Chapter Text
Phainon stood at the entrance of Okhema's gate along with the some of the other Chrysos Heirs. At his left, standing at the forefront, was Aglaea and on her left, five steps away, stood Castorice. They were there to welcome their newest member, the infamous crown prince of Castrum Kremnos, Mydeimos. They had never met but Phainon was no stranger to the name. Poets wrote of him. Bards sang of him. Numerous tales of his exploits echoed throughout the Eternal Land—stories of a prince cast out in exile and left to drown in the abyss yet with indomitable spirit defied fate and conquered death bestowing him immortal flesh and earning him the title, the Undying.
It all sounded fantastical like the tales he used to read as a child. Phainon shifted his weight from one foot to another, a hint of restlessness surfacing with his thoughts. He had once dreamed of visiting Castrum Kremnos but life has led him elsewhere. This would be the closest he would ever get to that childhood dream. He hoped the warriors would be open to sharing stories and sparring with him. Maybe he might even become close with their prince outside of being fellow Chrysos Heirs.
Faint murmurs from onlookers in the background reached his ears, he could sense curiosity mixed with apprehension radiating from the crowd. Phainon didn't blame them, Okhema and Kremnos had a long history of conflict. Concerns were raised on a possibility of turmoil arising between the Okhemans and the Kremnoans but Phainon would like to believe that sharing a common goal or, in this case, sharing a common threat would help unite the people.
Phainon tilted his head when the clinking of metal caught his focus, it was followed by the sound of multiple heavy footsteps marching towards their direction. Phainon straightened his back and swept a hand down the front of his coat, an attempt to look presentable and calm his nerves at the same time.
He could see the approaching group, and if he hadn’t known they were coming to ally with Okhema, he might have mistaken them for invaders. As expected of people hailing from the so-called warrior city, the Kremnoans wore armor, arms and legs covered by bracers and greaves, chests protected by metal plates, and helmets that covered most of their faces. With shields on one hand and weapons on the other, they presented quite a formidable front. Phainon couldn’t help but wince as he detected a hint of unrest from the crowd.
The group finally stopped a few feet from them, Phainon angled his head, trying to discreetly figure out who among them was the crown prince. Surely, he was someone that would stand out. There was movement within the group, the Kremnoans parted in the middle until a path opened up. Beside him, Aglaea stepped forward to greet who he assumed was going to be Mydeimos.
"Tsk. Barbarians," someone scoffed from the crowd.
"Shh! Don’t be so loud."
Phainon immediately snapped his head to the crowd. He registered Aglaea's voice talking to someone but his focused was directed to the area where he heard the comment from. His eyes swept over the crowd trying to identify who made the insulting remark. He couldn’t let someone start an issue, not in a critical time like this.
"…and this is Phainon from Aedes Elysiae. Phainon, meet Prince Mydeimos."
He startled at the voice and turned to introduce himself only to freeze, his eyes wide.
Phainon learned early in life that there were many things he couldn't control. Life was unpredictable like that, it was just something he had to accept. It was a hard lesson to learn but that didn't stop him from believing that though there were many tragedies in his life, there were as many if not more blessings as well.
Like, right now.
It was as if everything slowed to a stop, noises faded into the background, and the rest of the world fell away until all that remained, all that he could see was him. Phainon was told to expect a prince, regal yet battle-hardened as a warrior, but what was before him radiated a presence that went far beyond that, something powerful and undeniable.
Adorned in red and gold, the man before him stood confidently, feet firmly apart, armor crawling up to reinforce thick thighs. He had a narrow waist cinched by a belt decorated with the sun. It barely held the red fabric of the robe draped over half a broad torso. Phainon’s eyes lingered at the other half where visible crimson markings twisted up past powerful shoulders and a neck embellished with golden plates and sapphire gems.
His mesmerized gaze continued upward only to meet more gold. Hair casually disheveled, soft strands cascading down from golden crown to red tips, a single lock of braid swaying softly by the wind. Phainon’s breath hitched as his stare locked with a pair of piercing golden eyes, its brilliance contrasting against his own blue.
He lost track on how long they held each other’s gaze, the air between them thickening with each moment. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, breath quickening as tension rose—until a woman’s voice called his name and the spell that bound him broke. Reality came crashing as the world snapped back into motion and suddenly Phainon was back in Okhema, the weight of countless eyes fixed on him.
Right.
He needed to introduce himself, Phainon remembered in daze. His hands twitched at his side. He had given countless speeches and had triumphed over numerous debates before, even winning ten consecutive debates during his years in the Grove of Epiphany. A simple introduction was nothing to him. Easy.
He could feel sweat drip down the back of his neck. All he had to do was offer a greeting, then say his name. He had done this thousands of times, this was no different.
He swallowed.
Again, he just needed to open his mouth and say—
“Marry me.”
A pause, then Phainon blinked.
Eh?
He blinked again.
No way.
His eyes slowly widened as his jaw dropped.
The statement rang loud as stunned silence enveloped the crowd. A brief pause as everyone seemed to inhale all at once before Phainon’s words finally registered in their heads. Hands flew to mouths, others elbowed each other, and eyes widened, darting between Phainon and the crown prince. A surge of gasps and murmurs swept through the crowd, a mix of astonishment, curiosity, and gossip all tangled in one chaotic wave.
Oh no.
Oh no.
Oh no.
Phainon breath hitched, his mind reeling in shock at what had just come out of his mouth. Stiffly, he turned to Aglaea, whose clouded eyes bore down on him with unreadable emotion. He couldn’t help but swallow, hands curled into fists at his side in an effort to hide his nervousness. He turned and locked eyes with Castorice’s gaze, her hands covering her mouth in surprise.
Slowly, he turned back to face the delegation and flinched at Mydeimos whose intense gaze never left Phainon’s. Oddly enough, the prince had been silent throughout the commotion. The Kremnoans behind him also held their silence though their stillness was laced with some sort of anticipation. For what, Phainon had no clue. The lack of reaction was filling his mind with different scenarios of retribution he might face.
Phainon could feel the panic swelling within him as he kept opening and closing his mouth, willing himself to say something, anything. But, before Phainon could retract his proposal and apologize, Mydeimos nodded to himself and replied, voice ringing out loud.
“Fine.”
What.
“I-I’m sorry. What did—huh???” Phainon stammered, flailing for coherent thought.
Mydeimos arched a brow, lips flat, clearly unimpressed. He sighed. “If you wish to make this union possible, you must improve your listening skills.”
Again, what?
Phainon stared, mouth agape, blinking in shock.
Mydeimos crossed his arms, shifted his weight to one side, and continued as if he didn’t single-handedly rendered Phainon’s brain dead. He examined Phainon from head to toe, making said man squirm in his place, and again nodded to himself.
“I accept your proposal.” he reiterated, voice calm leaving no room for argument.
Phainon continued to gape.
“We’re getting married.” Mydeimos turned and declared to his people. The cheers of the Kremnoans resounded and carried on in chant-like waves as they raised their weapons with reach shout of celebration.
“But first…” Mydeimos started as he slowly faced Phainon again, a smirk now on his lips. “You must prove yourself, Deliverer.”
Wait.
“Prepare yourself for battle.”
Wait, what?
And that was how Phainon found himself outside, faraway from the gates of Okhema where Kephale’s light barely reached, standing in an empty field with his greatsword in his hands and Mydeimos standing across from him, radiating with bloodlust.
Phainon, tightened his grip on his weapon, looked up to the sky, and sighed.