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It’s a sudden cold flash when he awakens, gasping for air, clutching his chest.
“Phainon!” A distant voice calls to him, getting closer.
“Deliverer!” Another.
His fingers wipe his brow as he sits up in the grass, holding his head while he shuts his eyes as he tries to ignore the chorus of voices getting closer and closer. His head swirls and pounds, his body almost seem to tense in anticipation of the strain of millions of cycles before relaxing. His shoulders sag after doing so, a hand soon on his chest after realizing that the coreflames within weren’t doused, but were absent all together.
“Khaslana!”
It was that name that made him tilt his head upward. Blinking open his eyes, the sunlight is almost blinding at first, but he almost embraces how much it stings, reminding him that he’s alive. Eventually the shadows of people fall onto him, belonging to those who ran up, leaning down to check on him. He squints as he tries to make sense of it all, before he finds himself being propped up by gentle hands.
“Lord Phainon! Are you okay?” He recognizes her as his eyes focus, and he finds a pink haired woman kneeled next to him, rummaging around in a bag of supplies. He blinks again, to make sure what he was seeing was real, before realizing who that pink haired individual truly was.
“A fall like that won’t kill him so easy, Hyacine. Will it, Deliverer?” He hears a familiar scoff and looks up at the voice, met with a golden gauntlet belonging to the king of Kremnos to bring help him up.
“No,” he chuckles, “It won’t. Not after all that, I hope.” Grabbing Mydeimos’ hand he hoists himself up, stumbling forward, only to be caught by Mydei, letting him lean on him.
He smiles as he looks down at his three teachers as they approach, looks of worry identical on each of their faces. “Snowy! You’re not going to burn up, are you? Do you feel funny?” He smiles as he looks down at his three teachers as they approach, shaking his head as he chuckles.
“No, lady Tribios, far from it.”
He fixes his hair after he shakes his head, his attention soon grabbed by the golden weaver herself, Aglaea. She approaches him, a look on her face akin to a worried parent.
“I’m surprised you’re not worse for wear, after a fall like that.” She says, dusting off his shoulder, her gentle hands smoothing out his hair, giving up at any attempts to flatten the two locks of hair that stuck up at the top.
“It didn’t look that bad, did it? I wasn’t really aware of anything until just now…”
“You shot across the sky like a shooting star, Phainon. Even at twilight you shone so bright, it was practically impossible not to notice you.”
Castorice nods as she emerges alongside Cipher and Anaxagoras, a soft expression on her face.
“We all came to see what fell from the sky…imagine our relief to see it was you.” She says.
“Was hoping it’d be a rock that could sell nice…but given our track record of how things from the sky end up being heroes, I can’t complain.” Cipher quips, hands on her hips as she tilts her head.
“Thanks to you, however,” Anaxagoras chimes in, “It seems we’ll have to rewrite some tales about certain people flying too close to the sun.” He crosses his arms, giving an approving look that only so many get in their lifetimes from him, before speaking again with a chuckle.
“…Welcome home, Khaslana of Aedes Elysiae.”
It is an overwhelming feeling in his chest that bubbles up, seeing all his comrades around him, flesh and blood, real and tangible. It starts as a small chuckle, and then laughter, as the feeling comes to a head as a few tears of joy streak down his cheeks. He feels his body get squeezed by those who give him hugs, or those who ruffle his hair affectionately, the shoulders meant for world bearing now only meant to carry the love given to him.
“…I’m home.”
As the sun sets, he sits on the edge of the world within the exotale, staring out at the horizon the stars that had formed in Amphoreus’s glorious wake. It had only been hours since the heirs had found him crash landed within the exotale, and only now has he had a chance to process it all. Every inhabitant of Amphoreus had remembered each lifetime, all 33 million, as if they were as clear as crystal in their minds. It was a nerve wracking experience having to realize that, fully expecting them to hold some ill will for all that he had done in the name of defying the cruelty put upon them all. Yet he was met with unanimous welcome and celebration as he returned, as the hero he had yearned to be all this time, inspired by the Trailblazer who fell from the sky.
But he would always maintain that they were the heroes instead, every single one of them.
Yet for all the reunions, his heart had always ached for the one he had wished for the most, the girl from his home, the one he spent countless hours with all his life, and the one he would bear the weight of the world again and again for, without question.
Cyrene of Aedes Elysiae was nowhere to be seen, and while he had hoped for another defiance against fate that she would sneak up behind him, cover his eyes and tease him, it was the quiet acceptance of the contrary that filled the air.
But it wasn’t until a quiet voice called out to him did he return from his daydreams.
“Lord Phainon, are you well? You left quietly after dinner.” Castorice walks forward, sitting next to him on the edge, joining him as they look out at the stars together.
“Just…taking it all in, I suppose. It’s a strange feeling, to have the fruits of your labor grow so ripe. I always had faith we’d reach this point… but it’s still so surreal that we’re here…” His voice trails off as his eyelids lower, a pensive look beginning to grow on his face.
“…Without the one who wanted to share those fruits with the most, right?” It was an unspoken statement in the air that she referred to Cyrene, with an inquisitive eyebrow raised at him alongside a small smirk on her face.
“What-“ He stammers and coughs, completely taken aback, before regaining composure, resigning with a small nod as he shrugs in playful surrender.
She giggles, covering her mouth with her hand at her sly remark. “You’ve always worn your heart on your sleeve, Lord Phainon. It stands to reason that you’d wear who was in it as well.”
“You got me dead to rights, Castorice…”
“Heh… I remember her vividly, you know. We all do.” She turns away to look up at the swirling mass of stardust. “Studying to be a priestess, sneaking away to catch up with you, and how sometimes I had to cover for you as Professor Anaxagoras wondered where you were when you two were gone too long…”
“Ah…I still owe you a honey cake for that one time.”
“Hmm… make it two, and we’ll call it even.”
“Hah! Deal.”
It is a comforting silence, between the two of them. Endless nights spent studying together in group sessions, or relaxing after Anaxagoras’ lessons have given them plenty time to get used to one another, even more so after their countless lifetimes. But his heart still panged as he watches the pink nebula, beginning to lose himself in his thoughts again.
But then he feels her hand take his, squeezing it tightly. He blinks as he looks down at it, realizing how warm her touch is, and that she’s even touching him in the first place. She smiles a reassuring smile up at him, bringing her other hand to help hold his.
“She always did like a…romantic story, if I remember correctly.”
“Like no other.” He adds.
“Like no other.” She affirms. “…And I believe, that we’ll see her again. That you’ll see her again.” She pats his knuckles gently.
He nods slowly.
She stumbles over her words a bit as she starts, “A-as a writer myself…” But then regains her composure, chuckling. “I don’t think it would sit well with me to leave the final pages of such a romantic tale unwritten.”
“…It wouldn’t sit well with her too, huh?” A tender look on his face says it all.
Castorice’s smile widens as her reply, beginning to stand up. He helps her up and she bows in thanks, dusting off her dress.
“Please take care, Lord Phainon. And take all the time you need before returning.”
“Thank you, Castorice.”
He turns around to face the nebula as he hears her footsteps grow more faint, leaving him to his thoughts once more.
He remembers the blissful days in those golden fields, the dreams and wishes they shared together, and the moments they would share, belonging to them alone. He remembers the lifetimes he endured all for her, on the hope that the new tomorrow would come for all. Yet, he laments that she was not there by his side to see that new tomorrow they had worked so hard for, to hold on against the tides of destruction until the fated day in which the trailblazer had come.
So he resolves to hold another vigil, but solely for her. To await the day Cyrene of Aedes Elysiae would return, a smile on her face, and a sly remark on her lips. He whispers words that no one else hears before he turns and walks away from the pink nebula, those words laced with a promise of love and hope, of a golden dawn and an ivory dusk.
For the sun who was always meant to set, would wait for the moon to emerge again.
~~~
Almost as if time were a river, Cyrene found herself flowing with it.
She stares at her grey haired friend on the astral express, giving them a gaze filled with adoration and love for their trailblazer, granting them the gift of remembrance. She giggles as she watches their confusion, finding the irony at being at the end of her journey, sparking the beginning of theirs. She turns away as a tear escapes her eye, watching her cute fuzzy form fly around the trailblazer, before following memory’s swift current back even further.
She watches the one who gave Cyrene her name to begin with, who she affectionately called Peach, fall limp in the arms of Phainon, their final shared moment a tender look at one another. Her lip quivers at the sight of Phainon struggling not to break in front of her as she closed her eyes for the final time. She laments at the scene, almost wanting to reach out and comfort him as he wails, screaming her name and cursing the world that had done this to them. Another tear escapes as she grants Peach a gift of remembrance as well in her final moments, following the river once more.
How wonderous it was, Cyrene would think, for Peach to have have such trust and faith in one like that, to bear the world.
How strong of heart one must have, Cyrene would empathize, and such rich affection to have been shared between them to live lifetimes of heartbreak, to march on, longing for her touch long lost, yet in front of him in a different cycle.
How pure a love it must be, Cyrene would wonder, to devote to each other their lives, and much more, for the world they so much loved, and for the warmth they had given each other in it.
How romantic a story it must be, Cyrene would smile, to have a love such as theirs.
She finds herself in the village of golden wheat fields, Aedes Elysiae. The cool handle of the ceremonial blade lingers on her fingers as she lays it to rest on an altar, for the very first Peach to pick up, and begin the world bearing journey anew. She smiles through tears as the Peach next to her, having waited for her at Cyrene’s final pitstop sings a small tune, guiding her to rest. Memory begins slipping through her fingers like silk each step, the only remnants being lingering, fleeting flickers, leaving only familiar feelings that she could no longer remember what they had belonged to.
It is a warm day, and the cool winds carry relief as she lies under the cover of shade with Peach, staring up at “As I’ve Written.”
“Tribios.”
“Cerydra.”
“March 7th.”
“Dan Heng…”
“Helektra.”
“Hyacinthia.”
“Khaslana.”
Cyrene notices a tear streak down Peach’s cheek as she says his name, as she tries to hide a sniffle, wiping her eyes. She reaches out and squeezes her hand, in which she squeezes in return.
“Anaxagoras…”
“Aglaea.”
“Mydeimos.”
“Castorice.”
“Cifera…”
“Cyrene…and you…”
Her eyelids are heavy as she whispers her final words, words of joy at the world they’ve written.
And when she wakes, she finds herself alone, smaller, with a coat of purple wrapped around her, drowsiness still taking her.
Ah… she would realize.
When memory drifts away with the breeze, and love leaves behind a seed, and turns into lament…
For all along, she was Peach, the very first, and the 33 million afterward who would teach her to love.
A joy that felt more like anticipation rose in her chest, with the fact that she would be the first Cyrene.
She would learn to love the world firsthand, writing journals and stories of what she saw.
She would giggle and leave sly remarks as she shared fortunes with her friends and family.
She would learn how much a heart could flutter as she would love Khaslana, her hero, her deliverer,
Her sun.
How romantic of a tale, to be the author of its last pages, in order to become the author of its first.
The last of the memories fade away like melted ice in the warm winds, as she takes a seat, letting sleep claim her once more.
It isn’t until she is called by a young Khaslana, does PhiLia093 find herself once again in a world she loves.
And shaken awake by of her center of it.