Chapter Text
The Other Side of Paradise
by springfieldofcherryblossoms/umi-sen-yama-sen
Act I.
Back in the days when Phainon was only at his peak of puberty, in Aedes Elysiae's sea of wheat fields, he once dreamed of the future.
A future in which he would venture far beyond his home onto the road of righteousness, protecting and shielding the helpless and becoming the hero that his mother and father, as well as his friend Cyrene, would be extremely proud of.
But then, there was also a strange dream that he had once. A hazy glimpse of someone, with a mop of hair in an achromatic color of a lightness intermediate between the extremes of black and white. A color of silvery gray that fully reminds him of the smoke wafting through the grooves of each household's chimney in his hometown. If he wanted to delve deeper into word flattery and have a more in-depth dissertation on the color, he thought the hue was a perfect color of intellect and compromise. A diplomatic color that bridges the gap between pure and impure.
Inwardly, Phainon considered it a color of mystery. Similar to how it abruptly materialized in his dreams one day, it vanished just as quickly. Every time he closed his eyes, he couldn't identify the person—not even a clear image of this enigmatic figure. Despite his best efforts, he was only able to remember the color—not the face.
And to think that it left him feeling remarkably empty afterwards. Like he was longing for something he wasn't even certain existed.
"Perhaps your subconscious mind is projecting a sense of lack of fulfillment in your daily life onto your dreams,” Cyrene had once wondered, before flashing him a knowing yet teasing look he was already familiar with. "Or perhaps you're dreaming about someone you wanted to meet someday.”
"Is that possible?" He remembered himself questioning the pinkette, intrigued but doubtful of the prospect of him 'wanting' to meet someone. "Even if I didn't know who it might be?”
She smiled and said, "Nothing is impossible, Phainon." Her bright eyes were almost eerie, as if she knew something he didn't. “One day, you'll have to meet a lot of people who will play significant roles in your life. This individual you dreamed about might be one of them.”
Even though her remarks alone didn't fully satisfy him, Phainon stopped questioning the meaning of his dream. He simply allowed it to linger in his thoughts for months and then years until it ceased to exist in his goal-oriented mind—the dream now merely forgotten in the passage of time.
In one ominous fateful day, the sun above turned red and the wheat fields were charred into ashes. Black Tide swept into his village. The corrupted water that dissolves souls and has destroyed numerous city-states in Amphoreus, killing many of the people he knew. From his parents, who were unable to escape the tide and perished in the inky depths beneath—absolutely claiming their lives—to Uncle Galba and Piso, who attempted to fight off the emerging ghoul-like creatures but died in dire circumstances due to their obvious powerlessness against the unknown; and last but not least, to Mrs. Pythias and Livia, who transformed into horrifying monsters that fell from his trembling hands.
He remembered how his voice failed him from nonstop screaming, how it cracked, raw and full of misery, calling out for the people who had once made the village complete but were now completely gone, becoming just one of the innumerable tragedies that befell Amphoreus.
And when dawn broke in the aftermath of the village's devastation, even though he was covered in golden wounds from head to toe, he buried the dead one by one; he even built a makeshift grave for every life lost, including his parents, who were swallowed by the tide.
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Full of hatred, hurt, and despair, he was forced to leave his hometown along with Cyrene. They left the village with the hopes of fulfilling both of their new roles outside of the comforts of their former home. Drained and absolutely lost, he met someone named Aglaea, who introduced him to the Flame-Chase Journey and explained what it meant to be a Chrysos Heir.
As two young drifters from afar, Phainon joined the Holy City's legion and became an Okheman soldier, while his friend became a student within the Oronyx's temple. He recalled never giving up, training day and night until tough swordplay became as natural as breathing—to the point where it felt like a dance to him. It was both liberating and gratifying. Every time he swung his weapon in the air, duplicating every technique he remembered from the scrolls, his once-childish goal to be a full-fledged warrior became more than just a fantasy.
And what happened afterwards had him meeting his first-ever rival, the crowned prince of Kremnos, the Undying Mydeimos, who had led his forces to the gates of Okhema, which caused a flurry of panic among priests and ordinary people alike. He still remembered how this Kremnoan challenged the elders of Okhema to a duel, not for glory, but for his people's rights and dignity, to ensure they would not be treated as second-class citizens in foreign lands.
And with the Goldweaver's mediation, Phainon was subjected as the elders’ representative to the prince's challenge. A duel using the Talanton’s Scales of Justice, where they must submit their offerings—something that has more weight than the fate of the world.
The Son of Gorgo, the lion apart from the rest, was renowned to be formidable and undefeated, yet the duel ended with an ordinary soldier as the victor, with his “Deliverer” card weighing far more than the Signet of Kremnos that the prince presented to the scales.
For some reason, Mydeimos did not feel bitter about the outcome; instead, it felt like a concealed acknowledgement on his part. The prince started to respect the weight of a single tarot card, including Phainon's humble origins. He had to say that it triggered the beginnings of a good rivalry-like relationship between them that would remain for years, with Mydeimos continuing to refer to him as "Deliverer" instead of his name following their duel.
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Of course, it took him a while to adjust to his new life in Okhema, and juggling both of his responsibilities as a soldier and a student of the Grove had been difficult but nonetheless pleasant. For starters, he met Professor Anaxagoras, who was by far the most eccentric scholar he knew. Despite his eccentricity and Phainon's lack of interest in logic, he learnt to embrace and admire the scholar's way—if not too blunt—of teaching by searching for the truth.
“Do not fear blasphemy.”
Aside from the professor, he became acquainted with Miss Hyacinthia and Miss Castorice, who were also part of the Chrysos Heirs. As Anaxagoras' students who exclusively adhered to Nousporist doctrine, they grew close over the course of several years.
(And he was really appreciative of the professor's rigorous but stimulating lessons; he learned a lot, and even he didn't anticipate that he would win a lot of debates against those arrogant noble scholars. Professor Anaxa's insightful advice had been very beneficial in helping him sharpen his intellect, and for some reason, some scholars had been afraid to challenge him in public debates.)
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During his time in the Grove, Phainon would frequently ponder about Aedes Elysiae in his moments of seclusion.
His hometown had become a part of Amphoreus' history, and small archives of the village were kept in a specific section of the Grove's vast library. He would occasionally find himself in those sections of shelves, poring over whatever records there were regarding the places that had tragically succumbed to the ruthless surge of the Black Tide.
It has been many years since he left Aedes Elysiae, but Phainon had never forgotten the golden sea of wheat of his hometown and the sense of comfort that it brought him. Every time he closed his eyes, he could still vividly recall the warmth exuding from the light coming from the Dawn Device all the way to his village.
And during the night ever since he left his village, he was plagued with countless visions of himself in a dream, along with a sweet whisper murmuring in his ears akin to a lover's caress, cajoling him to move forward. Again and again.
“..... this….lead…”
“....be….you….no matter what.”
“Go….become a hero.”
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The struggle against the Black Tide had severely weakened many people's hopes. Many had been corrupted; the rally against the Titans to seize their Coreflames was also under way; the Chrysos Heirs had no choice but to act.
It was all to fulfill the Prophecy of Genesis, to carry out Kephale's will to the bitter end. For the sake of the upcoming new dawn.
Seize the coreflames.
Uphold the world.
That is the Flame-Chase.
For Era Nova.
He witnessed the god wielding the Lance of Fury devolve into madness. Together with his brother-in-arms, they gave the mad god his final release and watched as Nikador fell, their remains spread like golden ashes in the wind.
He watched his old mentor compete against so many others in a public debate about the Coreflame of Reason. He was forced to confront him and see a brutal execution that would never leave his mind, not until his memory deteriorated with time.
He was also there when the battle in the sky commenced. Seeking to seize the Coreflame of one Titan among the skies, he crossed the rainbow bridge, breaching over the gloom with his blazing spirit akin to a scorching sun.
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Cyrene had once told him about her strange dream when she was younger. About dreaming of a dark, frigid room with nothing but Oronyx's curtain shining like crystals, containing the entire Amphoreus and staging odd and fantastic dramas within it.
She even mentioned that it had innumerable versions of them from a variety of universes. At first, he saw the dream differently after hearing about it as a young boy. Since he was too young to even consider such a dream negatively, he just only thought it was harmless and interesting, and perhaps even magical in some aspects.
However, as he grew older, he stumbled over the old memory as though he had been suddenly struck with a startling insight. This made him wonder: What if Cyrene's dream wasn't a simple dream at all? What if it was way more than that? A kind of warning? A glimpse of a more complex and significant issue that might arise in the future?
Being Professor Anaxa's student for nearly ten years had taught him about the concept of possibility, and Cyrene's unique dream in which she saw a simulation in Oronyx's curtain was another thing that he couldn't simply ignore.
His belief in his friend's competence in the art of divination was not the only reason; he also felt as though he was experiencing unexpected visions in his sleep that were far too genuine to be considered surrealistic. An alternate world. A different version of himself in a different setting, making similar or opposite judgments.
What if what he saw in his dreams was exactly what the other Phainon saw in his own world?
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Wherever he went, he always carried the echoes of his home.
Phainon of Aedes Elysiae, a humble young lad from a tiny village who took on the role of the "Deliverer.”
The destined one of the prophecy, who will bear the wishes of many, the one who will usher everyone to the new dawn. To answer the world's call.
If he had to be honest with himself, he wasn't fully convinced he had what it took to be the Deliverer. He remembered telling his father once that he wasn't cut out for this “Deliverer” role, for he is nothing special. His inner turmoil over failure occasionally overtook him, leaving him unsure if he possessed the capacity to carry everyone's hopes for a brighter future free of strife. Can he even save everyone?
“Deliverer, leads us forward.”
Aglaea's words weighed heavily on his shoulders. He remembered that he could only provide a practiced, reassuring smile to conceal the bitter ache in his core. Her all-knowing eyes might have felt his hesitancy through his silence, but he refused to ever show the world his worry of the unknown.
"Now, Deliverer, I will put my people in your capable hands. You have my complete trust. May the new dawn be upon us.”
Like the Goldweaver's, the weight of Mydei's last words had also taken place on his shoulders—
“Snowy… No matter what the outcome is, please don't you ever blame yourself.”
—and another one.
“Lord Phainon, I can see every color of human souls, and yours was like a bright beacon that shines among the rest. I have a feeling that you will lead humanity until the very end.”
Again—
“Deliverer boy! You owe me this one!”
—and again.
“May our journey's end be one without darkness, Lord Phainon.”
And again.
“May this world never again need a Deliverer.”
With the light from the Dawn Device gone, plunging Amphoreus into total darkness, Phainon was certain that the Black Tide would eventually arrive in the holy city soon enough.
"As long as there are still people who love this world," he said, watching the red-hued skies. "A Deliverer is destined to appear.”
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When they finally secured the Coreflame of Worldbearing, only he and Cyrene were left to see the horror and tragedy that would become Amphoreus. He watched the skies remain scarlet as he listened to people's screams and sorrowful sobs, which woefully mirrored his own ruined emotional state.
He remembered seeing a sight that made him question what was going on in his world. It didn't seem to be about the Black Tide anymore; it was far too complicated to be considered as such, with the way the skies were turning into something unfathomable that he couldn't find the perfect words to fully express.
“Phainon… We set out on this journey to answer the world's desire, didn't we?”
“That's what it means to be a Chrysos Heir. So has it always been.”
“Then why…” He could still vividly recall how her voice cracked every time she continued speaking, “...Why must Amphoreus’ wishes be so...cruel?”
He didn't know. He really didn't know.
“We made the best choices we could, whenever we could! But in the end... The prophecy that led us...this Black Tide swallowing everything…”
“...”
“Why does it look like this?”
"...Do you see it, too?" He found himself asking, his gaze still fixed on the bizarre scene above them. "Those burn marks…the flickering cubes…they're not a tide at all."
Cyrene stepped beside him to watch how the skies were changing, he finished.
“They're more like….a shattered telestate.”
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When Cyrene took over Oronyx's authority and Coreflame, they immediately headed to the Vortex of Genesis to surrender all twelve Coreflames, but much to their astonishment, someone was already waiting for them at the end of their journey. An apathetic, familiar figure who was certainly not who they expected to greet them, as this individual had never expressed interest in the Flame-Chase Journey.
Someone who maintained a neutral stance in every crisis. The Antikytheran, known as Lygus, was an honored and influential member of the Council of Elders. A highly esteemed individual in Amphoreus, revered by many for an unknown number of generations.
When Lygus started talking about "Scepters," how he had acquired one and changed the computation's nature from Erudition to Destruction, and how many "extrapolations" were required to "calculate the prime mover of life," all of this supported his suspicion that something was wrong with the terminus of their journey.
While it initially confused him, as he was completely clueless of every foreign word uttered by the Antikytheran, it eventually dawned upon him that Lygus was attempting to compare his world to a very large database, in which this so-called Scepter created Amphoreus as a simulated world.
A part of him thought that if Amphoreus was a mere simulation, then it totally explained everything he saw in Okhema—where he saw the burn marks, odd-looking flickering cubes, along with the shattered crimson skies…
But, of course, the in-denial part of himself had to voice his complete disapproval, including his clear incredulity that Amphoreus was being simulated. He just…couldn't believe it. If his reality was only a simulation, what about the Chrysos Heirs and the centuries-old prophecy they followed and believed? Was Era Nova a lie? What about the innumerable innocent people who have been killed unjustly in this world?
In his heart, they were all real. Phainon refused to accept the part where they were only mere internal variables of an experiment. He didn't want to believe that everything was all programmed for the sake of an equation. Following millions of extrapolations in Amphoreus, where the Titans' and Chrysos Heirs' deaths for each repeated cycle served as the primary factor in processing and accelerating the hatching of this so-called Irontomb, all of its outcomes inevitably resulted in Destruction, continuously completing a reversal against Erudition through their self-evolution.
“So, the ‘results’ you speak of… are this wreckage of a world?” He remembered saying, his emotions were in full chaos, divided between fury and disbelief. “We all gave everything we had, returning twelve Coreflames to recreate the world… and in return…”
“Phainon…”
“We become nothing more than sacrificial offerings at the end of everything…?”
The more he listened to Lygus' explanation of reality, the more nauseated he became, thinking about all his fellow Chrysos Heirs who had to devote their lives to accomplish the new dawn. Every hopeful wish and recollection of memories was like a sharp knife piercing his heart; it nearly made it difficult for him to breathe.
Lygus answered, apathetic. “The cycles of the ‘Hero's Journey’ that have played out until now were never about creating a new world or perfect heroes and gods. They were a deep-learning program made for the Black Tide.”
His expectations for a new world grew dim. All of the efforts and sacrifices had been in vain. It made him more distraught for the senseless sacrifices committed, particularly for his cherished companions who perished unaware of the truth behind the prophecy, as well as the different path away from Erudition that Amphoreus unintentionally followed.
The golden blood coursing through their veins belonged to the Blemished One, whose name was "Destruction" itself. And, as such, the Chrysos Heirs were, from the start, fuel for the Aeon to burn the universe.
He was forced to face the harsh reality, although with bitterness, despite his best efforts to persuade himself otherwise. The gravity of the situation far outweighed his personal rage and refusal to accept the facts as they were.
The birth of a new Lord Ravager must be deferred until they can find a means to completely stop it. They could not allow the cocoon to hatch because it would endanger the entirety of the world. If not stopped, the Irontomb will break free from its constraints in Amphoreus, annihilating the entire cosmos after its ascension.
The following step was a gamble. It was a risk where they had to take extreme steps to avoid the Irontomb from being released by performing the unimaginable. Aside from relying on any Aeons who happened to gaze upon Amphoreus other than Destruction, he and Cyrene decided to take matters into their own hands by deceiving the world—by weaving a long dream in which the experiment was still ongoing. Hoping that if Time and its records vanished, it would one day catch this specific Aeon's attention and spare Amphoreus from its unfortunate fate.
It was only a wishful thought of his, but if not an Aeon, they hoped that someone outside of this simulated world could break Amphoreus' never-ending cycles, saving everyone from the world's impending destruction.
With Cyrene's ceremonial blade in hand, he remembered how his hands almost shook, his newfound determination faltering for a moment as the weight of a new grave responsibility began to descend on his shoulders. He had to tell himself over and over that her self-sacrifice to erase Time, as well as his acceptance and fortitude in enduring new cycles to keep Irontomb from awakening, were required for them to progress on this new path.
Phainon remembered how he saw his friend one last time, wearing a comforting smile he had always been accustomed to seeing. How he had to harden himself before delivering her a swift and painless death, and how her once sparkling eyes lost their radiance as she limped in his arms, golden blood flowing from the stab wound he inflicted.
Even when she completely vanished along with Time, leaving her hopes and dreams of the future in him. He remembered weeping as he lamented the loss of every existence, including his own, as he took over Kephale's authority, shedding half of his mortal self to become the demigod of Worldbearing.
The name Phainon was no more, for he had chosen to stand his ground no matter how long it would take for this journey to end.
“So, let's set out. We will be the ones to start everything…”
“Carry the primordial chaos, just as your name suggests, and bear this world we hold so dear…”
“So long, Khaslana.”
And a new chapter had begun, with him alone bearing the weight of the world, marking the first Eternal Recurrence by resetting time with Cyrene's final act of sacrifice.