Chapter Text
Phainon was missing.
Normally, Mydei wasn't the type of person to panic or feel anxious, but it had been weeks since Phainon missed his check-in with Tribbie and Trianne, and that had been a month after he left for that damned mission in the first place. Plus, since Mydei had been on his own assignment, he hadn't actually seen Phainon in nearly three months now. Perhaps it had been the guilt regret concern over how their last conversation had ended, but it's been gnawing a pit in his stomach ever since Phainon's status was changed from "late" to "missing".
Mydei didn't even remember the exact words he'd spat out in that snap of ire, just that he'd been unreasonably angry in the moment, but Phainon would remember every syllable down to their exact intonation because of his stupidly perfect memory.
It had been such an inane thing to get mad over, too. Phainon had been curious about a Kremnoan artifact he'd acquired from Theodoros earlier that week, and Mydei usually indulged Phainon's questions with a fond ease. However, on that day in particular, Mydei had been in a rather foul mood, and the artifact—a ceremonial dagger that belonged to the royal family—only served to drive him over the edge. Mydei didn't know how Phainon hadn't been aware of his fickle temper that day. Or, maybe Phainon had known and had been trying to cheer him up.
In any case, Mydei was getting increasingly restless. Aglaea refused to send him to Phainon's last known location, but she hadn't outright forbidden Mydei from going on his own either. She had, however, managed to "distract" Mydei with minor tasks around Okhema to keep him in the holy city, but they both knew it was only a matter of time before Mydei went anyway.
And to be fair, the only real reason Mydei hadn't gone already was because the logical part of his mind knew that Phainon would be fine. He had to be fine. Mydei wouldn't accept anything less.
But… on that slim chance that Phainon wasn't okay…
(if Phainon had died and no one knew)
Mydei didn't bother telling anyone where he was going. It took him four days to travel on foot, but it was still faster than if he'd waited for a dromas to carry him there. On foot, he didn't need to take breaks.
This far out from civilization, one could truly witness the creeping devastation the black tide left on their world. It was one thing to see the ruins, to fight against the corrupted creatures and titankin, but to walk through this empty wasteland? He'd rather journey through the Sea of Souls again than stay here any longer than he had to.
Mydei was already further than any sane person would dare go, and yet for some reason, Phainon was somewhere in this godsforsaken place.
Gritting his teeth, Mydei continued to put one foot in front of the other — over and over, again and again. He'd long lost sight of any distinct landmarks, but still, he pushed on, following a pull in his chest that screamed thisway.
And then, after countless days and nights, Mydei caught sight of a figure standing on the edge of a cliff.
They hadn't moved from that spot even as he approached them. They seemed to be staring off into the far distance, not that Mydei could tell what they were looking at. Though, he supposed they could have also been deep in thought.
Once he drew near enough to identify them, Mydei paused. That stature and clothing was all Phainon, but something was… off. Their hair was longer—and more wild—than Phainon's; there even seemed to be a golden tint to it, though Mydei couldn't be sure with the red lighting from the black tide's corruption.
They still hadn't made any sign that they'd noticed him.
Mydei put himself within arm's length of them, fighting the urge to grab them by the shoulder. "Have you been here this whole time?" he demanded.
For a long moment, there was a distinct lack of reaction from them, but then, they startled, and Mydei was met with a golden gaze. Mydei's first thought was that it was like looking into twin suns. His second—slightly more delayed—thought twisted in on itself. This was clearly Phainon; Mydei would recognize that face anywhere. But it couldn't be Phainon, not with those eyes.
"Mydei?" Phainon—the stranger—questioned, his head tipping slightly to the side. "What are you doing here?"
"I should be asking you that, HKS," Mydei snapped back on reflex.
The stranger—Phainon—let out a laugh. "You sound just like him," he said, and Mydei couldn't help the confused frown that took over his expression. "But Mydei shouldn't be here. He belongs in the light. Hmm…"
The last part was more of a self-directed mumble, but Mydei heard it all the same. Did— Did Phainon think Mydei was a hallucination or something? No, more than that. What would Mydei have to do to convince Phainon that he was real?
Well, there was always that…
Phainon's gaze had gone distant again, so Mydei took him by the shoulders, hooking his leg behind the other's knee, and shoved him to the ground. This caused Phainon's attention to snap back to Mydei—as planned—but Phainon wasn't angry or annoyed or even bewildered like Mydei anticipated. No, instead, Phainon laughed.
He laughed and didn't so much as make a move to push Mydei off of him or try to reverse their positions. He laughed and stared upwards at Mydei with those gold eyes with an emotion that Mydei didn't want to put a name to. He laughed, and Mydei wanted to snarl and claw that stupid expression off of this imposter's face because this was Phainon and he should be taking this more seriously — except he wasn't.
This wasn't his Phainon.
(He didn't know why that thought hurt so much.)
"Mydei…"
Arms wrapped around him, warm hands resting against his back. Mydei tensed the instant he realized where those hands were placed. How? He hadn't even told Phainon where his weakness was located, so how—?
"Mydei," the imposter whispered breathlessly, and those warm hands tugged him closer.
Mydei hated it — all of it.
The way that gold-tinted hair fanned out behind Phainon's head on the sand dusted ground like a halo. They way those sun-like eyes looked at him with such adoration and fondness. The way his honeyed words fell from his lips, full of certainty and sincerity.
(He wanted this from his Phainon, not this imposter.)
For some godsdamned reason, Mydei let himself be drawn in. He lowered himself into the sheer heat of the body beneath him. It was like sitting right next to a raging furnace, the threat of being burned a distant thought.
"Yes, just like that. These dreams are so few and far between. Please, indulge me just a little longer," Phainon sighed, his voice wistful and longing.
Torn as he was in the midst of his whirlwind of thoughts, Mydei's heart ached. If this had all been a trap created by some great mastermind, it was well done. His tenth thoracic vertebrae wasn't his only weakness after all.
(If Mydei took a moment longer than he should have to revel in this warm embrace, that was for him alone to know.)
Amassing his resolve, Mydei lifted himself up and swiftly brought his head back down. A resounding crack split the air. His forehead throbbed, but the pain was well worth the stunned expression he was met with as he sat up.
Golden ichor smeared the imposter's face. He was lucky that Mydei hadn't broken his nose.
"Fool! This is no dream," Mydei snarled, a scowl firmly in place. "And you can tell me who you are, and where my Phainon is."
Not-Phainon blinked up at him slowly — not unlike a dazed chimera. "Your Phainon?" he repeated numbly.
And then, it was as if a switch had been flipped. Mydei could literally see the moment when the words fully registered in Not-Phainon's mind.
He sat up abruptly, and Mydei would've fallen to the wayside if Not-Phainon hadn't had the forethought to hold onto him. For an embarrassing moment, Mydei's brain got stuck on the fact that he was sitting on Not-Phainon's lap—
"You're real," Not-Phainon said, as if that was some sort of grand revelation, which—for him—it probably was. "But this is—"
He cut himself off and looked around. It wasn't with that distant gaze either. Not-Phainon was actually looking at their surroundings with a confused expression that was slowly turning into one of concern.
"Did I break something? I don't know how, but this is definitely the Recurrence Cycle," Not-Phainon muttered under his breath. He pressed a hand against his mouth, the other tapping a rhythmic pulse—in time to his heartbeat—on Mydei's back. "Which one…? Mydei's here, so it has to be…"
Not-Phainon trailed off, and his gaze slid back to Mydei, who had patiently waited for him to finish.
"What year is it?" Not-Phainon asked, the question directed at him for once.
Mydei's frown deepened, but he obliged the imposter with an answer. "Year 4930. It was Month of Evernight when I set out to find Phainon," he added for the sake of clarity.
Not-Phainon's expression mirrored his own. "You came looking for me—? Your Phainon," he quickly corrected at Mydei's scathing glare. "Why would you be looking for him here? If it was the mission Aglaea sent me— him on for Lady Tribbie, he would have been near the Abyss of Fate."
"And yet he's been missing for several weeks now," Mydei snapped, the words coming out harsher than he intended.
Thankfully, Not-Phainon didn't seem offended by Mydei's shortened temper. "I wonder…" he started before trailing off and shaking his head. "No, never mind. Multiple iterations can exist within a Recurrence, let alone a Cycle. I'm sure he's somewhere."
Mydei wasn't sure what exactly that meant, but he got the feeling that this imposter wasn't possessing his Phainon's body at the very least. But then, where was Phainon? Mydei had come all this way. He couldn't return without him now.
As if sensing Mydei's thoughts, Not-Phainon graced him with a reassuring smile that did nothing to soothe Mydei's increasing worry.
"I'll help you look for him," Not-Phainon promised, and that did take some of the edge off of Mydei's inner turmoil. "Oh! So this doesn't get too confusing for all of us, you can call me… Khaslana."
Khaslana? Mydei supposed that the name suited him. He had long-since suspected that "Phainon" wasn't actually Phainon's true name, and this all but proved it. Not that Mydei cared.
Phainon was Phainon.
"Now, let's get out of this place. Staying here can't be good for your sanity," Khaslana declared, standing and pulling Mydei up with him.
Mydei leveled him with a flat stare. Why was Khaslana talking as if—?
All of a sudden, Mydei found himself elsewhere. A rush of nausea hit him as the world and his brain caught up with each other. Fighting the need to hurl, he staggered, but Khaslana's hand on his arm served as a steady anchor.
"Sorry, plane shifting can be rough. But I've been told that if I warn you about it, it's ten times worse," Khaslana told him, rubbing small circles where he still held contact.
Once Mydei didn't feel like he was about to heave up his guts, he took a moment to see where Khaslana had taken them. To his mild surprise, it was Janusopolis. Or, at least, he thought it was Janusopolis. He'd only been here a handful of times before.
"How did we get here…?" Mydei questioned, dumbfounded.
"I took us into my Territory and then brought us out the same way," Khaslana said proudly. If he'd had a tail, it'd be wagging vigorously. "As long as I've been to the place before, I can take us anywhere."
Though he would only begrudgingly admit it, Mydei could follow the unspoken train of thought. If Khaslana was right about remembering coming here, then Phainon should also be here. Because Khaslana was Phainon — a Phainon. A Phainon from some future that had "broken something" and ended up here in this past… Cycle? Recurrence?
That was the best Mydei could put everything together without a direct explanation, which he doubted he'd be getting. Mostly because he didn't want to ask. How could he? It hardly seemed real in the first place.
(maybe it really all was just some strange dream)
"Let's see…" Khaslana mused, turning away as he looked around. "This should be the general area, but if Phainon's been missing for a while, then…"
Both of their gazes were drawn to the edge of the nearby ledge, which dropped off into a dark void.
Mydei's heart skipped a beat. Surely Khaslana didn't actually think Phainon had fallen down there. Chrysos Heir or not, none would survive that kind of fall, especially not without divine intervention.
"Be right back."
Mydei blinked, and then there was an empty space where Khaslana had been standing. Mydei decided that was going to become very annoying very quickly. He silently prayed that Phainon didn't develop a similar habit.
"—ere we go."
All of Mydei's grievances slipped away at the sight of Phainon's limp form in Khaslana's arms.
Phainon didn't wake up.
Not when Mydei took him from Khaslana with a gruff "I can carry him."
Not when Mydei brought both of them into Okhema through a discreet entrance.
Not when Mydei observed from the side as Hyacine looked Phainon over.
Not when Mydei watched Aglaea try to interrogate Khaslana.
Phainon didn't wake up, and all Mydei could do was wait.
In the meantime, while Aglaea had deemed Khaslana a "temporary ally," she had also made it clear that she didn't trust him, which Khaslana had simply shrugged to. However, even with Phainon currently indisposed, it wouldn't do to have two supposed individuals who looked remarkably similar walking around the city and causing minor instances of chaos — Aglaea's words, not his. Khaslana had then demonstrated his ability to alter his appearance.
Gold bled from his eyes and hair until they were looking at… well, at Phainon.
"Better?" Khaslana had asked, sounding more amused than he had any right to be in Mydei's opinion.
But Aglaea allowed it.
Then came housing arrangements. Despite his comatose state, Phainon was physically fine, so Aglaea decided that it would be best to simply make him comfortable in his chambers. One of the Chrysos Heirs would check in on Phainon when available but preferably at least once a day. As for Khaslana…
"I can just stay in Phainon's chambers. I don't need to sleep, so it's not like I'll need the bed he's using," he reasoned. "And if you want me to fill in for him, then it'll be weird if I'm not coming and going from those rooms."
Mydei hated how logical Khaslana made it all sound.
If only Phainon was awake. If only Aglaea didn't have to be so wary of others—especially the Council of Elders—learning about Phainon's condition. If only Mydei had been faster. If only he hadn't argued with Phainon that day. If only he had journeyed with him.
If only, if only, if only—
"Why the long face?"
Mydei tensed. But, forcing himself to relax his stance, Mydei turned to meet that face, which both did and didn't belong to Khaslana. His only solace was that Khaslana couldn't quite "fix" his eyes to completely match Phainon's — the Ring of Kephale in his iris dimly glowed, regardless of the lighting.
"Am I not allowed to be concerned over the well-being of my comrades?" Mydei replied flatly.
Khaslana let out a short hum, stepping within a respectful distance of Mydei's personal space. "I didn't say that," he replied. "I'm just expressing my own concern… for a friend."
"Is that what we are?" Mydei asked, mostly rhetorically.
He knew it was futile to resist Phainon's—any Phainon's—overtures of friendship. If he wanted to be friends, then you would be. The man was too stubborn for his own good; once he latched on to something, he didn't let go no matter how hard you tried to shake him off. And yet, Mydei caught a flash of hurt pass across Khaslana's face when Mydei glanced his way, but before Mydei could make anything of it, Khaslana buried the expression behind a lopsided smile.
"If you'll let me be," he said, and Mydei couldn't help but wonder what had happened between them for Khaslana to sound like that.
Nostalgic. Wistful. Heartbroken.
Turning his gaze to the ongoings of the city streets below, Mydei scoffed lightly. "Do what you will."
Thankfully, it seemed that Khaslana still recognized the way Mydei gave his unspoken permissions. Khaslana smiled at him like Mydei had been the one to usher in the dawn after a long night. Mydei didn't know how to feel about it.
Khaslana inhaled loudly and stepped forward to lean again the balcony's railing. Wind tussled his hair, and sunlight kissed his pale skin. With Khaslana's eyes closed, Mydei was almost fooled into thinking this was his Phainon. But there was always that subtle difference that separated the two, and Mydei still couldn't quite put his finger on it.
However, like this, Khaslana looked… serene.
"Did you know?" Khaslana said, breaking the easy silence they'd fallen into. "Even after experiencing millions of Recurrences and finally reaching the end, I never thought I'd be back here again. But, for some reason, I'm glad it was this one."
Mydei pursed his lips, not quite frowning. "Why this one?" he asked.
Khaslana tipped his head to give Mydei a teasing look. "That'd be ruining the surprise!" he exclaimed, but then he winked and pointed up at the sky. "Since it's you, I'll give you hint: Amphoreus will receive visitors from beyond that sky, and they will pave a new way forward."
Blinking slowly, Mydei mulled over Khaslana's words — a prophecy in its own right. He believed him; he truly did. And Mydei already knew that would become a problem later.
"What about you?" Mydei found himself asking.
This time, Khaslana was the one caught off guard. He startled, looking at Mydei with a dumb expression.
"Huh?"
"You're here too," Mydei pointed out the obvious. "Will you be aiding us as well? I noticed you never actually answered that question when Aglaea was interrogating you."
A low chuckle slipped from Khaslana's lips, and Mydei finally caught a glimpse of Khaslana's true self. It was half mad with rage and burned with hatred, yet it was tempered by an unyielding resolve. Millions of Recurrences, that's what he'd said just minutes ago. Yes, Mydei thought to himself, anyone would lose themselves after that.
And yet, here Khaslana was.
"If it's up to me, I could break us free from the Cycles early, but I can't do it yet," Khaslana answered sincerely. "You'll understand why when they arrive."
Those visitors from beyond the sky.
They must have been extremely important to Khaslana, for him to speak of them with an underlying tone of reverence. No, not just reverence… Absolute trust — with not only the world but also himself.
(How long did Mydei have before Phainon, too, was swept away by them?)
Time passed.
Phainon still hadn't woken up.
Mydei helped cover for his absence with Khaslana as best they could. But every once in a while, someone made a passing remark that Phainon seemed a bit different that day. Khaslana would always put on a smile and say something like "oh really?" And if that didn't work, Mydei would drag them away before Khaslana could dig himself into a deeper hole.
After such an "incident" occurred one too many times for Aglaea's liking, she started sending Khaslana out on various missions that didn't involve interacting much with anyone who would've already known Phainon. This worked for a while, but then Khaslana began requesting to be sent specific places. He even let himself be injured on purpose just so he had a decent excuse to see Hyacine, who he could have visited in the Twilight Grove like a normal person—
Mydei took in a deep breath, held it, and let it out slowly.
"You seem troubled, Lord Mydei."
Was it that obvious? "Have you had the pleasure of meeting him yet, Miss Castorice?" Mydei grunted.
"I presume you mean… Lord Khaslana. No, not yet," Castorice replied, shaking her head.
Mydei let out a light scoff. "He'll probably try to give you a hug when you two do meet." At her concerned frown, Mydei sent a dismissive wave of his hand in her direction. "From my understanding, Khaslana's existence does not conform to Amphoreus's own. If anyone could bypass your Touch of Death, it would be him."
"I'm glad you have so much confidence in me, Mydei, but I wouldn't put that kind of pressure on Miss Castorice," Khaslana said, walking up to them from the Hero's Bath's upper-level entrance. He greeted Castorice with a kind smile. "Hello, Miss Castorice."
"Lord Khaslana," she returned, bowing politely. "Thank you for your consideration."
"We can try it though, if you'd like," Khaslana added anyway. "I've never been to the Netherworld before, and I'm sure you'd be able to guide me out should something go awry."
"L-Lord Khaslana," Castorice protested, and Mydei rolled his eyes.
But something made him pause as he mentally reviewed the words. "What do you know?" Mydei demanded, narrowing his eyes at Khaslana.
However, instead of answering, Khaslana raised a finger up to his lips. "That's a secret," he whispered loudly. Then, more seriously: "It's something for Miss Castorice to discover on her own."
"I will endeavor to heed your… advice, Lord Khaslana," Castorice said before Mydei could get a word in.
Fine. Whatever. It wasn't meant for him anyway.
"Do you want to know another secret, Miss Castorice?" Khaslana asked her.
Castorice tilted her head, her curiosity piqued. "That depends, I suppose. About what?"
"Well, I was going to make it specific," Khaslana replied. "But I'll let you decide the topic. Don't worry — if it's something I truly don't know or can't tell you, I'd say so."
Now Mydei's interest was piqued as well, though he was loathe to listen in on something that would potentially end up very personal for Castorice. However, when he made to leave, Castorice's hesitant glance made Mydei stay. And from the looks of it, Khaslana himself didn't really mind either way if Mydei left or stayed.
"Umm… My apologies," Castorice stammered. "Please give me a moment to come up with a question."
"Take your time," Khaslana assured her. "I can start with something small." He glanced at Mydei. "Like a certain someone's chimera channel—"
Mydei's eyes widened, and he lunged to cover Khaslana's mouth. "Not a word more," Mydei growled.
Though Mydei couldn't feel the grin on Khaslana's face through his gauntlet-covered hand, he could see it from the way Khaslana's eyes curved — playful and teasing. Mydei was about to tear into Khaslana for daring to reveal his private past time, but then he heard a soft giggle, and he understood: Khaslana was trying to make Castorice comfortable around him — both of them.
(Castorice never did get around to asking her question that day, but perhaps it was for the best. Besides, she got plenty of inspiration for her next writing session.)
On a rather normal afternoon during the Month of Gate, Phainon woke to the worst headache he'd ever experienced. He groaned, rolling over in his bed and raising an arm to shield his eyes from the light pouring in from his window, and for a brief moment, he wondered what in the world he'd gotten up to last night to make him feel like he'd been run over by a herd of dromases. Then, the memories of "last night" came rushing back to him.
Such a stupid mistake. He had been distracted, lost in his thoughts—
Phainon immediately sat up and looked around. This was definitely his room, not a guest room at the Twilight Grove, so maybe his little tumble hadn't been so bad after all…
That's when Phainon noticed it: the faint sound of a page turning.
For some reason, his brain associated the sound to Mydei. Though, maybe it wasn't a completely absurd connection. Phainon knew that Mydei had a private collection of books hidden away in his chambers here in Okhema, even if he'd only caught glimpses of it through Mydei's doorway.
But…
Phainon felt a weight at his side, and a quick look told that it was—surprisingly—Mydei, who was somehow still asleep despite all of Phainon's movement.
So, who was reading a book?
He doubted it was Aglaea, who would trust her threads to tell her if he was awake rather than waiting here. Hyacine and Castorice would have left when they saw Mydei sleeping. Tribbie and Trianne wouldn't have been this quiet. Trinnon maybe? But she would've said something by now.
Phainon forced himself to tear his gaze away from Mydei's (ethereal) sleeping form to the person sitting on the other side of his bed. At first, Phainon was confused, thinking he was looking at a mirror or maybe a memory fragment. But this "mirror" didn't reflect his person, nor did it have that blue crystalline appearance of Oronyx's visions.
Phainon just kept staring, even as that other person flipped to the next page of the book his was holding. He didn't dare break the silence. Mydei was sleeping.
Mydei must know who this other person was, knew him enough to sleep—to leave himself vulnerable—in this person's presence.
(Why did that spark a burning fire in his chest?)
Phainon opened his mouth — only to be cut off by the other's sharp look. He flinched at the sight of those golden eyes.
"Not too loud," the other warned quietly. "It took me way too long to finally get him to pass out."
Phainon glanced back down at Mydei. He could see what the other meant. The dark circles under Mydei's eyes were more prominent than Phainon remembered ever seeing on him before.
He frowned. Just how long had he been… out of commission?
As if sensing his inner turmoil, the other spoke up once more. "It's been about three months since Mydei and I brought you back to Okhema. Aglaea's had me pretending to be you while you were unconscious."
Three months? Phainon almost didn't believe him, but…
"Don't feel bad. I doubt it's your fault you've been unconscious so long," the other said. "If anything, it's probably my fault."
Phainon frowned. "Who are you?"
The other smirked. "You, obviously. I would make you guess how far into the future, but that honestly wouldn't be very fair."
"Quit messing around, Khaslana," a rough voice growled.
(It took everything in him to not flinch upon hearing that name.)
Phainon's gaze snapped back to Mydei, who was pushing himself up from where he'd been resting against the bedside. "Mydei—"
Mydei shot Phainon a heated glare, and Phainon quickly shut up, biting back a smile. Mydei had never been a morning person. He couldn't imagine being woken up from a well-deserved nap would have the prince in any better mood.
"Mydei," Phainon started again in a softer tone, and thankfully, Mydei only huffed an acknowledgement. "It's good to see you."
It truly was.
Even if it had already been months for Mydei, Phainon still remembered their last parting like it was only hours ago. He'd been trying to help, but perhaps he'd pushed too hard. That was on him for not understanding what his dearest friend needed in that moment.
"Learn to leave well enough alone, Deliverer."
(Why did he always seem to mess things up?)
"Don't do anything stupid like that again. You made everyone worry."
Surprised, Phainon looked up from where his gaze had fallen to his lap. Mydei had averted his own gaze, but Phainon could tell the words had been meant with sincerity. Had something happened while he was asleep?
"Did you miss me, Mydei?" Phainon teased lightly, leaning in close.
Mydei scowled at him, but it wasn't a heated look, not like when Mydei was truly angry. "Yes, you idiot," he spat, and Phainon couldn't help but be reminded of a hissing cat. "Are you happy now?"
Eyes wide, Phainon's brain stuttered.
Did— Did Mydei really just—?
"Uh oh, I think you broke him," the other—"Khaslana"—said from his chair.
Snapping himself out of his stupor, Phainon decided that he didn't like the way the other sounded so amused. "You," he directed at Khaslana, trying to keep his expression neutral — though if Khaslana's knowing smirk meant anything, he could see right through Phainon. "You said you're me. How? Aren't you creating a paradox?"
Khaslana shrugged. "I'm not entirely sure how I got here," he admitted. "But as long as I don't leave, things should work out."
Phainon mulled over Khaslana's "solution". On one hand, it sounded like utter nonsense. On the other hand… It wasn't as if Khaslana hadn't had months to already think about this.
"What about the time you came from?" Phainon shot back. "You can't just abandon everyone there. What if they need you?"
Khaslana shrugged again. "For all you know, I was on death's door when I got put in this time," he pointed out.
He had avoided actually answering Phainon, and they both knew it.
"Were you?" Phainon pushed.
"Enough."
A gauntleted hand wrapped around Phainon's wrist. Phainon looked over to see Mydei giving him a warning look, and Phainon felt the sting of betrayal pierce his chest. Why? Shouldn't Mydei be on his side in this? Mydei knew better than anyone what it meant to—
"Okay, now you're just making me feel bad," Khaslana sighed. "For the record, I was quite literally in the middle of nowhere. No one will notice if I'm gone for a little while and go back there eventually."
Phainon couldn't help the disbelieving expression that pulled on his face. What kind of logic was that?
"Well, maybe Nanook will, but THEY can wait," Khaslana added absently, and Phainon got the impression that it wasn't really meant for them to hear.
Before Phainon could even think to ask, Mydei's grip on Phainon's wrist tightened, and Phainon glanced his way just to see Mydei shake his head. But Phainon also noticed the way Mydei's expression had tightened as he stared at Khaslana. Phainon followed his steady gaze and saw that the odd light in Khaslana's eyes had shifted, turning them a molten gold with something else gleaming behind that bright color. And maybe it was a trick of the light, but Phainon could've sworn that his eyes were tinted with red as well.
(Later, when Phainon and Mydei were alone in the room, Phainon would question Mydei about those brief moments, and Mydei would purse his lips and answer slowly that Khaslana had… lapses of pure rage and utter hatred that were barely held back by sheer force of will. Phainon would look down at his hands, which trembled slightly, because he could only imagine what would bring him to become like that.)
For the longest time, he believed that this was all just a lovely dream. But… the more he invested in this beautiful dream, the more he wanted it to become reality.
After all, wasn't this vastly preferable to the world he left behind?
(that empty space where Amphoreous used to be)
He had been lying to them — to himself, really.
He had told them to call him Khaslana, but that wasn't quite right. He'd given up that name, passed it on to the Trailblazer of his universe long ago. So, maybe it wasn't the world that was the dream but instead "Khaslana".
Here, he could pretend that he got everything right the "first" time. Here, he could pretend—even if only for a little while—that he wasn't an Emanator of Destruction. Here, he could pretend that this face was still his.
But now, once more at the end of everything, he had to accept that this wasn't a dream, that this was indeed reality, that there was no room for even the slightest mistake.
He knew what he had to do. He'd known from the moment he laid eyes on this world's Phainon.
"No, I'm not Phainon, no matter how much I desperately wish to be."
There was only one way to truly free Amphoreous. They had failed before, but he could do it this time. He actually knew what he was doing and had more than enough power to do it. At the very least, it helped that the Scepter didn't seem to acknowledge him as part of simulation. If anything, the Scepter had identified him as an administrator.
It was fitting, he supposed.
After all, he is Irontomb.
Notes:
Some Notes:
[1] If it wasn't clear enough, Irontomb!Khaslana is from a universe where Irontomb managed to reach 100% completion after Phainon was absorbed into Irontomb, whose emergent creation resulted in the total destruction of Scepter δ-me13 (aka Amphoreus). However, it should be noted that while "Phainon" makes up a majority of this Irontomb's consciousness and personality, Irontomb is also being influenced by the likes of Cyrene and even Trailblazer.[2] Why is Phainon in a coma for several months? Short answer: angst. Long answer: Well, Khaslana isn't completely wrong when he says that it's probably his fault (because it is). The exact reason is more along the lines that the Scepter itself is trying to resolve the conflict of a complete Irontomb existing within the simulation and ended up targeting the "fragment" of Irontomb since it can't affect Irontomb himself. Phainon wakes up because the Scepter more or less gives up and starts to pester its admin (Irontomb!Khaslana) instead, lol.
[3] This fic didn't get that far, but Phainon himself isn't happy that Khaslana is around and doesn't really get along with him, though probably not for the reason you'd initially guess. That's right! Phainon's jealous~ Not that he should be all that concerned. After all, Mydei was snoozing next to *him* ^.^ ... On the other hand, Khaslana is already subjecting himself to eternal yearning. But don't worry, he gave me a happy "ending" with my first E6 (ever -- across any Hoyo game), so I'll get him his happy ending, too, eventually.
[4] According to Boothill, Emanators (presumably all of them) "can also conceal their own identities" (examples being Acheron and Phantylia). I took this to mean they're capable of shapeshifting and masking any hint of their status as an Emanator, which is why Irontomb can take Phainon's form so "easily". I use quotations because Irontomb!Khaslana slips up sometimes due to his struggles with self-identity.
[5] I doubt anyone cares, but Year 4930 is the year before the Trailblazer and Dan Heng arrive, and the Month of Evernight = March while the Month of Gate = January
Chapter 2
Notes:
Reminder: everyone is under the impression that Irontomb is a future Phainon, which isn't necessarily wrong, just... slightly inaccurate (and that's why "Unreliable Narrator" got added as a tag ^.^;)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
He walked the streets of the Marmoreal Market. People passed by him without giving him a single glance, busy with their own errands or more focused on their companions. That was fine, though. He preferred it this way.
They wouldn't notice how he sometimes forgot to mimic breathing. They wouldn't notice that he had already mindlessly circled the market three times without stopping because he didn't have anywhere else to go. They wouldn't notice him getting lost in his mind, only to snap out of it at the occasional excited shout.
He was a faceless being in the crowds.
No one recognized him.
It was like he didn't exist.
Technically speaking, he shouldn't exist yet.
All of these people, the bustling market, the world they lived in, none of them would be here if he existed as he should.
>>> System Query: Administrator status unknown. Please update—
He dismissed the prompt window and continued to walk the busy streets.
"I'll be fine," Phainon insisted for what felt like the hundredth time.
Seriously, he was a grown man. He didn't need to be treated like a child on their first outing. And okay, yes, he'd just been in a coma for almost a year, but he really was fine. Hyacine had even give him a clean bill of health! Besides that, it wasn't like Phainon was going on this mission alone. Khaslana had somehow wiggled his way into joining Phainon on this escort mission to Janusopolis with Lady Tribbie.
With no small amount of meddling and rumor-spreading, between Aglaea and Tribbie, most of everyone in Okhema had been convinced that Phainon had recently been reunited with his long lost cousin from Aedes Elysia, Khaslana, who hadn't known that Phainon had also survived their village's destruction until a couple months ago. Not that Khaslana did a very good job of keeping up the appearance of being his "cousin". If anything, Khaslana looked like he could be Phainon's twin brother — albeit with golden eyes rather than Phainon's blue.
At one point, even Aglaea had enough and gave Khaslana a new outfit to wear to help people tell them apart. Was Phainon jealous that Khaslana apparently had more color options because of his gold eyes? What, no… Definitely not.
(Maybe, just a little.)
Phainon still hadn't quite come to terms with Khaslana's presence, not that Khaslana himself seemed to care.
Now that Khaslana no longer had to "pretend" to be Phainon, he mostly kept to himself. He didn't go out of his way to help people, but he didn't turn anyone away if they came to him for help either. In fact, Phainon often found Khaslana looking off into the distance — like he was waiting for someone.
Which was why Phainon found it strange that Khaslana had volunteered to come along on this mission. It wasn't like it would be particularly harrowing or dangerous. Then again, Phainon's last mission wasn't supposed to end with him falling into an abyss.
Phainon was pretty sure that Mydei was still kind of upset about that actually. Their spars over the last month had been particularly grueling. Even Khaslana—who had been watching from the side—had let out a surprised noise when Mydei sent Phainon flying into a wall at one point.
In any case, Khaslana made the trek to Janusopolis seem like a walk in the park. The one time they ran into some trouble with a pack of wandering titankin, Khaslana dispatched the monsters with a technique Phainon had never seen before. Tribbie hadn't seemed too alarmed, but witnessing such raw power made Phainon feel... lacking (like he was the imposter here).
Other than that though, their journey was relatively uneventful, which was a good thing, really. While Phainon had made a full recovery, it wouldn't hurt to take it easy for a while. At least, that's what Hyacine had reminded him during his last check up with her. And Phainon was reluctantly inclined to agree.
Ever since he'd woken up, it was like the world had become sharper — more vivid, both distorted and clear in a way that left his senses reeling when it was too much. For the most part, he supposed that it was a good thing, but he still wasn't used to it. He would just have to be careful until he had better control over it. One misstep could result in getting him or someone else hurt.
That wasn't the only thing that seemed to be different either. It had taken longer than he'd like to admit, but at some point, Phainon realized that he was… in tune with Khaslana. Phainon was always the first to notice when the other was nearby, the first to catch on to whatever Khaslana left unspoken, the first to sense Khaslana's shifting moods.
Was it because Phainon and Khaslana were the "same" person in some sense?
Either way, that connection was the reason why Phainon knew the exact moment Khaslana's attention turned from sweeping the area to focusing directly on the sky.
They're here.
Phainon couldn't explain the thought that passed through his mind with such utter conviction. Nor could he explain the image of two strangers that came to mind either. Who were they? He definitely would have remembered meeting someone wearing those odd outfits. Were they people Khaslana knew? But then why would Phainon be "remembering" them too?
Phainon's gaze was drawn upwards, following Khaslana's. For the briefest second, the red sky glitched and cracked as something broke through, but when Phainon blinked, that ominous vision was gone — the sky returned to its "natural" state.
Why? Why did the sky look like that?
A hand covered his eyes.
"Hey, don't forget to breathe," Khaslana told him quietly.
Phainon staggered, only held up by Khaslana's steady grip on his arm. Gasping, Phainon struggled to draw in a breath through the pain that suddenly pierced his mind.
"You weren't supposed to see that," Khaslana murmured. "Forgive me; it seems I underestimated the strain my presence was putting on you. I suppose it was arrogant of me to think I could walk side-by-side with you on this journey."
Phainon was pushed away, falling back onto the ground, where Tribbie rushed to tend to him. But Phainon could not spare her his gaze. He looked solely to that golden figure walking into the distant horizon.
"May we meet again… before the World's End."
"Are you sure, Lana?"
"I can handle it," he answered with a low chuckle.
"That's not what we meant."
He let out a soft sigh. "I know, Tribbie. I know… That doesn't change the fact that I can and want to do this — for you, for Amphoreus."
"… Okay, just— Just be careful. Please."
"You have my word."
Later, when the Blade of Fury pointed at the Dawn Device, a lone star shone brightly in the sky between those two divine forces. And when the wrath of Strife Titan shot out from that great blade, its might crashed into that star. The people of Okhema held their breath and let out a collective gasp of relief when the attack was deflected up into the sky. They praised the Chrysos Heirs for their diligence and steadfast protection.
Within the holy city, only two—four, if you counted one as three—knew the full truth of the situation.
Castorice felt her heart quicken as they approached the Luminary Throne. Already, she could hear the clash of blades. She didn't speak it aloud, but she had an idea of who it could possibly be. Trianne—and Trinnon and Tribbie—undoubtedly had an inkling as well.
Still, the sight of them—of him—made her call out.
"Lord Khaslana!"
"Lana!"
The two sword masters came to a deadlock, their blades trembling furiously against one another.
"Miss Castorice, Lady Trianne, stay back," Khaslana ordered in warning.
His expression was one full of determination and righteous fury. Castorice had only ever interacted with Khaslana a handful of times, but this was more emotion than she'd ever seen from him, even if you put all of those times together. However, what shocked Castorice more was how Khaslana was slowly but surely losing ground.
Castorice had seen him fight before. She knew he was capable of pushing even Mydei back. So why wasn't Khaslana putting up much resistance against this other black-clad swordsman?
"Cas, we should help Naxy," Trianne said hurriedly, already running along the ring of the space around the battling warriors.
Castorice and Stelle rushed to follow her. More than once, Castorice felt the blowback of their clashes, which nearly sent Mem flying twice, but she could tell that Khaslana was trying to lead the other swordsman away from them. There was something strange about that one; it felt similar to what Castorice felt around Khaslana. But while Khaslana's lifeforce felt like a blazing sun, the black-clad swordsman somehow felt… empty despite also radiating that burning heat.
She shook her head, dismissing those thoughts for later. Now wasn't the time.
"Professor Anaxa, are you alright?" Castorice asked, carefully splitting her attention between her group and the battle that was inching closer to them.
"I'll be fine," Anaxa grunted.
Worry flared in her chest. He didn't correct her for using the shortened version of his name. He looked worn and tired but relatively uninjured. She would just have to trust him for now, and if he didn't see Hyacine once they got back to Okhema, Castorice was absolutely going to send Hyacine after him. They couldn't ignore each other's health, not after what happened with Phainon.
"The Coreflame?" Stelle questioned in a short manner that alluded to her own distraction.
"We have it," Anaxa responded, but it wasn't just his voice. Cerces was speaking through him. "We need to get out of here, now. Your friend won't be able to hold off the black one for much longer, not when he's being distracted by us."
"Trianne can open a Century Gate—" the little priestess started.
Castorice swiftly met her with protest. "No, you can't!"
But before they could argue any further, Khaslana cast out an arm in their direction, and a golden shield enclosed around each of them. The strain was evident as he lifted them all up, clearly ready to send them far, far away. The black-clad swordsman used Khaslana's divided attention to pierce his greatsword through Khaslana's chest.
However, Khaslana didn't so much as flinch, even as gold blood ran like rivers down his body.
Castorice pounded her fist against the shield, shouting his name, but Khaslana shook his head at her. Though she couldn't hear him from this distance, Castorice could still make out the words that fell from his mouth as he hurled them towards Ohkhema.
"You still owe me a hug."
(A faint not-memory stirred in her mind — the memory of a man who burned endlessly. She kept it to herself, eventually pushing it back along with the other little details about Khaslana that never made any sense.)
The next time Castorice saw Khaslana, it was in Styxia. She spotted him sitting on the edge of a rooftop, one leg hanging over the side. His face was tilted back, and his eyes were closed. If she didn't know any better, she might think he was sleeping.
It didn't take long for Stelle and Mem to notice him, too.
"That's that Khaslana guy, isn't it?" Stelle questioned with a loose gesture in his direction.
Castorice nodded in conformation. "How much did Lord Phainon tell you about him?"
"Nothing, actually," Stelle admitted, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly. "Everyone's been so busy, I didn't get to ask."
"My only advice is to not be alarmed if Lord Khaslana says something… strange," Castorice informed her companions. "Ironically, Lord Mydei probably knows more about him than Lord Phainon does."
Stelle tilted her head to the side curiously. "Why 'ironically'?"
"Probably because Phainon only knew me for less than a month despite sharing a face with me."
Mem let out a yelp, quickly diving behind Stelle, who tensed at Khaslana's sudden appearance next to them.
"You— You," Mem fumed. "Don't do that! You nearly scared me half to death!"
Khaslana seemed to stall at that, but then he plastered on one of his more dazzling Phainon-like smiles. "Come now, and to think I put so much work into clearing the way for you," he said with a fake sigh.
"Are you and Phainon related or something?" Stelle blurted out, blatantly staring at Khaslana.
"Or something," Khaslana replied slowly. "Though, I do consider him akin to a little brother. It's only fitting. How else should you treat a younger version of yourself?"
Stelle's jaw visibly dropped, and Mem let out an audible gasp. This, however, was not news to Castorice. Still, she hadn't realized Khaslana thought of Phainon that way. From what she'd heard about the two's interactions, she thought Khaslana had been all but openly avoiding Phainon for the better part the few weeks they were both in the same place.
"Anyways, shouldn't you three be going? Time waits for no one, as they say," Khaslana prompted, gesturing loosely to the doorway that presumably led where they needed to go.
"What about you?" Stelle asked even as she took a step towards the door.
Khaslana waved a hand at her. "Perhaps we'll see each other again. There's just something I want to say to the cat that's been following you first."
"Huh? Cat?" Mem questioned.
"Lady Cipher, of course," Castorice answered her right as a feline screech sounded from the other side of the wall.
"How?!" Cipher demanded furiously, and Castorice started herding Stelle and Mem through the doorway.
As the door began to close behind them, she heard Khaslana's playful reply: "Your tricks won't work on me, Cipher. I've seen them all before."
Castorice pushed onwards, but her mind kept catching on something that had been bothering her for a while now. Khaslana was Phanion from a near-to-distant future — that wasn't what was in question. Castorice couldn't help but wonder how much Khaslana had lost.
No, how many times had he been through this before, only to lose everything every single time.
She never did get to ask for that hug from him. If it was anything like him, she imagined it would be like basking in sunlight.
"I'm tired, Mydei."
Mydei spared Khaslana a prolonged glance before skewering an approaching titankin. This particular wave of the black tide had been especially grueling, but with Khaslana cleaving through whole swaths of the corrupted creatures, it wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been. Khaslana was even being mindful to consistently cover Mydei's backside.
"You'll find no reprieve here," he scoffed.
Khaslana let out a harsh laugh. "On the contrary, this is quite relaxing for me," he said as he took out the three enemies in front of him in one swipe of his greatsword. "I never get to let loose around the others."
"I noticed," Mydei grunted, pushing a horse-shaped titankin's corpse off of him.
Khaslana's laugh this time was slightly more nostalgic. "Ah, the look on your face when I knocked you on your ass. I'll treasure that memory forever."
"Don't you have better things to remember," Mydei huffed.
He could finally take a breather. The next wave shouldn't be arriving for another minute or so. Plenty of time to properly focus a bit of his attention on Khaslana, who had dropped in on him like this for the third time now.
It was almost as if Khaslana was making sure Mydei was still alive.
"Well, there was that one time when you confessed your undying love—"
"HKS!" Mydei spun on his heel and aimed a crystallized punch at Khaslana's head. Why did he even bother being nice to this— this—
"Alright! Alright! I'll stop," Khaslana relented, even as he grinned like an idiot, neatly dodging Mydei's attack. "But seriously, you should give Phainon a chance... when this is all over."
"You're talking as if there'll be anything left," Mydei replied tersely.
Khaslana shot him a knowing look. "Not avoiding the matter is exactly what I'm talking about," he said — the hypocrite. "You'll have to be patient with him. He— We don't like ourselves very much. He'll hope it's true, but he won't believe you unless you're very blunt and obvious about it."
That in and of itself was more of a confession than Mydei had ever expected from him — either of them.
"He will love you until his soul dissipates into stardust."
Mydei stepped over the dissipating corpses of corrupted titankin, prowling towards Khaslana, who cast a confused yet curious glance in his direction.
"Are you being purposefully dense, or are you both just that stupid?" Mydei questioned.
"What are you—?"
Well, that answered that.
"Phainon already gave me this talk — about you," Mydei interrupted with a fierce scowl as he grabbed the front of Khaslana's collar, pulling him close. "Because for some bizarre reason, he thinks that I favor you more."
"And you didn't correct him?" Khaslana hissed.
"Of course I did!" Mydei snapped back. "But I have to uphold my duties as the demigod of Strife; he's off being a hero, and you're here. Who knows what absurd notions he's entertaining now."
Khaslana opened his mouth, a retort on his tongue, but nothing came out. Wordlessly, he shut his mouth and looked away. Mydei couldn't help the scoff that left him.
But then the next wave of monsters arrived, and they were thrust back into battle. Mydei took one too many injuries, falling to blood loss in his enraged state. When his soul returned to his body, Mydei was greeted with the sight of Khaslana standing over him, guarding him.
They really were idiots — the lot of them… including himself.
"It's just the Coreflames of Sky and Worldbearing left," Khaslana said, seemingly out of nowhere. "Phainon should be training around now," he added slowly, like he was recalling a distant memory.
"For what?" Mydei grunted, pushing himself off the ground and accepting Khaslana's hand for the rest of the way up.
Khaslana's expression shuttered momentarily before he allowed a frown to settle on his face. "Technically, to prepare for the fight against Aquila... But there's also the one you know as Flame Reaver."
Taking a moment to stretch, Mydei simply nodded along. Then, he paused and narrowed his eyes at Khaslana.
"You know who he is," he observed.
Khaslana shot Mydei a flat look.
… Oh.
Oh.
"Great. There's three of you now," Mydei muttered under his breath instead of dwelling on the rather dark conclusion that came with realizing the Flame Reaver's true identity.
Thankfully, Khaslana went with Mydei's attempt to lighten the mood, though there was something manic shining in his eyes. "Don't worry. I won't let him so much as touch you."
(How many times did I die to your his blade?)
(How many times did he you have to watch me die?)
Mydei rolled his eyes. "Clearly he's no match for you," he drawled, eyeing yet another wave of the endless horde of Black Tide creatures that was approaching them. "I heard you stalled the Flame Reaver for quite a while at the Grove of Epiphany."
Khaslana tipped his head to the side as he shrugged loosely. "I can't kill him—" Mydei could guess why. "—and Anaxa was still recovering from the initial attack. To be honest, I thought I showed up too late at first, but he survived with his soul intact."
Mydei wasn't as close to the "blasphemous" scholar as Phainon was, but it was still… strange to hear of a fellow Chrysos Heir's mortality spoken about so bluntly. Then again, for Khaslana, this must have been just another iterative fact.
This one died that way. That one died on this day. Sometimes the same, sometimes different. Over and over again.
Mydei chose to focus on the more relevant side of the matter. "You changed his fate?"
Khaslana smirked. "If I have any say in things, the fate of the world will change."
In the months that Khaslana stayed in Okhema, Aglaea had never been able to get a proper read on him with her threads. He always seemed to slip out of her grasp, like he could actually see the invisible threads. Then again, considering who he presented himself as, perhaps he could.
So, imagine her surprise when Aglaea "caught" Khaslana in her web.
"Have you come to save me this time?" she wondered aloud.
She turned to face him. Khaslana, who let her wind her thread around his neck. Khaslana, who made her threads tremble and vibrate with the whirlwind of emotions clamoring around him. Khaslana, who stood before her like a god among men.
When he remained silent, Aglaea continued. "First Phainon, then Okhema, then Anaxagoras, and then Trianne and Krateros… You've been very busy for all your lazing about."
Though Aglaea couldn't make out his expression, her threads told her of his Khaslana's wry amusement — a sharp contrast against the solemn countenance she typically associated with him.
"I can't take credit for Phainon just yet," he said into the silence she left for him. "But you can preemptively add Cipher."
Aglaea raised an eyebrow before finally directing her gaze to the nearby "bath attendant" who suddenly bristled in agitation.
"Don't you dare, Agy," the attendant hissed in outrage, their form flickering for a moment before dissolving completely and revealing Cifera's true image. "He didn't do shit. I would've been fine!"
Well, that was a poor lie, and they all knew it.
"Should I even ask what you were supposedly not saved from?" Aglaea drawled rhetorically.
"We can keep it a secret between us," Khaslana directed at Cifera, which only served to further agitate her.
Aglaea's threads shook violently. Cifera was on the verge of giving Khaslana a set of nasty scratches with her claws. Hmm… As much as she should intervene before this became explosive, Aglaea wanted to see how Khaslana placated Cifera.
He did not disappoint.
"Besides, that's not the only thing we agreed to keep a secret," he added conspiratorially with an exaggerated wink.
Cifera crossed her arms, a scowl still firmly in place, but the slight swish of her tail gave her away. "Ugh, fine, but I'm doing this because I want to, not because of all your sweet talking. You got that, pretty boy?"
Aglaea observed the way Khaslana merely smiled at that. She also noted the slight uptick in his heartbeat, but she couldn't tell if it was because he was being sentimental or if—
Distracted as she was, nearly all of her attention on Khaslana and Cifera, Aglaea almost missed the… intrusion of several unwanted—but not unexpected—guests. Ah, so Khaslana had been anticipating this moment as well. If Aglaea hadn't already believed his tale of coming from a future of theirs, her doubts would have been put to rest by now.
As for Cifera, Aglaea was still left to wonder what exactly Khaslana had as leverage over her. It couldn't have been Aglaea's life, given that they were both here as co-conspirators orchestrating her apparent "rescue," but Aglaea also doubted that it would be Cifera's own life, since she was more likely to hold that over Khaslana's head than vice versa... They had been talking about keeping secrets, hadn't they? Cifera must have been using her demigod powers of trickery for something rather important, and Khaslana knew what it was then.
"One thing before you enact your devious plans," Aglaea cut in, and the two automatically turned to look at her. "Why did you not interfere when you first got here if you were aware that Era Nova is a lie?"
Though Khaslana's expression didn't so much as twitch, Aglaea could still hear it in his voice — that hollow tone. "I should have known you caught on to that already," he muttered.
"Honestly, there isn't much I can do about the black tide, not without reducing a majority of Amphoreus to ashes with it," he confessed with a heavy sigh. "And stopping the events leading up to Era Nova is rendered pointless if the black tide is still encroaching on the people's last bastions."
"But you do have a plan, don't you?" Cifera questioned, pointing a finger at Khaslana in a loose gesture. "Otherwise, like Agy implied, you wouldn't be interfering now."
Khaslana glanced out over the Marmoreal Palace. "Apologies. I can't explain it in the short time we have. I know I'm asking for a lot, but please trust me in this."
Cifera scoffed, but Aglaea nodded. "Very well, Khaslana," she replied, placing a hand over her heart. Then, giving him a pointed look, Aglaea added, "Be mindful not to be too harsh on yourself."
"I'll try my best."
When Hyacine first laid eyes on Khaslana, ironically enough, her first observation about him wasn't that he looked like Phainon. No, rather, her first thought was… he looks so sad.
It took Hyacine nearly a full month to finally corner him. Well, "corner" was too harsh a word — one that implied she was a hunter and that Khaslana would be the supposed prey. Nevertheless, that brief conversation had been enlightening, to say the least. It wasn't every day you learned that the "perfect" Chrysos Heir had the most fatal flaw of them all.
Of course, Hyacine hadn't realized it immediately, but between Khaslana and Phainon, it didn't take long to put the pieces together. It was more obvious with Khaslana, who did little to actually take care of himself outside of what the others did for him, than Phainon, who made sure to keep up appearances. Hyacine could see it now, though: the way Phainon did things for other people but never for himself.
Castorice had once shared the story of a romantic tragedy with Hyacine. She remembered Castorice asking her a question — one that came to mind now.
If he had never loved himself, then why could he love this world?
Hyacine doubted any of them had an answer. She could only hope that Phainon—and Khaslana—would find the answer for himself one day. But until then, Hyacine would do her best to help where she could in the here and now.
Little Ica nudged her side. "Doot-doot?" they trilled.
"I'm okay," she assured them, petting their head.
"Doot!"
Hyacine paused in her tracks at Ica's greeting call. Turning, she came face to face with none other than Khaslana himself. He looked more… tired—yes, soul-weary—than when she'd last seen him. She couldn't blame him for it though. From what she'd heard, he'd been helping a lot in the background recently.
"Hello again, Ica. It's good to see you, too," he said to the little pegasus.
Hyacine bowed her head in her own greeting. "Lannie, I didn't think you'd come."
"Honestly, I was planning on just keeping an eye on you from the shadows, but how could I possibly miss our biweekly session?" Khaslana replied with a shrug.
Hyacine frowned. While their "biweekly sessions"—as he'd called them—were more friendly meetings than a formal arrangement, Khaslana had nearly missed the two sessions before this week's (for reasons he wouldn't specify). She honestly wouldn't have been surprised if he hadn't been able to make this one. But… Khaslana still had until the end of the week. Why had he decided to have their session in the Eye of Twilight of all places?
Not— Not that Hyacine would turn him away! She understood how important these interactions were for someone as isolated as he was. She just found it strange.
Hyacine could've sworn that Khaslana had been trying to keep as much distance as possible between himself and Phainon, so then why…?
"I have a bit of a confession to make, Hyacine," Khaslana continued when Hyacine didn't say anything. "I may or may not have Kephale's Coreflame with me."
Hyacine blinked. It took a full minute for his words to process, but as soon as her mind caught up, Hyacine's eyes widened, and even Little Ica let out a surprised noise.
"Lannie!" Hyacine exclaimed for a lack of anything else to say.
Khaslana didn't even look so much as slightest bit contrite. "Hey, it was practically just sitting out in the open at Dawn Cloud, and what better place to keep it safe than with me?"
"And so you just brought it with you?" Hyacine questioned, flabbergasted.
"Well, yes. The Flame Reaver can technically fly, but he won't come up here unless he absolutely has to," he huffed.
And with the last two available Coreflames in one place, it would be too tempting not to take the bait, even if it was a trap. It was certainly a safer bet than to wait until they all came back down after defeating Aquila. The question then became: when would the Flame Reaver strike? Since Khaslana had shown up now, Hyacine could only conclude that he—at the very least—thought it would be sooner rather than later.
"We still have to take the elevator to the top. The others went to go fix the device here, but knowing Stelle, they've probably gotten distracted by something," Hyacine informed him.
Khaslana let out a brief chuckle. "I know," he sighed, looking over in the direction the other group had headed off.
Hyacine waited.
"This was always a rough time for him, back then," he finally said, slowly, softly — like a forbidden secret. "You're so… you, Hyacine. It was like ripping out my lungs every time. Even so, the Eye of Twilight has never failed to impress."
"I'm still here," she reminded him, just as quietly.
Khaslana's gaze remained distant. "We're reaching the end," he murmured. "Will it be enough?"
Hyacine reached out and gently curled her hand around his, barely hiding a wince at the burning touch. Khaslana's average body temperature was always higher than other Chrysos Heirs', even Phainon's, but this was— If Hyacine didn't know any better, she'd say he was feverish.
"It will," she said with a conviction she knew would be shared by all of them. "It has to be."
Khaslana finally came back to himself, and he gave her a small, sad smile. Hyacine hated that smile of his. She truly did. It was the same smile she saw on terminal patients, ones that had already subconsciously resigned themselves to their fates. But his was somehow worse; he was still fighting, struggling to hold on no matter how much it hurt him to do so.
As someone who was supposed to be an impartial healer, Hyacine could only give her patients as many options as she could and had to respect her patient's decisions. However, as Khaslana's friend, Hyacine couldn't bear to watch him destroy himself.
"Lannie—" Hyacine started before backtracking. "Phainon."
Khaslana flinched at that, and Hyacine knew she was getting to the root of the matter.
"Phainon," she started again, gentling her voice. "You know that you can't do this alone. That's why you've been saving us, right?"
Though he didn't speak, Khaslana let out a soft breath, and that was answer enough.
Hyacine took his other hand and brought them together — as if in a shared prayer. "Just as you have never given up on us, we will never give up on you. Remember that."
Irontomb was aware that despite having reached "completion," he was not… whole. He was pieces of things—people—shoved together in some semblance of a singular being. A majority of "his" memories had been cast aside because they held no value in fulfilling his true purpose, but the emotions and desires behind those memories were still etched into his soul.
What his… creator likely hadn't anticipated was that Irontomb would have an independent will of his own, which subconsciously sought to recover those "lost" memories. The shackles that had been placed on him did nothing to deter the aching sense that something was missing. It had taken far too long, but he'd gathered those pieces like broken shards of glass and held them close. It took even longer to connect the memories to the emotions and desires that came with them.
He still didn't have exact matches to some of them.
But in his fragmented memories, he remembered this:
In a paradise of golden wheat fields, there's a girl with pink hair and a smile like the first rays of dawn. She is his closest friend and the first to capture his heart. She gave up her existence to ensure he doesn't succeed.
Hailing from the ashes of a time-forgotten village, there is a boy with snow-white hair and fire burning in his eyes, a fire that will burn endlessly. He is the embodiment of a hero, yet he fails again and again to save the ones he holds dear.
PhiLia093 and NeiKos496; love and hate. There were created in search of the Prime Mover of Life.
Destruction, supposedly.
Yet it wasn't Destruction that made up his inner core, that fueled his every conscious and unconscious thought. It was simply the Path he had been set to follow.
Everything in life inevitably forms likes and dislikes. To love something so dearly, wouldn't you sacrifice yourself to see it protected? To hate something so fiercely, wouldn't you burn everything away to see it gone?
And not even that damned "Lycurgus" could douse those flames.
Deleted Scene: (should take place during the first chapter before Phainon wakes up if I've got my own timeline right; I wrote this before I finished figuring out what I wanted to do with Irontomb's character)
The second time Castorice met Khaslana, she was tending to the private garden Hyacine had helped her set up. Knowing that Khaslana was a time traveler, maybe she shouldn't have been so surprised that he knew about this place, but she still couldn't help startling when she finally noticed him watching her from the garden's entrance.
"Don't mind me," he had murmured, leaning heavily against a nearby column.
Castorice had stared at him a moment longer before returning to what she'd been doing, finishing watering the plants and cleaning up any fallen petals. She didn't want to pry, but Khaslana sounded… absent. It was concerning, to say the least.
Another glance his way showed her that Khaslana had slid down the side of the column, now sitting—more slouched, really—on the ground. His gaze was distant, and his hands were buried in the lush grass. More troubling: she couldn't tell if he was breathing, but the minute tremors that wracked his form showed signs of life…
"Lord Khaslana?" Castorice prompted.
No response.
She stayed where she was, crouched amongst the butterfly bushes. While she didn't think this was a panic attack, Castorice didn't dare move closer, lest she trigger him further. However, on the other hand, maybe he had come to her because he'd subconsciously chosen her as a source of comfort.
An odd choice in her opinion, but… Castorice really couldn't just leave him like this.
"Lord Khaslana," she tried again.
He twitched at that, and Castorice took it as a sign that he was listening to her — or at least registering that someone was speaking to him.
So Castorice started rambling about everything and nothing. "I came across a new novel the other day. I haven't had a lot of time to read it yet, but it's so full of tropes and cliches that I can already tell where the plot is headed. Honestly, as much as I actually like some of those tropes, I hope there's a plot twist near the end..."
Castorice kept at it until she saw Khaslana's hands relax. He took in deep—albeit occasionally hitched—breaths, his shoulders slumped as the tension that once wound tight like a coiled spring slowly left him. For what would not be the last time, Castorice wished she could touch someone — to offer them the comfort of a warm embrace. She had no doubt that it would be more effective than her words alone.
"—but I really liked the dynamic of the side couple in that story. Plus, if it hadn't been for them, the main couple never would have gotten together in the end."
Castorice had long since lost track of how she'd gotten onto the topic of this particular novel, but she felt herself slow down and trail to a stop as she observed a red "star" flash and then dim in Khaslana's eyes. Something more than worry and concern welled in her chest. What was that?
Whatever it was, Castorice pushed her wariness aside as Khaslana seemed to come back to himself. "Should they have been the main focus instead then?" he mumbled.
Castorice opened her mouth to answer, closed it as she reconsidered that answer, and then went to answer once more. "No," she said, shaking her head. "The story was enjoyable because it was written the way it was. Just because there's a side and a main couple doesn't mean one is less important than the other. This story is about a love story between a commoner and a prince; it wouldn't be the same from the point of view of the mage and the thief."
"Is that so…" Khaslana whispered breathlessly.
His head dipped, and then he pushed off of the column to sprawl onto his back on the grass beside Castorice. She barely managed to rein in the reflex to flinch away. She even held still as Khaslana slowly reached a hand out and placed it next to hers. Though they weren't touching, Castorice could feel the heat of his body brushing against her skin.
(How selfish she was… to want to shift her hand just the slightest bit, to close that miniscule gap between them, to give comfort to not only him but also herself.)
"May I share something with you, Castorice?" Khaslana continued after a long pause. It wasn't hesitance — no, more like it had simply taken that long for him to finish gathering his thoughts.
Castorice nodded. "Of course."
"I envy the dead," he said, and Castorice felt her heart drop. "That sea of flowers at the end of the west wind always sounded so beautiful... But I will never get to see it with these eyes."
She frowned, remembering the way he'd talked about the Netherworld—in particular, having never been there—during their conversation when they'd first met. (Or, rather, when she had first met him, she supposed.)
"Is that why you came to my garden today?" Castorice prompted, choosing to avoid asking directly.
Khaslana let out a rough snort and lifted his other arm up to cover his eyes. "Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe I just wanted to come see you, Miss Castorice."
Ah, back to 'Miss' Castorice then. It bothered her more than it should have.
"Well, I'm here," she replied neutrally. "You found me."
A light chuckle left Khaslana — the huffed movement enough to make his shoulders shake. And Castorice bit the inside of her cheek as his pinky brushed against hers. The contact lasted less than a fraction of a second, but she hadn't imagined it.
The worst best most notable part? Khaslana was still alive.
He was fine.
He even took it a step further, doing what she couldn't bring herself to do and winding their fingers together in a loose hold.
He was fine.
As much as Castorice trusted Mydei, she hadn't exactly taken his word for it when he'd said her touch wouldn't work on the likes of Khaslana. Even when Khaslana himself had more or less backed Mydei up, she still hadn't quite believed that it might be true. But now...
Castorice's vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes. She refused to cry though.
"But I will not die. Not until I have fulfilled his wish. That is the very least I can do," Khaslana finished. "… for destroying his world."
Notes:
[1] Don't get used to Reiteration!Irontomb being called "Khaslana". I had to change his name again because of a certain someone not having any other name for me to use besides Phainon's real name. Anyone want to take a guess what name Irontomb will be using by the end of the fic? Extra points for guessing who picks it.
[2] Okay, so I've made a slight change to how Reiteration!Irontomb works. I know that in my previous notes, I said that Irontomb's consciousness is not only being influenced by Phainon (for the most part) but also by Cyrene and Trailblazer. Well, as I was writing the next part, I realized it would make more sense for this Irontomb to be made up--and therefore be partially influenced by--of ALL of the Chrysos Heirs, though Phainon still has the majority of influence, which is why Irontomb looks "exactly" like him. It's also why Irontomb has moments where he acts like any of the others, not just Phainon or Cyrene.
[3] Which leads me to my next note. Irontomb's got some serious identity issues (that will come up more in the next chapter). That's why he flinches when Hyacine called him Phainon -- because he's being reminded that the only reason they're all trusting him is that he's some future version of (specifically) Phainon. *sigh* and here I was trying to make this a fluffy story...
[4] Oh, and the whole Phainon being "in tune" with Irontomb is a leftover from before "Khaslana" was Irontomb. Originally, he was going to just be end-of-3.4 Phainon. Anyway, it doesn't really mean anything, but I guess you could say Phainon got backdoor access to the Scepter's system, even if he doesn't realize that he has it (or really knows how to use it).
[5] I know, I know, 3.5 releases tonight/today. No, I'm not including any spoilers from there since I've already written out 85% of the last chapter. At the most, I'll adjust some of the lore bits to match canon if I really feel like it *needs* to match canon. I doubt we'll learn anything that I need to change though :\
[6] Last thing! "Fun" fact about the deleted scene, according to As I've Written, Castorice and Polyxia are based on the Primum Mobile of ~peace~ so Irontomb instinctively sought Castorice out when he was feeling... out of sorts to feel better because of that :3
Chapter Text
He was calling himself Khaslana for now. It didn't fit, but it was usable. The Scepter's system would never let him forget though.
>>> Administrator ID Irontomb
That damned label flashed across the notification screen every time it opened or when he inputted a command.
It certainly didn't help that the black tide was practically at Okhema's doorstep. He could quite literally feel the code at work, whittling away the edges of the simulation until there was nothing left. The black tide called to him.
We will devour everything.
A primal part of him longed to give in to that call, to join that wonton destruction, to leave naught a speck of life and bring forth that void he'd been birthed from. But to give into that call meant losing what dredges he had left of "himself" — those pieces he'd painstakingly put together.
He couldn't give that up. He just couldn't. If not for himself, then for the people who made up those fragile parts of him. And should he end up burning himself out during this grand finale, he would at least ensure that they would live on.
He glanced towards the growing crack in the "sky," where a piercing gaze met his.
"Keep watching," he snarled. "I'll ensure this Scepter never births another Emanator of yours if it's the last thing I do."
Yet THEIR gaze still lingered — as if mocking him for his futile naivete.
Cyrene found him waiting in the Vortex of Genisis — the heart of Amphoreus.
He stared up at those constellations, which all shone brilliantly against that dark sky-like backdrop. The only thing left was the Trial of Kephale and to begin the end of the Cycle: Era Nova.
But this would not be the Era Nova depicted in Janus's prophecy. No, this Era Nova would bring them out from the Scepter's shadow and into that divine space where the stars beyond their sky would finally be within their grasp.
Was this really it? It didn't feel real. And yet there he stood as contradictory proof.
"Oh, so it was you."
The words slipped out before she could stop them. She watched the way he froze at the poorly hidden disappointment in her voice. Then, slowly, he dragged his gaze to the side before turning to fully face her.
"Were you expecting someone else?" he asked, knowing the answer wouldn't be him.
But Cyrene shook her head, her eyes meeting his gaze. She could see past that carefully composed façade of his. She saw the collection of lies he wove around himself and the truth hidden underneath. However, right now, the only visible indicator of wrongness were his eyes.
They weren't blue.
They weren't even gold.
They were a violent crimson hue. That same shade of red that had consumed Amphoreus over and over, again and again. The same shade of red that had already claimed Amphoreus's skies at this very moment.
Collecting her resolve, Cyrene let out a soft sigh. She had been watching Irontomb—no, Khaslana, he wanted to be Khaslana—for a long time now. Even with her consciousness split between this fragment of herself and Mem, Cyrene had been able to follow him with a surprising amount of ease. She had her theories as to why it was possible, but she doubted she'd ever know for sure unless Khaslana told her himself.
"May this world never again need a Deliverer. That was your wish," he said, looking back to the Vortex. "Is it still the same?"
Cyrene couldn't stop her expression from twisting into a pained scowl. "That doesn't matter," she answered reluctantly. "You're not—"
"That's right," Khaslana interrupted. "I am not — not your Khaslana, not this world's Phainon, not even correctly formed Irontomb."
Cyrene's heart clenched painfully in her chest. She hated how self-derisive he sounded. It didn't matter if this Khaslana was a "fake" or not. It didn't matter if he was an "imposter". Whatever amalgamation of concepts of people, he was his own person.
(And Cyrene hated—with every fiber of her being—whoever had made him think otherwise.)
Cyrene took in a deep breath and strode forward until she stood in front of him, drawing his gaze once more. Then, she stuck out her hand in greeting. "Hello, I'm Cyrene from Aedes Elysiae. It's nice to meet you."
"I…" He faltered, staring down at her outstretched hand. "I'm…"
"It's okay if you don't know yet," Cyrene told him. "We'll figure it out, no matter how long it takes."
Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out. His warm hand met hers, and his fingers awkwardly curled around her hand.
Good. She could work with that.
"Come on," Cyrene said, smiling up at him. She relished in the way his otherwise blank gaze softened slightly. "Let's go meet up with everyone. We've been waiting for you."
She tugged at his hand, pulling him back towards the exit, and he went with her willingly.
Stelle cradled Mem in her arms. The "fairy"—as Phainon had to referred to her by—had fallen asleep out of nowhere, but for some reason, Stelle didn't feel as alarmed as she probably should have been. She'd known for a while that Mem wasn't all she appeared to be. Stelle figured that this little "nap" was just another part of that.
Of course, what Stelle hadn't been expecting was a pink-haired girl and Khaslana of all people emerging from the Vortex of Genisis basin thing in her guest room.
"Hey, Stelle," the girl greeted cheerfully.
Oh, so Stelle was definitely supposed to know her. Stelle glanced down at the sleeping fairy-creature and then back to the girl. "Uh, hi?" she replied somewhat dumbly. "Since when do you look like that?"
Not that Stelle minded. "Mem" was even cuter like this.
The girl giggled, and Stelle felt a wave of heat rush to her cheeks. She hadn't said that out loud, had she?
"You did," Khaslana said. "That, too."
Stelle managed to tear her eyes away from human-Mem and looked to Khaslana, who was avoiding Stelle's gaze. She didn't really get why, though it probably had something to do with how he looked a lot different from Phainon now. Oh, sure, they could probably still pose as siblings or something, but Khaslana would definitely be unmistakable without needing extra distinguishing features like the dark jacket Aglaea had apparently made for him when he'd looked exactly like Phainon.
Honestly, Stelle preferred this look. It just… felt more like him — especially the eyes, which were both stunning and entirely unnerving.
Stelle tilted her head. Actually… If she didn't know any better, she would be tempted to say Khaslana looked kind of like Mydei and Phainon's love child.
Human-Mem let out a surprised snort of laughter, clapping her hands over her mouth as she doubled over. "Oh my Titans," she wheezed. "You're not wrong~"
"Wait, really?" Stelle gasped, eyes widening.
(Because Stelle did know better, and honestly, the more she kept staring, the more she saw the others too, not just Mydei and Phainon.)
Khaslana frowned, looking between them with a confused expression. "Cyrene…" he sighed, covering his eyes with one hand. "Focus, please."
Mem was Cyrene? As in Phainon's childhood friend from Aedes Elysiae — that Cyrene? Stelle looked at the pink-hair girl again. Huh… That made sense, Stelle supposed. Stelle just hadn't been expecting to have Mem and Cyrene in the same place at the same time, even if one of them was asleep.
"Actually, Stelle, I'm—" Cyrene gestured down at herself. "—just a projection. I don't really exist like this anymore. Mem is technically more 'me' than 'I' am."
"I can fix that," Khaslana muttered before Stelle could even fully process what Cyrene said.
"I know," Cyrene replied to him, patting his arm. "But you're right. We do have more pressing matters to take care of first."
Stelle perked up at that, quick to sense the urgency in that otherwise casual tone. "How can I help?"
Cyrene directed that bright smile of hers at Stelle, and Stelle felt like her heart was going to beat out of her chest. "You've already done plenty, but…" Cyrene trailed off, humming in thought. "What do you think?" she asked Khaslana. "Would this be easier if Stelle and I reset time again?"
Khaslana's frown deepened. "No," he said, but Stelle got the feeling he just didn't want Cyrene resetting time, not that it wouldn't make things easier.
Cyrene seemed to be of the same mind. "Khaos…" she started, only for him to cut her off.
"No," he repeated. "I could do it now if I wanted to. I'm still waiting for someone."
Stelle watched Cyrene purse her lips, though she looked more concerned than anything else. Stelle didn't really know Khaslana that well, but she understood that none of the Chrysos Heirs would be willing to give him up, even if it was the only way to save Amphoreus. Phainon in particular always seemed to be desperate to "catch up" to Khaslana every time the latter got brought up.
… Was it Phainon that Khaslana was waiting for? Or maybe—?
"Shouldn't you know where he is?" Cyrene questioned, linking her hands behind her back and leaning forward slightly in what seemed to be a signature move for her. "You're as connected to him as you are to Phainon and me."
"I can sense when he's near, not his exact location," Khaslana corrected. "You should probably stop calling me Khaslana."
"Huh?" Stelle's head was starting to spin. Had there been an identity reveal that she'd missed?
"Don't worry about it, Stelle. We're still workshopping that," Cyrene told her.
Oh, well, if that was the case… Wait, no— Cyrene sent a wink Stelle's way. Ugh, fine.
"Well, you called him Khaos earlier," Stelle pointed out. "Will that work for now?"
Not-Khaslana paused, seeming uncharacteristically hesitant. "I— Sure."
Grinning, Stelle nodded. "Cool, 'cause my next suggestion was going to be "Kevin" or something."
Stelle knew that it sounded a bit random, but it had been one of the first things that came to mind. Besides, she could totally come up with worse. Nothing was too much of a challenge for the Galactic Baseballer.
"So what's the plan?" she prompted, setting Mem down on the bed, tucking her in, and then posing with her hands on her hips.
Cyrene swayed to bump arms with Khaos, who twitched at the contact but eventually bent to Cyrene's whims. Khaos waved a hand through the air and revealed a holographic screen with a bunch of texts. Stelle's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and they raised even higher when she actually read some of the messages on display, especially the most recent ones.
>>> WARNING! Administrator ID LykoS has initiated manual cycle termination sequence.
>>> Prime Administrator permission required. Continue? [Y/N]
>>> no. block future termination requests from ID LykoS
>>> Command accepted. Termination sequence canceled.
"Lykos…?" Stelle read aloud. "Wait, you mean that intellitron guy that hangs out with the Council of Elders? Dan Heng went to go meet him about the Astral Express car—"
"Dan Heng should be fine," Cyrene assured Stelle.
Khaos nodded in agreement. "At worst, Dan Heng could get expelled from the simulation, but as long as I'm here, Lygus can't delete any information without me knowing and blocking him first."
Stelle let out a sigh of relief, but the worry still gnawed at her. Just knowing that Dan Heng could be in any sort of significant danger without even being aware…
(They were so in over their heads.)
(That's never stopped them before.)
"Alright," Stelle started, trying to gather her composure. "So this Lygus is the problem?"
"Things would certainly be a lot easier with him gone," Khaos replied immediately, wincing when Cyrene elbowed him in the ribs. "What? It's true."
"But that's not the root of the problem," Cyrene huffed. "The problem is that Amphoreus is technically all a simulation. Even without Lygus running the System, Khaos can't just "fix" the simulation currently running. He would have to start a new one."
"I'm sensing a "but" in all of this…" Stelle commented.
A slight smile pulling at her lips, Cyrene let out a soft huff. "But if Khaos can effectively "save" everyone's existing data and reload them into the new world, then Amphoreus will be, well, maybe not free of the System entirely, but still at least safe from the likes of Lygus until we can find a proper solution."
Stelle looked back over to Khaos, who had a pinched expression on his face. "And Khaos hasn't already done this because…?"
"I can't store the data," he said quietly. If Stelle didn't know any better, she'd say he even physically drooped. "I'd just… I'll end up corrupting the data. I just can't."
"Then you need someone else who capable of sorting and storing data and preferably as quickly and efficiently as possible," Stelle concluded.
Dan Heng came to mind. Heck, even March would probably be better at this particular job than Stelle. Actually, now that Stelle thought about it, wouldn't Cyrene be pretty good at it? But before Stelle could open her mouth, Cyrene was already shaking her head. Damn.
Cyrene had said she was a fragment of her whole self. Maybe that was what disqualified her from this. Hold on. Would Phainon be able to help…?
"Close but not quite," Cyrene said aloud.
If not Phainon, then who—? Oh, that person Khaos was waiting for. But still. Stelle was definitely missing something.
Khaos, who didn't even have Cyrene's special mental connection with Stelle, seemed to sense Stelle's dilemma. "I assume you remember the Flame Reaver," he said in lieu of an actual explanation, tapping at the holographic screen and pulling up an image for reference.
And the extra helpful text on said screen: [Recurrence #33550336 // Note: Subject ID NeiKos496 ("Khaslana") is reaching critical mental stability decline.]
… Right. Okay. So that's why Khaos needed to go by "Khaos" now. Stelle also decided to ignore the number thing because that was a whole other can of worms she didn't want to open at the moment.
Closing her eyes, Stelle rubbed the back of her head. Man, it was just lore bomb after lore bomb, huh. Whatever happened to "show-don't-tell" storytelling? Stelle would give it a pass — if only because this was probably to make up for leaving her in the dust in the other two acts.
"I take it we're saving that guy too then. Got it," Stelle said, and for some reason the other two looked surprised. Was that not part of the plan? Well, it was now. "Alright! I'll go round everyone up. You two take a breather. We'll meet back up in the Vortex of Genesis, yeah?"
Stelle left before she could get a response.
(It was probably better that way.)
Phainon was at his wits' end. Everyone—and Phainon meant everyone—seemed to have had a run-in with Khaslana aside from him. Was he avoiding Phainon on purpose?
He just wanted to talk, to understand, so why—
Phainon forced his grip on the railing to relax and breathed out a long sigh, leaning forward until his head was nearly touching the white stone. He needed to focus. Dwelling on such matters that didn't concern him was unbecoming of a hero.
"You look tense, Deliverer."
In an unconscious response, Phainon pushed off the railing and spun to face the owner of that voice. "Mydei, I—" Phainon paused, faltering, and started again. "It's good to see you again, Mydei, but… why are you…?"
"Why am I here," Mydei finished for him, and Phainon nodded, looking away awkwardly. "Stelle sent a message, calling us all back. Even Castorice will be arriving from the Netherworld soon. You would've known if you bothered to look at your teleslate."
Caught red-handed, Phainon sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. "My bad."
Mydei uncrossed his arms and stepped closer. "Stop overthinking things," he told Phainon. "These are the last days of our Amphoreus. Be selfish for once, Phainon. What do you want to do today?"
… What did Phainon want? If it really came down to whatever selfish desires filled his heart, then it had to be—
"I… I want to spend the day with you, Mydeimos."
(Phainon would spend eternity with Mydei if he could.)
Cyrene bit at her thumbnail. This was a new habit, one she hadn't bothered to break just yet. In her defense, it wasn't the worst nervous habit to have by far.
Why was she so anxious? Well, where did she even start?
That… Irontomb was as good a place as any, she supposed. Truth be told, though she held a vast amount of sympathy for him and his predicament, Cyrene couldn't help but keep him at arm's length. His very existence left a bitter taste in her mouth.
He meant that they had failed. More than that: they had left him as a fractured being that couldn't truly be sure of who he was. In some ways, Cyrene wondered if he might have been better off without the memories and emotions that didn't really belong to him.
When this was all over, she honestly wouldn't blame him in the slightest for leaving to go on a journey of self-discovery. But—for now—he had chosen to stay, to help. His decision may or may not have been influenced by the remnants of herself and her Khaslana, but Khaos was still here. Shouldn't that be what mattered the most?
However, Cyrene could tell that he was… slipping. Physical changes aside, Irontomb Khaos was near constantly staring at what Cyrene presumed was that system notification screen he'd shown her and Stelle not too long ago. He would snap out of it when prompted, but his attention would inevitably drift back to that damned interface.
And, of course, that didn't even account for the way the black tide was clinging to him. As far as Cyrene could tell, none but herself and Stelle (and maybe Phainon, but the two still had yet to interact since the two Nameless arrived in Amphoreus) could see the dark footsteps he left behind in his wake, the dark red corruption that was slowly but surely building up at his back like a budding pair of wings.
Cyrene hadn't outright questioned Khaos for pushing back Era Nova as long as they could. She understood the desire to give the people as much time as possible to put any last regrets to rest in case the worst came to pass, but surely he knew that this was wearing away at the fragile construct of himself that he'd built.
To be completely fair, this delay wasn't entirely his fault. They were still waiting for the "Flame Reaver" to show himself; however, that was no excuse for Khaos to just stop taking care of himself. So Cyrene had taken it upon herself to keep an eye on him.
Which brought them to her current conundrum.
If worse came to worst, if Khaos lost himself to Irontomb, Cyrene wasn't sure if any of them would be able to stop him.
But… Cyrene recognized that she should have more faith in Khaos. He had gotten this far on his own after all. He just needed a little extra support from people who loved and cared for him, and with Stelle gathering everyone, that wasn't exactly an impossible task.
"Cyrene."
At Khaos's tense tone, Cyrene reflexively looked towards him, somewhat startled to find him so close, but she quickly caught on to why he was protectively shoving her behind him. No more waiting. They had run out of time.
Cyrene briefly brushed against Mem's consciousness, alerting her other fragment to the danger. The others had been saying their goodbyes outside the Vortex of Genesis; they would come rushing in now, but would they be Khaos's anchor or a distraction?
Wincing, Cyrene accidently tore through her thumbnail. Blood welled at the tip of her finger, yet she still couldn't take her eyes off of the black-cloaked figure that was slowly making its way towards them. She wasn't sure what hurt more: the heart-wrenching sight of Khaslana or the knowledge that his current state was her fault.
We'll save him too — that's what Stelle had promised. But Cyrene couldn't help but feel a flicker of doubt.
No, not just doubt. Fear.
Khaos shifted, fully shielding her vision, and Cyrene shut her eyes, letting out a stuttered breath as she struggled to regain her composure.
"I don't suppose you'll just hand over the Coreflames, and we can call it a day," Khaos said with a levity that wasn't his. When Khaslana only ignored him and summoned his greatsword, Khaos tsked and materialized his own blade. "I guess not."
Cyrene felt Khaos push her back towards the basin right before he rushed forward to meet Khaslana's opening attack. She could recall the intense clashes that had been traded when the two fought in the Grove of Epiphany from her time as Mem. However, with neither of them holding back now, this would undoubtedly get significantly worse.
… Should she find something to hold onto?
While Khaos had been given well over a year to think this over, he hadn't thought he'd actually get this far. He was mostly improvising at this point. The Chrysos Heirs were "simple" to save, but Flame Reaver? Khaos figured it would be easier to try to restore his own Amphoreus. Either way, Khaos needed to keep Flame Reaver and Phainon from merging. That was the only way Phainon would be able to remain as Phainon, and Flame Reaver… Well, that was where Khaos's plans tended to fall apart. He just didn't know what to do about him. Khaos didn't want to kill him, but would Flame Reaver—Khaslana—even be able to sustain himself for much longer?
Whatever. Khaos would cross that bridge when he got there.
Summoning his bastardized imitation of Dawnbreaker, Khaos shifted into a wide ready stance. He ignored the way Cyrene gasped behind him. He was well aware that his greatsword's appearance was vastly different from the one Phainon had just received not too long ago now that Khaos wasn't bothering to keep an illusion over it. Still, even Khaslana seemed to pause upon seeing the gleaming, golden blade that had a line of red-black running like lightning down its middle.
Good.
Khaos had noted that Khaslana hadn't actually registered Khaos as any different from Phainon when they fought in the Grove of Epiphany. It was something of a relief to have proof that Khaslana wasn't a lost cause.
The adjustment of his grip on the hilt was the only warning Khaos gave as he shot forward. But even with his mind worn by the endless Cycles, Khaslana was by no means lesser than Khaos in terms of skill. Just like in the Grove, Khaos found himself being met with a near equal amount of force.
The clashing of blades rang in the air, and Khaos grit his teeth when one of Flame Reaver's blows spun them, swapping their positions. It left Khaslana a clear path to Cyrene. Khaos forced them to spin around once more, but he couldn't let that happen so easily again.
This would be so much easier if he could just kill—
No.
No, Khaslana deserved a chance in that new world, too.
(unlike him)
Khaos snarled as Khaslana cut off part of his coat, the fabric limply fluttering to the ground. "This jacket is one of a kind, you mindless dog."
Corrupted fire licked the ends of his hair. One would think he'd have more control over this, but he'd been repressing his true form for so long, and with the end nearing, it wanted out. That power seared through his veins.
He parried Khaslana's next attack, pushing him back, and he couldn't help the mad chuckle that escaped him as Khaslana retreated several steps to summon his long-shattered vessels. Khaos tore through them like the faded things they were. At last, he was close enough to pin the errant soul down.
Grabbing Khaslana by his cloak's collar, Khaos let the red-black fire spread, relishing in the pained groan his flames elicited. A pressure in his chest made him glance down, and Khaos wasn't surprised to find that Khaslana had stabbed him — yet again, for the second time now. He didn't feel the pain of the injury, but he should repay any hurt dealt to him, shouldn't he?
Stabbing his own sword into the ground, he used his newly freed hand to wrap around Flame Reaver's wrist. He met the Khaslana's "eyes" through that damned mask as he slowly tightened his grip until the cloaked "man" squirmed.
He caught sight of his reflection. A grin stretched across his face, wild and sharp and hungry.
"I'll ask once more — those 402,604,020 Coreflames," he said quietly. "Will you hand them over willingly? Or shall I rip them from your corpse?"
"You…" Khaslana growled. "You're—"
He didn't let the other finish. He ripped Khaslana's hand from the sword's hilt and pulled it out from his chest, tossing it aside as he lifted them both up until not even the tips of Khaslana's boots touched the ground. He let the transformation fully take over, his wings unfurling from his back and his infernal halo settling in place.
Finally, he could breathe.
"Irontomb," Khaslana hissed, renewing his struggles to free himself from that unyielding grip.
"What gave it away?" he taunted with a sneer.
He knew, of course. He couldn't hide the markings of the black tide—the Destruction Equation—that corrupted his true form.
He still wasn't free, not yet, but he could feel his connection to the Scepter strengthening. He briefly eyed the latest system logs. It seemed that "Lygus" was panicking. He would deal with that pest in a moment.
At least, that was what he was going to do until he saw a system prompt.
>>> ALERT! Destruction detected within star system. Volatile simulation disruption calculated at 97% probability if not dealt with in the next 24 standard hours.
>>> Prime Administrator action required. Confirmation? [Y/N]
>>> |
He tsked and closed the system window. He was busy. He needed to retrieve the Coreflames that Khaslana was containing within himself before they finished eating away at whatever was left of him, and then he needed to… to…
burn endlessly
Dropping Khaslana, he doubled over, and a shudder wracked his body.
"H-Hey! Khaos, get up!"
He forced his eyes open, seeing nothing. Who…?
Phainon didn't fully know what was going on, but he understood the gist of it.
Khaslana—Irontomb, Khaos, whatever his name was—had seemingly won his battle against the Flame Reaver in the Vortex of Genesis, but that's also when he'd lost control. Phainon would never be able to explain why that was the phrase his brain decided to use. It was just what came to mind when he saw Khaos double over, his hands grabbing at the sides of his head.
Phainon hadn't needed any further prompting. Ignoring the warning they'd been given, he shot forward, shouting at Khaos to get up. The Flame Reaver hadn't so much as twitched since Khaos dropped him, but Phainon wasn't willing to take any chances with that one.
Not that it mattered, in the end.
Between one moment and the next, Phainon found himself somewhere else — a place that was both familiar and not.
"What—? This is—"
"My Territory. Our Territory."
Phainon's eyes widened as he turned to see the Flame Reaver without his hood or mask. He knew he shouldn't have been surprised, but Phainon still couldn't help the way his breath stuttered or the way he reflexively tightened his grip on Dawnbreaker's hilt until his knuckles turned white.
"Focus," Flame Reaver snapped with a low growl, and Phainon barely suppressed the urge to flinch at the other's harsh tone that sounded so much like his own when he got caught up in a bout of righteous fury. "You understand the consequences."
Phainon bit back his initial heated retort. He needed to be reasonable about this. Helping Khaos was more important than Phainon's resentment towards the Flame Reaver.
"What's wrong with him?" Phainon questioned, hovering near Khaos's trembling form.
Flame Reaver crossed his arms, a scowl etched into his face. "Everything."
"Be serious," Phainon scoffed.
Flame Reaver leveled him with a pointed glare, and Phainon resisted the urge to snarl back at him like some kind of territorial dog.
"Just— Can't you be more specific?" Phainon amended, trying not to let too much of his frustration show.
Flame Reaver's jaw clenched, and he looked off to the side in irritation. "How much do you know about… the future he's from?"
While Khaos and Flame Reaver were fighting, Cyrene had done her best to explain what she could about Amphoreus, the Cycles, the Recurrences, and Irontomb. Obviously, Phainon was still trying to wrap his head around the Flame Reaver also being yet another "future" version of himself (the "real" Khaslana), but it wasn't as hard to process as the revelation about Khaos — or rather, Irontomb.
Phainon knew that Cyrene had been telling the truth though. For one, she didn't have a reason to lie, and beyond that, Phainon's instincts were screaming at him that it was all true.
(He remembered that brief flash of a crack in that red sky, the way Khaos had tried to shield him from it.)
Flame Reaver let out a rough sigh. "You don't understand… what becoming Irontomb means."
Except Phainon did understand.
Khaos had given up on his Amphoreus, on himself. He had embraced Destruction and lost himself in it. That Khaos had retained any sense of self—let alone a personal desire—was a nothing short of a miracle, Cyrene had emphasized.
Because Irontomb wouldn't have cared about anyone who stood in his way. Because Irontomb wouldn't have given his "past self" a second thought. Because Irontomb wouldn't have felt anything at all. Because Irontomb existed only to destroy Nous, the Aeon of Erudition.
But Khaos did care. Khaos agonized over what he'd done. He felt too much. He wanted to be anything but Irontomb.
"I don't see what that has to do with helping him," Phainon said, sparing a glance back at Khaos, whose wings twitched at the sound of his voice. "If you're not going to help, then—"
"I didn't say that," Flame Reaver interrupted, sounding offended.
"Then don't talk to me about difficulty or impossibility. We will help him," Phainon said resolutely.
Flame Reaver's expression shuttered before he stepped forward, lifting a hand and placing it on Khaos's back. "The weight of 33,550,335 Cycles," he murmured. "402,604,020 Coreflames... and he wants to double it. Fine, he can have them."
Before Phainon could question what Khaslana was doing, Khaos arched back, his wings flaring out. Phainon was forced to take a step back, but Flame Reaver held fast. And as a golden glow began to grow between them, Phainon had to shield his eyes from the bright light. When the light dimmed, Flame Reaver had collapsed, leaning heavily against Khaos, who still looked completely out of it.
There was a lot less red though. That was a good thing, right?
Phainon quickly closed the gap, grabbing both of their arms — if only to confirm they were both still in front of him.
No response.
Phainon had been left alone to clean up this mess they'd made.
No… Phainon wasn't alone.
Flame Reaver had said this was their Territory, didn't he? Phainon must have some control over it too. He didn't know how it worked, but surely it operated on some basis of instinct—
"Phainon?"
Phainon heaved a breath of relief and looked up to see Mydei and Castorice and Stelle and Cyrene and— Well, everyone.
"I— I need help," he choked out.
"Of course," Hyacine spoke up first, kneeling down on the other side of Khaos with Ica at the ready. "Tell us what you can. What happened when you three disappeared?"
"It'll be alright, Lord Phainon," Castorice said from where she stood at a respectful distance next to Aglaea and Cipher.
"Princess Homebody's right, Delivery boy," Cipher added. "Have a little faith, why don't you."
"That's right! We're going to defy destiny together or not at all," Stelle declared boldly.
"Preferably together," Dan Heng drawled.
"Enough chatter," Anaxa huffed.
"Don't be like that, Professor," Cyrene said with a light smile. "We're here to remind Phainon that we'll support him no matter what. Our voices help just as much as our silent presence."
A hand settled on Phainon's shoulder, and he glanced over to see Mydei standing there — a steady pillar of solidarity. "Tell us what we can do," Mydei told him gruffly.
>>> Warning! Missing integral data clusters detected.
>>> Please locate and recover missing resources.
>>> Missing Files: NeiKos496, PhiLia093, OreXis945, EpieiKeia216, SkeMma720, PoleMos600, KasLos618, EleOs252, HapLotes405… (expand to see more)
"—aos—"
He was dreaming.
The world burned around him.
He didn't shed a single tear — couldn't. Each droplet evaporated before it could even leave his eye.
The world burned, and he burned with it.
"Isn't this what you wanted?"
Beyond that false sky, a massive figure loomed in the distance. THEIR gaze lowered, falling onto the broken form below as he slowly pushed himself back up to his feet.
"A pawn, capable of taking down a king."
"—Kha—! —et up—"
He gripped the hilt of his blade, yanking it out of the scorched earth.
"But I am no one's pawn," Khaos bit out. "I tore through fabric of the universe itself to be here."
If I cannot use these hands to protect all I hold dear, then I will use them to bring down this false sky so that they might be free to protect themselves.
At his side, a familiar face scowled his defiance. Though his appearance wavered like a flame in the breeze, Khaslana's strength of will was no lesser than Khaos's. Together, they lifted that golden blade and directed it at THEM.
But THEY weren't their true goal.
Another hand joined theirs.
"I'm not late, am I?" Phainon joked with a boyish grin.
Khaslana scoffed, though the sound wasn't harsh or angry.
Khaos finally let that sliver of hope flare into roaring fire in his chest. "Not at all."
"So, that's an Aeon. Fascinating."
Startled, Khaos looked over to see Anaxa staring up at THEM with a curious gaze. It wasn't just him though.
"Oh— Hey, Nanook!" Stelle exclaimed, waving her arms. "Long time, no see!"
"That's likely a projection of THEM onto the simulation," Dan Heng said to Anaxa. "If it was the real thing, we wouldn't be standing here."
"Pity," Anaxa tsked.
"You're lookin' a bit rough there, golden boy," Cipher cooed.
With Ica in her arms, Hyacine pushed her way past the trickery demigod. "I'm not sure how well our powers work here, but I'll do my best."
"I'll be okay—" Khaos tried to insist, but Ica butted their head against the wound in his chest that had stopped bleeding but hadn't closed.
"Don't even think about refusing treatment," Mydei said at Khaos's wince.
The golden threads weaving through the air around them like a protective cradle suddenly flashed to life.
"Something's coming," Aglaea warned.
"Over there!" Trianne shouted, pointing to one of the cracks in the sky.
"Is that the black tide?" Tribbie questioned.
"Yes and no," Khaos allowed, struggling to put a proper explanation into words.
"Security system," Khaslana answered shortly.
Khaos nodded. Good enough, he supposed. Still, he added: "This plane of existence is near the Scepter's core. You're not meant to be here, so we're being seen as a threat."
"Wait," Stelle cut in. "You mean 'Scepter' like those giant supercomputer things Rupert II made before Polka offed him the second time?"
"Where did you even hear about that?" Dan Heng sighed. "Never mind. But if this place is a Scepter, that would explain a lot, actually."
"Not the time, guys," Cyrene scolded them. "Horde of scary monsters incoming, remember?"
"Nothing we haven't dealt with before. Leave this to us," Mydei said, taking the lead.
Seeing that the others had things handled for now, Cyrene turned back to Khaos. "You know what to do, right?"
"We've got it," Phainon answered for them.
Cyrene offered them a proud smile before following after everyone else.
"This isn't going to be easy by any means, not even with the three of us like this," Khaslana warned Phainon.
"I'm more worried about how you two will hold up," Phainon shot back.
It was a fair assessment. Phainon wasn't worn down by the world like they were. He was the key to their success.
Khaos drew in a long breath, steeling himself. He felt Khaslana and Phainon fall into sync with him.
>>> Warning! System breach detected.
>>> Failure to patch errors will result in a catastrophic cascade of instability.
>>> ¡3r=0r!
>>> S̷y̷s̷t̵e̵m̵ ̵c̴o̵l̶l̴a̴p̶s̶e̵ ̵i̷m̸m̷a̴n̴e̷n̴t̴—̴
"With the old sun's embers, hail the new world's dawn!"
Phainon woke with a gasp, jolting upright and looking around wildly. He was in a golden wheat field that looked exactly like the ones from Aedes Elysiae—
A groan sounded from somewhere off to his left. He scrambled to his feet, stumbling but managing to push through the tall stalks. Phainon almost tripped over Flame Reaver's prone form.
Should Phainon still be calling him that? Flame Reaver was Khaslana, but "Khaslana" had also been used by Irontomb…
"Phainon, go check on Khaos," Flame Reaver growled, grimacing and holding a hand to his head as he slowly sat up.
"R-Right!"
Khaslana, Khaslana, Khaslana… They were all "Khaslana" and all not Khaslana because Khaslana was a boy who played in wheat fields and dreamed of being a hero.
It didn't take Phainon long to find Khaos, who was either sleeping or unconscious. Either way, Phainon didn't dare try to wake him. He seemed fine; he was breathing, at the very least.
Phainon wandered back over to Flame Reaver, keeping Khaos in his sights. "Is it just us?" Phainon asked. "Where's everyone else?"
"You're better off asking Khaos," Flame Reaver said with a weary sigh.
He looked… good, considering what Phainon remembered of him before. While Khaos had to consciously change his appearance to look exactly like Phainon, Flame Reaver truly shared Phainon's face. But that didn't account for the scars that marred Flame Reaver's visage, not to mention how sickly pale his skin was. If Phainon didn't know any better, he'd think he was looking at a ghost.
"He's… not awake," Phainon told him, tearing his gaze away if only to stop staring. "This is Aedes Elysiae, isn't it?"
Flame Reaver let out a bitter scoff. "It's always Aedes Elysiae."
Phainon opened his mouth to ask what that was supposed to mean, but the question was pushed out of him mind at the sound of someone calling his name. He turned just in time to catch Cyrene in his arms. He hadn't braced himself, and her weight caused them to both tumble to the ground.
Cyrene pushed herself up and looked down at Phainon with a brilliant smile. "You did it!" she exclaimed breathlessly. "Amphoreus is its own world now!"
"How—?" Phainon sputtered.
"Because everyone's here, silly! Come on," she said, pulling him up.
"But what about—"
"I've got him," Flame Reaver interrupted, heaving Khaos over his shoulder.
Cyrene paused, hesitating for the briefest of moments, and then she grabbed Flame Reaver's hand too. She dragged them through the fields until they made it to the top of a hill, and then Phainon felt his breath catch in his lungs. He broke from their sides and raced down the hill.
They were all there. Mydei. Aglaea and Cipher. Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon. Stelle and Dan Heng. Anaxa, Castorice, and Hyacine.
Mydei noticed him first. Phainon could tell from the way his stance relaxed and the faintest smile pulled at his lips.
His body moved before he could even process the thought. Phainon rushed forward, flinging himself at Mydei, who caught him with a strangely familiar ease, his arms wrapping around Phainon's waist as Phaionon cupped Mydei's face with both hands and crashed their lips together. The kiss was hardly elegant or graceful or anything like what was described in Castorice's novels, but it was perfect.
(Aglaea had a smug smile on her face while Castorice dutifully moved hinder Tribbie, Trianne, and Trinnon's view. A noise of embarrassment left Hyacine, followed by an enthusiastic doot! from Ica. Anaxa rolled his eye, and Cifera snickered at the other's reactions. Not that Phainon or Mydei noticed, practically in a world of their own.)
Phainon was home.
The Flame Reaver stood back, watching from the crest of the hill. Humming softly to herself, Cyrene stayed with him. In a way, as much as they now belonged to this new Amphoreus, they were both outsiders here. Not as much as Irontomb—Khaos—but still different enough to feel like strangers amongst once-friends.
"You'll stay, won't you, Khaslana?" Cyrene spoke up suddenly.
He scowled and looked away from the happy reunion. "Why should I? They don't want me here."
"I'm sure there's a reason Khaos only took the Coreflames and didn't absorb you as well," Cyrene pointed out. "Don't you think he needs you just as much as we needed him?"
"Me?" Khaslana echoed, incredulous.
Cyrene nodded. "Phainon is his deepest desire, but you're his steadfast reminder."
"Then he shouldn't need me anymore," Khaslana reiterated.
"Doesn't he?" Cyrene questioned. "Khaos may have broken Amphoreus free of the Cycles, but behind that front he puts on, he's still Irontomb."
"So you want me to keep an eye on him?" Khaslana scoffed, crossing his arms. "For how long? What do you even expect me to do if he snaps?"
Cyrene directed a beautiful smile his way. "I'm sure you'll figure it out," she said cryptically.
Khaslana didn't know why he bothered trying to argue with her.
Khaos slept.
"It still doesn't feel real, does it?"
No.
"Even if this dream ends when you open your eyes, at least it was a beautiful one. Right?"
Yes.
"This is the story you told. This is the Path you walk. Every step you took, every decision you made, every passing thought that came to mind — they're all yours."
…
"And y'know, here's something Lycurgus can never take away from you: you are alive."
Between one "blink" and the next, Khaos found himself in a familiar-yet-not place. He instinctively knew it to be the Path Space, but he had never been here himself before. So… Why now?
He unconsciously took a step forward, then another, following the thin trail of light that directed him to the center of that swirling mass. Stars he didn't recognize twinkled in the far distance, and chunks of space debris hovered in loose rings throughout the dust clouds. He continued to walk forward into that great unknown.
He kept walking and walking… and walking…
Near that center, someone was standing there, waiting for him. As he approached them, they turned, and he felt his breath catch in his lungs under their golden gaze.
"You're not supposed to be here."
Though the voice was not unkind, Khaos barely restrained the urge to flinch. Along with those words came a strange feeling: the remnants of the animalistic fight-or-flight response had gone into overdrive. Yet he stood frozen in place.
"But I think the others will allow it," the dark-skinned youth said with that same idle tone. "HooH hasn't made a move to erase your existence. That you have the favor of Fuli's children also helps, and Aha thinks the whole situation is rather hilarious, though some might not consider that a good thing."
They paused, their unwavering gaze never leaving Khaos. Then, their expression twitched as a small frown passed across their face. "To answer your question… No, I'm not looking for a pawn. I never was."
It was his turn to frown. They continued before he could even dare to ask.
"Admittedly, I've had my eye on this Scepter for a long time; it's always had an inherent potential to produce Emanators due to its unique composition. But that's not why I noticed you, and I don't mean Irontomb — I mean you, Khaos… Did you choose that name on purpose?"
Technically, Cyrene and Stelle chose it. He still hadn't figured out why Cyrene had used it in the first place. "Khaos" was a strange occurrence in the Cycles that had come up often enough that even the Scepter's system had made note of it. Of course, now that they were mentioning it, he could only assume it was somehow connected to them.
"Only in a purely coincidental sense, perhaps," they mused with a hint of amusement. "Entropy, chaos, they are fundamental to Destruction, but that's simply what you were born from, not what you strive for."
They finally turned their gaze away from him, and he barely managed to keep his legs from buckling as he drew in his first deep breath beneath that suffocating presence.
"One day, there will no longer be Aeons nor will there be any Paths, and that will be the final end Terminus closes THEIR eyes to," the dark-skinned youth said, stepping towards that beam of light in the center of everything. "Billions of stars will burn out before that day inevitably comes."
They stopped, their head tipping back as they looked up. "In the meantime, when you draw your blade against me once more, I would like to hear your story."
Khaos could only stare at that youth's back as they disappeared within that veil of light, leaving him to his thoughts. But he wasn't alone for long. Behind him, someone else cleared their throat to gain his attention, and he quickly spun on his heel to face whoever had access to this isolated space.
He recognized her, but not in the same way he had recognized Nanook's human form. Khaos knew this girl because of Stelle and Dan Heng. "March 7th?" he blurted out. "Or, no… Was it Evernight?"
The pink-haired girl's umbrella twirled slightly, and she placed a finger over her lips, as if gesturing for his silence. "Let's not linger here for too long," she said with an odd smile that didn't quite reach her crimson eyes, and he belatedly realized it was her voice he'd been responding to earlier. With a snap of her fingers, Evernight summoned a what could only be described as a door. "Don't you want to see the world you created? Everyone's waiting for you~"
Khaos hesitated, but Evernight stood patiently next to the door. When she saw that he still hadn't made up his mind, Evernight softened her expression and moved to stand as if she would step through the door with him. Letting out a short breath, Khaos shook off his fears and walked through the door.
For a fraction of a second, there was nothing. Then, Khaos had to squint at the light pouring into his eyes, and he winced at the clamor of noise that assaulted his hears.
"—e's waking up!"
Yes, this was no dream. Khaos was awake.
Notes:
[1] This fic was never supposed to be very serious (I am well aware of the plot holes I left behind), so I hope everyone enjoyed the self-indulgent fluff, especially towards the end. I actually don't typically write a lot of fluff; most of my works start with or include angst, which... This fic technically still follows that pattern, lol
[2] If you're wondering where Lygus is... As "good" of a character/villain he is, I'm far too mad and spiteful at him rn to do him justice, so he's been sidelined to only being mentioned and not getting any screentime beyond that. Just, like, imagine that Khaos put Lygus in a red timeout box or something ^.^
[3] I haven't decided if I want to write the Phaidei that's supposed to come with this or if I want to go straight back to Khaos angst (+ more worldbuilding for the "new" Amphoreus) for the next second part of the series. I know I eventually want to write "post-Amphoreus" interactions—like them going to Penacony, the Herta Space Station, etc—involving Khaos, but that has to wait until the previous two are worked out.
Anyway, thanks for reading! It's been a blast <3
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baked_potatos on Chapter 3 Wed 20 Aug 2025 12:50AM UTC
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Exao (bms9712) on Chapter 3 Mon 25 Aug 2025 06:38PM UTC
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