged with grief. “Victim or not, I was still the center piece. And everyone I loved… paid the price for standing near me.”

Mydei knew, deep down, that perhaps he wasn’t entirely to blame for all the misfortunes that had unfolded. Yet the guilt clung to him like a second skin. Every death, every betrayal, every shadow cast over his path seemed to loop back to him, as if he were some cursed fulcrum upon which fate insisted on turning. 

And with Ptolemy suggesting that all of this might have been the consequence of his own choices—choices he didn’t even remember—how could he not take the blame?

He had always heard the stories: cycles, reincarnations, the endless turning of the world. Amphoreus had long whispered that the past and future were tethered, that lives reset every few thousand years like stars returning to their positions in the sky. 

For the common folk, it was a comforting myth against the fear of endings. Mydei had once believed the same—that it was simply a belief, a story, nothing more. But now… it was personal. If the man he used to be had truly made some pivotal choice that rippled down into this mess, then Mydei was living out the consequences of his own ghost’s mistake.

And yet, he couldn’t make sense of it. 

Surely, whoever he had been, he must have acted with purpose. With reason. With foresight. So why did the present feel so broken? Why did it feel as though the future handed to him was one riddled with cracks and ruin? If this was the grand outcome of some long-ago decision… then perhaps his past self had been a fool. 

Perhaps he had been an idiot in every lifetime.

“What do I even do now? I don’t even know who I can trust. Phainon… still hasn’t told me the truth about himself or his purpose either.” Mydei sighed, the weight of his own uncertainty pressing down on him until his shoulders ached.

“Please believe me when I say that you can trust me. Phainon just needs some time. Trust him.” Ptolemy spoke.

Mydei let out a short, wordless laugh. 

It was hollow, brittle. The kind of laugh that carried no mirth at all. Ptolemy’s reassurance sounded eerily like Phainon’s words before he left Okehema, and it left Mydei spiraling. Cipher had warned him not to trust Phainon too easily. Ptolemy, now, was telling him the exact opposite. Two friends he respected, two voices he valued, yet both pulling him in different directions. Which one was right? Which one was leading him toward salvation, and which one toward ruin?

He wanted to believe. Titans, he wanted to believe. His heart cried for it, for the simplicity of faith, for the comfort of certainty. But his mind would not allow it. Every time he reached for trust, doubt pried his fingers away.

“What do you want to believe?”

Mydei’s throat tightened. What he wanted and what was true were not the same. “I… want to believe that Phainon is innocent. That this whole thing was just a big coincidence. That maybe, no one else is scheming against me.”

There was a pause. Ptolemy’s silence almost seemed to lean toward him, as if ready to fill the air with reason. But before he could, Mydei pushed on, his voice unsteady.

“I know that’s impossible so I just… want everyone I love to be safe, that’s all.”

The words left his lips like a confession, heavy and trembling. It was the truth of it, the center of all his torment. He didn’t crave power, nor vengeance, nor even answers—not truly. All he wanted was safety, for those he cared about to be untouched by the chaos that seemed to coil around him. And yet, even that simple wish felt like a dream he had no right to reach for.

Ptolemy was quiet for a long moment, his gaze lingering on Mydei as though weighing every possible response. Mydei’s raw honesty seemed to hang in the air between them, fragile and uncertain, and Ptolemy knew anything careless might shatter it. He drew in a slow breath, steadying himself, before finally speaking.

“I’m currently staying in the palace since I’m overseeing Hephaestion’s funeral. So I’ll let you know once I’ve narrowed down the identity of the mystery man,” Ptolemy said at last.

The heaviness in Mydei’s chest eased, if only slightly. It wasn’t an answer to all his doubts, but it was something concrete—a thread of action, a promise.

“Thank you, Ptolemy. Truly.”

“It’s the least I could do after all your family has done for me.” Ptolemy smiled, soft but genuine, and for a fleeting instant, the years of absence seemed to collapse between them.

From there, their talk began to drift, away from the sharp edges of distrust and loss. They spoke of smaller things—their childhood antics, half-forgotten games in the courtyards, the people they had once known. Laughter slipped in naturally, tentative at first but soon more sure, smoothing over the tension like sunlight pushing through a storm.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Mydei allowed himself to simply be —to sit with someone he trusted, to remember that not all bonds had been severed by suspicion or betrayal.

And though their laughter carried softly through the halls, somewhere in the palace, the enemy was already listening.

-x-

Once Phainon arrived at the familiar building, he wasted no time navigating its hushed corridors. The air felt heavier at night, every shadow stretched long as though watching him. When he reached Anaxa’s office, the door was already open, a faint amber glow spilling out.

Inside, the professor sat at his desk as though carved from stone—stoic, inscrutable, expectant. His singular eye flicked up once at Phainon but gave nothing away.

But it wasn’t just Anaxa who awaited him. A figure stood at the far side of the room, half-shrouded in shadow. At first glance, Phainon assumed it was Aglaea, but something about the posture was sharper, the silence colder. As the figure stepped into the light, recognition hit him like a blow. Silver hair streaked with glacial blue. Eyes as sharp and merciless as ice.

Cerydra.

The leader of the past Chrysos Heirs, and president of the company Chrysos itself.

What the hell was she doing here?

“I’m here because of the book,” she said evenly, her voice betraying no warmth, no hesitation. Her chin tilted toward the desk.

Phainon’s gaze followed—and there it was. The grimoire. As I’ve Written.

His chest tightened. He had lent the book to Aglaea for a time, when it had still been incomplete, its chapters scattered, some no more than faint traces of ink. To anyone else, it would have seemed little more than a rare but inert historical relic. Only he knew the truth—that the grimoire was alive in ways no text should be, that it grew and shifted, weaving its own words as if the parchment itself breathed.

He approached slowly, the weight of two sets of unyielding eyes tracking his every move. When his hand finally touched the cover, he felt it—a subtle hum beneath his fingertips, like the faint echo of something stirring deep within Amphoreus.

He flipped it open.

The pages, once sparse and broken, were now overflowing. Chapters upon chapters, each one meticulously inscribed, as if time itself had been compressed into a single morning’s work. And every name, every history, belonged to people he knew in this era—faces he had crossed, lives now entangled with his own. The confirmation settled like a stone in his gut.

His breath caught when he reached Chapter Ten— The Last Prince.

Mydei.

The words bled across the page, cruelly clear, merciless in their precision. His fate was sealed—the cycle repeating, the end inevitable. Death.

His chest clenched as he skimmed faster, desperate for a line, a loophole, anything that could undo what was written. But the ink remained steadfast, immutable.

With a choked growl, his fist slammed against the desk, rattling the inkwell and startling even Cerydra, whose icy composure faltered for a fraction of a second. Anaxa’s brows twitched upward in rare surprise.

“Fuck,” Phainon muttered through his teeth, the word dragging from his throat like venom.

The grimoire’s cruel truth pulsed back at him in silence. The book never explained itself. It only recorded, only revealed. Its pages wrote themselves without reason, triggered by encounters, by threads of destiny he could neither predict nor prevent. All he knew was that once the text appeared, it was fixed. Final.

And as the weight of inevitability pressed down on him, Phainon’s worst fear came into focus. The wheel of fate had already begun to turn.

And Mydei had been marked for death.

“Why didn’t you tell us about the book’s power to foretell fate?”

Anaxa’s voice was calm, but it carried a steel edge that cut through the still air of the office. His fingers tapped against the desk in a slow, deliberate rhythm, each beat a subtle measure of his restraint. His eye—cold, analytical—fixed on Phainon with unblinking precision, as if he were dissecting him piece by piece.

The question hung heavy between them, pressing down like a stormcloud.

Phainon swallowed, his jaw tight. He could feel Cerydra’s presence beside him, her silence more threatening than any accusation. Even in stillness, she radiated command; the imperator’s gaze was enough to crush lesser men.

Over the past few days, Anaxa and Aglaea had studied the grimoire tirelessly, tracing patterns, grasping at fragments that never aligned. Then, as though mocking their efforts, the book had bloomed in a single morning—every chapter inked with impossible clarity. Each name. Each life. Each fate.

And when Cerydra was summoned, panic written in Aglaea’s voice, the truth had crystallized: the book was not a mere chronicle. It was a mirror of destiny, a ledger of the Chrysos Heirs, and a herald of their end.

Anaxa’s tone sharpened further. “You knew. You knew it could do this, yet you said nothing. Why?”

Phainon’s gaze dropped to the grimoire lying open on the desk. The words seemed to bleed off the page, heavy and inevitable. Cyrene’s voice echoed in his mind, veiled hints of what had been entrusted to him—burdens he had carried alone. He exhaled slowly, forcing the words past the weight in his chest.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he admitted, his voice low. “If you truly were part of my story… if you were the missing Heirs… I couldn’t risk causing panic before I knew for certain.”

Cerydra’s chair scraped violently against the floor as she rose, her small frame belying the force of her presence. The air itself seemed to tighten.

“That excuse is pathetic,” she snapped, slamming her palm onto the desk with a sharp crack. The sound reverberated through the room like a gunshot. “You sat on knowledge that could doom us all, and for what? To spare our feelings?” Her icy eyes narrowed. “Or to spare yourself?”

Phainon stiffened but didn’t answer immediately. The truth stung even him.

Anaxa’s fingers ceased their drumming, folding together in front of him. His stillness was unnerving, a predator’s patience.

Phainon finally turned back to the book, his hand trembling slightly as he flipped through the final paragraphs of the chapters. Each one ended the same way—death. Brutal. Unavoidable. No variation, no mercy.

He felt the words choke him as he forced them out.

“I don’t know who’s coming for us. Or what they want.” He hesitated, then drew a sharp breath. “But whoever it is… they know the Chrysos Heirs hold authority over the fate of the world. And for some reason… they’re coming for Mydei first.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“Answer me this. What exactly are the Chrysos Heirs?” Cerydra demanded, arms crossed, her gaze unflinching.

Anaxa leaned back, voice even but heavy with implication.

“It seems the Chrysos Heirs are the constants in every timeline. No matter the divergence, no matter the universe, we are always present. We are the anchors—seeds of the Imaginary Tree itself. If we were to vanish completely, then reality would collapse with us.”

A silence followed, the weight of those words sinking like stone.

Cerydra’s expression tightened. “So we’re cornerstones of existence. But tell me—how are we supposed to track an enemy who knows how to strike at us from the shadows?”

It was then Phainon’s voice cut through, low and brittle. “Just now… I got a call. Unknown number. The caller said Hephaestion is dead.” His fingers curled tightly around his phone, knuckles blanching. “I’m certain—the one who called, the one framing Mydei, and the one hunting us… they’re the same.” He shoved the device toward Anaxa, almost as though it burned to touch it. “Can you trace it?”

Anaxa took it without a word, plugging it into his computer. The quiet hum of the machine was the only sound in the room, each second dragging heavier than the last. His fingers moved with methodical precision, lines of code reflected in his lenses. A pause. Then, a hit.

“The signal originates from Castrum Kremnos.”

The words struck like a blade.

Phainon froze. He heard the name, but it was Mydei’s voice he remembered, almost absent, telling him earlier that he was returning there. His eyes darted to the grimoire lying on the desk. The page that had burned itself into his mind. Mydei’s name. A fate carved in ink. 

One day, you shall die with a wound in your back.

His chest tightened violently. The air in the room seemed to vanish. His breath came shallow, ragged, uneven—as though he were drowning. His hands shook uncontrollably, the phone slipping from his grip and clattering to the floor.

“No… no, not again,” he muttered, voice breaking. His eyes were wide, almost wild, as if haunted by lifetimes of grief all colliding at once. Memories of losing Mydei—over and over, across worlds and ages—flashed like cruel lightning in his mind. Each death. Each absence. Each hollow ache.

He staggered back a step, pressing a trembling hand to his temple as though he could claw the visions out. His other hand clenched at his chest, nails biting through fabric. “This can’t—he can’t—” His words fractured, collapsing beneath the weight of panic.

Then, in a burst of desperate clarity, he gasped out: “I have to go. Castrum Kremnos—I have to go now.  Mydei—he’s there—he’s going to die.” His voice cracked, raw and unguarded, the mask of composure torn away.

It was terror, but also obsession. The terror of a man who had lost the same soul across eons, and could not, would not bear to lose him again.

The room had gone utterly silent, all eyes on him. But for Phainon, silence no longer existed—only the deafening roar of panic, grief, and an inexorable truth. 

If he was too late, this time there would be no coming back.

“Calm down. We have to think of a plan.” Anaxa’s voice finally cut through the static of Phainon’s panic. His tone was sharp, clinical—yet beneath the even cadence there was a faint quiver, the smallest crack betraying that he, too, felt the weight of what was happening. His fingers tapped restlessly against the edge of his keyboard, a steady rhythm that betrayed his unease.

Phainon turned on him, eyes burning with fury and desperation. “No. You think of a plan if you want, but I’m going. Right now. What if something happens to him while we sit here talking?” His voice was raw, almost hoarse, his hands clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles had gone white. He looked like a predator pacing the edge of a cage, ready to tear through steel bars if it meant reaching Mydei.

Anaxa’s jaw tightened, his composure slipping for a moment. He rose from his chair, squaring his shoulders. “Are you stupid?” His voice cracked like a whip, harsher than intended. “What if this is exactly what they want? You run in blind, and you’re dead before you even see his face. Then Mydei is still in danger, and we’ve lost you too.”

Phainon’s chest heaved with ragged breaths, the logic digging into him but not dispelling the panic that threatened to consume him. “But—”

“Phainon.”

The single word cut across the room like tempered steel. Cerydra had risen from her seat, her gaze locked on him with the kind of authority that silenced even the loudest storm. Her small frame belied the force she carried—an immovable presence, her arms folded, eyes sharp and unrelenting.

“You will sit quietly for a few hours,” she said, every syllable deliberate. “We will go through the plan, and then—only then—I will assign Hysilens to personally escort you to Castrum Kremnos.”

Her offer was not kindness; it was command. But there was an unspoken layer beneath it, a shield woven into her words—one that acknowledged his desperation without shattering under it.

Phainon froze, jaw tight, fists still trembling at his sides. His whole body vibrated with the urge to run, to disobey, to tear out the door and sprint until he reached Mydei’s side. But Cerydra’s gaze held him there, grounding him when nothing else could.

For a long moment, his chest rose and fell with shallow, unsteady breaths. Then, slowly, his shoulders slumped, the fight draining from him like blood from a wound. He nodded, once, curtly. Acceptance, but not peace.

“Fine,” he muttered, though his voice was frayed and brittle. His eyes darted toward the grimoire again, as if Mydei’s fate were written there in cruel ink, urging him forward. But for now, he stayed.

And in the silence that followed, the weight of the promise hung heavy in the air—an uneasy truce between logic, desperation, and command.

He would give them till midnight before he departed for Castrum Kremnos. This time Phainon was sure he was going to be the one who would save the Chrysos Heirs. He was going to make sure Mydei was safe.

No matter the cost.

-x-

“Your Majesty, I heard that the crown prince has returned,” came a smooth voice from behind her. The man, tall and broad-shouldered with carefully groomed brown hair, fell into step just a fraction too close to her. “You must be overjoyed. Tell me… will you be stepping down from the throne to allow Mydeimos to be king?”

Gorgo slowed in her stride, her silk skirt whispering against the stone floor as she turned her head slightly. The words caught in her chest. Her son’s name, spoken so casually—too casually—by her advisor, sent a ripple of unease through her.

The man had served her faithfully for years, his counsel steady in matters of war and diplomacy. Yet there was always a peculiar intensity when Mydei’s name entered their discussions. Too many questions about his upbringing, his whereabouts, his return. And now, barely minutes after she had left Mydei in private with Ptolemy, she was cornered with this .

Her voice was sharp, steely. “Do not overstep your boundaries, Theoros.” She did not face him, her chin lifting imperiously as she continued walking down the corridor.

“My apologies,” he replied, bowing his head with a shallow grace that seemed more mocking than contrite. His voice was low, almost coaxing. “I meant no disrespect. I was merely… curious, if the prince intends to remain here in Castrum Kremnos. Permanently.”

The words slid into her ears like oil. Gorgo’s brow furrowed. Why was he so invested in Mydei’s plans? Why now, of all times, with the palace unsettled by recent murders?

She stopped fully this time, turning just enough to meet his eyes. His expression was neutral, respectful even—but there was a hunger there, sharp and veiled, something she could not quite name.

“That has nothing to do with you,” she said firmly. Then, with a flick of her wrist, she dismissed him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

Gorgo swept forward, her steps brisker than before. As she passed a pair of guards, she gave the smallest tilt of her head—subtle, but enough. Watch him.

She did not see him linger in the shadows of the hall, his hands folding neatly behind his back. For a moment his mask slipped, and the corners of his mouth curled into a thin, knowing smile.

The queen’s suspicion was correct, but far from enough.

Notes:

interesting phaidei moments next chapter trust!!!!!!!!! i know this chapter isnt a lot but it's the build up for the next chapter and i swear itll hit harder & itll make sense. ill also tie up some plot holes with the next one.

one more thing! this sounds kind of stupid but when i was a kid, ive always wanted to write a book. but i never had the ability or motivation to finish writing. which is why im really thankful for any kind of support you guys have given me thus far! im genuinely super appreciative of all the readers. i cant guarantee that the direction of the story and the decisions i make will satisfy you but thank you for giving me a chance. also, i have a strawpage now on my twt!!! if you guys have any questions regarding the plot/characters/anything, you can drop an ask over there :D

tumblr: grayyxv / X: aschxv

Chapter 12: Flos

Notes:

sorry i took longer for this chapter. i got into a car crash and i havent been able to write / edit it as much. but the good news is that there is phaidei !! also sorry if there are errors...

“Prince Mydeimos, may I speak with you?”

The voice slithered through the dimly lit hallway just as Mydei was making his way back to his quarters after dinner. He stopped, turning to find a tall, slim man leaning just a step too far out of the shadows. The stranger’s attire was immaculate, tailored to an almost theatrical precision, but what unsettled Mydei most was the mask—polished bone-white, covering half his face like a phantom.

Mydei’s brow furrowed. In all his years within the palace walls, he had never once seen this man among the staff, guards, or advisors. “Who are you?” His voice was cool, cautious, though every nerve in his body was on alert.

The man bowed low, fluid, rehearsed. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I should have introduced myself sooner. I am the Queen’s Theoros… Lygus.” His tone was smooth, cultured, but there was something too measured in the way he spoke—like every word had been practiced in a mirror. “If you would grant me a moment, I have something important I must show you.”

The corridor was silent save for the faint hiss of the torches on the walls. Not a guard in sight. Convenient. Too convenient. Mydei’s gut twisted. Everything about this meeting screamed of calculation, of orchestration. And yet, there was that instinct—that strange, unshakable pull—that urged him to follow, as though fate itself was daring him forward.

“My mother’s Theoros?” Mydei murmured under his breath, but he gave a short nod. “Lead the way, then.”

Lygus’s eyes glinted behind the mask, though his smile remained faint, unreadable. He turned with a sweep of his coat and began guiding Mydei down the palace hallways. They twisted through turns that Mydei had walked countless times before, yet somehow, under Lygus’s guidance, the familiar halls felt foreign—narrower and darker.

At last, they reached the doors of the royal library. Mydei’s steps slowed, his chest tightening. The air here was colder, heavier with the scent of parchment and old stone. The library was sacred—its shelves filled with texts preserved by his family for generations. Access was restricted to family and a select few scribes. No servant, no advisor, should have had the key.

Yet Lygus pushed the great doors open without hesitation, as though they had always belonged to him.

Mydei’s eyes sharpened. He stepped inside warily, the silence of the room pressing around him, shadows stretching long between the shelves. The place felt too empty, too still.

He turned, his voice low, demanding. “Speak. Why have you brought us here?”

Lygus closed the doors behind them with a soft click. The sound echoed louder than it should have in the vaulted chamber. He lingered there for a heartbeat longer, his masked face unreadable, before stepping forward with the calm composure of a man who already knew how this would play out.

“Are you familiar with the story of the hero of Aedes Elysiae?”

Mydei froze, caught off guard by the question.

“…What?”

Lygus’s gloved hands moved with eerie calm as he slid a heavy tome from the shelf. The leather cover creaked, dust rising faintly in the air as he opened it. His fingers lingered on an illustration—an old, faded painting of a boy with sharp features that bore a striking resemblance to Phainon. Beside him stood a girl with short pink hair, their expressions hopeful, radiant. At their feet lounged a ginger cat and a fluffy white dog, animals Mydei had seen with his own eyes in Aedes Elysiae.

A cold knot tightened in his stomach. He already sensed where this was leading.

“A long, long time ago in Aedes Elysiae,” Lygus began, his voice unhurried, as though savoring each word, “there lived a boy named Khaslana. From birth, he was told he was destined to be a hero. At first, he didn’t understand what that meant… until he began to remember. Not just his own childhood, but lifetimes—endless cycles—of sacrifice. He had saved Amphoreus time and time again from ruin.”

The name rang strange and familiar all at once, a phantom echo slipping across Mydei’s tongue before he even realized he was mouthing it silently: Khaslana. He had never heard it before. And yet… the weight of it pressed heavily on his chest.

His eyes darted back to the painting. The resemblance was undeniable. It wasn’t just similar—it was Phainon. Or perhaps… Phainon was Khaslana.

Lygus’s lips curled faintly, the kind of smile that revealed nothing but promised everything. He turned another page, revealing twin depictions of Aedes Elysiae. One glowed with vibrancy—lush gardens, bright skies, life flourishing in every corner. The other was its shadow: the same city, but hollowed, decayed, and drowned in ruin.

The silence between them grew thick, the flickering lamplight casting long, sinister shadows across the open book. Mydei’s pulse quickened. His instincts screamed that he had stepped into something far more dangerous than a tale from the past.

“Even though he was a hero across countless lifetimes, he never achieved what he truly longed for,” Lygus continued, his voice low and measured, carrying an almost theatrical weight. “A world where he could reunite with his friends and live peacefully. So his companion, Cyrene, took it upon herself to intervene. She wielded the power of Oronyx to thrust him into the present. But such a feat came at a cost—it drained Aedes Elysiae of its essence, leaving it in ruin.”

Mydei’s gaze lingered on the image of the desolate city. His throat tightened. It matched Cipher’s words perfectly—Aedes Elysiae wasn’t supposed to be thriving anymore. The truth was in front of him, etched in fading ink. Yet the other illustration pulled at him more strongly: the gardens brimming with color, the statue of Oronyx standing tall and unbroken. He could almost make out familiar figures in the painted crowd—Pythias, and even the children he had met.

But Cyrene… that name snagged in his thoughts like a thorn. Phainon had only mentioned her briefly—an old friend, a co-star in a film. Childhood friends, he’d said. The way Lygus spoke, however, painted a far different picture. In this story, Cyrene hadn’t joined Phainon in the present at all. She had given everything—her life, her power—to send him forward.

So what did Phainon mean when he said tabloids had unearthed childhood pictures of him and Cyrene?

The contradiction gnawed at him. Was that story a fabrication? Had Phainon lied to him outright? Or—worse—was he the only one left in the dark about Phainon’s true nature?

Lygus turned another page, the sound of parchment rasping like a whisper in the silent library. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes glinted with something that set Mydei’s pulse racing.

“Khaslana woke in this present age, utterly alone. But he did not arrive empty-handed. He carried with him two relics—two books unlike any other.” Lygus’s voice dropped lower, as though the shelves themselves were listening. “One could bend the fates of his dearest companions, the Chrysos Heirs. The other… would guide him to a man destined to help him accomplish his final wish.”

The words struck Mydei like a blow. His chest tightened, air refused to fill his lungs.

He couldn’t breathe.

The more Lygus spoke, the more the pieces fell together in a grotesque picture Mydei didn’t want to see. Phainon—no, Khaslana—had always been steps ahead. The compass that never failed to point him toward Mydei. The way he seemed to know Mydei’s thoughts before he voiced them. The inexplicable familiarity, the strange certainty in his gaze when they first met.

It had never been chance.

Mydei’s stomach turned. From the very beginning, Phainon had carried the memories of countless versions of him, lived and discarded like pages in a book. Which meant—this was not a love built in the present. This was a script Phainon had rehearsed millions of times over, until Mydei inevitably fell into place.

The realization clawed at him. The tenderness, the whispers in the dark, the confessions he had believed were raw and real—had they all been orchestrated? Had Phainon simply known exactly which words would break down his defenses?

Oh.

A sick, hollow sound escaped him before he could stop it. His chest constricted, cold sweat clinging to his palms.

“Just what might that goal be?” he asked, though his voice wavered, brittle as glass.

“To reset the world.”

The words landed heavy, final.

“Why would he do that?” Mydei whispered, as though the answer itself might undo him.

“Because if he resets the world,” Lygus said smoothly, like a man savoring each cut of the knife, “he could bring back Aedes Elysiae. He could restore Amphoreus to an age where magic thrived, where the Chrysos Heirs would bow beneath his command. A perfect world, designed by his own hand.”

Mydei’s mind reeled. Reset the world? He didn’t even understand what that meant—only that it was cataclysmic, irreversible. Was it truly power that Phainon wanted? Or was Phainon doing it for Cyrene, the girl who had sacrificed herself for him? The thought twisted like barbed wire around his heart.

But one thing was undeniable: Phainon was not merely a man. He was something far greater—and far more dangerous.

“You are lying,” Mydei said, though the words tasted of desperation. “He wouldn’t—he wouldn’t do that.”

“And yet,” Lygus countered, his masked face unreadable, “has he ever told you the truth? Has he ever spoken of where he came from? He has already met you more than thirty-three million times across lifetimes without number. Thirty-three million, Prince Mydeimos. And you were just one more.”

The taunt slithered through the silence, suffocating him.

Mydei staggered back a step, the world tilting beneath him. Thirty-three million lifetimes? He tried to breathe, but the air was thick, cloying. Every memory with Phainon—every glance, every touch—suddenly blurred into uncertainty. Was it ever real? Or had Phainon known exactly how to play him from the moment they met?

Terror swelled in his chest, mingled with a betrayal so sharp it made his eyes sting. He could no longer tell if the ground beneath him was solid—or if he had been standing on a stage built by Phainon all along.

“Shut up.” Mydei roared, his voice cracking down the marble hall, raw and trembling. “Why should I trust you? You don’t even know what I’ve been through—what he and I have—why are you even telling me all this?”

The words spilled out like broken glass, jagged and uneven. His hands balled into fists at his sides, shaking with an anger that couldn’t decide if it wanted to collapse into grief or ignite into violence.

Lygus stood perfectly still, as if the storm before him was nothing more than a passing breeze. “As the Theoros, my duty is to observe,” he said, his voice calm—almost soothing, which only enraged Mydei further. “And I have been observing you for a very long time. I do not lie, Prince. I only record, and report. Understand this: I can ensure he does not reset the world again—as long as I have the book. But if he succeeds, you will lose everything. Your family. Your friends. Your kingdom. Perhaps even your own existence. And your family…”

A pause. Deliberate. Cutting.

“…may suffer a fate far crueler than the one you already know.”

Something in Mydei snapped, and a sharp, almost hysterical laugh escaped him. It rang hollow in the cavernous library, echoing off the shelves of ancient tomes. “You speak like you know my grief,” he said bitterly, his smile twisted, eyes wide and glassy. “Then tell me, all-seeing Theoros. Tell me who killed Hephaestion. Tell me, and maybe I’ll believe a word that drips from your cursed mouth.”

For the first time, the mask seemed to tilt—not in hesitation, but in faint amusement. Lygus’s lips curled, not quite a smile, not quite a smirk. He was utterly unfazed, standing like a figure carved from shadow and stone.

“Very well,” he said smoothly, each syllable deliberate. “The queen did it.”

The words landed like a blade thrust between Mydei’s ribs.

His vision blurred. His breath caught sharp in his throat. For a moment, he forgot how to move, how to think. Then—

“ Blasphemy ,” he hissed, his voice strangled with fury. His eyes burned, and his jaw trembled with the effort to hold himself together. “You dare—”

“If you don’t believe me,” Lygus cut in, calm and unyielding, “ask her.”

The air between them stretched thin, suffocating. Mydei’s pulse thundered in his ears, hot blood rushing in waves of disbelief, rage, and a hollow fear that maybe—just maybe—Lygus was telling the truth.

Lygus’s gaze never wavered. His composure was infuriating, his certainty absolute, as though the chaos tearing Mydei apart was little more than a spectacle he had anticipated from the start.

Mydei’s body moved before thought could catch up. His hand shot forward, seizing Lygus by the collar of his coat, and slammed him against one of the towering shelves. The books rattled from the impact, dust shivering loose from the wood.

“Listen here you bastard,” Mydei spat, his voice breaking between fury and despair. His eyes blazed, but beneath the fire was a glimmer of fear. “If you so much as breathe without telling me first, if you so much as lift a finger without me knowing, I will hurt you. Do you understand me?”

For the first time, the mask tilted back, and Lygus’s mismatched eyes—cold, steady—met Mydei’s up close. Unfazed. Still maddeningly calm.

“I understand,” Lygus said simply, as though Mydei’s threat was nothing more than a detail to be logged in some invisible ledger. His voice was low, almost amused. “But you should ask yourself, Prince… do you truly wish to know the answers you demand?”

Mydei’s grip trembled, nails digging into the fabric, before he shoved Lygus back hard and released him. His breathing was ragged, each inhale sharp like it scraped down his throat.

Without another word, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the library, the heavy doors slamming shut behind him.

The corridors seemed colder now, emptier, as if shadows followed him at every turn. His chest heaved with unspent rage, but beneath it sat something far worse: doubt. The name Khaslana. The ruined Aedes Elysiae. The queen. His mother.

Could any of it be true?

He found himself heading towards the medical wing where Hephaestion's body was, his hands still shaking. He sank into the chair by the window, staring blankly at the night sky beyond the glass. Lygus’s words echoed endlessly in his head, each one gnawing at the fragile seams of his trust. Had he been nothing more than a piece on someone else’s board this entire time?

And worse, if his mother had killed Hephaestion, then what truth had his entire life been built upon?

Then, as if the titans above had heard his prayers, there came a knock on his door. 

-x-

The moment the hands of the clock in Anaxa’s office finally struck midnight, Phainon decided he had enough.

He could no longer listen to Cerydra and Anaxa’s endless back-and-forth—plans layered on plans, contingencies wrapped in contingencies. To him, it all felt useless. Mydei was in danger now , and here they were, still debating how best to wield a book that had ruined lives for centuries.

“I’m leaving,” Phainon said abruptly, standing so fast his chair screeched against the stone floor. His tone left no room for argument. “I’m not wasting another minute here while he’s alone in Castrum Kremnos.”

He turned to leave, expecting protest—Cerydra’s sharp tongue, Anaxa’s weary logic. Instead, Cerydra only lifted her chin, her lips curling into the faintest of knowing smirks.

“You always were predictable,” she said softly. “Check the front steps before you storm off. You’ll find what you need.”

Phainon froze, then narrowed his eyes at her before striding out of the office.

Sure enough, at the entrance of the university building, Hysilens was already waiting. A sleek motorbike idled beside her, faintly humming in the stillness of the night. She was calm, hands folded neatly behind her back, her posture as unyielding as a statue. A travel bag rested against the bike—his bag.

“I’ve packed your belongings,” Hysilens said in her low, monotone voice, lifting her gaze only briefly to him. “The essentials. A flight to Castrum Kremnos departs at two. You’ll be on it.”

Phainon blinked at her, caught between gratitude and irritation. He had expected resistance, perhaps even to fight his way free of Anaxa’s bureaucracy and Cerydra’s careful schemes. Instead, his path had been cleared before he even voiced it. He only managed a muttered, “…Thank you,” before climbing onto the bike.

The journey was silent, a silence that pressed heavier with each passing hour. On the plane, Hysilens kept her eyes closed the entire time, as if conserving her words and her presence for when they mattered. Phainon stared at the cabin window, watching the horizon bleed from night to dawn, his chest tight with the thought of Mydei.

By the time they reached Castrum Kremnos, evening light had already begun to pool over the marble spires. The palace loomed in the distance, austere and intimidating.

Phainon shifted uneasily. How was he supposed to storm into the heart of Mydei’s kingdom unannounced? He half expected to be turned away at the gates, if not arrested on the spot.

But once again, Hysilens was a step ahead. Without hesitation, she drove them past the outer walls and up to the palace gates. Guards moved to intercept—then paused. At the briefest gesture from her, they stepped aside. Not a word was exchanged.

The gates opened with a slow groan, as though the palace itself had been waiting for them.

Inside, the grand hall was lit with golden lamps. Ptolemy was already waiting. He descended the stairs with a soldier’s ease, his expression steady but faintly knowing.

“Ptolemy,” Phainon breathed, relief cutting through the tension. “Thanks for letting us in.”

“No worries, old friend.” Ptolemy clasped his shoulder firmly, his tone both warm and grave. “When Lady Hysilens mentioned your name, I already knew why you were here. He should be in his chambers. I’ll take you.”

Phainon’s chest tightened. He almost asked what state Mydei was in, but the words caught in his throat. Perhaps he was afraid of the answer.

Behind him, Hysilens finally broke her silence again. “I’ll report to the queen.” Her voice was flat, but her presence carried weight, as though her true purpose here had only just begun.

Phainon gave her a brief look, half wanting to ask how much she knew —but she was already striding away, leaving him in Ptolemy’s care. And so Phainon followed his old friend deeper into the palace, toward the one door that mattered most.

Ptolemy led Phainon through the winding corridors of Castrum Kremnos until they stopped before an ornate set of double doors carved with faintly gilded patterns. The soldier’s hand rested briefly on Phainon’s shoulder, steadying, as if offering silent encouragement.

“No guards will come near,” Ptolemy said firmly. “You’ll have privacy.”

Phainon gave a silent nod in thanks as Ptolemy walked away. His throat was dry, but he drew in one steadying breath, lifted his hand, and knocked. Once.

Silence.

He knocked again, harder this time. Nothing. A third time—still no answer.

The quiet pressed in too heavily, too wrong. His fingers brushed the doorknob almost by instinct. To his surprise, it turned easily. Unlocked.

Hesitation flickered across his face, then resolve overtook it. He stepped inside.

The chamber swallowed him whole with its stillness. Rich crimson curtains bled shadow across the floor, and the polished wood gleamed faintly in the dim light. Antique ornaments and shelves stacked with books lined the walls, their weight making the space feel more like a sanctum than a bedroom. It reminded him of Mydei’s room back in Okehema—yet here, everything seemed more stately, more distant, as though it belonged to a stranger wearing Mydei’s skin.

Phainon exhaled softly, running his hand along the edge of a desk, half-expecting to feel warmth, some trace of him.

Then the door clicked open behind him.

He turned—too slow. A sharp blow struck his temple, white-hot pain flaring before everything collapsed into blackness.

When Phainon’s eyes fluttered open again, the world returned in fragments: the faint metallic taste of blood in his mouth, the weight of ropes biting into his wrists, the chair creaking faintly under his restrained body. His head throbbed where he’d been struck, and his vision swam before settling on the figure seated in front of him. 

Mydei.

He sat with unnerving poise, his back straight, eyes fixed on Phainon with an intensity that felt colder than the ropes themselves. The lamplight threw shadows over his face, obscuring whether he was furious, sorrowful, or simply unreadable.

Phainon tested the bindings instinctively. The coarse fibers ground into his skin—not enough to wound, but enough to remind him of the careful precision behind them. Whoever tied him had done so with practiced deliberation, each knot exact, each pull taut. His wrists tightly bound behind his back, preventing him from moving forward to pull Mydei into his arms. 

His usual sharp composure faltered, stripped away by the sheer dissonance of being here —bound, staring up at the one he had come to protect. His eyes betrayed him, burning with anticipation and a restless storm of need, fear, and defiance. When Mydei finally spoke, his voice was low, almost calm. Yet beneath it, something trembled—a restrained fury, a storm barely contained.

“Phainon…” He said his name like a warning, like a question that cut deeper than it should. “…What are you doing here?”

Phainon exhaled slowly, trying to steady himself. His eyes searched Mydei’s face, tracing every weary line, every shadow cast beneath his lashes. It had only been a day since they last stood together, yet the distance between them now felt immeasurable. 

Mydei looked tired—bone-deep tired. His clothes were pristine, every fold sharp and formal, but the facade faltered under the weight of reality: his hair pulled back hastily, strands slipping loose; the faint smudges of sleeplessness hollowing his eyes; the tight set of his mouth that couldn’t mask the heaviness dragging him down.

“Mydei…” Phainon’s voice was low, almost cautious. “Why did you tie me up?”

Mydei’s gaze sharpened. He leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other with a composure that seemed deliberate, his fingers drumming lightly against the armrest as if to remind Phainon who held control.

“I asked you first.” His tone was clipped, distant, each word cool enough to sting.

Phainon swallowed, shifting against the bindings that dug into his wrists. His heart thundered, but his voice softened, pleading. “I’m here to take you back to Okehema. Where you’ll be safe.”

At that, Mydei’s lashes lowered, and he gave a humorless smile—brief, almost imperceptible. He turned slightly, looking past Phainon as if the very idea was something he had predicted long ago. “...I knew you’d try to do something like that.” His exhale came out like a sigh laced with quiet resignation. “I want answers, Deliverer.” His eyes lifted, locking onto Phainon’s with icy precision. “What do you want from me?”

Phainon’s chest tightened. Words crowded in his throat, but only one truth forced its way out. “I… want you to be happy. And safe.”

The silence that followed was heavy, suffocating. Then, slowly, Mydei let out a low chuckle. It was not warm—rather, a sound laced with disbelief, almost bitter in its softness. He shook his head slightly, hair falling into his face as his shoulders sagged with tiredness.

“Is that what you tell me in every timeline?”

Phainon blinked, startled. “...What?”

Mydei’s eyes, flat and unreadable, fixed on him. The light caught them in a way that made them look almost glassy—distant, untouchable. “Deliverer, the Mydei from other timelines and the past aren’t me. I don’t know what I did, or who I was to you, but I think you’re just in love with what I did—and the idea of me. Not who I really am.”

The accusation struck harder than the ropes biting into Phainon’s wrists. He leaned forward despite the restraints, his jaw tightening, his breath unsteady. “No,” he said firmly, voice cracking on the edge of rawness. “You are wrong. While I love every single version of you, the current you—the one in front of me—is the only one I’ve truly lived beside. The rest… the rest are just fragments. Memories of other Phainons in other worlds. But you—” he swallowed hard, eyes burning into Mydei’s, “—you are mine. And I am yours.”

For a moment, something flickered across Mydei’s expression—something fragile, almost vulnerable. But it vanished as quickly as it came, buried beneath the cold mask he wore. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, studying Phainon as though trying to peel away every layer of his sincerity and expose the lie beneath.

“Then tell me.” His voice was steady, chilling in its composure. “What are you trying to do with the book? Are you going to restore Aedes Elysiae? Or perhaps return to the past where you belong? What is it you want, Phainon?”

He paused deliberately, letting silence stretch thin between them before he delivered the final blow. “Or should I say… Khaslana.”

The name hit the air like poison, lingering heavy between them.

Phainon’s breath caught. For a heartbeat, he could only stare, shaken by the weight of Mydei’s words. His hands clenched tight against the bindings, rope burning into skin, but his eyes never wavered from Mydei’s cold, steady gaze.

When Phainon didn’t respond, his silence weighed heavy between them. Mydei’s lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Cat got your tongue?” His tone was smooth, cold, yet edged with something dangerous. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure you talk.”

He laughed then—soft, humorless, hollow. A sound that made Phainon’s chest tighten. Even bound, even stripped of his control, Phainon held on to his stubborn silence. But Mydei’s gaze told him he had already lost this round.

Phainon’s breath caught in his chest. There was something sensual about being kept tied up in Mydei’s room with Mydei himself looming over his figure. He shifted in his seat, trying to find a position that would offer some form of relief, but the tight feeling of his pants against his skin only served to heighten the visceral awareness of his own body. 

Then, without warning, Mydei stood, fingers deftly undoing the ties of his formal shirt. He shrugged it off with a practiced ease, tossing it aside where it landed on the bed in a careless heap. Phainon’s eyes widened, heat rushing to his face, confusion and shock warring inside him.

“Mydei… what are you—”

The words died in his throat as Mydei slid his trousers down in one slow, deliberate motion, never breaking eye contact. It wasn’t clumsy or rushed—it was calculated. A provocation. Each movement was a quiet threat, a way of forcing Phainon to feel the weight of his helplessness.

By the time Mydei stood before him bare and half-hard, the room felt unbearably still.

He leaned down, his hand brushing across Phainon’s cheek tenderly. Almost. But the touch carried no warmth. With sudden force, his fingers gripped Phainon’s blouse and tore it open. The sharp crack of fabric giving way filled the room, buttons scattering across the floor like beads of glass.

Phainon flinched, breath catching, the ropes biting deeper into his wrists as he instinctively tried to move back. His chest was bared to the air, vulnerable, exposed. Mydei said nothing. His silence was worse than words. It was heavy, suffocating.

Before Phainon could steady his thoughts, Mydei’s hands had already moved lower, tugging at his trousers, peeling away the last barriers of his composure with disarming ease. Cloth tore, seams gave, his erection springing out, and in seconds he was stripped of even the illusion of control. 

The ropes tightened again with a sharp pull, Mydei making sure every knot held, making sure Phainon felt the deliberate restraint.

And then Mydei simply stood before him, silent, watching him squirm under the weight of his stare. He didn’t need to speak. He studied the way the rope cut across Phainon’s forearms, the way his broad chest was exposed, muscles taut as he tested the bindings. A faint smirk tugged at Mydei’s lips, not cruel, but knowing.

The game he was playing was already clear.

Phainon shifted in the chair, the wood groaning again under his weight, his legs spread loosely, posture still daring despite the restraints. His jaw clenched as Mydei moved closer — slow, deliberate, unhurried — fingers grazing his shoulder, tracing his tattoo, then trailing down the firm line of his chest.

Phainon’s breath hitched. Just barely.

In the depths of Phainon’s mind, he knew it was wrong. He knew Mydei was simply using his body as a means of manipulating him. That it was Mydei’s way of establishing control and to get the answers that he sought.

Despite that, Mydei’s touch wasn’t rough. It wasn’t even demanding. It was teasing . His fingertips drew idle lines across skin that usually pressed down on him . The reversal was electric, each brush of Mydei’s hand sparking like fire along Phainon’s nerves. He leaned down, his hair brushing Phainon’s cheek, lips ghosting just above his skin. He didn’t kiss him but the heat of his breath alone was enough to make Phainon shudder.

The ropes held. Phainon could do nothing but sit there, muscles straining against his bonds, every instinct screaming for him to do something. But he didn’t. Couldn’t. Not now.

And Mydei knew it.

The silence stretched. 

And Phainon — the one who never yielded — sat bound, trembling with anticipation, as Mydei’s hands traced lower, slower, reminding him in every movement that tonight, he wasn’t the one in control. 

“Look at you, already leaking when I’ve barely done anything.” Mydei’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, his voice deliberately measured—each word a taunt that cut right into Phainon’s pride. 

As Mydei moved his hand down his abs and to the base of his length, Phainon hissed at the mere touch of Mydei’s fingers on his searing hot skin. He tilted his head just enough to make the gesture intimate and cruel all at once, letting silence stretch a heartbeat too long before he spoke, ensuring Phainon would feel every ounce of the humiliation laced in his words.

The pressure in Phainon’s chest had become an undeniable, heavy weight. It was a solid, insistent feeling that throbbed with a life of its own, a relentless internal demand that made his leg twitch. The sensation was no longer a distant pulse but a visceral command, a physical manifestation of his anticipation that occupied his entire attention. He needed Mydei to shift his hand down just a little more.

Then Mydei moved away. 

The lack of contact became less of a sensation and more of a torment, gnawing at Phainon’s patience until the need to be touched consumed every other thought. Instead, Mydei went over to the desk and pulled out the lubricant he had hidden inside before returning to his own seat and did the unthinkable.

Mydei adjusted himself, spreading his thighs apart, putting them onto the armrest like an omega in heat so that Phainon would have a perfect view of his perfectly pink hole. Phainon breathed heavily, watching the way Mydei lubed up his fingers like how a predator would look at its prey as he pushed in a finger past the tight ring of muscle. 

The cool sensation of the liquid caused Mydei to let out a soft moan slip. Phainon’s jaw locked, teeth gritted so hard it ached. His chest rose and fell in rough bursts, breath too fast, too shallow. His body jerked against the bindings with a desperation he refused to voice. He could only watch as Mydei thrusted his finger in and out slowly, with his other hand thumbing the slit of his cock as an attempt to provoke Phainon.

It was working for sure.

He knew this was Mydei’s way of punishing him and it filled Phainon with dripping want. If he weren’t bound he would make sure to breed Mydei over and over again until the only name he spoke would be Phainon’s. However, now he could only watch as Mydei pathetically tried to loosen himself up.

Then, Mydei added another finger, pushing it all the way to its knuckle, occasionally spreading his fingers apart. His face was flushed as he gave Phainon a glance. Phainon’s eyes were practically clouded with lust, completely mesmerized by the way Mydei’s fingers disappeared into his hole while his own cock twitched from the lack of contact.

He smirked inwardly as he added a third finger, spreading his legs as far as they would go to give Phainon the best view. He moaned wantonly, ensuring that Phainon could hear him loud and clear while thrusting harder and faster, nearly reaching his high. 

Then, he stopped.

The rush ebbed slowly, like a tide pulling back from the shore, leaving him trembling in its wake. Muscles slackened, heavy and languid, as though his body were no longer entirely his to command. Mydei returned to his normal sitting position and took a moment to recover before he grabbed the lube once more and moved over to Phainon. 

He squeezed a generous amount of lube and coated Phainon’s thick arousal with slick, rubbing it to make sure it was evenly spread—or maybe it was just to tease Phainon. Phainon’s jaw tightened, muscles flexing against the rope, he jerked his hips upwards into Mydei’s touch.  He could feel it — that unbearable prickle under his skin, deep in his chest, low in his body — like an itch that spread like wildfire the more he fought it. Mydei let out a low chuckle, seemingly enjoying himself.

“Here’s the deal, Deliverer.” Mydei’s voice was calm, precise, each word like a nail driven in. “Every time you answer my question, I’ll reward you. Got it?”

The command hung heavy in the air.

Phainon’s jaw tightened. His first instinct was to refuse, to bite back something sharp and cold—but the chair creaked as Mydei shifted his weight, lowering himself onto Phainon’s lap. The motion was deliberate, slow, a calculated invasion.

Phainon’s muscles went rigid. The ropes dug deeper into his wrists as he pulled against them by reflex, every instinct screaming to move, to seize control, to push Mydei off. But the knots held firm. He could only sit there, body taut, breath clipped short, while Mydei claimed the space between them.

Heat rolled off Mydei’s bare skin as he leaned closer, their foreheads nearly brushing. His hands rested on Phainon’s shoulders, deceptively light, fingertips drawing idle circles as though marking territory. Their bodies pressed close, their lengths were almost touching and Phainon felt it, the deliberate brush of proximity, the provocation designed to test his restraint.

Phainon’s eyes snapped to his face, unblinking, blazing with restrained hunger and fury. A fire gnawed in his chest, twisting, clawing to be let loose, but the ropes kept him still. He breathed shallowly through his nose, the sound sharp with effort. Mydei wanted him to break, to yield, to play the role of captive and confessant.

He hated it. He hated that part of him—some small, traitorous part—was already slipping into the game.

“...Fine.” The word grated out between clenched teeth. His pride tasted like iron on his tongue.

Mydei’s mouth curved into the faintest smirk, victory flashing in his eyes as he spoke the first question.

“First question. Do you really have memories of Amphoreus in different timelines?”

Phainon’s shoulders stiffened. Silence stretched—his lips pressed into a thin line as if he might refuse after all. But then, with effort, he forced the word out, rough and reluctant.

“...Yes.”

Seemingly satisfied with the answer, Mydei stood up and gripped the base of Phainon’s cock. With one hand on Phainon’s shoulder, he steadied himself, pressing the tip right at his entrance and lowered himself at a maddeningly slow pace. He pushed an inch and then two before he stopped again, causing Phainon to groan.

“N-Next question. What is your relationship with Cyrene?” Mydei asked, voice shaking, doing his best to push Phainion’s cock too far in. 

“She… is like a sister to me.”

This time, Mydei sank down and took Phainon all the way to the base, causing him to let out a curse as he was being split open. His arms were around Phainon, fingernails digging into Phainon’s back. Phainon’s chest rose and fell hard, breath uneven, his body jerking slightly against the chair when Mydei adjusted himself. 

Phainon’s mind screamed at him as he slowly felt himself losing control. Mydei wasn’t just asking questions. He was dismantling him, piece by piece, and Phainon knew it.

“What is... Your purpose now?”

“I want to protect our friends… and destroy the person who keeps taking away our happiness.”

After a moment of contemplation, Mydei decided to reward him by bouncing up and down on his cock with his face buried in Phainon’s neck. Phainon’s body begged for release, every nerve raw with that crawling, maddening urge to plunge himself mindlessly into the Mydei’s heat. It surged through him in waves — sharp, consuming, unbearable — and every time he thought he might finally find relief, Mydei’s hand, his mouth, his touch would slip away.

And the pattern repeated.

Mydei would ask him questions about Aedes Elysiae, his past, the Chrysos Heirs, all while edging him. A brush of warmth here, a press of lips there, the fleeting drag of ass on his cock — enough to make his breath stutter. Then nothing. The pressure remained, simmering beneath his skin, more violent than before. Mydei was merciless in his pacing, never granting more than fragments, never letting him topple over that edge.

Then finally, Mydei asked the question—the one that had been festering quietly at the edges of his mind, sharper than any blade.

“What were we in other timelines?”

The words struck deeper than any taunt before, and Phainon froze. For a moment, the haze of heat and restraint lifted, replaced by something heavier, something real. He bowed his head slightly, eyes narrowing in thought, as if weighing centuries in the balance of a single answer.

Philosophers would have called them friends, bound by fate’s threads. Warriors might have called them comrades, two soldiers fighting shoulder to shoulder through blood and ruin. The Chrysos Heirs had named them lovers.

But to Phainon, none of those words ever felt enough. Each name was a piece, but never the whole. For him, Mydei had always been more. Beyond duty, beyond desire. A constant he could never sever himself from, no matter the shape of the world or the ruin it drowned in.

His lips parted slowly, the weight of honesty pressing every word.

“...You were my soulmate.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Mydei’s expression flickered, caught between shock and something he couldn’t name. His body stiffened, his hands faltering on Phainon’s shoulders as though the very chair beneath him might have given way. His breath hitched, barely audible, before he let out a hollow, disbelieving laugh.

“...Soulmate?” The word dripped with scorn, but his voice cracked at the edges, betraying him. His brow furrowed deeply, eyes flashing with disbelief and something dangerously close to fear. “You are lying.”

Phainon’s gaze didn’t waver. It burned steady, unwavering, the kind of look that spoke of unshaken conviction.

“No. I’m not.”

But Mydei shook his head violently, hair falling loose around his face. His lips curled, almost trembling, as though the weight of the word itself was unbearable. “You expect me to believe that? That across every timeline, every version of me—every flawed, broken me—you’d still say that?”

Phainon’s silence this time wasn’t avoidance. It was an answer in itself, steady as stone.

And it left Mydei reeling.

“Why?” Mydei whispered, his voice unsteady, almost breaking under its own weight. His eyes searched Phainon’s, desperate for an answer that could anchor him, something to cling to in the storm of doubt.

Phainon’s gaze softened, no longer sharp, no longer commanding. “...Because you are selfless. You are kind. You would rather suffer than watch others suffer. You believed in me when no one else did. In every single cycle, you never doubted that I could free Amphoreus from its curse.”

The words settled heavily between them. Mydei flinched as if struck, his lips parting in disbelief, his fingers curling against Phainon’s shoulders to steady himself. He wanted to laugh, to sneer, to spit out some biting retort that would tear Phainon’s convictions to pieces—but nothing came. Only a hollow, wavering breath.

“Deliverer, you…” His throat tightened. “I’m nothing but a failure of a prince. I barely did anything worthy in this lifetime. What if I’m not the same as the other Mydeis you know?” His voice faltered, quieter now, trembling. “What if I’m the worst one alive?”

Phainon’s restraint groaned under his wrists as he leaned forward, closer, as though he could force Mydei to see himself the way he did. His eyes—fiery, unwavering—burned with something more than devotion. He moved his thighs slightly, reminding Mydei that they were still connected.

“And yet,” he said softly, “even as you call me ‘Deliverer,’ your voice still holds so much affection.”

The words pierced deeper than Mydei had prepared for. He tried to steel himself, to rebuild the walls he had always kept high, but they cracked under the weight of Phainon’s certainty.

And Mydei’s heart ached. Ache, because he wanted to believe it. Ache, because part of him already did. Ache, because if Phainon was right, then every excuse, every denial he clung to would crumble. 

So he tightened his grip on Phainon’s shoulders, nails digging in slightly, and forced his voice cold, distant, even as it shook.

“Don’t say things like that.”

Mydei didn’t know what to think anymore. His head was a storm—Ptolemy’s words, Lygus’ warnings, even Phainon’s unyielding devotion all clashing against one another until everything blurred into noise. He was exhausted, bone-deep, the kind of tired that no amount of sleep could cure. Part of him longed to simply vanish, to disappear into the quiet of some forgotten corner where no one—no Lygus, no friends, no Phainon—could ever reach him.

His voice broke the silence, brittle and defeated.

“Forget about me, Deliverer. I may have been someone worthy and great before, but now… I have nothing to offer you. This was a mistake.”

Slowly, he pushed himself off Phainon’s lap. The ropes creaked as Phainon instinctively leaned forward, chasing after the warmth that slipped away, but he couldn’t move. Mydei’s retreat left a hollow ache in his chest, as if something vital had been ripped from him.

Phainon exhaled, sharp and heavy, processing Mydei’s words. Forget him? The thought burned like acid in his veins. How could he? How could he ever erase the one constant that had anchored him across lifetimes? A wave of determination crashed over him, fierce and possessive, drowning out all hesitation. Mydei wasn’t allowed to disappear. Not now. Not ever.

“Untie me.” Phainon’s voice was low, commanding, edged with the kind of steel that came from desperation.

“No.” Mydei’s answer was swift, clipped, meant to cut away at the demand before it could root itself. His arms crossed over his chest, forcing himself to look composed, but the cracks showed in his furrowed brow, in the way his breath wavered.

“Mydei, please.”

“Maybe if you beg for it.” Mydei’s tone dripped with taunt, but the words lacked conviction. His hands trembled at his sides.

Phainon’s eyes burned, unyielding. 

“ Mydeimos .”

Something primal surged through him. His muscles flexed against the ropes, every fiber of his being straining. Wood groaned under the chair’s frame, fibers tearing against his wrists. With a sudden burst, the bindings snapped apart, rope fibers scattering to the floor.

Mydei froze, shock written plain across his face. His breath caught in his throat as Phainon rose to his feet, free at last. The raw force, the sheer determination radiating from him was overwhelming, a storm made flesh.

Before Mydei could retreat, Phainon was upon him. He tackled him onto the bed, the mattress dipping under their weight. Mydei’s eyes widened, breath knocked from his chest as he stared up at Phainon, who hovered above him, no longer restrained, no longer helpless.

Phainon’s expression was a storm—fury, devotion, desperation, and a terrifying possessiveness all interwoven. His chest rose and fell with ragged breaths as his hands pressed firmly against the mattress on either side of Mydei, caging him in.

“Forget about you?” His voice was low, guttural, trembling with raw emotion. “I can’t even live without you.”

And Mydei, pinned beneath the weight of his resolve, couldn’t find the words to answer. His body trembled—not from fear, but from the intensity of what now stood before him.

Mydei’s heart thundered so violently it felt as if his ribs could scarcely contain it. Phainon loomed over him, arms planted firmly on either side of his body, the weight of his presence impossible to ignore. He was caged, pinned not just by Phainon’s strength but by the unbearable gravity of his gaze—those eyes burning with devotion so fierce it threatened to consume him whole.

When Mydei finally found his breath, his voice came out strained, almost pleading “Aren’t thirty-three million lifetimes enough for you? Why do you even need me now?”

Phainon’s hand slid into his hair, fingers threading through blonde strands with reverence. His touch softened as it trailed down to cup Mydei’s cheek, the contrast between his intensity and tenderness making Mydei’s pulse spike even higher.

“I could never have enough of you,” Phainon whispered, his voice steady, aching with truth. “I’ll find you in every single lifetime if I have to.”

Before Mydei could speak again, Phainon’s lips crashed against his own. It wasn’t gentle—it was a searing, desperate kiss that stole the air from the room, from Mydei’s lungs, from every thought in his head. The kind of kiss that felt like fire, like a vow, like claiming.

Mydei gasped into it, his body betraying him even as his mind reeled. His arms rose of their own accord, wrapping tightly around Phainon’s neck as if holding on could keep him grounded. Heat coursed through his veins, and though he had wanted to resist, there was no space left for resistance.

Phainon held his face with both hands, thumbs brushing against his skin, keeping him in place as if to anchor him, to remind him that he was here—real and irreplaceable. Every movement of his mouth against Mydei’s was raw, urgent, and suffused with a desperation that no words could capture.

Mydei’s breath hitched, caught between disbelief and the way his heart clenched painfully at Phainon’s devotion. Against his better judgment, against all the doubts gnawing at him, he kissed him back—because in that moment, how could he not?

Phainon’s hands snaked down to Mydei’s thighs and coaxed his legs apart, lining himself up against the warm wet hole. He teased the entrance with his tip, eliciting a soft whine from Mydei before plunging into him in one swift motion. Mydei gasped, feeling Phainon all the way up his belly. He felt so full.

“You feel so fucking good.” Phainon groaned, relieved as he could finally feel the warm heat he yearned for so desperately, squeezing and sucking him in even further. 

He began thrusting in slow languid strokes, making sure to pull out till the tip before slamming back in. He needed Mydei to feel it—The stretch of his hole widening, penetrated repeatedly by Phainon like a mantra. To feel the weight of Phainon’s sincerity. Even if he had to spend the next few hours or days fucking Mydei till he understood, Phainon would do it.  

Phainon pressed forward like he meant to consume him, lips rough and insistent, teeth grazing in warning before he claimed the kiss outright. Mydei answered in kind, leaning into the heat, his breath catching as their mouths opened and their tongues collided. It was messy, wet, desperate. A battle and a surrender in the same breath. Each drag of tongue, each pull of lips, was a command and a plea all at once. 

Phainon needed to mark him from the inside, to leave something behind that no one else could touch. 

One hand framed Mydei’s jaw, holding him still, forcing him to take the intensity of it, while the other roamed his chest freely. Phainon hummed low in his throat, his thumb brushing idly across the peak before pressing his palm in again, harder this time, then he pulled and twisted, causing Mydei to jerk and cry from pleasure. 

“Ah F-fuck.” Mydei whimpered when they pulled apart. The string of saliva still connected their mouths as Phainon continued to move steadily into Mydei and Phainon smirked. He had found another one of Mydei’s weak spots.

The hand on Mydei’s jaw had now slid to his chest as well, his fingers spreading wide before curling in to squeeze his tits. Leaning in, Phainon let his lips ghost across the swell of one pec, hot breath tracing the ink etched along the skin. His tongue followed, slow and deliberate, leaving a damp trail before he closed his mouth around the muscle and sucked hard. 

Mydei panted as Phainon smirked against his skin, sucking lightly before releasing, then biting it. He dragged his teeth across the flesh as if he meant to mark him, leaving bruises on his skin. His hands never left Mydei’s pecs, squeezing, claiming, forcing every rise and fall of breath to remind him who was touching him all while Mydei was impaled by Phainon’s cock. 

“You’re so gorgeous like this. Makes me want to fuck you in the courtyard—make sure the whole damn world knows you’re mine.” Phainon’s voice dropped into a low, sultry whisper, sending a shiver down Mydei’s spine, his body betraying him with the way it trembled under the weight of Phainon’s desire.

The possessive edge in his tone was raw, shameless, and absolutely filthy. But it turned Mydei on so much that he couldn’t help but raise his legs to lock Phainon into a full mating press position, pressing their bodies closer. Mydei’s lips were parted, but no words came. Instead, drool began dribbling down his chin as he felt himself slowly losing his mind to pleasure.

Phainon, of course, was more than happy to indulge. He tilted Mydei’s hips upwards, angling him so he could go deeper.  “You crave it too, don’t you? Imagine people watching while I drag every sound out of you. The crown prince of Kremnos, trembling and coming apart on my cock—what do you think your precious people would say then?” 

“D-Deliverer…” Mydei mewled, clamping down on Phainon even harder. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against each other accompanied by Phainon’s relentless assault on his chest made his cock twitch in excitement. “You...”

Heat shot up Mydei’s neck, flooding his cheeks in a flush he couldn’t hide. His lips parted, then pressed tight again as if to trap the sound threatening to escape. He tried to avert his gaze, but Phainon’s stare held him in place, making the shame burn hotter. His fingers twitched uselessly around Phainon’s back, as Phainon only smiled fondly at him, as if he hadn’t just suggested something absurd a second ago. 

Phainon on the other hand, couldn’t help but shift his hand to Mydei’s now weeping cock, wanting to taste Mydei. Pre-cum leaked all over Mydei’s abs and Phainon wanted to lick it all up like it was something sacred. He swiped his fingers on the sticky liquid and greedily lapped up the fluid like a dog, all while making sure Mydei watched him. 

“You taste so sweet... Maybe I should keep you locked away, hidden, where no one else can touch you. Just me—milking you every day until you can’t think of anything but me.” Phainon’s voice was husky, thick with a hunger that went beyond lust and straight into obsession. His lips lingered against Mydei’s skin as though reluctant to part, savoring him like something rare and irreplaceable. “I want to hear you say my name, Mydeimos.”

Mydei’s chest rose and fell quickly, breath unsteady, but a faint smirk tugged at his lips. The refusal sparked something inside him—a reckless thrill that burned hotter than fear. What would Phainon do if he never yielded? Would he lose control, drag the name out of him in ways Mydei could barely imagine? The thought sent a rush through him, shameful and intoxicating all at once.

Phainon drew back just enough to look at him, eyes burning with a sharp, dangerous light. “Say it,” he growled, his tone carrying the edge of promise more than threat. 

The hand that rested on Mydei’s cock now covered the slit, denying Mydei of any release. Yet, Phainon continued to increase in pace and intensity, enjoying the way Mydei’s belly would bulge slightly whenever he entered. He was in no rush and he could play Mydei’s game of push and pull all night long if he wanted to. Then, Phainon casually leaned forward to bury himself into Mydei’s neck, biting and sucking on it like an animal. 

Mydei swallowed hard, every nerve screamed to give in, to let the syllables spill out—but he bit them back, teeth sinking into his lower lip until he tasted the faintest trace of blood. As good as he felt, he didn’t want to give in. Not when he still didn’t understand Phainon’s feelings completely. His limbs that were around Phainon let go as he attempted to regain control by pushing Phainon off. However, Phainon was much quicker, he used his strength to hold onto Mydei’s legs up, pressing him further into the mattress.

Mydei’s arms were practically useless as he couldn’t fight back even if he tried. He was forced to take in all of Phainon while his hands could only grip onto the wooden headboard. “You… Why… are you trying so hard?” His breath hitched, humming in his blood intensified, growing into a low, deep thrum that vibrated through every inch of his body.

It was the one question that cut deeper than all the rest. His eyes searched Phainon’s as if some hidden truth might finally reveal itself there, something to make sense of the devotion that seemed so endless, so unreasonable.

Phainon stilled, lips parting but no words coming at first. For once, even he seemed struck silent. Mydei’s confusion wasn’t born from cruelty—it was raw, exhausted bewilderment. Why would anyone hold on this tightly, after all the lifetimes, after all the failure?

And then, suddenly, it clicked.

Phainon’s chest tightened as he realized how needlessly complicated he had made it—how he had tangled Mydei in explanations about timelines, fate, destinies interwoven, and ancient vows. None of it mattered. None of it was the point. Mydei didn’t need grand declarations about eternity. He needed the truth, stripped bare.

Phainon’s brow furrowed, his voice rough but steady when he finally spoke.

“Because I love you.”

Without warning, Mydei came. 

His back arched and he clenched down hard as he felt himself shooting all over his torso and onto his chin with great force. The denial from his earlier build up had caused him to tremble violently. His mind, once racing, was now empty, a pure, white expanse of sensation, and he knew—with a kind of breathless, dizzying clarity—that he was about to fall completely over the edge.

The words landed like a blow. His heart ached so sharply he thought it might shatter. For a long moment, he could only stare, caught between disbelief and the terrifying relief that maybe—just maybe—this was what he’d wanted to hear from Phainon all along. 

Phainon did not let up. 

Even as Mydei whimpered and convulsed against Phainon, he continued to pound into Mydei. He peppered kisses all over Mydei’s face, attempting to soothe him. In fact, the way Mydei came apart had made Phainon’s blood pump faster. It was adorable that Mydei was turned on by Phainon’s proclamation of love. If Mydei was going to be like this everytime, he was going to tell Mydei that he loved him every single day. 

“Phainon…I- I can’t!” Mydei cried, tears beginning to well up at his eyes from overstimulation, his knuckles turning white from gripping the headboard. 

The sounds of Mydei’s delicious moans and desperation made Phainon groan as well. If only he had his phone beside him, he would most definitely film Mydei being torn apart by his cock. He knelt on one leg and steadied himself so he could have better control, hands gripped tightly onto Mydei’s hips gently as he repeatedly fucked him. “You can.” he cooed gently, slowly coaxing Mydei’s erection back to life.

Hours blurred into one another, the rhythm of their bodies tangled so deeply that Phainon lost all sense of time. The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the heat between them, the slick press of skin against skin, and the sound of Mydei’s breath breaking again and again beneath him. 

Phainon never relented — not when Mydei trembled, not when exhaustion pulled at his limbs. He coaxed him through every moment, whispering hoarse praises into his ear, promising he was beautiful, untouchable, his. Each round bled into the next, a fevered cycle of collapse and renewal, until it felt endless — as though Phainon could go on forever if it meant keeping Mydei beneath him, clinging, yielding, radiant in his grasp.

And then, Mydei suddenly whispered, “P-Phai… Khaslana…”.

The name slipped from Mydei’s lips, soft and trembling, but it struck Phainon like a thunderclap. His breath hitched and before he knew it, he was coming. He came deep inside of Mydei, his hands locked onto his hips, making sure that it stayed inside. It had been years—decades, lifetimes even—since anyone had called him that. Not Phainon. Not Deliverer. Not the roles and burdens tied to him. But his name. His true name.

And it was Mydei who said it.

For a moment, Phainon felt dizzy, as though the room itself had tilted. His pulse thundered in his ears, his chest tightening with a raw, overwhelming ache. That single word carried more than recognition—it was intimacy, acceptance, something that cut through all the walls and pretenses he had built around himself.

“Mydei…” he whispered, his voice breaking. He couldn’t hold back.

Phainon surged forward, capturing Mydei’s lips in another kiss, deeper this time, desperate and reverent all at once. His hands framed Mydei’s face, holding him as if he were afraid he might vanish. When they finally pulled apart, Mydei’s eyes glistened with something fragile yet certain. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his voice barely above a whisper, but steady.

“I love you,” he said simply.

Phainon blinked, stunned, and then a smile—real, unguarded, and almost boyish—broke across his face. The words he had waited lifetimes to hear hung between them, shimmering like the first light of dawn. His heart raced so hard he thought it might break free from his ribs. For a moment, he was untouchable—weightless in the warmth of Mydei’s words, lost in a happiness so fierce it blurred the edges of reality itself.

So much so that he almost didn’t hear what Mydei whispered next.

“…and I’m sorry.”

The words slipped through the haze, delicate and shattering all at once. His dazed smile faltered, his body swaying as if the ground beneath him had given way. Confusion lanced through the bliss—sorry? Sorry for what?

But Phainon couldn’t ask.

The last thing he registered was the tremor in Mydei’s voice, the sorrow hidden behind it, before his vision dimmed. The rush of joy, the exhaustion, the strain of everything he had fought for—it all crashed down at once.

And then, darkness.

It ended with silence, the only trace of him lingering in the warmth of his last smile.

-x-

The plane ride back to Aidonia was cloaked in silence.

Twelve long hours stretched ahead, yet Castorice couldn’t bring herself to rest. Sleep evaded her, tugged away by the whirlwind of thoughts replaying in her mind. The summer party, the blur of music and laughter—it all felt distant now. What clung to her most was the image of Mydei, his face drawn tight with grief before he had left, and the haunting absence of Phainon.

Her own heart should have been light. Her confession to Hyacine—something she had dreamed of for so long—had been accepted. They were finally together, and for that she was overjoyed. But even that joy felt muted, smothered beneath the weight of uncertainty. Something was wrong. She knew it.

When she turned to share her thoughts, Castorice noticed Aglaea sitting stiffly beside her. A deep frown marked her features—so rare, so foreign on someone who usually kept every expression tightly measured.

“…Aglaea,” Castorice asked softly, almost afraid of the answer, “are Mydei and Phainon going to be alright?”

Aglaea’s lips parted, but for a long moment, no words came. Then finally, with quiet honesty, she murmured, “I… don’t know.”

The words chilled Castorice more than silence ever could.

Aglaea’s mind was far from the plane, already entangled in webs of information. With March’s help, she had traced their enemy’s movements back to a group known only as the Cleaners. Paparazzi, obsessed and relentless, their cameras were more than tools—they were weapons. And lurking behind them were moles within the academy itself, feeding sensitive information into the shadows of the web. It was no longer just rumor or nuisance; it was organized, deliberate.

And now, it had escalated beyond what even Aglaea had foreseen.

Cerydra’s involvement was proof enough of that. The great seer had remained neutral for years, refusing to interfere. Yet this time, she had stepped forward, seizing the matter into her own hands. If Cerydra herself was moving pieces on the board, then the game was already far darker than Aglaea dared admit.

Her duty was clear—protect the rest of their talents, shield them from the ripples of a conflict that had already begun consuming the Heirs. But in the quiet of the cabin, as the plane cut steadily through the night sky, even Aglaea’s certainty wavered.

She could only hope that somewhere, somehow, Mydei and Phainon would endure.

Castorice drew her knees to her chest, resting her chin there, but no position could make her feel secure. Not with the silence pressing in. Not with the weight of unanswered questions gnawing at her.

And so, the two of them sat beneath the dim glow of the cabin lights—one lost in worry, the other in calculation—while above the endless expanse of clouds, the future loomed dark and uncertain.

A fragile moment suspended before the storm that awaited them all.

Notes:

sorry for the cliffhanger once again LOL hope you enjoyed the smut this time.... tried to switch up their dynamics at the start and return it to phainon dominating as i think itd fit the context of this scene more. but lmk what u guys think.... i did more research on how to make it more steamy and i nearly balded fr.... 3 more chapters to go!

tumblr: grayyxv / X: aschxv

Chapter 13: Paper Flower

Notes:

DISCLAIMER;

before u read i HIGHLY recommend finishing at least version 3.4 of hsr... even better if u finish 3.5 because more things will make sense lore wise. but uhh if you go in blind, i hope the plot still makes sense to you. the overall mood of the chapter is inspired by the song 'paper flower' by kenshi yonezu! its a song about yearning. which i think rly fits this chapter too. anyways,,, all of the plot holes will be addressed in this chapter! if there is anything that you dont understand you can always comment and ill respond to it.

please enjoy......

After his encounter with Lygus, Mydei’s chest was still burning with anger, his thoughts heavy and fractured. He needed air. He needed silence. And so, without realizing where his feet carried him, he found himself in the medical wing.

The room was dim, lit only by a single lantern that flickered against the walls. At the center lay Hephaestion’s coffin, polished wood gleaming faintly in the dark. Mydei lowered himself into the chair beside it, elbows braced against his knees, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles were pale.

The silence was suffocating.

Every word Lygus had spoken gnawed at him—Phainon, Hephaestion, his mother, the fate of Aedes Elysiae. Lies? Truth? A mixture of both? Mydei didn’t know anymore. His head pulsed with too many questions, none of which had answers. His gaze fell to the coffin. Hephaestion’s stillness felt heavier than stone, heavier than the kingdom itself.

Until—

Knock. Knock.

The sound startled him, sharp against the quiet. His head whipped toward the door, heart pounding, irritation sparking.

It must be Lygus. Of course. Who else would follow him even here? His anger flared hot again, chasing away the ache in his chest. Jaw set, Mydei rose abruptly, storming across the floor, ready to tear into the masked man for daring to intrude again.

But when he wrenched the door open—

The hallway was empty.

Cold air slipped into the room, curling around him like a phantom’s touch. Mydei’s brows furrowed as his eyes darted down the corridor. No shadows moved, no footsteps lingered. Only silence.

Then he noticed it.

Resting on the floor just beyond the threshold was an envelope, sealed with a pale pink wax. His name, Mydeimos, was written across it in unfamiliar handwriting.

His heartbeat quickened.

Mydei’s anger faltered, giving way to unease. He crouched, fingers brushing the letter as though it might vanish—or worse, burn him—if he wasn’t careful.

The door shut quickly behind him with a heavy thud, and he turned the lock, pressing his back against the wood as if to bar out whatever had left the letter there. He stared at the envelope in his hands. Smooth parchment, delicate strokes, an elegant seal pressed deep into the wax. Whoever sent this had taken their time.

It didn’t look threatening. Not at first glance.

But then again, nothing about tonight had looked threatening—until it was.

Mydei swallowed hard, forcing his trembling hands steady as he tore the seal open. Inside, folded neatly, was a single sheet of pink-colored paper. The handwriting was careful, almost too perfect, each curve deliberate, deliberate enough to make the hair on the back of his neck rise.

With hesitant breath, he unfolded the note.

To Mydeimos,

Hi~ I hope this letter reaches you safely.

By the time you read this, I imagine things must feel unbearably heavy. Questions with no answers. Shadows at every corner. You’ve probably even started to wonder who you can really trust.

I don’t expect you to trust me. Not yet. You and I have never met, after all. But you do know me, in a way—through him. He must have told you something, at least a whisper of my name. That’s enough.

Come and meet me at the place where you once called home. If you do, you’ll find the answers you’ve been chasing, the truth even he hasn’t told you.

See you soon~!

Love, The Deliverer’s pink friend~ ♪

As his eyes reached the playful flourish at the end, his stomach tightened. The handwriting was neat, girlish almost, but there was a deliberate rhythm to it, as though every word had been carefully chosen.

And then something slid from the fold of the letter onto his palm.

Mydei froze.

It was an azalea charm—pressed, delicate, impossibly well-preserved—similar to the one he had. It was a pale shade of pink, contrasting the one he carried from Aedes Elysiae, the one that had followed him like a quiet tether to a world he had never truly understood.

His breath caught. His charm was supposed to be unique. Yet here, in his hand, lay its twin. There could be no mistake.

Cyrene had sent this letter.

He had so many unanswered questions about Cyrene alone—A childhood friend who had helped push him through time at the cost of Aedes Elysiae itself. A ghost from a world long gone, a girl wrapped in myth and sacrifice. And yet, here she was. Greeting him like an old friend, playful and certain, as if she already knew exactly where he was, what he was doing, what he was thinking.

The thing was that current Cyrene was an actress who had starred in a film with Phainon. How did she know about Phainon’s power if she didn’t travel to the future with Phainon? Or was that a bluff? Just who exactly was Cyrene to Phainon?

The charm dug cold into his palm as he clenched it.

For the first time, Mydei felt the distinct, bone-deep certainty that he was being pulled into a game whose rules he didn’t understand—and that she, whoever she was, had been playing far longer than him.

The more he thought about it, the more frustrated he became. The letter, the charm, the teasing scrawl of someone he had never met yet seemed to know him better than he knew himself—it gnawed at his mind like an itch he couldn’t reach.

He folded the note back into its envelope and pocketed both it and the azalea charm, the faint press of it against his chest both grounding and suffocating. He needed space. He needed clarity.

Which was why, when he finally made his way down the quiet hall toward his quarters, he froze.

There was noise coming from inside.

A faint scrape, the whisper of boots across the floorboards. Mydei’s body stiffened, every muscle tensing. No one should have been in his room. Not without his permission. He pressed a hand to the door, hesitating just long enough for suspicion to coil in his chest. Then, slowly, he pushed it open a crack and saw him.

Phainon.

Mydei’s breath caught in his throat, a hundred questions and emotions crashing all at once—rage, relief, fear, longing. What in the titans’ names was he doing here, of all places? How the hell did Phainon get past the front door if Castrum Kremnos was supposed to be impenetrable to outsiders? He was supposed to remain in Okehema where he would be safe.

The sound of the hinges betrayed him as he fully opened the door. Phainon turned, amber eyes widening in faint surprise as the light from the hallway spilled across his face.

Mydei didn’t give him the chance to speak.

The surge of confusion and anger made his decision for him. He swung the door wide and, in a single practiced motion, struck sharply at the side of Phainon’s neck.

Phainon’s eyes flickered with shock, lips parting as if to say his name. Then his body crumpled, hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

Mydei stood over him, chest heaving, his hand trembling from the force of what he had just done. He hadn’t even thought—hadn’t let himself think. All he knew was that Phainon being here was wrong. Wrong in a way he couldn’t yet name.

Clutching the edge of the doorframe for balance, Mydei whispered under his breath, as if to steady himself:

“…Why are you here?”

But the only answer was the silence of the room, heavy and suffocating, with Phainon unconscious at his feet. 

Mydei needed some answers but he knew Phainon wasn’t going to give them so easily. In a state of panic, he did the only logical thing he could think of. He tied Phainon to a chair in case he woke up and tried to escape before answering his questions. Even then he knew, Phainon still wasn’t going to give in that easily.

Hence, it led to his slightly unhinged plan of seducing Phainon into giving the answers which had somehow worked—though later it got them both distracted. 

Once Phainon stirred awake, bound to the chair exactly as Mydei had left him, he wasted no time in asking questions. His fingers worked its way to his clothes, ripping them apart. Then he moved closer, till they were connected as one. He told himself this was strategy, a way to bend Phainon into giving up answers. But deep down, he knew it was something else entirely.

Every second spent looking at him twisted the knife deeper.

As their little game began, it became clear that Phainon’s goal was to take him back to Okehema which probably meant that he didn't know about Cyrene’s letter. Though he was the one asking the questions, the one that was supposed to be in control, every answer that Phainon had given broke him. 

Phainon’s eyes were unyielding, steady in a way that made Mydei’s chest ache. Always the same—unyielding, stubborn, the kind of man who would rather break than confess weakness. That was the part of him Mydei hated most, and yet… he hated even more how badly he wanted to crack it open, to see what lay beneath the silence.

And then, the words had come. Plain, simple. Not a riddle, not a prophecy. Just the truth.

Because I love you.

The world stopped.

For a moment, Mydei forgot how to breathe. His pulse pounded in his ears, loud and erratic, drowning out all other sound. A thousand emotions surged at once—adrenaline, disbelief, fire, panic, longing. Butterflies beat against the hollow of his stomach, frantic and unrelenting. His body burned, as though every nerve had been lit aflame.

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be real. He had only known Phainon for months. Love didn’t happen like that, not for him. Love was for people who were whole, who hadn’t already been broken and discarded. Love was for those who deserved it.

But then—why did Phainon look at him that way? As if he were irreplaceable. As if all his fractures, all his failures, had never once lessened his worth. Mydei’s throat tightened. If Phainon was lying, if this was another manipulation—then this would destroy him. He wouldn’t recover. Not this time.

And yet, somewhere beneath the fear, his heart whispered something he didn’t want to hear.

What if it’s true?

The thought settled in his chest like a weight and a lifeline all at once, unbearable and intoxicating.

For Mydei, he never saw himself as someone worthy of love. Having grown up in a country of Strife, love and romance was nothing but a dream. His mother was loving yet, he never truly felt loved as she was busy with her duties as the queen. Even when they moved to the outskirts of Castrum Kremnos, she was buried with work so often that Mydei was mostly left by himself.

Friends were a different matter. He never really got along with anyone besides Hephaestion. Hephaestion was the only one who never looked at him weirdly because of the markings on his body. He had stayed by Mydei’s side while Mydei had to endure harsh training from Krateros. Even though Mydei was emotionally detached, he was patient.

Until Hephaestion changed.

Though he now knew the reason for that change, the damage had already been done. The years he’d spent closing his heart, isolating himself from the world had solidified in his personality. He wasn’t suicidal, per se, but he didn’t have any reason for wanting to live either.

Then there was Phainon.

A celebrity. Someone loved by millions all over the world. He could have anyone he wanted with the fame and power that he had. Yet here he was, saying that he had travelled across the world and through time itself just to find Mydei. Of course Mydei was bound to think he was ridiculous.

Their meeting, whether it was by chance or it had been planned, had impacted Mydei more than he thought. He never expected that one day his life would be filled with so many people and be completely turned upside down.

For the first time in many years, he felt alive.

And that was what made Phainon’s words unbearable.

His chest ached. Not the sharp pain of fear or anger, but a deep, hollow ache—like something long dead inside him had been stirred awake, clawing to the surface.

He leaned forward, unable to resist the pull, his forehead pressing against Phainon’s shoulder. His breathing grew uneven, shallow at first, then ragged, each inhale trembling as if his lungs no longer remembered how to work properly. The warmth of Phainon’s body beneath him was unbearable, intoxicating, and he hated how desperately he craved it.

Tears threatened but did not fall. His throat burned with the effort of holding them back, with the refusal to let Phainon see just how fragile he truly was. His whole life had been a fortress—walls stacked stone by stone, lie by lie, all to protect the boy inside who had once wanted nothing more than to be loved. And now, with one simple confession, Phainon had smashed through it like it had never been there at all.

Alive. He felt alive. And it terrified him.

Because if this was what it meant to be alive, to feel so much that his chest could barely contain it, then he wasn’t sure he could survive losing it again. So he clung tighter, silent and trembling, as if he could hold time itself still—afraid that if he loosened his grip, Phainon would vanish like every other certainty in his life had.

Just once, Mydei had wanted to try saying Phainon’s real name. When the syllables left his lips—halting, fragile, almost foreign—he hadn’t expected the reaction it drew. Phainon’s face lit up in a way Mydei had never seen before: open, unguarded, dizzy with joy, as if hearing his name from Mydei’s mouth alone was enough to undo centuries of pain. The look had nearly broken him.

Then Phainon kissed him—deep, searing, desperate—and Mydei let himself be swept into it. For a fleeting heartbeat, he allowed himself to believe in it, to believe that love could be this simple, this direct. And he whispered it back.

“I love you.”

The words tasted both like salvation and betrayal on his tongue. Because even as Phainon trembled with joy at hearing them, Mydei had already made his choice.

When Phainon’s lips lingered against his own, Mydei’s hand was already moving. The small needle he kept hidden by the bedside—an assassin’s tool, a prince’s last defense—pressed against his palm. He waited until Phainon’s eyes closed, trusting, until his guard was utterly down, and then—so quick, so precise—he pricked the skin just below his collar.

“...and I’m sorry.” 

Phainon barely had time to flinch before his body slackened.

The silence that followed was unbearable. Mydei’s chest heaved, his heart hammering so violently it felt as though it might tear itself apart. For a moment, he sat frozen, staring at the body in his arms, trying to ignore the guilt clawing through him. I had to. I had to. He repeated the words in his mind, but they did nothing to soothe the ache.

He lingered there, cradling him, holding Phainon tightly as if he could imprint the shape of him into memory. He pressed his face into the crook of Phainon’s neck, breathing in his scent—warmth, light, something sharp and clean beneath it—and committing it to memory. Mydei had never realized how much he craved this, how much it hurt to know that in taking this step, he was denying himself the very thing he had finally admitted he wanted.

Eventually, he forced himself to move.

With careful, almost reverent hands, he dressed Phainon again with his own clothes. Buttoning his blouse one by one, smoothing the fabric down his chest. Adjusting the folds of his coat until it lay just right, brushing stray strands of hair away from his forehead. Every motion felt ritualistic, deliberate, an apology disguised as tenderness. His thumb lingered along Phainon’s jawline, tracing the sharp edge as though memorizing it for the last time.

Only when he was satisfied that Phainon looked untouched, unbothered, did Mydei retreat to the washroom. The hot water of the shower did little to ground him; if anything, it only magnified the hollow ache in his chest. His reflection in the mirror looked pale, haunted. A boy playing at being king, a man trying to carry a burden he never asked for.

But he had resolved himself. And once Mydei decided on something, there was no undoing it.

Back in the quiet of the room, his eyes fell on Phainon’s bag. He hesitated, knowing what he sought, before kneeling and rummaging through it. His hand brushed against the strangely familiar weight, and when he finally pulled it free, the world seemed to still.

As I’ve Written.

-x-

 

It was the day after Phainon’s unannounced appearance that Mydei finally gathered the nerve to make the trip down to the outskirts of Castrum Kremnos. To the place where he once lived by the sea.

When he told his mother, he kept his tone measured, almost casual. He said he wanted to take a look around the city, that it had been too long since he last returned to their homeland. She had immediately insisted on assigning him a bodyguard—at the very least Ptolemy—but Mydei pressed back with an excuse that struck just the right note of sorrow: he needed time to grieve Hephaestion. Alone. She relented, albeit reluctantly.

The moment he stepped out, he made sure no guards followed. Taking a motorbike from the palace carpark, he rode off without looking back, the cool wind cutting through his clothes as if to remind him that he was, finally, by himself.

Cyrene’s letter had given him no sense of when, only where. No time, no arrangement—just a location, as though she already knew he would come. He hoped he hadn’t kept her waiting too long, but by the time he arrived, the sun had already sunk low, and the world had begun to dim into a muted gray.

The town had changed.

What had once been a place of life and color was now hollow. The streets were eerily empty, windows shuttered, doorframes sagging, shops long abandoned. The buildings he remembered were still there, but the vibrancy was gone, drained away like blood from a corpse. The trees stood barren and brittle, their branches curled as if in pain, and above, the sky had collapsed into an overcast ceiling of heavy, unmoving clouds.

Mydei slowed to a stop, dismounting the bike. His footsteps echoed faintly against cracked stone roads. Every sound felt louder in the silence—too loud, as if the town itself were listening.

He turned toward the sea, the one thing that had not changed. The waves still rolled against the shore, steady and indifferent, their rhythm almost cruel compared to the death of the town. The sight pulled memories from him unwillingly: a younger self running along these roads, Hephaestion’s laughter trailing behind, the smell of salt and grilled food on festival nights.

Now there was only silence.

It struck him how much it resembled the vision of Aedes Elysiae’s destruction—the same emptiness, the same ache of something once beautiful, reduced to ruin.

His chest tightened. 

What happened while he was gone?

The letter burned against his pocket, heavier with each step he took toward the home he once knew, toward the answers only Cyrene seemed to hold.

He strolled down the road, his azalea charm pressed close against his chest from the pocket where it lay hidden. Each step felt heavier as the silhouette of his old home came into view—weathered walls, peeling paint, the quiet stillness of a place that had once been alive. His childhood home… and the very place Phainon had claimed to take shelter for four years.

From the outside, Mydei could see the faint flicker of light bleeding out from behind the curtains. Not daylight. Something else. A candle’s glow—steady, deliberate. It was a sign. Cyrene had to already be inside.

His pulse raced. He pressed his palm to the doorknob, the cold brass biting against his skin. Slowly, carefully, he turned it until the door gave way with a soft groan.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of melted wax and dust. Familiarity pressed in on him—the lined bookshelves that framed the walls, the uneven wooden floor that creaked faintly beneath his steps. It was his home, but not quite. Too still. Too arranged.

His gaze fixed on the table in the center of the room. A single candle flickered there, its flame wavering as though acknowledging him. Beside it, resting like an offering, was a lone book. Mydei shut the door behind him with a soft click. He hesitated, then crossed the room, each step echoing in his chest like the beat of his heart.

The book was not one of his.

He reached down and picked it up. Dust clung to the cover, but even beneath the faint film of age, the title stood out: The Flamechasers. Houkai Comics.

A comic…?

The name rattled in his memory, pulling at something loose. He brushed the cover clean, then opened it.

The first illustration stared back at him. A boy with white hair and piercing blue eyes.

Mydei froze.

The name beneath the image read: Kevin, the Deliverer.

His breath caught. The word coiled inside his head like a serpent, dragging with it a memory he had nearly forgotten. The very first day he met Phainon, he had asked about his latest role—what character he was researching. Phainon had told him. This one. Kevin. The Deliverer. It had been a throwaway question at the time, something he had almost mocked, even teasingly giving Phainon the same nickname.

But now… seeing it for the first time…The resemblance was undeniable.

Not just similar. Not just coincidental.

It was him.

White hair. Blue eyes. The same sharp lines of the face, the same set of the jaw, even the faint intensity in the gaze that seemed to cut straight through the page.

Logically, he knew there were countless white-haired, blue-eyed men in Amphoreus. But this wasn't a coincidence. His chest tightened as though the candlelight had constricted the very air in the room. The comic in his hands didn’t feel like paper anymore—it felt like evidence.

He stared down at the page, his pulse pounding in his ears. Had Phainon become the role, or had the role always been Phainon? And if this was Cyrene’s way of answering him… what was she trying to say?

He opened the book and let the brittle pages whisper beneath his fingers as he turned them.

The first chapter began simply enough—Kevin, a transfer student, starting fresh at a new high school. Ordinary. Mundane. Almost laughably so. But as Mydei skimmed through, the story darkened. An apocalyptic event tore the world apart, dragging Kevin and twelve other chosen individuals into a war for survival. Together, they became the Flamechasers, humanity’s final shield against annihilation.

At first, it read like any other hero’s tale. But the further he went, the harder it was to dismiss the resemblance.

The imagery, the motifs, the burden of destiny—it was all too familiar.

The Flamechasers mirrored the Chrysos Heirs. The twelve chosen warriors gathered under divine command. Their myths weren’t so different from the stories he’d grown up hearing about Amphoreus. Not to mention, the book about the hero of Aedes Elysiae as well. The cycle of sacrifice, of chosen heirs bound to a fate none of them had chosen.

But what rooted him to the spot wasn’t the parallels.

It was Kevin.

The resemblance wasn’t only in appearance. The character carried the same presence, the same unbearable weight. His story was written as though it were not fiction, but memory.

And then the name struck him like a blade: Kevin Kaslana.

Phainon Khaslana.

The comic slipped slightly in his grip, his knuckles whitening. His breath caught. The truth settled in like a cold tide, numbing.

The Houkai comics weren’t fabrications. They weren’t simple stories designed for entertainment. They were reflections of the past. Faded echoes of what had already transpired in Amphoreus, dressed in the trappings of another world.

And Kevin—Kevin was Phainon. Or at least, Phainon was Kevin. The Deliverer. Not just once, but again and again.

A shiver ran down Mydei’s spine.

He could only conclude that this was not coincidence, nor chance. It was inevitability. A cycle that stretched beyond his understanding.

What did this mean for them? For him?

Even if history never repeated exactly the same way, its shape was unmistakable. The Chrysos Heirs gathered once more. The Deliverer was among them. Phainon, in this life too, was destined to carry the burden.

Doomed to bear it, as he had before.

Mydei’s chest tightened. He wanted to deny it, to cast the book aside and laugh at its absurdity. But the candlelight flickered, and the weight of the charm in his pocket pressed against him like proof.

Fate was repeating itself. And Phainon… Phainon had always been at the center of it. 

“Hi~! Missed me?”

The sing-song voice chimed from behind him, light and teasing, like a bell ringing in a quiet chapel. His thoughts were instantly interrupted. 

Mydei’s head snapped around, his body instinctively tense. From behind the wall, a figure peeked out—small, pink-haired, and utterly unlike what he had expected.

Cyrene.

She was… almost childlike at first glance. Shorter than him by far, her bright blue eyes glittered mischievously, as though she already knew everything he was about to say. A simple white dress clung to her frame, casual and unassuming, yet somehow it looked deliberate. Her smile was radiant, too open for someone who always seemed to be pulling invisible strings.

For a moment, Mydei was disarmed. She reminded him faintly of Hyacine—soft edges, easy warmth—but there was something sharper beneath her playfulness. Something that whispered she was not to be underestimated.

“You must be Mydeimos, right? I’m Cyrene. I’m glad we could finally meet in person~ Phainon talked a lot about you!” she chirped as she stepped into the light, moving toward him with an effortless bounce.

Mydei froze.

Phainon… talked about him?

Phainon had barely uttered Cyrene’s name to him. She was nothing but a shadowy figure in Phainon’s past, spoken of vaguely, if at all. And yet here she was, alive and bright, telling him that Phainon had been speaking of him in turn. The realization sat oddly in his chest—an uncomfortable mix of disbelief, suspicion, and a faint, guilty warmth.

Cyrene’s eyes caught his hesitation, and her lips curved knowingly, as though she could see every thought etched across his face.

“Don’t worry,” she chimed sweetly, twirling a strand of pink hair around her finger. “He only said good things about you. He’s hopeless like that, you know~”

Then, without waiting for a reply, she gestured for him to follow. “Come on, let’s chat upstairs. I’m sure you have many questions.”

Still in stunned silence, Mydei found himself nodding and trailing after her.

Though this had once been his home, the atmosphere now felt… different. Softer. Warmer. As though the walls themselves no longer remembered him, but instead had bent themselves to Cyrene’s will. The furniture remained the same, but delicate vases of wildflowers now dotted the shelves. Little trinkets gleamed on side tables. A ribbon draped over the banister. What had once been his childhood refuge had been rewritten in her colors, her presence woven into every corner.

When they entered the study, Mydei stopped short.

The once dark, solemn room had been transformed entirely. Fairy lights hung from the curtain rods, their glow casting the space in pinkish warmth. Cloths of soft pastel fabric were draped across the furniture. Shelves that once held neatly lined volumes now carried tiny ornaments—porcelain animals, pressed flowers in glass frames, feathers in vases.

She spun once, hands behind her back, before plopping onto the couch with a soft bounce. “I hope you don’t mind the decorations,” she said sweetly. “It felt a little too gloomy before. Besides, I’ve been here awhile~ Had to make myself at home.”

He lowered himself stiffly onto the couch opposite her. She poured a cup of tea from a delicate glass teapot—the scent floral, unfamiliar, but calming. Steam curled between them like a veil.

Cyrene slid the cup toward him with a smile that felt too knowing. “Drink. You’ll need the clarity.”

Then she folded her hands, tilting her head, her eyes glittering with a mix of amusement and mystery.

“So, Mydeimos…” Her voice softened, but her grin remained. “Where would you like to start?”

“Just Mydei is fine.” He murmured stiffly, shoulders tightening as the words left his lips. He didn’t know why, but the way Cyrene greeted him as if they were lifelong friends—carefree and casual, his name rolling off her tongue like it belonged to her—made him uneasy.

She only hummed in acknowledgment, her smile never faltering.

To distract himself, Mydei reached for his bag and pulled out As I’ve Written. His hands lingered on the cover for a moment before he set it across the table toward her. Cyrene leaned forward immediately, her small fingers brushing the book with a kind of reverence before pulling it close.

Her blue eyes glittered with wonder as she flipped the pages slowly, her expression dancing between awe and recognition—as though every word carried a hidden memory only she could read. Mydei studied her warily, noting how her delicate posture hid a sharpness beneath the surface, a sharpness that made him feel like he was the one being read.

“So, uh…” Mydei cleared his throat, his voice breaking the silence. He sat a little straighter, arms crossing as though to shield himself. “Which Cyrene are you? Are you the one from Phainon’s past, or… are you born in this century?”

The question hung between them, heavy with his disbelief. He still hadn’t fully accepted that she was real—she had always been a whisper, a shadow in Phainon’s stories, something too distant to touch. Yet here she was, sitting opposite him, her laughter warming the air.

“Hmm…” She tapped her chin thoughtfully, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Would it make a difference? Either way, I’m still Cyrene, aren’t I?”

Mydei’s brows knitted. The evasiveness rubbed at his nerves, though he tried not to let it show. He studied her, noting how her playful gaze never wavered, how easily she dismissed the weight of his question. To him, it was no simple matter—it was the same existential riddle he carried within himself: Were the Mydeis of other timelines still him?

His frown deepened. “Well, yes… but I don’t understand… how?”

Her lips parted into a lilting giggle. She tilted her head, pink hair brushing over one shoulder, watching him with something between amusement and pity. “I’m only teasing you,” she said softly, as though that would soothe his tension. Then her voice shifted, carrying a weight that hadn’t been there before. “When I was little, I suddenly just… appeared in this century. In Aedes Elysiae.”

Her smile faltered only briefly, her gaze dropping to the book in her lap. “Luckily, I was found by travelers. They brought me to an orphanage in Styxia. So, if you want to be precise…” she looked back up at him, her eyes sharp and sparkling again, “…I’m technically not the Cyrene Phainon knew when he was younger.”

Mydei’s stomach turned at her words. Appeared?

On Amphoreus, what did she even mean by that? Did she spawn into the world like a character in one of Hyacine’s video games? He had come here expecting clarity, answers, something solid he could hold onto. Instead, Cyrene’s words only multiplied the questions that gnawed at him.

Her gaze lingered on him knowingly, as though she could sense his thoughts unraveling. He tore his eyes away first, staring at the untouched cup of tea cooling beside him. Perhaps he did need it after all.

“So how did you end up meeting Phainon and… y’know, find out about all of this?” Mydei asked finally, his voice cautious, almost hesitant. He had drained the last of his tea, and the warmth in his chest felt oddly comforting, giving him a small anchor in the swirl of confusion.

Cyrene giggled, the sound light and airy, almost like wind chimes brushing against the ears. She moved with fluid grace as she stood and poured more tea for him, setting the cup carefully on the table with a soft clink. Her eyes sparkled with a mixture of amusement and something unreadable, as if she already knew where his questions were headed.

“Growing up, I had no memories of Aedes Elysiae or the different cycles,” she began, her voice softening, her fingers brushing absentmindedly over the edge of the teacup. “I lived as a normal girl with a very loving adoptive family in Styxia. From a young age, I always knew I wanted to be an actress. So I worked my hardest and eventually got into a talent agency.”

She moved toward the desk with an elegant sway, the light catching her hair at just the right angle, giving her an almost ethereal glow. She pulled out a script, holding it delicately in her hands as if it were a precious artifact.

“One day, my manager told me that she had secured an audition for a role she thought I’d be perfect for,” she explained, her tone casual, but her eyes gleaming with a secret excitement. Mydei’s gaze followed her carefully, noting the precision in her movements, the subtle confidence in her posture. There was something calculated, yet effortless about the way she carried herself—partly charm, partly something else he couldn’t place.

She set the script down on the table, opening it so that the title faced him: As I’ve Written. The same title as Phainon’s book. Mydei’s throat went dry.

“When we met at the audition,” she continued, leaning against the desk with one knee bent, “I had this really strange feeling about him. He looked at me like he already knew me. I was honestly terrified.” Her lips twitched, a small, wry smile forming. “But then he mentioned that he was from Aedes Elysiae… and memories of a past I never lived, flooded me all at once. That was the moment I realized… I might’ve known him before, in some way.”

Mydei stayed silent, absorbing her words. Every detail she revealed added layers to the puzzle he had been struggling to fit together. His fingers fumbled into his pocket, pulling out his own azalea charm almost instinctively. He placed it next to the charm Cyrene had given him, both resting side by side on the polished wood of the coffee table.

The two charms were identical aside from their color. The same perfectly pressed petals, the same small ribbon tied meticulously around each one. Mydei’s eyes narrowed slightly, tracing every curve of the charm as if the answer to all the mysteries might somehow be hidden in the intricate design. 

Cyrene moved back to her seat on the couch and leaned a little closer, resting her hands on the edge of the desk near the charms. Her bright blue eyes flicked from the charms to Mydei, sharp and assessing yet laced with an easy warmth. A small, knowing smile tugged at her lips, as though she could read the thoughts storming behind his careful exterior.

“I got that charm when he eventually brought me to Aedes Elysiae,” she said softly, her tone almost reverent, “Not the current Aedes Elysiae as we know it, but the same one that Phainon brought you to.” Her words carried a quiet gravity, and her eyes held a glimmer of something else—memory, nostalgia, and perhaps a trace of sorrow.

Mydei’s chest tightened. So he wasn’t the only one Phainon had brought to that dream-like version of Aedes Elysiae. The questions came fast and unbidden: Had the same little girl given Cyrene the charm too? Did the villagers speak to her the same way they had spoken to him? Was Cyrene really just a ‘sister’ to him, or something more complicated that he couldn’t yet name? His lips pressed into a thin line, his thoughts a tangled mess of suspicion, curiosity, and a hesitant hope he wasn’t ready to admit.

“Don’t worry~” Cyrene said, noticing the shadow that crossed his face, her voice light, playful, yet soothing, like a small breeze cutting through tension. “You are the one he loves. I was brought there for a different reason.” Her grin was small but certain, reassuring without needing to say more.

She leaned back slightly, still keeping her gaze trained on him, letting the silence hang just long enough to make him feel the weight of her words. Then she added casually, almost conspiratorially, “Anyways, I’m not sure what the Theoros has told you, but… Phainon actually had a second book that followed him into the future. A picturebook drawn by the same girl who gave you that azalea charm.”

Mydei blinked. His throat went dry. Part of him wanted to look away, to hide the sudden heat rising to his cheeks, but curiosity anchored him in place. This was the first time anyone had so openly confirmed that Phainon loved him, and yet it was coming from someone he barely knew. Cyrene’s knowing look, the gentle tilt of her head, the ease with which she observed his reaction—it was unnerving.

He coughed awkwardly, trying to hide the flush creeping over his face. The revelation about the second book pulled his thoughts in a different direction entirely. Not even Cipher or Anaxa, the people he trusted most, knew about it. Mydei’s brows furrowed as he motioned for her to continue, an almost imperceptible tremor in his fingers betraying the storm of questions he hadn’t yet dared to voice.

Cyrene’s smile widened, playful yet edged with subtle gravity, sensing the mixture of awe, confusion, and guarded hope in him. “If you want, I can show it to you,” she said, leaning forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees. “It might explain a lot… about him, about you, about why things are happening the way they are.”

Mydei’s chest tightened again. He felt both reluctant and drawn in, caught between suspicion and the undeniable pull of wanting to understand, to see the truth laid bare. The weight of the moment settled over him, heavy but compelling, and for the first time in a long while, he wondered if he might finally grasp the story that had been quietly weaving itself around him all along.

From the bookshelf, Cyrene pulled out the worn picture book. Its spine was frayed, the cover soft and bent from years of handling. She placed it carefully in Mydei’s hands, her expression unusually solemn, her playful air dimmed into something steadier—reverent, almost protective.

Mydei swallowed and slowly flipped to the first page. His eyes softened at the sight of the crude doodles: three small figures, drawn in blue, pink, and red. Though the shapes were childish, their meaning was unmistakable—Phainon, Cyrene, and himself.

He turned the pages with deliberate care. The story unfolded in colors and symbols more than words. The blue and pink figure stood together, only to be torn apart, leaving the figure in blue alone. Page after page, the blue figure remained, surrounded by blank white space, its isolation lingering far too long. Mydei’s chest tightened at the sight. But then—suddenly—red appeared. The figure in red reached for blue, and together they found the pink figure again.

The last image made his stomach twist. A scarecrow in a field of colorful flowers, standing with arms outstretched, faceless and still, watching over the bloom.

Mydei stared at the page, his lips pressing into a hard line. What was this book trying to tell him? Did it mean Phainon was bound to find happiness in the end? If the story was so simple, why did it feel so suffocatingly vague? Frustration curled inside him like a vice. He was supposed to matter—supposed to be important in Phainon’s story. And yet, every page left him with more questions, never answers. Always circling. Always just beyond his grasp.

His fingers tightened on the paper, knuckles pale. “Then what about the Houkai comic I saw when I first entered?” he said at last, his voice low, strained with desperation. His eyes flicked to Cyrene’s, sharp with need. “I know you left it there on purpose. Please. Just tell me the whole truth.”

Cyrene sighed softly, her lips curling into a faint, rueful smile that didn’t reach her eyes. For once, she seemed hesitant. She folded her arms lightly, gaze dropping to the charms on the desk before lifting back to Mydei. “This picture book,” she began slowly, “is… Phainon’s destiny. The ending is vague. Though he is finally with the Chrysos Heirs, it’s difficult to interpret whether it had been a happy end. Or merely… an end.”

She gently reached for the Houkai comic he’d set aside earlier and placed it on the coffee table between them, tapping a finger on the embossed title. “The Houkai comics… are based on this picture book and ‘As I’ve Written’.” Her voice dipped lower, heavier. “The author of the series is named Zandar.”

Cyrene picked up the movie script and slid it across the table, her fingertip tapping against the page where the screenwriter’s name was printed. “When Phainon and I first met at the audition, it wasn’t luck. It wasn’t chance. The film’s title was the same as his book for a reason. Look closely.”

Mydei’s eyes dropped to the line she indicated. The letters seemed ordinary enough, but as his gaze lingered, the name burned into him like a brand.

Zandar One Kuwabara.

With a sharp movement, Cyrene pushed the script aside, as though the very name poisoned the air. Then she reached across the table, her small hands folding firmly over Mydei’s. When he looked up, her playful brightness was gone. The girl who had been all giggles and teases was replaced by someone steady, solemn, almost unbearably grave.

Her blue eyes locked on his, refusing to let him look away.

“The reason I needed to meet you,” she said softly, each word heavy with meaning, “is because Zandar One Kuwabara… is not just the man behind the book or the film. He is the very same person you now know as Theoros Lygus—advisor to the Queen, and the shadow moving inside Castrum Kremnos.”

Mydei’s blood instantly turned cold.

The words slammed into him, rooting deep, sharper than any blade could have cut. Zandar. Lygus. Theoros. Different names, same face, same hand tugging at the strings of their lives. Every page of Phainon’s book, every line of the comic, every scene in the script—it had all been crafted, orchestrated. Not coincidence. Never coincidence.

Heat rose in his chest, pushing against the frost in his veins. Rage coiled, ugly and sharp, pressing against his ribs until he thought he might burst. His breath stuttered as Cyrene’s hands held his, grounding him, though he barely felt her touch. His mind was spiraling, every thought leading back to one figure: the man who sat smugly in Castrum Kremnos, pretending to be loyal, weaving fate as if the world itself was his canvas.

Zandar liked to play god. That much was clear now.

He bent reality, reshaped timelines, pulled people like puppets into roles they never asked for. Phainon, who had already borne so much, was being forced into destiny’s chains again. Cyrene, dropped into a century not her own, raised like a pawn. And him—Mydei. Nothing but another piece Zandar moved across the board.

His jaw clenched so tightly his teeth ached. He dug his nails into his palm until crescents of pain bit through the fog in his head.

For what? What was the endgame of this wretched performance? Why twist fate until it cracked, why resurrect the same cycle again and again? Why make Phainon suffer, brand him the Deliverer in every retelling?

The air seemed to grow thinner, suffocating with realization. Mydei’s thoughts snapped to Hephaestion—his friend, his ex-lover, changed and broken until death claimed him. To his father, the man who had drilled into him harsh lessons of strength, taken before his time. Both of them, gone. And now the truth gnawed at him with undeniable clarity: it had to have been Zandar. Lygus. Whatever name the monster chose, the blood on his hands was real.

A violent tremor rippled through Mydei’s arms as he squeezed his fists tight enough for his knuckles to turn white, tendons straining under his skin. The urge to drive his fist into something—anything—burned in his veins. Zandar had toyed with him, with all of them, for years. He was sure now. Hephaestion’s fall, his father’s death… nothing had been chance. Nothing.

And if Zandar had already taken so much, what would stop him from striking again? His mother, burdened by her crown. Ptolemy, loyal to a fault. The palace guards, his people—every single one of them was at risk, dangling over the abyss because one man had decided to script reality like a stage play.

“…Does Phainon know about all of this? What am I supposed to do now? How do we get rid of Lygus?” Mydei finally asked, his voice breaking into the heavy silence that had settled between them.

Cyrene didn’t answer at once. Instead, she rose from her seat with an almost ceremonial stillness and crossed the room. From the drawer of her desk, she withdrew something wrapped in a faded piece of cloth. She returned to the table and gently set it down before him.

“Remember how I said I was brought to Aedes Elysiae for a different reason?” she said softly, her tone calm but carrying a strange intensity.

When the cloth was unwrapped, she revealed a quill pen—its feather a delicate shade of pink that seemed to glow faintly in the dim room. Cyrene placed the last book—As I’ve Written— in the middle of the pile, turning to the very last page where it was blank. Then, she laid the pen across the open page like a blade across an altar.

“This,” she whispered, “is a quill of remembrance. With it, you can rewrite fate itself.”

Mydei’s breath caught. The idea alone seemed impossible—too dangerous, too powerful to even exist. Yet as the quill shimmered faintly against the parchment, he couldn’t deny the weight of truth behind her words.

His throat felt dry. “…How do I even know what to write?”

Cyrene tilted her head, her usual playfulness dimmed, replaced with a solemnity that made her look older than she seemed. “That’s the choice you have to make. The quill doesn’t guide—it only obeys. But every word written into this page will become law, and every law has a consequence.” She sat down again, folding her hands neatly over her lap.

“You could write Lygus out completely. Erase him from the story as though he never existed.” Her gaze lingered on him, sharp and unblinking. “If you do that, the world will shift to fill the hole he leaves behind. People’s memories, history itself, will twist to accommodate the change. But you won’t know what the new world will look like… until it’s too late. You would be the author, but blind to your own ending.”

Her fingers brushed against the feather as though testing its softness. “Or, you could destroy the book entirely. Tear the cycle apart. Without it, there would be no ‘rules’ left for him to control. Lygus would lose all his power. But then…” Her voice faltered slightly. “…there’s no guarantee you’ll ever meet Phainon again in the next life. In fact, there’s no guarantee there is a next life. It could all end with you.”

She hesitated before continuing, her blue eyes glimmering with something harder to read—resolve, perhaps, or sorrow. “You could also trap him in the loop. Seal him in the story forever. He wouldn’t vanish, but he would be bound, unable to reach for you again. The catch…” Her lips curved in a bittersweet smile. “…is that I would have to offer myself in his place. My existence, tied to the cycle, would keep him locked away.”

Silence fell again, heavy and suffocating. The candle flame on the desk trembled as if sensing the weight of the choice.

The quill glimmered faintly. Waiting.

“…How am I supposed to make the right choice without sacrifices?” Mydei muttered at last. His voice was low, strained—caught between despair and defiance.

Cyrene tilted her head, studying him as though she had been waiting for that very question. Then, slowly, she shifted closer, her presence warm and oddly steady despite the storm that churned within him. She reached out, lacing her fingers with his. Her touch was gentle, yet deliberate, as though binding him to something unseen.

A soft smile curved her lips—not the cheerful grin he had grown used to, but something quieter, laced with secrets she would not yet speak. Her eyes glimmered with that same unreadable depth, both comforting and unsettling.

“You’re asking the wrong question, Mydei,” she murmured. “There is no path without sacrifice. There is only the weight you are willing to carry… and the truth you are willing to face.”

His throat tightened. “Then how do I know which is right?”

Cyrene leaned closer, the distance between them shrinking until her breath brushed against his ear. “You don’t. Not yet.” Her tone softened to something almost coaxing, like a lullaby. “The answer you seek isn’t written in ink or carved into fate—it lies in what you fear to see. That’s why…”

She squeezed his hands, entwining them more firmly.

“…close your eyes, Mydei. I’ll show you what you need to know.”

-x- 

This is the story of the Deliverer.

A man born not of flesh and blood, but of calculation and intent—a weapon scripted into being. In the tale of Amphoreus, he was nothing more than a line of code, a cruel experiment stitched together by unseen hands. His companions, the Chrysos Heirs, were no freer than he was. They were constructs, roles fashioned to shepherd him toward one inevitable end: to become the perfect vessel.

Yet whether written or real, pain does not soften when experienced. To the Deliverer, the anguish of loss, the sting of betrayal, the fleeting joy of love—all of it was real enough to scar.

And so the question lingers: who holds the right to decide what is real… and what is not?

The Deliverer fought against the very one who fashioned his existence. He rose each cycle with defiance, enduring torment after torment. He watched the Chrysos Heirs die before his eyes—friends, family, companions—snatched away, only to return in the next cycle and meet the same end again. Thirty-three million times he bore that weight. Thirty-three million times he pressed forward. And yet, even in the end, he never once stood beneath a dawn sky over Amphoreus.

But through all that unending night, there was a single light.

Mydei.

No matter how many times the Deliverer was broken, no matter how deep he sank into despair, Mydei’s presence remained a constant thread. A voice, a hand, a promise that refused to release him. That unyielding light was the tether that kept Phainon from shattering completely.

For that reason, Phainon would move mountains, burn the heavens, and tear down the very world itself if it meant protecting him.

But fate was merciless. The Deliverer did not reincarnate after the final, "perfect" cycle. His body, weary and spent, dissolved into the core of Amphoreus itself, becoming both its heart and its prison. All memory of him faded into silence.

Cyrene alone escaped—hidden within the folds of a fractured time. Patient, waiting, carrying the ember of remembrance. And with that ember, the story took root once more. Not in the main trunk of the Imaginary Tree, but in a branching thread of possibility, where the tale could yet be told anew.

This gave Phainon a second chance at life, having been brought back by the remembrance as well.

Phainon, however, returned incomplete. He no longer carried the same overwhelming power as before, only fractured remnants of who he once was. Pieces of memory lingered—faces of the Chrysos Heirs, fleeting images of battles fought, the echo of promises made. Yet whole chapters of his existence were missing: the truth of Lygus, the terrible sacrifices he had endured for the Heirs, the abilities of the book—or rather, the scepter—all of it lost to the void.

But the recreation of Amphoreus was never without consequence. If every corner of the world had been copied into existence, then so too had its original creator. Zandar could not be erased entirely; his shadow was bound to return, stripped of his former omnipotence yet still bearing the same twisted intent.

Cyrene had foreseen this. That was why she devised her plan—a scheme that stretched across lifetimes, carefully laid like threads of silk over a century. Every step was deliberate, every choice part of a design that would one day give them the chance to defeat Zandar once and for all.

Her plan began with Phainon himself. She tore him free from the inevitability of coreflames, thrusting him into a time where they did not exist. A reality that gave him something he had never known before: the possibility of peace. A life shared with the Chrysos Heirs, unburdened by endless cycles of loss.

But peace demanded sacrifice. Cyrene paid with her life. She drained Aedes Elysiae of its timeless current, burning its power into the charm she carried. Within that azalea bloom, bound by ribbon, she sealed her memories. It would become the key to her reincarnation, the vessel through which she would find her way back into the world. 

She believed that fate would lead her to Phainon once more.

And fate did not fail her. When she returned, memory by memory, she found him. And with him, the truth she dreaded. The screenwriter whose name was scattered across the script, the so-called creator of “As I’ve Written,” was Zandar in disguise. The same hand that had once fashioned worlds now shaped them again, twisting destiny into his story.

She chose silence. Phainon had suffered enough, lived through too many endings written in grief. She had sworn that this time, Phainon would have his happiness. If she revealed Zandar’s presence, that fragile dream might collapse before it could even take root.

And yet, promises could only hold so long against the nature of Phainon himself. For though he lived now as a man stripped of divinity, the heart of the hero still beat within him. The same heart that would rather bleed than allow others to suffer in his place.

Cyrene knew that truth too well. She had seen it in every cycle. The thought tightened like a knot in her chest. No matter how carefully she wove her plans, no matter how far she bent the currents of time—Phainon would always walk the road of sacrifice.

In order to create distance between herself and Phainon—and to prevent him from ever suspecting the truth—Cyrene had crafted a scandal. Nothing elaborate, nothing that would crumble her career or draw too much attention, but something simple, sharp, and effective: a dating scandal. Plain enough to be believable, yet devastating enough to push Phainon further from her side. The world whispered, the tabloids spun their tales, and in that noise she found the space she needed to disappear from his orbit.

Over the years, while her name continued to flicker faintly in the entertainment world, she carefully watched from the shadows. She played the part of the distant actress—accepting occasional roles, making just enough public appearances to remain relevant—while in truth, her every move was calculated. Each step, each silence, was designed to keep her unnoticed while she quietly tracked Zandar’s activities. She learned to read his patterns, to map out the trail of his manipulations, even when he was cloaked behind masks of power and respectability.

At the same time, she kept close watch on the Chrysos Heirs. Every rumor, every movement, every strange disturbance tied to their names—she followed it all. She knew that one day fate would stir again, and when it did, she had to be ready.

That day came six months ago. The moment she learned that Phainon had crossed paths with someone new—Mydei—her heart jolted with grim recognition. It was the signal she had been waiting for. Quietly, deliberately, she reached out to Phainon with a casual message, just a few warm words as though no time had passed. True to form, Phainon responded with unguarded joy, eager to hear from her again, utterly unsuspecting of the weight behind her words.

In that moment, Cyrene made her decision.

Mydei who would carry the pen that could rewrite fate. Mydei who would bear the burden of choice. She, meanwhile, would remain the failsafe. The final piece hidden in the margins, ready to act only if everything unraveled and the world began to collapse. 

All of that led to this very moment—Cyrene’s cryptic message to Cerydra, the hints about the book, the letter handed to Hysilens—all threads that finally pulled Mydei here. Back to where everything had first begun: his childhood home, walls still faintly echoing with the ghosts of simpler days. And there sat Cyrene, her presence quiet but heavy with intention.

The blue azalea charm resting on the table stirred, a faint golden glow spilling out from its petals as if a heartbeat had awakened within. The light washed over him, and before he could even react, his mind was seized by images—Phainon’s memories, replayed with a clarity so sharp it almost hurt.

The battlefield came first. The cold, suffocating weight of his own titan form, towering and monstrous, and Phainon standing against him. Again and again, Phainon struck him down, only for the cycle to rewind, to replay the inevitable clash. Mydei remembered the pain, but more than that, he remembered Phainon’s eyes—haunted, resolute, breaking a little more with each ending. And yet, through every death, through every reset, his wish to Phainon never changed.

“Deliverer… I wish you… eternal victory.”

The words rang out, unyielding, threaded with defiance and devotion alike. A vow that spanned countless lifetimes.

The memory shifted, softer now. A fleeting moment in the streets of Okehema, his voice casual, almost teasing, but carrying a weight neither of them could ignore.

“If there’s a chance in the next life, you should come visit my library.”

A simple invitation, yet Mydei felt the ache of its unspoken plea: Don’t let me be forgotten.

Then came the last farewell. The moment they both knew would be the end of this cycle, perhaps the end of everything they had fought to keep.

“See you around, Phainon of Aedes Elysiae.”

And Phainon’s reply, unflinching, warm even in its finality.

“It’s a date, Mydeimos.”

The memories weren’t just visions—they were real. Vivid enough that Mydei swore he could feel Phainon’s hand brushing his, hear the lilt of his voice as if he stood in front of him now. For a breathless moment, Mydei thought if he reached out, he might actually touch him.

But then the glow of the charm dimmed, the images dissolving like smoke into the air, leaving behind only silence.

When Mydei opened his eyes, reality returned all at once. He was still in his childhood home, Cyrene watching him quietly. And yet… his face was wet. Tears traced freely down his cheeks before he could stop them. Mydei never cried. Not when he was beaten, not when he was alone, not even when the world seemed too heavy for him to carry. But now—now the grief and love and unbearable weight of Phainon’s story pressed down on him until the tears could no longer be contained.

Cyrene didn’t speak, though a small, bittersweet smile curved her lips. It was a smile that knew sorrow as well as joy, the kind given when words would only break what was already fragile.

For Mydei, the memories lingered like an aftertaste—too vivid, too real to be a dream, yet too fleeting to hold on to. He felt as if he had just awakened from a long, long slumber, carrying with him the undeniable truth: Phainon had left a mark on him so deep that not even time, fate, or the cruel hand of Zandar could erase it.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save everyone.” Cyrene’s voice trembled, though she tried to steady it with a faint smile. Her fingers tightened around his hands as if holding on to him might ease the weight of her own regrets. “I did whatever I could, but… I wasn’t enough. Now you understand why Zandar must be erased from the story.”

Mydei’s chest constricted at the raw honesty in her tone. For the first time, her ever-playful cheer was gone, replaced by something fragile, almost broken. She had carried this burden far longer than he realized.

His vision blurred, hot tears threatening to fall, but he forced himself to inhale deeply, steadying the chaos inside him. Slowly, deliberately, he wiped his face with the back of his hand. When he looked back at her, his eyes no longer carried only fear—they carried resolve.

He reached for the book, pulling it close, its weight heavier than stone in his lap. The pink-feathered quill glimmered faintly as he picked it up, the feather brushing against his skin like a living thing. He turned to Cyrene, meeting her gaze one last time.

“Thank you… for everything,” he said quietly, his voice steadier now. “I know what I must do.”

Cyrene’s lips parted, as if she wanted to say more, but instead, she only nodded, her expression unreadable—half relief, half sorrow.

And with that, Mydei lowered the quill to the blank page.

The tip touched the paper. Ink spread like veins across parchment.

And Mydei began to write.

Notes:

cliffhanger again but at least the story is almost done... thank you for sticking with me for this long! this story just started as some wild idea i had because of the actual in game lore. i wanted to do my own little twist on it but still make it somehow canon compliant. or least believable enough that it could be an extension of the canon story... if that makes sense... i guess you could view the story as an alternate ending to 3.5. anyways like i said, you can ask me anything about the lore if its confusing and ill answer them!

also, if i do write a new fic,, ill probably find beta reads fr this time... this has been hell for me to write because i keep changing different parts of the story and sequence that i cant even spot my own mistakes & i have no idea if it makes sense. so uhh if anyone wants to beta read for me in future u can find me on tumblr or X !!!! i dont think ull have to do much... i think its just reading what i write & letting me know if it makes sense/correct small errors.... yeah!

tumblr: grayyxv / X: aschxv