content: Casper accidentally in erupts a moment between you and 5012. gender neutral reader, crack, fluff, slightly suggestive, Sunshine mentioned briefly (also gn).
word count: 1.3k
a/n: In honor of the demo for adwd2 coming out and the Kickstarter coming out tomorrow i wanted to write about everyone's fave owl! Hope yall enjoy!
You had spent the day being on your absolute best behavior. You had trained with Atlas instead of playing claw games with him all day, behaved in the field when going topside, and even filled out the proper paperwork and filed it. All of this was part of your master plan, of course.
You put on your most innocent smile as you walked into 5012’s office. He looked over the pile of paperwork on his desk towards you, eyes narrowing.
“No.” he deadpanned.
“I didnt even do anything!” you countered.
“I cannot humor any distractions at the moment, leave.”
“Me?? Distracting??” your tone indicated affront, which was a cover for what is really was, bullshit.
His eyebrow raised so high you wondered if it would float off his face.
“Im sure you have your own work to finish as well.”
“Already done. And since I finished early I figured I would help you.” You smiled in a way that was reminiscent of a door to door salesman in the 1950s with something to prove and a wife they didn't love.
He gave you a glare that would have sent most people running.
“I have actual work that needs to be done by tonight, I cannot humor your games today.”
“Oh dont be like that, I'll actually help! At least for a while, I promise!”
You paused for a moment, seeing his unnwavering glare.
“...and if you dont let me help, I'll get Atlas and we’ll play the trumpet really loud outside your door. And neither of us remember how trumpets work.”
5012 let out an audible sigh, which you took as a sign of his defeat.
You happily skipped over to his desk, pulling over an extra chair and grabbing about a third of the stack of papers to work on. Despite everything, you actually did want to help. Because you respected the importance of his work.
And because he was alot more fun to mess with when he didnt have work as an excuse to distract him.
After about an hour of both of you sitting shoulder to shoulder in comfortable silence, the pile of work had significantly diminished.
Glancing over, you saw 5012 looking significantly less stressed. Of course for him, significantly less stress meant one line between his brows disappearing. His expressions were virtually unreadable for quite a while, but you had managed to decode his many vaguely annoyed faces into their true meaning.
Now was your time to strike.
“I have a question about filling out this form.” you stated, standing up from your chair and leaning in, setting the paper down in his line of sight.
Of course he wasnt focused on the paper, he was focused on the way your hand trailed from his shoulder to his bicep, slowly folowing the vein lines down to his wrist. He was focused on the way your hair lightly brushed his cheek when you leaned in, and how painfully soft your eyes were when you peered at him.
It wasnt long before the paperwork was forgotten, as was the chair you had pulled beside him. Instead you were straddling his waist while he sat in his leather armchair, hands on your hips as you ran your fingers through his hair.
Your lips met his, warm and soft and you closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. You felt his hands grip your hips a little harder as-
BANG
The sound of a window slamming open immediately cut through the moment.
You instinctively jumped back, startled at the sound. You would have fallen off the chair if 5012 hadn’t caught you and pulled you back to safety. You let out an “oof” as your forehead bonked into his shoulder blade.
You saw the cause of the sound, a handsome young reaper with long white hair and red eyes was now standing in 5012’s office after climbing through the window.
A look of pure shock graced the reapers features as he stared directly at 5012, with the intensity of a cat staring at a can of food. 5012 looked like he wanted to bang his head into the wall until he forgot his own name. Or push the white haired man out of the window.
You gave the white haired man a friendly wave.
“No fucking way.” White haired man finally spoke, his shock breaking into a wide smile.
“Get the fuck out.” 5012 responded, you still wrapped up in his arms.
But you recognized that voice. This was the reaper 5012 had been talking to before. The revolutionary, 8394.
You jumped out of 5012’s arms and practically climbed over his desk to greet what may be 5012’s only friend. Even if he wouldn’t admit it.
“Hi, Nice to meet you 8394! 5012 told me about you and your epic love story!” You started, holding out your hand for the white haired man to shake.
The white man smirked in a way that reminded you of a white cat with many knives being pointed at it. Strange, must have been a memory from when you were alive.
“Please, call me Casper. And let me tell you, the pleasure is all mine. Although regrettably, 5012 hasn’t told me about you yet.”
"This is 2013. one of the reapers I'm...training."
you watched the defense come out of 5012's mouth, and the regret immediately follow. Being caught in a compromising position with someone Casper had basically forced 5012 to work with was not going to make this situation easier on him. It took everything you had not to laugh.
Casper gave 5012 a look reserved for a younger brother learning something that he would tease his older brother about for the foreseeable decade. And 5012 looked like he was about to become the Abel to 5012’s Cain.
“You have to tell me about 5012 in the revolution, I’ve been dying to know and he won't tell me anything.”
“Oh, I'll tell you everything. My sunshine and I have enough stories about him to fill a book.”
“Is that your mortal lover?” you questioned, excited. You absolutely needed to know about the forbidden romace that started a revolution
“indeed. My sunshine is the only other person who can compare to me in both looks and personality.” He preened.
You couldnt help but chuckle at his vanity. He was so different from 5012.
“Oh my gods, I have to tell them about this!” Casper exclaimed as he pulled out his phone and clicked on a name with a sunflower emoji next to it.
The phone was only able to ring once before 5012’s hand reached down and snatched the phone, ending the call.
“Alright that's enough. Get out.” 5012 crossed his arms and attemped to stare Casper down.
If anything, Casper just looked more amused as he met 5012s gaze, clearly used to his attitude. But in the end Casper was the first one to look away.
“Alright, I just needed to pick up that report from you, my sincerest apologies for interrupting…”
His silence said all it needed as he climbed back out the window, now floating above the twilight city.
“So double date when?” he smirked.
5012 strode over to the window and slammed it shut before Casper could get another word out, a tired sigh escaping his lips when Caspers laughter was finally silenced by the glass pane.
“He was fun.” You laughed.
5012 glared at you, a hint of betrayal in his eyes.
You laughed and moved to lean up against him, your hands once again finding their way to his silky hair.
“I just want to get to know your friends.”
“They're not-”
He began to protest, but one look at your face and he knew there was no winning this argument. Instead he just leaned into your embrace, his face finally calm once again.
LEAKS AND SPOILERS AHEAD ❗️(frozen reference hehe)
33 million cycles. Millions of lives he shared with you. And millions of times that he lost you.
In every cycle, you were there. Same person with the same personality. The gentlest smile carved in his mind like a distant memory. It was truly distant.
33 million cycles. He loved you like no other. His heart never failing to skip a beat whenever his eyes land on you. Anyone would believe that you were blessed by Mnestia themself with your beauty.
He doesn't remember every cycle. But his heart remembered the countless times it beats for you when you're near. His chest ached with longing for you. His mind was plagued by you.
The cycles repeat themselves. There might be different scenarios when he meets you, but just like the previous ones, in the 33,550,336th cycle, he falls in love with you once more.
He would bask in your presence, he relished in receiving a smile from you despite his corny jokes, and he would enjoy how your laugh was music to his ears.
Every night when he returns to his chambers, a smile would form on his lips, muttering, "it was a good day," as he remembered your smiling face.
But just like in the past cycles, Phainon is bound to lose you.
The cold enveloped you fully, eternally freezing your body in Dawncloud. In the center of the forecourt, you were there.
Eternally frozen.
There were no warnings. No signs of this day coming.
"Is that...?"
"[name]?" Dan Heng continued Stelle's dumbfounded reaction, their eyes widening at your familiar frozen figure.
Phainon remained silent, but his expression said it all. The way his lips parted, his pupils shaking as he stared at you. Stilled and cold.
Was this your curse? Not even his love can thaw your frozen heart? Not even his arms around you could get you out of this eternal cold?
He walked over to you, a shaky hand landing gently on your cheek. He didn't feel that nuzzle whenever he would hold you like that. You were just cold. Physically cold that it hurt Phainon both physically and mentally.
There were no tears in his eyes, but the grief was overwhelming him that he almost forgot about his mission to bring Kephale's coreflame back to the Vortex of Genesis.
In his selfish wish, he hoped you would remain here. Like a statue. The fall of the dawn of Amphoreus wouldn't crush you.
Then he turned around to continue their mission.
"Let's go," Phainon spoke to the two Astral Express crew, his voice shaking in the slightest as he wiped a single tear that fell from his eye.
In the 33,550,336th cycle, he lost you to your curse.
But Phainon would wait until a new fate dawned upon you two. In the next life, he will never allow fate itself to take you away from him again.
Never again.
The Flame Reaver in all their glory, the one who killed off the rest of the Chrysos Heirs.
Their metal claws ran through your cold and hardened face. The mysterious sword master, their touch uncharacteristically gentle.
Can I request a reader who’s willing to sacrifice herself for amphorus (I cannot spell it 😭) for the amphorus men + algae. And when the time comes for drastic measures she does it before they can stop her?
ʚɞ And she got, she got away ʚɞ
Pairings: Phainon x Reader, Mydei x Reader, Anaxa x Reader, Aglaea x Reader
Summary: How would they react to you sacrificing yourself for them?
Tags: Angst, hurt/no comfort, major character death, loss of humanity on Aglaea’s part
A/N: TYSM FOR THE REQ! Why was Phainon the easiest to write, he's such an angst material 😞☝️, anyways, hope you enjoy!
⚘ Phainon:
The sky of Okhema, once a deep indigo painted by the Dawn Device’s gentle glow, now burned with an oppressive orange-yellow haze, as though the heavens themselves mourned. The ruins around you smoldered, shadows of shattered spires twisting in the light of distant flames. The Trailblazer and Dan Heng had moved elsewhere, leaving you and Phainon alone in this crumbling battlefield—alone with the man you’d only met a few times, yet who now bore the weight of every life in Amphoreus.
Phainon fought with unrelenting fury, his greatsword a streak of steel and fire as he clashed against the Flame Reaver. But this man was no ordinary foe; he seemed to anticipate every strike, every movement, pushing Phainon to the brink. You could barely keep up, your own attacks landing with little effect. Exhaustion burned through your body, but the Coreflame cradled in your arms pulsed with a soft, steady glow—as if it, too, whispered to you what had to be done.
Resolve hardened in your chest. You stepped forward, grip tightening on the Coreflame. The Flame Reaver’s gaze snapped toward you, sensing the shift in your resolve. Phainon noticed it too—and froze. That look in your eyes was the same one he’d seen before, over and over, etched into the faces of every friend who’d given their life for this cursed land.
“No,” he breathed, stepping in front of you with a desperation that cracked through his usual calm. He swung his greatsword to ward off the Reaver, then turned back to you, his golden eyes wide, wet with panic. “Stay back! Don’t—don’t even think about it! Please, dawnlight, I can’t lose you too!” His voice broke on the last word.
You only smiled softly, your trembling hands cupping his calloused ones, bringing them over the Coreflame. “Phai,” you whispered, your voice steady despite the fear twisting in your gut. “The future of Amphoreus is in your hands. You’re the Deliverer. You’ll bring the dawn… even if I can’t stand beside you to see it.”
“Don’t,” he choked, clutching your hands like he could hold you here by sheer will. But you’d already made your choice.
Before he could react, you pulled away and surged toward the Flame Reaver, each step heavy with purpose. Phainon’s shout tore through the battlefield. “NO!” His cry was drowned by the clash of steel and fire as you met the Reaver head-on, weaving through his attacks, drawing him away from Phainon and the Coreflame.
Your weapon cut arcs of light, a final dance of defiance, until your power flared—a blinding burst that swallowed you both. The last thing you heard was Phainon’s desperate scream, your name echoing like thunder.
And then… silence.
Phainon skidded to a halt where you’d stood moments before, his sword slipping from his trembling grip to the blood-soaked earth. The Coreflame weighed heavily in his hands, its glow warm and cruel. His breathing hitched, chest rising and falling with ragged sobs as he stared at the empty space, tears spilling freely down his dirt-streaked face.
“No… no, no, no…” His voice cracked as he fell to his knees, clutching the Coreflame like it was your heart itself. “Not you… not you too. Why…?” The question dissolved into broken sobs. He’d sworn to be the Deliverer, to bring dawn to Amphoreus, but all he felt was the darkness of your absence. The battlefield blurred around him, his world narrowing to the memory of your smile, your touch, and the unbearable reality that his light was gone.
⚘ Mydei:
The throne of Kremnos loomed in the distance, a broken silhouette against a sky split by crimson light. Battle cries echoed through the ruined stronghold as Nikador’s army surged like a tide of darkness, and Mydei carved through it like a storm, his gauntleted hands gleaming, his golden eyes burning. Immortal though he was, his body bore the marks of countless blows, scars painting his body golden, blood streaking his face. You stayed close, your heart pounding with the weight of your decision, even as you matched his steps and parried stray attacks.
“Mydei!” you shouted over the chaos, voice cracking. “We’re not going to hold him off much longer!”
He snarled, blocking Nikador’s massive blade with a roar. Sparks flew as his weapon locked with the Titan's. “Stay behind me!” he barked, shoving Nikador back. His fury masked fear, but you saw it—he couldn’t afford to lose you. “I’ll end this. Just stay alive.”
You didn’t respond. Instead, you tightened your grip on your weapon, stealing one last glance at him. Mydei, the man who bore immortality like a curse, who carried centuries of pain etched in the hardened set of his jaw. He couldn’t die for Kremnos… but you could. And for him, for the crown he was meant to wear, you would.
Your body moved before your mind could scream for you to stop. You rushed past Mydei with a cry, throwing yourself between him and Nikador’s next devastating strike. Mydei’s eyes widened in horror as steel met flesh, your body glowing with the power you’d gathered. A flash of light exploded across the battlefield, ripping Nikador’s defenses apart and hurling him back, mortally wounded.
“NO!” Mydei’s roar shook the ground as he caught you before you could collapse completely. You were trembling violently, blood staining his arms as he lowered you gently onto the fractured stone floor. “Why… why would you do this?” His voice cracked, raw with a desperation you’d never heard from him.
Your trembling hand reached for his cheek, fingers brushing the scars there. “Because you’re meant… to lead. To rule. Kremnos needs you…” you whispered, your lips trembling with a bittersweet smile. “And I love you.”
Tears welled in his golden eyes as his forehead pressed against yours, his large hands cradling your face as if holding porcelain. “No. Don’t leave me. Please.” The great warrior of Kremnos was reduced to a man begging the stars for a miracle. But you were already fading, your breath slowing as his tears fell freely onto your skin.
When your body stilled, Mydei let out a hoarse, broken cry that echoed across the silent battlefield. The crown of Kremnos lay only a few steps away, glinting with cruel irony. He clenched his fists, rage and grief twisting in his chest. The kingdom had its immortal king, but his heart had been buried with you.
⚘ Anaxa:
The Grove was burning. Its once-sacred libraries, full of centuries of wisdom, were reduced to charred ruins as Black Tide creatures surged through shattered doors and broken walls. The air stank of rot and ash, screams echoing as scholars and warriors fell one by one. Anaxa stood at your side, his spear dripping black ichor, his shoulders heaving from exhaustion. His hands trembled, yet his eyes—deep and determined—were fixed on protecting you.
“We’re losing,” he muttered hoarsely, spinning his spear to fend off another monstrous creature. The blood soaking his clothes wasn’t all his own. “We have to retreat, [Name]. We’ll regroup. We’ll—”
“No,” you said firmly, voice soft but unyielding as you turned to him. Your hand brushed against his cheek, thumb swiping away the soot streaking his skin. His gaze flicked to you, wide with fear—not for himself, but for you. “You’re the hope Amphoreus needs, Anaxa. You’re more than a scholar now. You’re proof that we can still survive this.”
He shook his head, panic breaking through his usual calm composure. “No, don’t you dare talk like that. We’ll survive this together. Please, don’t—”
But your decision was made. With a sudden burst of power, you shoved him back, creating a shimmering barrier between you. He pounded against it, his voice cracking with desperation. “No! Don’t you dare do this! I need you! Please!”
You turned to him one last time, smiling softly through the tears threatening to fall. “And I need you to live.”
With a cry, you unleashed everything you had. Your body became a beacon of radiant energy, burning through the tide of monsters that swarmed the Grove. Screeches filled the air as your power consumed them, the ground trembling beneath the sheer force of your sacrifice. And then, with a flash of blinding light, the monsters were gone.
Anaxa stumbled forward as the barrier dissolved, falling to his knees beside your lifeless body. He reached out with shaking hands, pulling you close, his tears dripping onto your cooling skin. “No… no, no, no…” His voice cracked as sobs wracked his body. The Grove was silent now, but the weight of its destruction—and your loss—crushed him.
He buried his face against your neck, whispering promises through his grief. “I’ll remember you. I’ll keep fighting. You’ll never be forgotten. Not while I live.” His tears fell like rain, mingling with the soot and ash that stained your hair.
⚘ Aglaea:
The Flame-Chase Journey was supposed to be a march toward salvation. Instead, it became a funeral procession that stretched for miles. Blood soaked the earth, and the once-proud heirs of Chrysos fell one by one. Aglaea’s golden threads glimmered faintly around her, weaving barriers and cutting through enemies with deadly precision. But her control faltered when she felt your life flicker.
“No…” she whispered, panic breaking through her calm mask. She ran through the chaos, cutting through enemies with trembling hands, her threads glowing brighter with desperation. “No, no, no, not you.”
She found you in the middle of the battlefield, slumped against the earth, your blood staining the golden threads still wrapped around your body like a futile shield. You managed a weak smile when you saw her, even as the light in your eyes dimmed. “Aglaea… I’m sorry.”
“No,” she gasped, kneeling beside you. Her hands glowed as she desperately tried to weave her threads to heal you, to patch the hole in your chest, to undo the cruel hand fate had dealt her. “No, you’re not allowed to apologize. I can save you. I can fix this. Please, I—”
Your trembling hand brushed her tear-streaked face, your touch soft despite the pain. “You’ll… keep them safe. You always do,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “That’s… who you are.”
Aglaea’s composure shattered completely as she clutched you close, her threads flickering weakly around her. “No… no, stay with me. Please. I can’t lose you. Not you.” Her tears fell onto your cheek, her voice cracking with anguish.
Your smile was faint but warm. “I’ll always… love you.” And then, your body stilled in her arms.
Aglaea let out a strangled sob that pierced through the battlefield. Around her, the world seemed to lose its color, her golden threads dimming as if mourning with her. She cradled you like porcelain, refusing to let go even as the battle raged on.
From that day forward, Aglaea carried your memory like a scar. Each stitch of golden silk she wove was heavy with grief, each victory hollow. She fulfilled her duties, but with every step of the Flame-Chase Journey, she felt her humanity unraveling—because her heart had died with you.
⟢ a knight sworn to protect, and a heart he can’t resist.
pairing! knight!phainon x princess!reader
warnings! angst, grief, character death, mourning, emotional breakdown, guilt, regret, trauma, despair, blood, death of a loved one, hopelessness, crying, vows of devotion, unrequited love, tragic ending, denial, emotional devastation, implied violence
a/n! 100 followers speciallll!!! hey guys im actually super angry at you because it’s been TOO long and i got almost no requests for the special 😡???? at least do me a favor and enjoy this little phainon fic or else!!! sorry no g/n reader this time…
credits to @rawwwra for the idea
── .✦
okhema’s princess… a being of light and gentleness, too soft to ever bring harm to anyone or anything. your laughter filled the palace halls, your kindness warmed the hearts of even the coldest souls. the people adored you, and the children followed you through the gardens like petals chasing the wind. yet, behind all the smiles and songs, jealousy brewed in the shadows. envy, as it always does, waited for its chance to strike.
after the first attempt on your life—a poisoned cup meant to steal your breath—the king decided his beloved daughter needed constant protection.
knights were chosen, one after another. some were too tall, too broad, their presence alone enough to make you uneasy. others were too small, too frail, and you wondered how they were meant to defend anyone at all. day after day, you demanded new guards, new faces, new promises of safety. none felt right.
until phainon.
at first, you thought him a fool. those bright blue eyes, that easy grin that never seemed to leave his face—you couldn’t understand how someone so carefree could protect anyone, let alone a princess. you’d even considered dismissing him before the week was over.
but then came the day you decided to wander beyond the palace walls, to gather berries in the nearby woods. your gown shimmered in the light, your crown glinted with jewels, and to passing eyes, you looked like treasure waiting to be claimed.
the thugs came fast—faces rough, voices thick with greed, blades dull but deadly. they saw gold and weakness and thought it an easy prize.
phainon moved before you could even call his name. it wasn’t thought, it wasn’t duty—it was instinct. in less than two minutes, the men were on the ground, groaning and bruised, their weapons scattered in the dirt. he stood over them, breathing steady, the sunlight glinting off his blade.
when the guards arrived to drag the would-be thieves away, phainon turned to you, that same small smile still on his lips—only now, it looked different. softer. sure.
you couldn’t find words. you only stood there, your breath caught somewhere between awe and disbelief. and in that moment, deep down, you knew—you had finally found your perfect knight.
it didn’t take you long to get used to him. phainon, after all, was impossible not to grow fond of. he had that kind of warmth that filled every room he entered, a friendliness that never faltered. he waved at everyone who crossed his path, grinning wide enough to make strangers smile back, though that grin always disappeared the second you shot him a glare. you’d catch him helping the baker’s son chase after a runaway loaf of bread, or retrieving a cat stuck on a rooftop, or mending a child’s broken toy with that same gentle patience. yet, no matter how distracted he seemed, his attention was always, unfailingly, fixed on you.
it didn’t matter what kind of conversation or bargain he got caught up in—he always knew when something was wrong. it was uncanny, almost unnerving. one look at your face, and he could tell if you were uncomfortable, anxious, or upset. it was as if those bright blue eyes of his could see right through you, peeling away the layers of practiced poise and grace until only your true feelings remained. sometimes you wondered if he’d been trained for that—if the king had told him to study you like an open book. but other times, when you met his gaze and saw the quiet concern there, you realized it wasn’t duty that made him see you so clearly. it was care.
“my princess,” phainon said one afternoon, kneeling before you in the palace garden. the sun filtered through the pear trees, catching on the silver of his hair. he had one arm folded neatly behind his back, the other reaching for your hand. his gloved fingers brushed your skin as he bowed his head, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. his voice, soft and reverent, broke the silence. “i’ve brought something for you.”
you tilted your head, lips curling into a faint, curious smile. “what is it, phainon?” you asked, your tone airy, teasing.
he rose to his feet, and that familiar smile of his—warm, foolish, radiant—found its way back to his lips. from behind his back, he revealed a bouquet, carefully arranged and bound with silk ribbon. peonies—pink, white, and soft as clouds.
“peonies, my lady,” he said, his voice almost bashful now. “you mentioned once that you adored them.”
you blinked, stunned for a moment that he had remembered something so small, so insignificant. you took the bouquet from him, brushing your fingertips against the petals, and the faintest warmth spread through your chest.
“you remember far too much, sir knight,” you murmured.
he grinned, tilting his head just slightly, as if to hide the faint blush that crept across his cheeks. “it’s my duty to remember what makes my princess smile.”
and for the first time in a long while, you did.
“oh, phainon…” you breathed out his name like it was a secret, before practically throwing yourself into his arms. the bouquet was crushed between you for half a second before he laughed, shifting it out of the way.
“hey, hey—careful with the flowers!” he chuckled, his voice soft with amusement. one hand held the bouquet away from you, the other instinctively finding the small of your back, steadying you as though you were something fragile, something sacred.
you didn’t notice the way his breath caught. didn’t see the quiet war behind his eyes.
phainon knew it was wrong—knew that a knight’s heart wasn’t meant to belong to the one he served—but gods, how could he not love you? you were everything he wasn’t. gentle where he was hardened, bright where he was scarred. in his eyes, you were something divine—an angel made flesh, a goddess who somehow laughed and stumbled and called his name like it meant something.
and every passing day made it worse. unbearable, even. every time you tugged at his arm and dragged him through the palace halls; every time you laughed at something trivial, that soft sound melting into the air; every time you leaned a little too close, or smiled just for him—his heart would stutter, and his resolve would crumble a little more.
“phainon! phainon! look at these!”
your voice—bright, excited, alive—pulled him from his thoughts. before he could answer, you were already tugging him through the crowd, weaving between merchants and villagers until you stopped in front of a small trinket stand.
“which, my lady?” he asked, pretending he hadn’t nearly tripped over his own boots trying to keep up with you.
“here!” you pointed at a small wooden carving—two shapes entwined: a sun and a moon. your eyes gleamed as you picked it up. “it fits us, doesn’t it? i’ll be the moon to your sun!” you clapped your hands, nearly bouncing in place, your joy radiant and unrestrained.
phainon couldn’t help it. he smiled, that soft, helpless kind of smile he only ever wore around you. “we’re in public, my lady…” he murmured, leaning closer, his tone meant to sound stern. but the grin tugging at his lips betrayed him completely.
still, he paid for the trinket without hesitation. you took the little sun charm and clasped it to the side of his armor, right above the hilt of his sword.
“so you’ll never forget me, phainon.” your voice dropped into something softer, almost shy, though your eyes still sparkled when they met his.
he looked down at you—at the moonlight glow of your smile—and something in his chest ached so deeply he almost forgot how to breathe.
“as if i ever could,” he murmured, too quiet for you to hear.
the streets of okhema bustled with life around you: laughter, songs, merchants shouting their wares, children chasing after ribbons in the wind. to everyone else, it was the beauty of the kingdom that shone that day.
but to phainon, the beauty of okhema wasn’t in its golden towers or its blooming gardens. it was you—laughing, unguarded, your hand still holding his.
one night, when the moon hung low over okhema and the crickets were humming softly in the royal garden, you called for him.
“phainon,” your voice carried through the quiet, delicate as a whisper.
he arrived quickly, as he always did—boots pressing into the damp grass, armor glinting faintly in the moonlight. he looked almost otherworldly like that, his blue eyes reflecting the stars, his expression alert yet softened at the sight of you. he was always at your service—day or night, no matter the hour or reason.
“take a seat, please.” you patted the spot beside you, your hand brushing over the cool blades of grass.
for a moment, he hesitated—then obeyed, lowering himself beside you. the faint clink of his armor filled the silence before it faded into the sound of the wind passing through the trees.
“phainon,” you began again, your voice quieter now, more fragile. your gaze remained fixed on the garden ahead—on the roses that gleamed faintly silver in the moonlight. “do you ever wish that i was a simple citizen?”
the question caught him off guard. his head turned toward you, confusion and something softer flashing in his eyes. he blinked, let out a short, nervous laugh, as if to hide the unease stirring in his chest.
“why would you ask me that, my lady?” he tried to sound casual, but the words stumbled out too quickly.
you looked at him then, and his heart stilled. there was something in your expression that tore at him—your lips trembling, your lashes heavy with unshed tears.
“oh, phainon…” your voice cracked, the sound barely reaching him before you looked away, eyes on the stars instead of him. “i wish i wasn’t just a thing you protect.”
you drew in a shaky breath, fingers curling in the grass. “i want to live a simple life—one where i wouldn’t have to fear for my own. one where i could walk through the streets of okhema without guards at my side, without whispers following me.”
phainon didn’t speak. he couldn’t. the ache in his chest was too heavy, too consuming. he wanted to tell you that you weren’t a thing to him—that you never had been. he wanted to tell you that in his eyes, you were the heart of the kingdom itself.
but knights weren’t meant to speak such truths.
so he sat there, beside you in the moonlight, silent and still, listening as the princess he loved quietly dreamed of a life she could never have.
“the people love you, my lady.”
phainon’s voice was steady, but his heart wavered beneath the words. he wanted to say more—to tell you that it wasn’t just the people who adored you. that their devotion, their songs, their cheers, were nothing compared to the quiet, aching love he carried for you. but knights were not meant to love their princesses, and so the words stayed buried, where only the stars could hear them.
you gave a faint smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes. “and what difference does that make, my knight? it’s enough for one to act upon their hatred, and it’s all gone.”
your voice was soft, heartbreakingly soft, yet the weight of your words pressed against him like a blade to the chest.
phainon’s breath caught. he looked up at the sky, as if the stars might whisper the right thing to say. but the stars were silent—cold witnesses to a love he could never name. they only glimmered faintly, distant and untouchable, though none of their light could rival the warmth he felt for you.
before he could think twice, phainon turned to you, falling to one knee. the motion was sudden, almost desperate, the sound of his armor brushing against the grass breaking the stillness of the night.
“i swear i’ll protect you with all i have, my lady!” his voice trembled, filled with sincerity, his head bowed, one hand pressed firmly against his chest. if he could, he thought, he would rip out his heart and place it in your palms—because it already belonged to you.
you blinked in surprise, then a soft laugh escaped your lips, light and pure as the sound of bells. “oh, phainon…”
you leaned closer, your hand brushing through his hair, the soft strands catching the moonlight. he closed his eyes at the touch, his entire being stilling under your gentle fingers.
“you don’t have to swear.”
your hand moved, tracing the side of his face, your thumb brushing the curve of his cheek as you tilted his head up until his gaze met yours. your eyes glowed faintly in the pale light, calm and warm and kind.
“i believe you will,” you whispered.
and for a moment—just one fleeting moment—phainon allowed himself to believe that his vow, and the love behind it, were enough to keep you safe forever.
but gentle moments like these don’t last forever.
perhaps phainon should have known that. he was a knight, after all—sworn to protect, trained to fight, built to face loss. yet, no oath or armor could have ever prepared him for this.
your words from that night in the garden—“it’s enough for one to act upon their hatred, and it’s all gone”—echoed through his mind like a prophecy he’d failed to stop. they rang in his ears the same moment he saw the blood, the crowd, the stillness that hung over the square.
he was too late.
“shit!” the word ripped from his throat before he even realized he’d said it. his body moved on instinct—pushing through the crowd, shoving past the guards who were too slow, too stunned to react. his heart thundered in his chest, each beat heavier than the last.
then he saw you.
the princess of okhema—the one he had sworn his life to, the one whose laughter had filled his soul with light—lay sprawled across the cold stone street. your white gown, the one embroidered with silver threads that shimmered under sunlight, was now ruined—soaked through with blood that painted the cobblestones beneath you.
his breath caught. for a second, the world tilted and time fractured. everything—every sound, every motion—fell away until there was only you.
“princess!” his voice cracked, desperate, disbelieving. he stumbled forward, fell to his knees beside you, gathering your frail, trembling body into his arms. his hands shook as he brushed the blood from your face, his touch trembling with panic. “no, no, no… please—please, i’m here,” he murmured, the words tumbling out, broken and helpless.
you stirred faintly, your lips parting. “oh, phainon…”
your voice was weak, fragile—barely there, yet enough to tear through every wall he’d ever built. he pressed his forehead to the crown of your head, his arms tightening around you as though his embrace alone could shield you from death itself.
“you’re going to be fine,” he whispered, his voice shaking. “we’ll get you to a doctor, we’ll—” his words faltered as he realized how much blood there was, how cold your hands felt in his. “please… stay with me longer,” he begged, rocking you gently.
the crowd had gathered closer, their whispers rising like wind through leaves, but phainon didn’t hear them. he saw only you. his world began and ended in your fading eyes.
your hand, trembling and slick with blood, lifted weakly toward his face. he caught it instantly, cradling it against his cheek, as if the warmth of your skin could still be saved.
“phainon…” your voice was a whisper on the wind. “do you still have the charm?”
his chest broke open at the sound. his throat burned with grief, but he nodded, tears spilling freely, streaking down his dirt-stained cheeks. “i do, my lady,” he said, his voice raw, cracking. “i do. i keep it with me, always.”
a faint smile curved your lips—a shadow of the radiant one he loved so dearly. “i’m glad…” you whispered.
and then, the light left your eyes.
it happened so quietly that for a moment, phainon refused to believe it. he waited—waited for a breath, a blink, a twitch of your fingers—but there was nothing. the world stopped moving, the air froze, and in that stillness, reality finally struck.
“no…” the word broke from him, hollow, strangled. “no, please—”
he pulled you closer, pressing your head against his chest, as though his heartbeat might convince yours to return. “wake up,” he begged under his breath, voice trembling between sobs. “please, just… wake up.”
but your body was limp. the warmth was fading.
his tears fell onto your dress, mixing with the blood already staining the silk. he rocked you gently, the way he’d once seen you cradle an injured bird in your hands.
the crowd stayed silent now—some crying quietly, others watching with sorrowful eyes. the guards lowered their weapons, their heads bowed. even the wind seemed to still, carrying only the faint rustle of your hair against phainon’s trembling hand.
“you can’t leave me,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “you can’t… not you.”
but the night gave him no answer.
the moon hung cold and indifferent above, the same moon that had once watched the two of you share laughter beneath its light. now it looked cruel—too bright, too alive—mocking the emptiness spreading through him.
and as he held you tighter, all that remained was the weight of your body in his arms, the ghost of your last smile, and the charm you had given him—a small carving of the sun and moon, now stained with both your blood.
phainon pressed it to his heart and wept until his voice was gone.
and in the quiet that followed, okhema lost not only its princess—but its brightest light.
the days that followed were nothing short of hollow.
phainon didn’t remember much of them. the hours bled together—morning into night, night into morning—each one stretching endlessly, like time itself refused to move forward without you.
they buried you beneath the grand oak in the royal gardens, the one you used to sit under every afternoon, laughing about the shapes the clouds made. you’d once said it was your favorite spot in all of okhema—“because it’s the only place that always feels alive.”
now it felt like the loneliest place in the world.
phainon stood by your grave long after everyone else had gone. the king, silent and broken; the courtiers, whispering prayers; the people, weeping in disbelief. they all left. but he stayed. armor still stained with your blood, sword still sheathed at his side, hands trembling as he traced your name carved into the marble stone.
the beloved princess of okhema.
he thought the words were wrong. they didn’t capture what you were—how your laughter made flowers bloom, how you smiled at every soul, how your presence alone could make a place feel like home.
“you were more than that,” phainon whispered, voice raw. “you were everything.”
his hands clenched around the little wooden charm—the one you’d bought for him at the market, the one that had once gleamed against the metal of his armor. now the carving of the sun was darkened, dulled, and sticky where your blood had dried on it. still, he couldn’t let it go.
he pressed it to his heart, just as he had the day you died, and sank to his knees before your grave.
the earth was soft, the grass still damp from morning dew. he didn’t care that it soaked through his clothes, didn’t care that his voice cracked when he spoke again.
“you told me not to swear, remember?” phainon murmured, a bitter smile twitching at his lips. “you said you believed i would protect you. and i—” his words broke apart, the grief clawing up his throat until he couldn’t breathe. “i failed you, my lady.”
his shoulders shook. the tears came again, unstoppable, soaking into the soil beneath him.
he stayed there through the night, through the rain that came softly at first, then harder, until the garden was shrouded in mist. thunder rolled in the distance, and still, he didn’t move.
every flash of lightning illuminated the gold of his armor, dulled now, heavy with mud and grief. his lips moved, whispering your name again and again, as if saying it could summon you back.
but the silence never answered.
by dawn, the rain had eased, leaving the air cold and heavy. phainon was still kneeling, soaked to the bone, his hair plastered to his forehead. his eyes were red, hollow.
he reached forward one last time, his fingers brushing over the stone that marked your resting place. “i would have given my life for yours,” he whispered, the words barely audible. “gladly. without a second thought.”
a small breeze stirred the leaves above, and for a heartbeat, he could almost believe it was you—laughing softly, like before.
but when he opened his eyes again, there was only the garden, quiet and gray.
from that day on, phainon was never the same. he still wore the royal crest, still carried his sword—but the light in him had gone out.
wherever he walked, the people would whisper of him—the golden knight whose heart had died with the princess of okhema.
and at night, when the city slept, he would return to the oak tree, sit beside your grave, and speak to you as though you could hear him.
telling you about the stars. about how the kingdom missed you. about how he wished he could trade places.
and always, before he left, he’d place the little sun-and-moon charm on the ground, whispering, “so i’ll never forget you.”
then he’d pick it back up—because forgetting you was the one thing he could never do.
summary ⟡ In Eternal Recurrence #33,550,336—one of only twelve cycles where you and Phainon stood beneath Kephale’s gaze as bride and groom—Flame Reaver meets you at the altar alone.
contains ⟡ 1.6k wc, female reader, you have the power to see memories of the past, you and cyrene are twins but it’s not really the focus of this fic, the focus is ANGST (yay for angst!! i love angst!!)
note ⟡ title is from richard siken’s poem “scheherazade”. this was a really really impulsive post but my brain is finally working again so i wrote this instead of studying for finals mwahahaha. it’s short though so i apologize! and because i just posted this, the mydei blurb scheduled for thursday will be moved to saturday :D i hope you enjoy reading!
It always starts the same way—slow, like someone turning the pages of a book you’ve read too many times, soft enough that you can almost pretend you chose to remember.
Oronyx never warns you before a dream hits. The Titan of Time doesn’t need to. Your head touches the pillow, your breath falls steady, and then you’re slipping, pulled gently backwards into memories that aren’t always yours and are never in the right order.
You learned early that the past is noisy. It presses against your ribs, tugs at your thoughts, nudges you awake at dawn with the taste of the world you haven’t walked in years—or maybe never walked at all.
Even before you and Phainon took your first steps into Okhema, you were dreaming of moments from another life entirely. Lives that feel familiar in your bones, even if you couldn’t explain why.
Sometimes, you feel like a child again, blinking up at visions too large to understand. You dream of Aedes Elysiae, bright and untouched, brimming with warmth. The same Aedes Elysiae, later, that will burn like a sun that’s lost its mind.
You didn’t know what any of it meant back then. You dreamed it, you forgot it, and you dreamed it again. It’s funny how Oronyx gave you the gift to see memories, but never the patience to make sense of them.
The peaceful dreams always hit the hardest. They feel like home in the way even the real world sometimes doesn’t. You see people you hadn’t met yet—friends who shouldn’t have had names at the time, but your dreaming self whispered them anyway as if you’d always known.
Aglaea appears first, always, her hands gentle and warm as she circles you with a measuring tape, as if she’s handling something sacred. You didn't know her then, not truly, but dreams make strange promises. Then Tribbie—no, all three of them: Trinnon, Trianne, and Tribbie—bright eyed and flower-gazed, tugging at your sleeves, giggling like the world has never once hurt them.
Cipher shows up next, gray-haired and too smug for her own good, insisting again and again that she hasn’t stolen anything. And Hyacine—sweet and lovely Hyacine—bouncing on her heels, hair curling like spun sugar, always running into your arms like you’ve been gone longer than a lifetime.
Those dreams never last long enough. They always leave you with a feeling like a warm place you can’t get back to.
And sometimes, nestled between all the laughter, Cyrene’s face flickers in—soft, familiar, and painfully close. Your twin; the half of you that never feels gone until the moment you remember she is. You always wake with the same thought lodged under your ribs, sharp as broken glass—
Why couldn’t it have been me instead?
It’s cruel, maybe, but honest. And Phainon tries—titans, he tries—but even he can’t touch the shadow she left behind. But when you dream of love, the world softens, and Phainon is always there.
He stands at the end of the aisle in Dawncloud, Kephale watching from above as if blessing something fragile and bright. You see yourself dressed in gold and expensive fabrics, walking toward him as though time itself holds its breath. The way he looks at you in those dreams—like you’ve carved the clouds and the sky with your bare hands—makes your chest ache. And when the real moment finally came, in this life, it was even better than the dreams promised. You remember thinking, for a heartbeat, that sometimes past lives get to bleed into the present in the gentlest ways.
However, when you dream of destruction, it doesn’t care for gentleness.
You see the man in black every time, faceless in the way nightmares always are, but you know who he is because the world around him bleeds. Because Coreflames vanish like snuffed candles. Because your friends fight with desperation instead of certainty. Because you stand before him, blade trembling in your hands or sometimes with nothing but your voice, and you die.
You always die. Sometimes quick, sometimes slow, but it never feels any less real. And deep down, you’ve always known these are memories too—just ones you wish you could forget.
And tonight, you’re standing at the altar in Dawncloud—but this time, it’s not a dream. Kephale watches from above just as you’ve always seen, though the air feels tense, humming with the weight of a world that’s beginning to buckle.
Dan Heng arrives first, steps steady despite the exhaustion threading his voice. Stelle follows, bright-eyed but scraped raw by the battle for Aquila’s Coreflame. And then Phainon lands beside them, breath quick.
They’re safe.
“You need to hurry,” you tell them, lowering your voice as if the Black Tide itself is listening. “Okhema’s already losing ground. The Black Tide is spreading faster than expected. You have to return the Coreflames before it’s too late.”
Dan Heng nods. Stelle swallows hard. But Phainon only looks at you, worry written clear across his face.
“I don’t want to leave you here,” he says quietly, too quietly for the others to hear. “Not with all of this happening. Not with the Black Tide—”
“I’ll be alright,” you whisper, reaching up to smooth the crease between his brows. “If anything happens… at least we’ll see each other again in Era Nova.” You say it lightly, but the truth sits heavy beneath it.
He doesn’t laugh. His hands come up to hold your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks like he’s trying to memorize you in case memory fails him later. “I don’t like that answer.”
“I know,” you breathe. “But it’s the one we have.”
For a moment, neither of you move. Then he pulls you in—tight, desperate, warm—and you melt into the embrace. He presses his forehead to yours, then kisses you like he’s afraid the world might end before he pulls away.
When he finally does, his eyes linger on you like he’s trying to carry the image of you with him.
“Come back to me,” he pleads. Come back to me alive. Please.
“I’ll try,” you promise.
He turns, because he has to. Stelle and Dan Heng wait for him; Okhema waits for him; the world waits for him. They leave in a streak of motion and fading footsteps, carrying with them the last bit of safety the altar had.
And when their presence finally slips into silence, you’re alone.
The winds goes still. The air becomes warmer. A shadow falls across the stones.
He’s here.
Flame Reaver steps into view like a memory walking out of the smoke. He doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t have to. Something in you already knows.
He stands at the edge of the altar, masked and unmoving, a dark silhouette against the burning sky. But there are no flames—only the pressure of his presence, heavy enough to make the air feel thinner.
“You…” His voice grinds through the mask, deep and hollow. “…are here.”
You breathe out a shaky smile, gentle in a way that doesn’t make sense in front of a figure like him. “I knew you’d come here.”
“You… shouldn’t be… here…” he forces out—a broken warning, a plea buried inside ruin.
“I saw it,” you say, stepping closer even though the air burns around him. “In my dreams. No matter which life it was… no matter how the memories came… you always end up here. At this altar.”
His posture falters for a fraction of a second.
“But I think…” Your voice softens. “I think this is the first time a version of me has ever truly met you here.”
“The world…” he rasps, each syllable struggling through his mask. “…must… reset…”
“I know.” You smile doesn’t falter, even though your heart does. “And I’m not exempt.”
He says nothing, but his silence is clear enough.
“You’ve been carrying this alone for so long,” you murmur, voice trembling. “Doing what you think you have to. For the greater good… right?”
He doesn’t nod, he doesn’t shake his head, but you see a tremor run through him. His fingers curl, flickering with something—gold and red and grief.
You step closer until you’re right in front of him, close enough to see your reflection twisted in the metal of his mask. “It’s alright,” you say quietly. “I forgive you.”
You hear his breath stutter behind the metal.
“I forgive you,” you repeat, slower, quieter, like a promise you carried across lifetimes.
For one heartbeat—one fragile, trembling moment—everything is still.
And then he moves. His blade strikes through you with precision—silent, clean, and devastating. A small gasp of breath leaves you. Your knees buckle, but he catches you before you fall, holding you with both arms as though you’re something delicate.
The world blurs. His masked face hovers close, unreadable and yet hurting in every way a face can hurt.
“It’s okay…” you whisper, your voice barely a breath. “I promise.”
Your fingers reach up, brushing the side of his mask. Cold metal. Cold touch. “Time always circles back… and somehow… somehow love always finds us… at this altar.”
His grip trembles. You feel it. You feel him.
Your vision dims.
“We’ll meet… again,” you breathe. In Era Nova.
And then your body goes still, slumping in his arms like a story reaching its final line.
Flame Reaver does not lower you to the ground. He holds you there, frozen, cradling you against him as everything falls silent around you—this first, terrible meeting now etched into the story he will carry forward—and as another ending searing itself into memory he cannot bear to remember and cannot ever forget.
end note: this mc would know who the flame reaver actually is because she knows him. it may have taken some time, but with the dreams, she would have figured it out eventually. additionally, flame reaver (even when he was just phainon) always visits the altar where you made your vows.
annaxmalina
baratheonpilled
turnnoffyourmind
dededos
ellievsbear
discoholicmusic
jbbartram-illu
