Archive of Our Own

A whole year since that decisive battle. 

It came not with a blazing dawn, but the gentle touch of daylight, entwining with pink kissed skies. The days pass by slowly- yet full of warm embraces, neverending banquets, and cherished reconnections. Within the Eternal Page, the Month of Joy seems to go on forever. 

Even after all this time, it was unbelievable to Phainon that he was free from the endless recurrences. That he lived to see the Era Nova he fought so hard for. That he was still worthy enough to be surrounded by the people he loved. 

No longer were his hands forced to drive Dawnmaker through divine flesh, but could instead hold golden goblets and raise a toast to an era of peace. He can rest easy now, unburdened by the crushing weight of the world. 

Nowadays, his evenings are spent walking hand-in-hand with his promised one, spouting poetic musings of love. He’s settled into a more solitary lifestyle- visiting his parents to help with the farm work, discussing philosophy with his teacher, and occasionally calling with his friends from the outer world. Kephale above, anyone he wished to have at his side could be so at any time.

Almost anyone. 

His movements slow as he takes in the color that surrounds this eternal elysium. Rosy fingered skies peak through elegant pink leaves, which sway in the breeze. Pink really is a lovely color, one he learned to cherish above all else. It’s the color of these carefree days, bringing charm and calmness in its wake. It’s the color reminiscent of Cyrene, who gave all she had for the world she so deeply loved. 

Phainon tries not to dwell too much on the grief, he understands more than anyone that’s not what Cyrene would have wanted. The breeze picks up a little. It’s floral and sweet like she was, rustling peach-pink leaves above and around him. In a way, she’s still here— cradling this world in her kind and gentle hands. 

A small squeeze of his own hand has Phainon blinking and turning to meet golden lion-like eyes. Mydei’s stable presence has been a near constant by his side, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Getting lost in your head again?” He asks, tilting his head. Hair spills over his shoulder with the movement, bristling like sun-goldened wheat. 

“I’m okay,” Phainon assures him, offering a small smile and squeeze of their entwined hands. 

Mydei hums, taking his word for it. His attention turns to the sky as well, eyes following a pair of butterflies fluttering by. “...Any plans for today?”

At that, Phainon's smile widens into a cheeky grin. Wherever Mydei goes, he does tend to follow, “I don’t know, you tell me?”

Mydei chuckles at that and closes his eyes in thought. “Let’s see, how about…” 

“—Agh—!” Phainon yelps suddenly, chest heaving, a terrible, burning pain flaring. His hand tears away from Mydei’s, clutching desperately at his sternum; where it feels as if his heart has been thrown into a furnace— his lungs polluting with cinders. He buckles under the overwhelming pain, body convulsing. 

Even in times of peace, Mydei’s instincts remain sharp. Immediately, he is stabilizing Phainon, eyes frantically looking him up and down for injuries.

“What is it?! What’s wrong?” He demands.

Sweat is already pooling down his body from the tortured waves of pain. Through heaving breaths, Phainon hisses, “It—burns…! Everything—”

His vision grows hazy and his full weight collapses into Mydei’s arms. 

“Phainon?! Hey! Shit, he’s burning up. Hang on, I’m taking you to Hyacine.”

A small pink leaf flutters to the ground before him, and then the world grows dark. 

When he opens his eyes, a flickering darkness continues to obscure his vision. Then, he recognizes the all-encompassing heat flowing through his veins. Everything feels so dry: his eyes, his mouth, even his skin. It feels as though it could flake off with the slightest movement. He rapidly blinks, hoping to wet his eyes, and the world returns somewhat in hazy hues. 

He shifts around, trying to get a feel for the space around him. Hand brushing against soft fabric and the familiar squish of a pillow under his head. The smell of herbs with an undercut of chemicals registers, and he realizes that he’s laying on a cot within the Twilight Courtyard’s infirmary. 

That certainly sends him into a fit of fear. It’s never a good sign when he wakes up in this position.

Panicked, he tries to sit up, the morbid creak of his own desiccated flesh going unnoticed in his confusion. 

“Ugh…wh—” He’s swiftly cut off by a coughing fit. Speaking irritates his dry throat, the air stinging his lungs like small blades. 

Someone shifts beside him, and through mottled colors, he makes out that familiar red-gilded gold. “...Deliverer—?!” Mydei’s voice comes out uneasy. “He’s awake!”

Someone else jumps upright on the other side of the cot, a flash of pink and pastel blue. Hyacine. She moves quickly- holding something out for him in an instant. When Phainon’s coughing finally subsides, he feels the briefly cool kiss of metal on his lips, followed by a steady flow of water. However, the liquid evaporates into steam the moment it meets his tongue. Hyacine gasps, pulling the goblet away with a sigh of defeat. 

Phainon’s head is still a hazy mess. He looks between their vague silhouettes, trying to piece together what happened before he fainted. 

“Lord Mydei brought you here when you suddenly collapsed,” Hyacine explains, seemingly understanding his confusion. “Um…and then you…” She trails off. The silence that follows is almost palpable— it could be sliced with Dawnmaker itself.

The state Phainon was in was nothing new, in fact it was an existence he suffered through most of his long, long life. Unfortunately, it wasn’t something he thought he would ever experience again. Dreading the worst, he lifts a trembling hand. The horrific sound of his own labored breathing fills his ears. With a burning glance, he’s able to make out ashy grey skin, marred by ugly, gaping cracks of scorching blue flame. 

Just as he feared. He’s been reduced to the abominable charred visage of the Flame Reaver again. He barely registers his quickening breath and the world tunnels in on the eerie blue glow under his skin.

Why? Why is this happening? Was this all just a delusional dream? Was dawn never truly brought to Amphoreus? 

Am I still in the cycles? It’s not over? He laments, Oh Titans, they can see me— the monster that drove its blade through their chests, time and time again. I need to leave— no, the coreflames. I need to—

Someone clears their throat, sharp enough to snap him back to reality. 

“These two called me here when your body suddenly changed.” Anaxa’s voice is easy enough to recognize, his silhouette stepping forward to the foot of the cot. Phainon fixes his shaky gaze on him, trying his best to focus on what’s in front of him, little more than a murky figure. “Phainon,” his teacher says, “there’s something you’ve been keeping from us, isn’t there?” Care to share with us why you still have the power of the coreflames?”

Phainon swallows on nothing, lowering his gaze to the marble floor. What can he even say? “...I—” Another coughing fit.

Then, his breaths return forced and wavering. 

Mydei’s hand rests over Phainon’s fingers, placed carefully away from flame-filled cracks. “Can’t you see he can’t hold a conversation right now?” He demands in an irritated tone.

Anaxa seems unphased, waving his hand dismissively, “Tch. Fine, allow me to explain, then.”

The charcoal in his chest, once a heart, quickens its phantom beats. No, anything but that. Of course Anaxa would have figured him out. Of everyone to see through his deception, Phainon knew he would be the most likely candidate. He just hoped that when this time came, it could be a secret. A lie kept between the two of them. It was a futile thought, he knew that too. But still, he hoped. 

Phainon shakes his head, staring in Anaxa’s direction with what he prays is a pleading expression. 

Even with blurry eyesight, Anaxa’s scowl is evident. He watches Phainon for but a moment before taking a deep breath— just as he always does before launching into one of his lectures— and Phainon stiffens. 

“After that decisive battle,” he starts, “the Chrysos Heirs were no longer part of those accursed extrapolations and lost our divinity. And yet you, it seems, were unaffected. Which would mean your divinity is no longer connected to Amphoreus.” He pauses, waiting for any additions from Hyacine or Mydei, an old habit from his teaching days. When neither speaks, he returns his attention back to Phainon, fixing him with a scrutinizing glare. “Phainon, you were part of the outer world the moment that Aeon gazed upon you, weren’t you?” 

Despite himself, Phainon hisses, his fists clench into white linen sheets. Rolling waves of anger lap against his thoughts. How dare he bring that up. Mydei’s hand twitches over his own while Hyacine stares at him in stunned silence. The seconds tick by as Phainon wills his mind into a calmer state. Finally, he offers a jerking nod in hesitant, solemn confirmation. 

Mydei’s hand pulls away at that, and Phainon resists the urge to set the room ablaze.

“...So, you were real this whole time? Why did you stay here, instead of going with the Trailblazers? What happened to your dreams of joining them?” Mydei finally asks.

Anaxa hums, “I think we all know the answer to that.”

A sniffle from Phainon’s other side, “Lord Phainon…” Hyacine starts, “have you been pushing your body to look like your old self?” Her voice breaks with her words.

The betrayal felt is clear as day. Phainon has no choice but to keep his head down in ashamed silence. Here he was, bearing the visage of the Chrysos Heirs' executioner, and staring at the ground like a kicked dog.

Mydei groans, leaning back in his chair with a huff. “A whole year of that, and look where it got you. I guess this is your version of falling ill.”

With one final sniffle, Hyacine composes herself, ever the doctor. “Alright. Rest here until you can change back. I won’t ask you to walk home like this. But, doctor’s orders: from now on, when you’re home, you must allow your body to breathe properly!”

What else could Phainon do but nod?

It takes a few hours for Phainon to look somewhat normal. The cracks in his skin have slowly closed up, his complexion is no longer a sickly grey, and a lively fluff returns to his hair. Anaxa hovers nearly, closely watching the changes with rapt attention. Sounds of furious scribbling fill the air as he quickly jots down notes in one of his field journals. Once Phainon’s body temperature is low enough to not instantly evaporate water, he's quick to try and replenish his system—Hyacine refills his goblet many times over. 

Only one part of his body remains stubborn: his eyes. His vision remains clouded by smoke, and according to Mydei, they still have a dull sheen. The kind only seen on rotting corpses. 

The solution was easy enough, thanks to some sunglasses Hyacine had sitting in the back of her office. Apparently, Dan Heng left his Seal Slammers souvenir behind and she was keeping it safe until he returned. 

“I hope he doesn’t mind that you borrowed them…” She said, placing them over his face. “Promise me you will head straight home, okay?”

“...I—”

“—Don’t worry,” Mydei interrupted. “He’s not leaving my side until he gets some proper rest.”

Phainon knit his brows, frowning. “Do you realize how old I am? You guys don’t need to treat me like a child.” His voice came out croaky, the lingering damage to his throat ruining any authority his tone could have. 

Awkwardly, he shifts under three intense glares, admitting defeat. 

As soon as he and Mydei walk though their front door, Phainon finds himself collapsing against it, exhausted and sliding to the floor. He takes Dan Heng’s sunglasses off and carefully places them on a stool near the entrance. 

Mydei stands over him with his arms crossed, making no attempt to help Phainon to his feet. 

“Well?” 

Dulled eyes flicker up nervously, like a dog knowing he broke something and was about to be scolded. 

“Well?” He echoes. Maybe, if he plays dumb—

Mydei flicks his hand. “Go on then— doctor’s orders, after all.”

Phainon slumps uncomfortably, the heat in his chest still feels strong, just waiting to break through his skin once again. 

But after so long spent bottling himself up, changing to his divine form felt so unfamiliar. The mere thought of uncorking it made his chest stutter with fear. What if he lost control of himself, and burned their house to the ground? What if his parents stopped by and saw their little Khaslana was nothing but a monster?

What if that scorching hatred possessed him once more? 

What if he tried to hurt Mydei?

His head remains down. Quietly, he says, “I— can’t. It’s been too long. 

Mydei, oh stubborn Mydei, doesn’t budge. “You just did, did you not?”

Phainon coughs, throat still feeling tight, “That’s— different. It wasn’t by choice.”

Mydei merely responds with a shrug, “ Then you ought to change soon or that will be the case again, it seems.”

Thud. Phainon’s head hits the back of the door and he wheezes out an exhausted groan. That earlier episode really took a lot out of him.

A moment passes before Mydei speaks again. “I thought you’d have learned something. After all we’ve been through.”

Dull eyes remain downcast, his chest tightens. “Are you mad at me?” Phainon croaks out.

“No.” Mydei’s voice is steady, immediate. He hums as he puts together his next words. “A bit betrayed that you kept this from me the whole time, though. And that you’re still putting yourself through unnecessary pain.”

A strangled noise jumps from Phainon's throat at such an admission. “I’m sorry Mydei— I just, did such awful things. What if everyone is still sca—”

“Then why did you stay here, Phainon?” 

The question startles him, unexpected. He looks up to meet Mydei’s eyes, realizing his vision has finally returned to its usual clearness. Mydei stands over him, posture stiff, arms crossed, and eyes narrowed. His gaze is so intense it burns.

Phainon swallows. Runs over the words in his head before speaking. “...I stayed,” he finally says, “because my wish is to leave this place and see the cosmos with everyone by my side. Especially you, Mydei. I’ll wait as long as I must to see that day.” He offers up his best pacifying smile, heavy with lifetimes upon lifetimes of memories, “I’m rather good at waiting, you know?” 

Mydei doesn’t respond. Not even so much as a returned smile in acknowledgment. Rather, he thumbs the metal band on his left ring finger, the promise they made to each other in so many of those lifetimes— including this one. One sits and one remains standing in the thick silence. Mydei contemplates Phainon’s answer, while spinning the ring. 

Finally, Mydei holds that same hand out with a sigh, metal catching the light of a true sun. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s get you inside, I’ll cook whatever you’d like tonight, okay? Afterwards, we’ll bathe and head to bed. Lady Hyacine said you needed to rest after all.”

They have dinner together in relative silence, Phainon doesn’t miss the way Mydei sneaks curious glances at him throughout their meal, as if expecting to burst into flames at any moment. 

For his part, Phainon does try his best to let his body unwind. Divine power still smolders beneath his flesh, his muscles aching with the strain of keeping those insatiable flames contained. But dawn was brought to Amphoreus almost an entire year ago. Not once in that time, did Phainon take off the mask of the white-haired, perfect Deliverer. 

At least like this, he can pretend the atrocities he committed were in a distant past. Smother that yawning abyss of guilt staining his soul. 

When he learned that the other heirs had lost their divinity with Era Nova, he played along. In vain, he hoped that if he could smother those flames within him long enough, he could return to his old self with everyone else. 

But the ache continued. During the day, the pressure in his skull grew into chronic migraines. At night, sleep was fitful and lacking, in fear of losing control of his body within the blanket of unconsciousness. But he kept with it, he had endured worse.

So, just as driving Dawnmaker through a particular notch in the spine became muscle memory— an act he could perform even with eyesight burned away— the illusion of Phainon of Aedes Elysiae was sewn deep into his skin. The ache of forcing his flesh into a form it no longer naturally held became background noise; something he subconsciously learned to ignore. 

Until today, it seems. A burning heat he had nearly forgotten about spiked suddenly, his heart combusting into charcoaled flesh and the dexterity in his limbs crumbling away into ashes. Next thing he knew, the image of Phainon was once more charred to the husk he used to destroy the lives of his dearest friends, over and over again. 

So could he really blame himself for being unable to let his body morph itself into its natural shape? After he spent so long ingraining the very wrongness of that shape deep into his soul? The nightmares of destruction had only recently begun to ease from his mind, and wouldn’t revealing that hideous form once more bring them back tenfold? 

“Not hungry?” Mydei’s gruff voice interrupts his thoughts. 

Phainon blinks at him, the plate before his betrothed is practically licked clean. Then, shifts his gaze downwards—  his own plate of food having long gone cold, barely touched, with the fork held limply in his hand. “I don’t think I can stomach anything right now,” he says quietly, guilty. 

Mydei nods, his expression concerned but not upset. “Can't say I blame you. It’s alright, we can save it for later.” In a smooth movement, he rises from his seat and takes Phainon’s plate to the kitchen to wrap it for him. After a moment he returns to clean the table, swatting Phainon’s hand away when he moves to help. 

When the dining area is once more spotless, Mydei’s attention turns back to Phainon, who sits with a distant look on his face. “Ready for a bath? Let’s use our own today.”

It's clear what he’s implying. He’s hoping Phainon will feel comfortable enough in the privacy of their home to ease into his divine self. Phainon isn't sure if he wanted to succeed or not.

The bath starts as nothing special, which was extra worrying since usually every bath with Mydei feels pretty special. 

Instead, Phainon is uncharacteristically silent while Mydei fills the air with small talk: updates on his parents, the Kremnoan kids’ newest interests, a fraudulent cooking competition Cipher tricked him into attending recently. Phainon listens with care, as usual, while he rests against the tiled wall. Warm and fragrant water envelopes him like an embrace. 

The water laps in small waves as Mydei scooches closer with the hair wash. He gestures at Phainon’s head, who ducks down to let neatly trimmed nails scratch at his scalp, lovingly massaging a floral smelling lather into his hair. Phainon leans into the touch, with a content hum. When he glances up through wet lashes, he’s blessed with one of Mydei’s more gentle expressions. Sharp, golden eyes focus on the task at hand, lips turned slightly upwards, eyebrows relaxed. When those lion-like eyes flick downwards and catch Phainon staring, he offers a gentle smile and pulls light silver bangs back to kiss his exposed forehead. 

A heat within his chest surges just a bit and Phainon melts into Mydei’s touch, who doesn't hesitate to pepper more kisses down his face and chin, dipping into his neck. A small groan echoes from Phainon’s throat when Mydei playfully bites at a sensitive spot just below his ear.

“Let me take care of you tonight.” Mydei whispers into his ear and moves down to suck at that spot again. 

Phainon lifts his head up to allow the man more access. His hands grapple at Mydei’s biceps and his weary eyes grow heavy with a lustful haze, “Mydei— ” He sucks in a small breath when those calloused hands move to his chest, a thumb teasingly brushing against one of his sensitive nipples. 

Those hands dip into the warm water, tracing the lines of Phainon's muscles. His fingers slowly drag across the more apparent scars that litter his torso. 

Phainon can feel heat pooling in his gut, his member slowly filling out with Mydei’s continued affections. He lurches forward to meet Mydei’s lips, to be his usual handsy self, but is promptly held back against the tiled wall.

“I said I’m taking care of you tonight,” Mydei’s tone is low, seductive, and leaves no room for argument. It’s then that one of his hands finally reaches his waist, while the other holds Phainon down. He palms at Phainon’s inner thigh, fingers grabbing at muscle and kneading into soft flesh. Phainon's breathy whines and the gentle splash of water are the only sounds in their ears. Focused golden eyes meet blown open blue and that's when Mydei’s hand finally circles around the base of Phainon’s cock. 

A quiet whine escapes his throat and his back arches towards Mydei. Their chests touch and Phainon attempts to rub his hardened nipples against the friction. Mydei gently pumps the length of his cock, its attempts of pre immediately washed away in the water as they form. 

“Which should I focus on today?” Mydei asks in his low voice, “This?” Said with a firm pump of his hand, “Or…” That hand trails downwards, giving Phainon’s balls a cup before dancing to his puckered hole, “This?” His index finger traces the rim and Phainon gasps again, head falling back as he wraps his arms around the back of Mydei's neck. 

“Whichever just— Mydei, please—” Phainon begs in a shaking voice. 

Mydei grins at him. He pulls his hand away and Phainon lets out a desperate whine. “Let’s move to the bed then,” He says as his arm laces under Phainon’s legs, the other stabilizing his back and pulling him against his tattooed chest. With hardly a huff, he pulls Phainon from the bath, who has half a mind to snatch a towel on their way to the bedroom.

It's an awkward task, what with Mydei cradling him in his arms and marching towards their bedroom. But Phainon manages to pat their skin somewhat dry with the towel clutched in his fist, throwing it without a care when he’s finished. Their hair is a different story and sits damp against their faces. 

With fevered touches, Phainon’s hands run along Mydei’s toned pectorals and dips into his collarbone. He leans forward to catch Mydei’s lips in a messy kiss, which causes the man to stumble slightly into the wall. The two grunt softly with the impact but are otherwise unbothered as their focus remains wholly on the other. 

With an impatient kick, Mydei marches through their bedroom door. Phainon feels his body go airborne for the slightest moment as he's tossed onto their shared bed, before tanned arms cage around his head. In an instant, Mydei is kissing him once more with sharp teeth nipping into swollen pink lips. 

Their wet hair and still slightly damp skin wets the sheets rather uncomfortably, but the couple pays the discomfort little mind as their focus remains fixed on tracing calloused hands along familiar skin. 

Phainon stares up at his lover, with eyes blown wide and face flushed. Mydei slows his movements and meets his gaze with a similar look of want, only to hesitate just slightly upon catching his gaze. Then, a look of feline satisfaction curves Mydei’s lips into a small grin.

Phainon cocks an eyebrow, his voice is heavy in his chest, “Is there something on my face?”

Mydei’s response is a low hum in his throat and nothing more. Phainon wants to push the topic, to ask what suddenly has Mydei looking so smug, but those thoughts quickly melt away as Mydei dives down to bite into the crook of his neck, just below golden rays of ink. 

The sharp sting of pain is just how Phainon likes it and his back arches in pleasure. His low voice pitches back up to a reedy whine as his hands cling to Mydei’s back for stabilization. His heavy eyelids flutter close and he curls into Mydei’s skin. 

The lion’s teeth continue to roam across his skin, leaving broken and bruising marks along pale, battle scarred flesh. The blonde’s body ripples as he shifts lower and lower down Phainon’s torso, only slowing when those teeth break open the sensitive skin just above his groin. 

Phainon hisses in pleasure and feels his dick press at full length against Mydei’s chest. Heat surges through his body in his lust-drunk state, and he swears Mydei must feel it too because the man glances upwards through thick lashes. Golden eyes study him for only the slightest moment before his attention turns towards Phainon’s leaking cock. His tattooed hand wraps firmly around the base of Phainon’s aching cock and Phainon wouldn’t call himself proud of the pitch in which his voice leaves from his throat.

Mydei’s eyes crease with amusement. “Whiny dog,” he mutters.

Phainon also isn’t proud of the small spurt from his dick at those words. 

Mydei’s thumb swipes across the leaking tip, dragging pre across the head of his member. In a moment Mydei’s breath is hot against the sensitive skin and his tongue darts out to drag across one of the more prominent veins. 

One of Phainon’s hands quickly covers his own mouth, trying to stifle the yelps of pleasure falling from his lips. The other reaches towards Mydei. Long, pale fingers card into sun-kissed locks and tug them slightly. Mydei’s deep voice hums in encouragement as the warmth of his mouth envelops Phainon’s dick. Phainon’s hand tugs a little harder and Mydei hums again, his tongue laps slowly against the cock in his mouth. Through dark lashes, his eyes stare up at Phainon, their usual sharpness softened with a look of satisfaction. 

Immediately, Phainon’s eyes squeeze shut at the sight, along with the familiar prickle of threatening tears. It’s overwhelming really, to be this loved, to have someone who can read him so easily. Rolling waves of heat pulse under his skin. Phainon feels as though his entire being has been laid bare to the man before him. 

Mydei’s tongue continues to swipe against his cock, while his head bobs in a steady rhythm. His lover has had plenty of practice with the task, clearly unbothered by Phainon’s well endowed length easily dipping into his throat. 

The warmth and wetness of Mydei’s mouth has Phainon’s mind in a haze. His hips move in tandem with Mydei and his skin pulses with an overwhelming heat. He can’t tell if his eyes fluttered shut, or his vision has simply gone blank once more. His world reduced to nothing but the ministrations Mydei lavishes on his body. 

Like cradling the divine flesh of his own god, Mydei’s actions are passionate, heated, and so achingly full of worship. The entirety of Phainon’s skin is flushed, pressed tight against each point of contact between their two bodies. 

Phainon’s hand tears from his mouth, a long trail of drool pulls away with it, “Mydei, I’m going to—” He gasps as his only warning before his hips jerk quickly into Mydei’s face. 

Unphazed by the sudden thrust, Mydei doesn’t stop his steady pace. His tongue presses flat against the cock in his mouth and one of his hands rises to playfully squeeze at Phainon’s balls. He quickens his pace then, sliding against Phainon in a way that has the man under him seeing stars. 

With a surge of heat and a cry of his lover's name, Phainon’s body twitches helplessly against Mydei. He comes deep into his throat, which milks his cock through the orgasm. 

Mydei eases the dick from his mouth with a slow drag of his tongue. His throat is raw and sore, and spit coats his lips and chin. His own lower regions clench slightly at the sight of the man laying below him. 

His lover lays slumped against the bed in a post-orgasmic haze, with radiant ichor flushing pale, porcelain-like skin. Light golden hair frames the familiar face below him, which stares at him with a look of such pure adoration. Through quickly drooping eyelids, otherworldly glowing orbs shine against the deep black of sharply shaped pupils. 

With a flicker, luminescent golden eyes close and calm breaths settle within Phainon’s chest. 

Mydei gently shuffles Phainon’s worn out body into a more comfortable position and settles against his sturdy chest. With a blanket draped over their entwined forms, Mydei’s own consciousness slips into the embrace of sleep.

Mydei wakes surrounded by warmth. 

Not the painful burn of a raging sun, but the calming heat of a candle cupped gently within his palms. 

At first he believes that he awoke before the sun could rise, given the lack of illumination in the room. But then, he realizes that there is something blocking the light from reaching his eyes. 

That’s when he sees the feathers. It takes him a moment to register what they are. The grogginess of sleep smothers his senses, and it takes time for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Rigid and deep black, with an almost metallic-like sheen to them, rows upon rows of large feathers drape over him like a blanket. Vague memories of past cycles drift into his mind and he pieces together a faint recollection of Phainon’s silhouette ready to strike him down, with monstrously large wings looming behind his executioner. He dares not dwell on the memory and focuses his attention on the very same man cradled in his arms. 

A fluffy head of light blonde hair obscures his face, tilted downwards into Mydei’s chest. His bare shoulder gently rises and falls with sleeping breaths. Phainon is practically melted into the sheets, fully relaxed in a way Mydei couldn’t remember ever seeing in any lifetime. His lover had always been an incredibly light sleeper, and while Mydei himself was typically an early bird, their wake up times were something Phainon almost exclusively bested him at. The few times Mydei had woken before him, he was quick to follow, easily jolted awake by any shift from Mydei under their shared sheets. 

Knowing how light of a sleeper Phainon is, he knows he shouldn’t do anything to wake the man. But Mydei couldn’t help it at this moment, seeing the person he has promised his life to— in more ways than one, cradled within his arms and embracing him in kind with those deeply hidden wings. In a slow movement, his hand rises to card light fingers through the blonde strands and to look upon the familiar face hidden beneath. 

Just as he guessed, Phainon’s eyelids twitch lightly and open just barely enough to reveal those radiant golden irises once more, which emit their own light and glow like small torches within his skull. 

“Morning, sunshine.” Mydei croons with a voice still gravelly with sleep. 

Phainon doesn’t meet his gaze, only staring blankly at Mydei’s chest with heavy eyelids. “M’sleepy…” He mumbles in a voice so quiet it could only be heard from the distance they lay. Then, his eyes slowly drift shut again and he buries his face further into Mydei’s chest, his arms wrapping lazily around his torso. In a similar motion, Phainon’s wing adjusts slightly as well to wrap firmly against Mydei in a protective embrace. 

A short breath of a moment passes before that wing suddenly jerks back slightly, which exposes Mydei’s face to the morning sunlight drifting through their windows. Phainon’s entire body stiffens next to him and Mydei knows now that going back to sleep is out of the question. Phainon’s head remains ducked into Mydei’s chest but the waves of anxiety rolling off of him is clear enough. 

“Do you remember yesterday?” Mydei asks him in a quiet, steady voice.

His partner remains as still as a corpse, or maybe a statue would be a better term. Even his breathing seems to have stopped. Mydei reaches up to card through his hair once more, to offer some comfort to the man, but then his eyes drift to the wing lifted just slightly over the covers. Instead of reaching for Phainon’s head, his hand drifts towards that wing and ever so gently, his fingertips trace the ridged tips of frayed black feathers. Phainon’s wing trembles violently at the touch along with a surprised gasp as he curls slightly in on himself. 

Mydei waits a moment, eyes carefully watching Phainon. But then, he stills once more. Again, Mydei’s hand cuts through the heavy silence and brushes against silken feathers. This time, Phainon’s reaction is more subdued, merely a small inhale. Taking this as a sign to continue, he curves his hand along the ridges of hooked joints. His fingers trace the space between feathers, rather bewildered by the texture of them— which seems to be ridged and stiff in nature but bend slightly under applied pressure. Jagged edges bite into his skin but not with enough pressure to wound.

The usual golden hue of ichor warms Phainon's face, but now emanates a faint glow through pale, translucent skin.

He is otherworldly, enigmatic, and beautiful. 

“How do you feel?” Mydei prompts, his fingers scratching gently into the warmth between feathers.

Phainon’s movements are slower in this form, his typical energetic jitteryness dulled under the weight of divinity. His golden eyes meet Mydei’s own and the deep black of his irises dilates like a flickering flame. The uncanny sight is hypnotizing and Mydei stares into those eyes with interest, to which Phainon’s blush deepens and he turns his head down with unease.

”You’re staring…” He mumbles. His voice sounds lower, more monotone, like this. 

“You haven’t answered my question yet,” Mydei points out with an amused huff.

A deep inhale, “It feels,” His wing bends experimentally, “It feels different. From before, I mean.” His face is visible once more and his expression is pulled into a confused frown.

Mydei tilts his head against the pillow, “In what way?”

“I don’t feel,” he hesitates, “as fractured. I suppose. And I feel calmer than I expected myself to.” He smiles a little as he says that. 

Mydei hums in response. His eyes trail downwards to the strong chest peeking out from the sheets. Gold lines his previous blemishes, even the marks left from last night. Mydei's eyes follow gilded indents in the shape of his own teeth and bruises that dot his skin like pools of molten lava. The most prominent blemish being a wide jittering line across his sternum, something also visible on Phainon’s usual self as a large angry scar. His fingers reach out to brush against the jagged scar, the warmth of his skin is hot but not searingly so. 

In the back of his mind, a distant memory of flesh pulling from bone flashes, which must have happened in one of the cycles given the way Phainon immediately sits up to back away. 

“C-Careful,” He gasps with widened eyes, “I don’t want to hurt you like this.”

Mydei plants a hand on the bed, sitting up and leaning forward into the space Phainon tries to place between them, “But you don’t.” He says simply, reaching up once more to drag his hand across scars faintly glowing with divine ichor. The flesh of his fingertips is warmed but remains whole and unmarred. 

Phainon watches with shocked eyes, his lips gently parted with shallow breaths, “The cracks are healed?” He whispers to himself and shakes his head in disbelief before looking into Mydei’s eyes, “It doesn’t burn?” His voice is a little lighter, tinged with something akin to hope. 

“It doesn’t burn,” Mydei confirms and then gives him a confident grin, “Besides, are you aware that Kremnoans bathe in the same waters used to forge our weapons?”

A bark of laughter comes from deep within Phainon’s chest, followed by a bubbling manic-like laugh. He laughs and laughs and laughs like he just heard the funniest joke in the world, his wings bounce in tandem with his shoulders, and he runs a quivering hand through his hair before exhaling shakily. 

“Yes, Mydeimos,” His eyes crinkle warmly, “I’m well aware.” 

“A recurring statement I’ve said then?” Mydei asks, raising a concerned brow.

Phainon nods, chuckling with a nostalgic sadness, “Many times.” His eyes trace along the scarred over cracks that once carved deep into his body, “I’ve been so afraid of seeing myself like this again. I’ve accumulated so many sins with this body. At least, as Phainon I could pretend Dawnmaker’s blade was held by a different me. A crueler me.”

“But still you nonetheless,” Mydei points out with a furrowed brow.

Pale lips turn down into a frown, his eyes avoidant, “And that is my greatest fear. To still be the same force of destruction from back then.”

“You are not the only person with your sins, Phainon. Listen to me, Khaslana,” The winged man huffs uncomfortably at the sound of his true name, but meets his gaze. “We have all done terrible things. We are praised as heroes of old, but such titles came at the heavy cost of our own humanity. Tainted golden blood may still flow through our veins, but we must persevere. We cannot hope to step into the future by staying in the past.” 

Mydei’s hands reach out to grip Phainon’s, they are longer than what Mydei is used to and sit awkwardly along his palms. “Khaslana of Aedes Elysiae, The Deliverer of Amphoreus, that dawn you fought so hard for is finally here. But you cannot feel the light of the sun by hiding away in the shadows deep within yourself.”

Jet black and golden feathers tremble in rippling waves behind his back, “Am I truly worthy of feeling that warmth? After billions of years of slaughter?”

“I have my own fair share of lifetimes under my belt, you know. I might not remember them as clearly, but in every single one I killed and maimed for the sake of war.” He shrugs, “Plus, I very clearly remember my time as the Strife Titan, and my blade was a cruel and deadly thing that drove fear through the hearts of many in Amphoreus.”

Phainon scoffs, “That’s rather harsh on yourself, Mydei.”

“I played the role I had to, and so did you.”

A contemplative silence washes over him. In all of his overflowing divinity, he seems so incredibly human in this moment. His naked form, marred with bites and bruises from the previous night, With warmed linen sheets snaking around his waist, hands clasped tightly with his lover— golden bands adorning mirrored fingers. 

The past cannot be changed. 

None of the Flame Chase heroes regret their journey, but regrets will forever lie in mistaken decisions. Guilt will forever mar them through cruel choices. To be human is to be flawed, yes, but to be divine is to be stagnate. Gods will rot in their preordained nature, while humanity holds the power to evolve and change. Deific flames might forever course through his blood, but in this world, he’s no longer playing the role of creator. 

The long journey has ended. He no longer has to fester within one singular purpose, but to grow— as a little boy running through wheatfields once was meant to. To embrace himself and build a life that is truly his own.

Large wings slump heavily over their tangled legs and feathered joints curl tentatively around their laps. “I will need time. To get used to this.” His voice comes out quiet, unsure. 

In a life that had grown so monotonous, with every action, word, and event turned into repeated motions that he could always predict, this uncertain future is something that seizes his core with beating anxiety. Growth will not be a constant thing, it's swift, yet slow. A meandering flow through time like a stream roping through mountain ranges, through valleys, and eventually reaching a destination that will continue its own greater journey through the world. 

Change will take time. It will be difficult. But at least this time, this is a journey he will not take alone.

Mydei leans forward to press a chaste kiss against warm lips. Phainon’s breath is hot, like residual steam from a kettle, but it’s something he could get used to, 

“We have all the time in the world, my sun.”