“Yours is the light by which my spirit's born: @geminorvm - Tumblr Blog

cogito ergo sum || Phainon

Summary:

Life in Okhema is not something out of a dream, but something you have choosen for yourself. And you're able to move forward every day, especially with Phainon by your side. Nothing seems wrong, everything is the way it's supposed to be. A peaceful life. Until you have to question everything

Wordcount: 20.7k

Read on AO3

Pairing:

Phainon / Reader

Tags/CW:

nsfw, canon divergent, reader is a refugee in Okhema due to the black tide, weird physical reactions to phainon, banter, philosophical discussions, witty remarks, watching phainon and mydei train yay, why is reader lowkey a tsun, reader has a chronic illness, which will be revealed, and backgrounds story for reader, Anaxa cameo, Flame Reaver disturbing them on their walk, treating phainon's injuries, fighting, kissing, stream of consciousness, existential crisis, making out, eating you out, fingering, humping, piv, Major Character Death,

Note:

hiii, hiiiiiii, welll...... best to read on AO3, extended author's note

The sun warms your skin. A sensation you haven't felt for far too long. And it won't ever leave you. Not as long as you stay in the holy city Okhema. In which you will probably spend the rest of your days. It's inevitable, it's the only place untouched, untainted, safe. Inevitable, yet you'd like to call this trip of yours an adventure. Even if fate as forced your hand, even if this is forced, an escape, rather than something you have done out of your own volition. An escape which has left many scared, trembling, hurt; the memories assaulting their mind while their bodies groan with each move.

But the sun shines, and you get another chance. A chance to live outside of the looming darkness, threatening to swallow everything. A chance to live even with the unimaginable loss and the still aching burns under your skin.

The sun shines upon you, never-ending. And you refuse to give up, refuse to surrender to the pressure on your soul, as you continue to try to survive. The city took you in. But it was unwilling to give you any more. Not without a fight.

So, you slept in flimsy tents, under dripping roofs, wrapped in something akin to a blanket. You took on random errands, scrapping together enough coins for a meal. No one was willing to give you something more permanent. Not with your aching arm and your unknown origin.

But the sun rises and never sets, and you keep going, a smile on your face, even as you feel your eyes burn with the heaviness in your chest. All roads will lead to happiness, and it will all be worth it in the very end.

Thus, you persist. You persist. You wake up, look for work, work, if you're lucky, you get to enjoy a proper meal, if not, you're also happy about a nice piece of bread, and you go into a quite, abandoned corner before sleep overtakes you. And the sun never sets, and you have lost count on how many days you have spent trying to get to the next, without stop, without a break, without any thought of why and how and for what. Just continuing, just as the sun does above you, relentless.

The first time you allow yourself the luxury of tears, is when an old lady—one you have been running little errands here and there occasionally—invites you into her place of work. A pharmacy. A little workspace, where the smell of herbs penetrates the air, sinking into your skin as you inhale. And for some reason, you feel comfortable, feel relaxed, as if you can finally drop down and let this burden on you fall from your soul for just this moment. But this wasn't what brought you to tears. It's when this lady begins to talk to you—something you have grown used to, but not while sitting inside, not while she puts a steaming cup of tea in front of you, only to grab your hands and press them softly against the ceramic.

"My dear, I've grown old, you know that, considering how many errands I've been making you run. Shh, don't try to say anything, I know myself very well. And I've grown to like you quite a bit," her fingers are soft against the back of your hands, and she doesn't give you the time to react at all. "So, what do you think about staying and helping me every day? I would think that wonderful."

Your only answer: tears.

It was uncontrollable, really. It's the first time since your arrival in this city, where you have felt welcomed and appreciated for. Where your existence didn't just seem like something to be used or to scorn on. And it's the first time you have felt like you could finally belong to someplace proper. The first time in a long time you felt something burn in your chest: hope.

You try to collect your words through your closed throat, sobs threatening to spill over just as easily as your tears.

"A—Are you sure?" you sniff, voice wobbling. "I—I don't have experience, and—and my hand is, hm, is a bit shaky."

Her soft laughter soothes your worries and only makes you cry even more. "I'm still here, we've got enough time to get through this together. And I suppose two shaky people equal one without problems, huh?"

With this, the dam broke and you turn into a sobbing bundle, as you press the back of her hands against your forehead, murmuring your eternal thankfulness over and over again.

The warmth of the sun finally reached your soul.

That's how you ended up behind the counter of the pharmacy, packing up small portions of herbs and helping people with what they might need. You have slowly grown accustomed to staying in one place. Especially when you have been so incredibly busy trying to learn about everything there is to know, with a set goal to help the owner as much as possible. And of course, getting to know the regulars. The same faces you see on a regular basis, with some stranger occasionally in need of something small.

That's what every new face supposed to be, a stranger. Only, this time, when the little bell jingles and you look up to welcome the new customer, you feel a strange stirring in your heart and a dull ache in your trembling arm. You reckon it's due to his handsomeness, and the way he just exudes the promise of an adventure and heroism. His light hair gives him the image of a halo as the sun frames him.

A smile that could blind everyone unprepared graces you, and you quickly avert your eyes.

"Welcome. How may I help you?"

"Ah, hello! You're new here, aren't you? Where is the old lady?"

This makes you frown slightly, because he's not wrong. You are new. But you've been working here long enough that you almost considered this an insult. Almost like he's insinuating that he's more familiar with this place than you are. And maybe he is. But that doesn't matter to you, because he's certainly not a regular, or else you would've at least caught a glance of him while working in the back.

Still, you keep your smile as you answer him. "She's not here right now. Maybe I can be of help?"

"Right, okay. Well, maybe you can, actually. There should be a pre-packed bundle under my name—Phainon. The old lady should have been expecting my visit…"

"Okay, let me take a look. I'll be right back."

You turn and go into the small room behind the counter, where the old lady puts everything she has prepared in advance. While looking for said bundle, you ruminate about the man still waiting in front of the counter.

Phainon… Phainon… The name sounds familiar, but you can't pinpoint it. Something you might've heard in the small rumour-mill and in the whispers in the small alleys. But truthfully, you have never really paid attention to those—unless a customer was trying to get a conversation going with you, but most of them were on the older side, and their gossip concerned the drama of the surroundings, rather than about knights in shining armor. So, in the end, you couldn't discover where you have heard his name from, not before you found his order and brought it back to the front.

"Here. I assume you know how to use this stuff?"

"Of course! Thank you for your kind assistance, partner."

Your fingers brush as you hand him the packed herbs, and you plan on going back to your work—sorting and cutting herbs—, when you suddenly feel something grab your chest, squeezing it tight, breath cut short and hurt arm even more useless as usual.

You gasp and quickly retrieve your hand from the accidental touch. Which for some reason seems to have been the cause, as the grip releases you and air is able to enter your lungs once again.

"Goodbye!" you quickly say to cover up whatever just happened.

"Wh—are you okay?"

You give him an unperturbed smile. "Of course. Goodbye. Have a nice day, sir."

His eyebrows furrow slightly as he nods and turns to leave. "Sir..?" You hear him mumble just as the door closes behind him.

Just when you're sure that he's gone, do you practically collapse on the counter. You hold your throbbing arm close to your chest as you try to catch your breath, shaky and uncontrollable.

You have never felt this way before since coming here. Not since escaping from the blackness threatening to spill over, threatening to swallow everything. Not since it has grasped you and ate at your skin, leaving you in pain and marked for all eternity. You have never thought of this as a curse, just a misfortune. Yet, it seems as if there might be more to it than you would have anticipated. Something you'd rather not confront. Not when you have just found stability and an inkling of happiness. So, you're going to ignore it. You're going to ignore it and avoid as much direct contact with this Phainon as possible. You're not keen on discovering the secrets behind the black void. You don't even mind if there's no real goal in this life. Not as long as you're able to be alive and to enjoy being alive.

If only things were as easy as you thought them to be.

For some reason, Phainon visited the pharmacy again after a couple days. And this time, you're quite sure that there isn't any order under his name. You have checked (so you can plan ahead and avoid him when the time comes). Still, even if you'd rather be anywhere else, you give him a polite smile and ask him how you may help him.

"Ah, nice to see you again! I was just coming back from a nice walk, when I saw some interesting herbs growing beyond the path," he begins to explain. "And I thought maybe you knew what they might be? So, I dropped by to ask."

"Okay. Do you have them on hand?"

"Oh, uh, no. I thought I shouldn't just rip them out of the earth without knowing how to do so properly," his hand rubs his neck and he seems almost flustered.

You suppress a sigh and shrug your shoulders. "Well, there's nothing I can do, I have to—"

"Just go with the young man," the old lady interjects. "It's not like I can just go there myself. And I'm still here, so, there's nothing for you to do anyway." She pushes you from behind the counter and towards the door.

When you turn away to reply, she only makes a shooing motion, making it obvious, that she was not going to hear you out, no matter what you say. And this time, you actually let out a sigh, one filled with resignation as your shoulders slump in defeat, before you turn towards Phainon once again.

"Well then. I guess I have to accompany you to see these herbs. Lead the way, sir."

He opens the door and signals for you to step outside. "You can just call me Phainon, you know that, right?"

"I could. But why should I, really."

"Because I offered? And I'm not that old, that you have to call me 'sir'."

"I'll think about it. Maybe. Now, show me these herbs before I change my mind." Which you actually can't, because you just know that Aspasia might as well kick you back out to get him to do so, despite your protests.

Luckily, he doesn't challenge your statement and immediately begins to walk down a very specific path. And while he weaves through the masses of people, too many greet him with a bright cheerfulness, something reserved for a friend, a hero, someone they could wholeheartedly trust. They call him by his name, and by other names. Among them, you decipher the name 'Deliverer'. And everything clicks into place.

Phainon of Aedes Elysae. A Chrysos Heir. The Deliverer. The Hero. The Savior of this plagued world. Someone who deserves reverence and utmost trust. And someone you have—contrary to every expectation—shown the cold shoulder to, and implied that he has neither your trust, nor deserves your kindness.

In a way, you feel embarrassed and ashamed of yourself. You have been quite rude to him. Even if you still feel justified, he is still a stranger after all; and one you'd like to continue keeping your distance from, no matter his position in society. And it's too late to change your way of address towards him. There's no way you would've called him by his first name anyway. Not when you wanted him as far away from you as possible.

But you suppose you could speak in a softer manner to him, with kinder words.

Maybe you will get your chance to do so soon, as the path has led you both outside of the bustle of the city and to a quieter corner of Okhema. The way grows uneven and you notice that Phainon has slowed down ever so slightly, his hands inconspicuously hovering, as if preparing to catch you when you fall. But you know—or rather assume—that the moment you touch him again, the pain is going to sear you once again. Thus, you grit your teeth and put your utmost focus on your path to make sure to never slip up even once.

With this and careful distance between you and him, you finally arrive at your destination. A small clearing, with litters of different plants.

Phainon nods his head towards a small bush and kneels in front of it. "It's this one. I've never seen one like it before."

"You know something about that stuff?" you ask as you kneel in front of the same plants.

"Well, I did occasionally encounter some herbs when I was younger. And of course I have to know how to get by outside of Okhema."

You glance at him, before you focus on the plant, analyzing it's shape and surface. "You don't look like someone who would care. No offense."

"None taken. You don't either."

This retort makes you grin slightly. "Pffha, you're not wrong. I'm from far away—I suppose it doesn't exist anymore, though—so I'm not familiar with anything around here."

"Oh, I'm—"

"Don't. Everyone has their own problems. Mine being this one doesn't make it special… After all, in some way, life doesn't really have a set ending. So it's important to just enjoy what you have and what you do." Your fingertips carefully caress the leaves, feeling their structure under your skin.

"Hm. You're not wrong. But I have to disagree. Everyone has a destiny, something to achieve."

You pick the leave and bring it to your nose to smell it. A way to conceal your huff of amusement.

"It's always the same with you hero types. But are you happy?"

"Huh, what?

You take a small scissor, clip some of the herb and carefully put it into a piece of paper to wrap it in. Then you stand up and motion for him to stand up with a move of your head. "You heard me, Sir Hero. Now, shall we get back, or does your fate tell you otherwise?"

"Wait, I just want—" Phainon quickly scrambles to his feet, only to grab you just as fast, and you weren't able to react in a timely manner.

The pain is immediate. His fingers pressing against your weak hand seem to pierce to your nerves. It shoots through your body, grabs you and squeezes you tightly, all air leaving you with a small wheeze. You have no control, you can't pull yourself out of his grasp, before your legs give and you meet the soft grass concealing the hard ground. But you barely notice, the taste of iron coating your tongue, your bones straining against your own muscles, wetness dripping down your face. And his panicked face as his fingertips touch your skin, soft and careful, and you think to hear your name before blackness overtakes your vision and your mind.

A sense of foreboding is pressing down on you, yet you run and run and run. You continue even as your body aches, even as your breath falls short, even as your vision is threatened to be covered by never-ending darkness. You run, your feet dull against the soft earth underneath—nothing like the paved ways of any city. You run and a shadow continues to nip at your heels. Almost like it's playing with you. As if this is nothing but a game of hide and seek. Maybe it is—but not for you. You just know, the moment you the shadow takes over, something will happen to you, something your heart might not be able to survive.

So, you never stop, never look back. Not even daring to breathe in relief as you finally see a bridge. One that will lead you to safety, one the shadow cannot follow you over. You immediately take the straight way towards it. Prepared to take the first step. Only for something to emerge out of the void underneath it, swallowing the bridge whole, breaking your last hope with it's brittle wood. A snake has simply opened its jaws and taken in the whole thing. And maybe it should've taken you, too. But you're still at the edge of nothing, unable to move back or move on. You're stuck. This is how it ends. The grand finale of a game, one you had no choice in. And you can't fight back. You can't calm down your heart, feeling as it might explode, if the darkness does not take you first.

You don't even have time to scream before—

A gasp, a jolt. And then you're coughing from the scream swallowed down. As you catch your breath, you look around, trying to discern where you are. Which turns out to be your own room, situated in the attic of the pharmacy—a complementary with the work, one you're glad to have been given.

And then, you make eye contact with someone. Someone with incredible blue eyes, which are practically staring into your soul. If your throat doesn't feel dry and closed off, you would've started screaming right this second. In some way you did, but your voice was so hoarse, it came out as a croak.

"You're awake, I'm glad! I'm just going to get the old lady real quick."

Before you even processed his presence, Phainon was gone.

You assume he has carried you all the way back to the pharmacy after you fainted. Which speaking of, you're not feeling any pain anymore. Just the lasting aftereffects of your nightmare. You even try to move your weaker hand, and it's just the normal way it acts, something you could never get rid of, ever. But that's your normal, and you couldn't ask for more, could you?

"You're supposed to get some herbs and come back. It can't be that difficult," Aspasia says as she enters the room, then she sighs. "You're making me age with worry. Which is the opposite effect of your employment…"

Despite her harsh words, the hand she presses against your forehead is gentle. Then, she presses her fingers against your throat—you feel your heart beat against the small point of pressure.

"You didn't tell me you get seizures." She grabs your weak arm and begins to undo the bandages carefully.

You don't resist and let her. "I don't. This is the first time for me, too."

"Hmm…"

Once the wrapping is gone, she doesn't touch your skin, just examines it from afar. You wouldn't expect her to. After all, who knows how the remnants of the black tides could affect other people if touched directly. It's a miracle you still have your arm and for it to still be functional.

"It doesn't seem like it has spread or gotten worse," she grabs new bandages to wrap around your arm with skilled movements. "Do you at least know what could have triggered it?"

You purse your lips. Technically you do. But you know that sharing this kind of information couldn't do you or Phainon any good. Even if you trust Aspasia, you don't trust the walls surrounding you. Thus, you shake your head. Not a lie, as you're not even sure; it's just an assumption after all. You just have to make sure to keep appropriate distance from him.

"Well, you can rest for today. I got the herb from your pocket, so I don't need you anymore anyway." She waves with her back turned to you, before she goes down to the pharmacy once again.

A sigh escapes you, as you want to sink back into your pillow. Only then do you notice the lingering exhaustion in your bones. And the tall person lingering in the doorway, startling you.

"Oh, sneaking around with that big of a frame is useless, Sir Hero, just come in," you sigh, but not in bad faith. He just reminded you of a child in that moment, of one peeking behind the door to make sure no one caught them while staying late at night just for the sake of it (and to watch the moon and stars, but that's what you would've done in that kind of scenario).

"Is everything alright?"

"Yeah, turns out I'm overworked, nothing else," you lie without a hitch.

Despite his help, which you appreciate immensely, he's still virtually a stranger to you. And you're not someone who's going to burden the conscience of any random person. Even if they are the hero of the lands.

His brows furrow and his lips purse as he nods slowly. Maybe he doesn't believe you, but still accepts your explanation nonetheless. Not that it would make much of a difference anyway. As long as he doesn't dig deeper than necessary, you both can live with this small harmless lie.

"Oh, and thank you…"

"Huh?"

"Thank you for carrying me back. That must've been tiring."

"Oh! Not at all! That's what we're training and striving for after all: to help people whenever they need it."

You huff, the closest to a laugh you will give him. "Ah, I forgot. You're a Hero. This is your titan-given duty."

"Exactly!"

"Honestly, I'm too tired to resume this discussion with you, so I'm just going to say nothing. Just thank you. Even if it was your duty."

"O-oh! I'm sorry, I will leave and let you rest now. Goodbye," he gives you a small wave before he ducks beyond the door.

And you finally let yourself fall back into the bed once you're sure he's truly gone. You're glad that everything turned out to be alright. Yet, as you ruminate about the now fuzzy dream you had, you begin to feel the dull ache of yearning. Or more succinct: homesickness.

If your home still existed, this wouldn't have happened. And even if it did, you could at least go to the temple and ask for help. You still remember how the priests knew how to decipher dreams, and use that knowledge to even heal the people. It was something like a miracle to many. Even if you have never needed their help—were never interested in their practices—, you begin to regret not even carrying the smallest bit of knowledge about their ways. They were willing to teach and show everyone who had enough will and curiosity.

Not that it matters anymore. What happened happened, and you cannot undo anything. And clinging to the past is as useless as hoping for a predetermined fate.

Predetermined fate… The Chrysos Heirs… Their whole life revolves around the new possible era. Yet you wonder if they could ever be truly happy; trying to reach something they hope for, yet is so uncertain. But who are you to judge how they live. You can barely take care of yourself.

Despite that, the last image in your mind was of this hero wearing a radiant smile as the sun caresses him, before sleep overtook you once again.

As the after-effects of that attack easily subsided with a good amount of sleep, you were able to get back to work on the next day. And your days continue to be peaceful while you go through the familiar motions once again. Extra peaceful, because you didn't have to worry about any specific visitors that might put you on edge. Even if—for some reason— this also made you feel slightly uneasy. Maybe you have grown used to him… Which wouldn't make sense, you have barely seen him anyway, and know him even less. So, you should shake this feeling off and rather focus on what's in front of you.

Which is a small package the old lady is handing you. You take it reflexively, only to look at it with slight confusion. The herbs are already cut and mixed and packed, you don't need to do anything to this particular piece anymore.

Aspasia seems to have expected this, of course she did, because you're usually doing the work, not receiving something. "Listen, the young Phainon hasn't visited in some time. And I've been worrying about him. Maybe he's hurt, lying in a ditch somewhere." She sighs and puts her palm against her cheek to show her thoughtfulness.

You raise an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure he's still alive. Because—" Something thick is on your tongue and the words and thoughts slip your mind. "—Because the whole city would be in outrage. He's so beloved by all, the perfect hero. Anyway. Why are you telling me this?"

She rolls her eyes at you. "Spare me your oh-so-witty remarks. Take this medicine and deliver it to him. You still remember how to, right?"

"Woah, I didn't know I'm the deliverer now—"

"Be quiet and go."

You grin and bow with a flourish. "Your humble deliverer will get this job done."

But before you properly leave the pharmacy, you look back. "Oh, and I didn't know you were into these kinds of things." You immediately duck with a giggle and you think to hear something soft hitting the door.

Outside, you take your time to put the small package in your bag and secure it, lest it spills out on the way. After making sure everything is in place, you finally make your way towards your destination. She hadn't given you a specific place, but you assume that you might see him around the Hero's Bath. Not that you had access to it, but maybe they had some sort of place where they accept deliveries. With one of them being the Deliverer, that may be.

You take your time weaving through the Holy City, simply enjoying the bustle of the people, their liveliness, their peace. This is what life is supposed to be, simply taking in everydays happiness, bit by bit.

This way, it doesn't take you a long time—at least it didn't feel like a long time to you—until you've arrived at your destination. At least you thought so, but it seemed like you have taken a wrong turn somewhere, as you're standing at the edge of an open field. And due to the lack of its waters, you doubt it's the bath.

Pushing your lips slightly forward and squinting your eyes, you try to discern where you have landed. But you don't remember ever seeing this place before. To be fair, you have never had to deliver something to any Chrysos Heir before, so it makes sense for you to get lost. Doesn't make it better, though.

You were about to simply turn on your heels and go back, maybe even completely give up, when you hear some raised voices. It seems like there was a fight going on, just around the corner. So, you did what every sensible person would do in your position: You peeked around the corner.

The sight there almost makes you startle. Two men without shirts were facing each other, one with a weapon—a sword that could be as tall as a normal sized person—, and the other with a golden gauntlet, sharp claws glimmering underneath the sun. They were coming at each other like their life depends on this one fight. Which you doubt, because there's no way someone fights to the death in Okhema, right?

Still, you're unsure, and they're in the middle of this battle of theirs, shouting provocations at each other. Do they never run out of breath? So, you can't just intervene or ask for directions, and simply keep watching. It's definitely not because you're enjoying the move of their muscles and the glistening of their sweaty skin under the sun, that would be weird.

Especially when you noticed that the person with the huge sword is Phainon. How could you make eyes at someone you wanted to keep your distance from. (A small voice tells you that enjoying something from afar does not mean indulging in it.)

You have been deep in thought and too focused on the glide of the muscles as they tense and loosen up in reaction to the moves, that you completely missed who has won. Only when you hear their laughter and see them wipe their sweat with some towels, do you startle and stand up straight, trying to get out of their view as fast as possible. But how are you supposed to get him the package now? Because if you don't do it today, you'd have to come back another time, and even if the display earlier wasn't necessarily unpleasant, you'd hate to seem like you're just trying to look for him to gain his favor.

While thinking, you rub your fingers against your lips, trying to find a way to randomly appear before him without seeming suspicious. You could explain yourself, but he's also without shirt. And who would believe you when you say that you simply had gotten lost. Phainon would. But you're not sure about the other person. He looked ferocious. Hot, but ferocious nonetheless.

Before you could even formulate an idea of a plan, a shadow lays upon your figure, and you immediately look up. Only to be met with a big, in some way looming, chest, making direct eye contact with you, and maybe even threatening you with their sheer size—they could crush your head between them, great titans.

Only when you notice that you have been staring too hard, you abruptly move your head to look up. Only to be blinded this time around. Even of the sun is pointing in the opposite direction, his eyes seem to glow—a beautiful blue, the sky compressed into a pair of eyes—, and his smile is even more radiant.

"Oh, hello, little assistant. What a coincidence to be seeing you here!"

You bristle at him calling you with this nickname, everything you have carefully thought through slipping your mind. "This isn't a coincidence, Sir Hero. Somebody forgot their order and thus I had to take it upon myself to deliver it."

"Oh, did old lady Aspasia make you do it?"

"Woah, I didn't know you were so possessive over the name 'Deliverer'."

This makes him drop his smile and blink at you a couple of times, obviously speechless. So, you continue.

"Like, I knew you liked being called 'The Deliverer', but to get this possessive? Did you claim it as yours? Because I didn't hear about this—"

"Wha— No—"

"—and it's a title with many meanings behind it, you can't possibly claim them all. You do realize that, right? I did deliveries, so technically I'm a deliverer, too. Do you want to take this away from me, too? Have I not lost enough?"

Seeing him unable to collect the right words and just open his mouth only to close it again, you reckon you went a bit far with the last bit. To deescalate things, you reach and pat him on the shoulder. Only to realize your mistake when your skin meets his directly and his warmth shoots through your nerves.

"Lighten up. I was just jesting, your reaction was just too good to miss out on."

His eyes glance at your hand on his shoulder, and you quickly pull away.

"Oh, uh, sorry…" you scratch your neck slightly, before you begin to rummage through your bag. "And you were right. Old lady Aspasia sent me. She was worried."

Once you grasp the small package, you present it to him. Phainon immediately reacts and takes it, but not without grabbing your hands at the same moment, too. You suppress a flinch, and try to ignore the heat of his palms seeping into you, the way his grip is gentle despite the roughness of his skin, his callouses scraping the back of your hand.

"What about you?"

"H-huh?"

"Were you… worried, too?"

Of course, there was this big temptation to say no. But his eyes seem so big and so wet and his shoulders are slightly sagging, and if he had dog ears, you're pretty sure they would be drooping. How could you deny what he wants to hear.

You sigh and close your eyes for just a moment before looking back at him, trying to look as earnestly as possible. "Sure, maybe I was. Are you going to complain about it?"

He immediately gives you a bright smile and you feel his fingers squeeze your hands quickly, before he let go. "No complaints here! And—"

Before Phainon could continue to oncoming chat, a male voice calls for him. And it doesn't take long for his sparring partner to join you in that quiet corner. He's also really tall and incredibly imposing. Yet, his narrowed eyes and the marks flowing down his body make him to be such a looker. The fact that he's also without a shirt only adds to his appeal.

He gives you a glance and you feel the heat shoot through your face, and you duck to escape his direct sight. You sincerely hope he didn't notice you staring up at him like a newborn fowl, that would've been embarrassing.

"Are you coming, Deliverer?" he turns towards Phainon, not saying a word to you. You were slightly disappointed, but maybe it's for the best.

"I'm right behind you, don't worry!"

"Good. Because it was your idea. I'd rather do something else." With that, he just leaves you both again.

You can't help but stare at him as he's walking away. Until you feel something heavy on your head, making you look for its origin: Phainon.

"I guess I'll see you another time, alright?"

"Uh, sure. See you, Sir Hero."

"And next time, call me by name," and he interrupts you before you could refuse. "Just do me this favor. Please?"

Once again, he's showing his strongest weapon, his beautiful big eyes. And you haven't known that you're so weak for these before. So, there's nothing you could do but nod.

"Fine. I will. If you come over. Because it seems like you wanna be the only deliverer. I'm doing you a double-favor."

A giggle escapes his mouth, leaving you stunned. What a beautiful sound. Something that strums at your heart, leaving it aching and wanting. You swallow.

"I guess I then owe you a double-favor back, huh? See you then." Phainon waves slightly before quickly catching up with his sparring partner, leaving you leaning against the wall, somewhat confused.

After you collect yourself—and calm your racing heart—, you make your way back to the pharmacy. But this time, you couldn't focus on the environment around you at all, too focused on the memory of how his skin felt against yours. Especially with the fact that you thought he might be the reason for all these attacks. They've always happened when he touched you after all. It made the most sense. But now they're gone, they didn't happen, no matter how many times your skin brushed against his. You're confused and you feel lost. Unsure what to do, stuck in this weird limbo of shall you or shall you not.

That's exactly why you hate ruminating over the uncertain future. How does any of this make sense, how could you imagine to know what might ever happen? How could you work towards a goal you think to see, only for it to never exist in the first place? You have to ground yourself in the here and now, or you might lose your mind.

And just in the right time, you arrive at the pharmacy, ready and burning for some work to get through, to focus on each second you're living in, rather than fret over some unknown future.

Your hands cramp and you let some curses slip, but you don't stop your movements, trying to work through your tense muscles and cut neatly through the herbs. It's a busy day. There are a lot of orders and even more spontaneous visits. The storage has been dwindling for some time, which means you have to prepare everything by hand right this second without a moment to waste. But your hand is giving up on you, and you have to drop the tool you have been trying to clutch all this time.

"Ugh, damn it, my hand," you groan and begin to shake your hand in fast movements, trying to release the tension as fast as possible.

But that only brought little relief, so you begin to press your fingers against the almost sore part of your hand, trying to massage the pain out with harsh pressure.

You were so focused on this mission of yours, you miss the little jingle of the door as yet another person enters. Only by their steps do you notice their presence. And you know you should look up to greet them, but you're feeling somewhat stressed and your hand still hurts, and you need to take a breath before looking up and you can't forget to smile and—

"Oh, does your hand hurt? Did you injure yourself?" A familiar voice asks, and you squint as you look up to meet Phainon's eyes.

"Don't make fun of me. It's just a cramp," you grumble with slightly jutted lips.

"I'm not, I promise, now—", without warning, Phainon takes your hand in his and lets his fingers carefully press into your muscles. It's akin to a miracle, the way he gently moves his thumbs, yet is able to release all the tension this easily. And his skin is warm and his touch is soft, and you avoid looking him into the face, afraid your facial features might betray you.

Once you feel better—as good as new even—, you quickly pull your hand away before he slips and is able to feel your pulse somehow. It's loud as it is, drumming in your ears, you don't need him to feel it, too.

"Thank you," you murmur as you shake your hand slightly, even of the feeling of his fingers against your skin is still so real. "Now, how can I help you today?"

"Hm, how about I help you today? I might not seem like it, but I'm pretty good with a knife, too."

Your first reaction is to reject him. You can't make a customer work. And the old lady would scold you for letting just anyone rummage through the herbs. On the other hand, she's not here right now, and Phainon isn't just anyone, is he? He is The Hero, The Deliverer. Who else could you trust with some herbs if not him?

You rub your lower lip before nodding slowly. "Alright. But! If the old lady asks, you were just giving me company, nothing else, alright?"

Phainon stands up straight and salutes. "Yes captain."

At this, you click your tongue. "Honestly, you deserve to be whacked for this, but lucky you, I've got no time. So, let's get to work!"

With this, you first show him the necessary steps to go through: washing the leaves carefully, completely submerging them in water to truly get the dirt off of it, then patting them down with a towel to dry, before separating the pieces. Every piece of every herb can be used for something different, so it's better to separate them before drying. Of course, they can be used fresh, too, but you're only giving the fresh herbs to the more urgent cases.

Soon, both of you have taken separate parts of the process, working smoothly side by side. Only the sounds of the tools and the rustle of the leaves fill the silence between you. But you don't feel uncomfortable by it. Rather, his presence allows you to focus and to relax at the same time. In some way, Phainon has taken a great burden off your back. If he didn't offer, you would be still drowning in the orders and the herbs you had to prepare.

"By the way, I'm not counting this towards the double-favor, alright?"

"I wouldn't dream of asking this off you, I offered my help after all. But—" Phainon puts the tool down and faces you, hips leaning against the desk and hand supporting him on it. "—you still haven't called me by name, so I'm unsure if these favors are even valid in the first place."

At this, you squint your eyes and also put your tools down to face him, hands against your hips and stance slightly wide. "Are you serious? You came at an inopportune time—" You see the way he just grins at you, the expectation clear on his face, and you sigh.

"Fine," you put the back of your hand against your forehead and act faint. "You're here, my hero, Phainon! How you have blessed my day, no, my entire life with your presence!"

Phainon giggles at this and shakes his head. "You're exaggerating, just a simple hello would've been enough."

You gasp. "How could I ever! You deserve to be praised and welcomed with open arms. I am unworthy, not even a celebration of your existence would be enough. Forgive me, oh Great Hero of Legends, Phainon!" You sag against the counter, pressing your hand against your mouth as if to muffle a sob.

And his giggle has morphed into a small laugh. "Okay, okay, that's enough. I did this to myself, didn't I."

Immediately, you straighten up. "Damn right. Did it please you?"

"Absolutely, what an excellent performance. You should work for a theater, you're fit to do so."

You huff and giggle. "Thank you, but I could never. They wouldn't take me anyway. And I'm happy to be here. Now let's get back to work."

Once again, you face the herbs, ready to take them on, and Phainon joins you. But not allowing the conversation to run dry or the silence to blanket you once again.

"Why not? You certainly have the theatrics for that, and the looks— I mean, it obviously brings you joy."

You purse your lips. You're unsure if you should trust him, but you might as well. If you don't trust him, you wouldn't know who you would trust. He has been nothing but kind to you, and of course his charm plays a big role. And the people wouldn't swoon over him like that of his heart weren't as pure as he seems to be. Still, you feel afraid. Afraid of his reaction. Afraid to destroy whatever fragile thing is between you right now. But how long could you keep this from him? He deserves honesty.

"I'm only saying this, because I trust you, got it?" You sigh and step away from the workplace.

He immediately follows, just a couple steps away, but hidden from anyone who might enter the pharmacy in their sudden need of something. And you begin to unwrap the bandages around your arm.

"I don't know how to explain it, and it's quite honestly bizarre. But for some reason, I survived. I mean, let me try again—" You take a breath before continuing.

"Before I came to the Holy City, I lived in another place, far far away. We barely knew anything about the black tide or the Chrysos Heirs. Don't look so surprised, no one had ever seen golden blood before, so there was never a reason to. But being ignorant doesn't mean being safe. You know how it is, it's the same thing everywhere. The Black Tide came and swallowed everything. And it had—it grabbed me too, barely grazing my skin, and— you probably don't know this, but when the Black Tide grabs you, you just can't do anything anymore. Your body just gives up on you. I thought I was a goner—" You feel his hand gently on your shoulder, and you only then notice how you're shaking. It's only the second time you're retelling it, and the memory is still burned into your mind.

You give him a shaky smile. "—I can't explain it either. But someone had grabbed me and pulled me from Its grasps. I don't know who it was. I've never seen them before, and their hood was low on their face. And I don't know… Somehow I managed to run away, and to come to Okhema. It's honestly a blur after that. But I know it wasn't a dream, because I still have this—"

You finally show him your arm. It's streaked in black and the darkest of reds. The colors seem to never stop moving, but at such a slow pace, one might only notice if they looked for a longer span of time. It's eating away at your arm, barely leaving your hand free of it's influence, occasionally slipping over your palm or the back of your hand.

Seeing how Phainon is staring at the amalgamation covering your skin, you quickly begin to put the bandage back on, already expecting a reaction. Something like rejection, disgust, maybe even killing intent, as your condition could be a danger to all. So, you try to continue talking, not giving him a leeway to say anything.

"Luckily it's not spreading, even though it doesn't look good and unfortunately weakens my hand. But it shouldn't be contagious, but that's not something I'm willing to put to a test—"

And Phainon grabs your hands, both of them, without hesitation or flinching. "It must have been so hard," he murmurs and lets his thumbs slowly glide over the back of your hands.

You swallow heavily. Only when he uttered these words did you realize how much of a burden it was, how scared you actually were. Tears slowly blur your vision and as you begin to hiccup almost silently, you feel two strong arms envelop you and pull you closer.

Your fingers dig into the clothes of his, grasping for something to ground you as you devolve into a sobbing mess. "I—I was so scared, and it hurt so much. And—And how could I—how could I do anything. I—I—" There were no words left to speak in you, only low hiccups and sniffles. And throughout it all, Phainon has been slowly moving his hand up and down your back, not speaking, simply allowing you to let it all out.

"You did well," he murmurs as you begin to calm down.

Now, you feel embarrassed about your outburst. You hadn't intended to break down right after explaining your situation to him. It was supposed to be a simple show of trust (in truth, you practically laid your fate in his hands by confessing your sins, even if they weren't of your own doing), not a pity party. Still, you can't bring yourself to regret confessing the situation to him. Even if you feel your skin prick and warm, the whole thing setting in.

Sniffling, you carefully take a step back and Phainon immediately releases you from his gentle grasp. "Ah, how embarrassing, I did not mean to cry. I'm sorry—"

His thumb swipes a stray tear from your cheek and he simply gives you a bright smile. "I'm incredibly honored to have received your trust. And for that, I should do my best to aid you—"

"What? No, you don't need to! I mean— I don't— I don't want you here as a hero…" Your voice quiets as you realize what you almost blurted out. The fact that you don't want him to treat you as he does everyone else. As the Hero, as the Savior. Maybe he is. But for some reason, you just want him, Phainon, by your side. Not The Deliverer. Not the Chrysos Heir. Just Phainon.

Almost as if he understood what you meant, maybe he didn't and you just wish he did, he takes your hands into his once again, and squeezes them. "I don't have to, but I want to. I can introduce you to Professor Anaxa. He's simply a genius. He will definitely provide valuable insight on your ailment."

You look to the side, away from his open and gentle gaze, lest he convinces you with his eyes alone. You were unsure. The offer is tantalizing. And you obviously trust him. But how much could you trust this professor. Especially when you don't want to make this into a bigger deal than it actually is.

And yet.

And yet, on the chance that you could get better, that you would be able to turn your life around. To not be bound to this ailment any longer. To be free.

You dig your teeth into your lower lip, still hesitating, but taking your chances as you turn back to face him once again. Then, you nod. You're taking your life into your own hands, you won't succumb to the desperation this would have brought you, had brought you.

"Fantastic! I will arrange everything and inform you of the details once they're set. I'm so glad you have taken me on this. I promise, it will be worth it." Once again, he squeezes your hands.

"Okay, thank you. This—"

The door opens and interrupts you. "I thought you were supposed to be working, not flirting in my workshop."

The words of the old woman, your boss, startle you and you immediately take a couple steps back, inevitably releasing yourself from his grasp.

"Oh, I'm sorry! I will go right back to it!" Your voice cracks and you feel the heat creep over your skin. And you can't look in Phainon's direction, lest you see any kind of reaction at all.

"I do apologize, I distracted your assistant for but a moment. But rest assured the work was not interrupted at all and we just chatted for a bit. Catching up, you know? Well, I will take my leave and be no distraction to you anymore." Phainon charms his way through—a bit too much if you were to be asked—, only to then turn back towards you. "Thank you for helping me out today, your knowledge has really been handy." He bows a bit, and for a moment it felt as if he would kiss your hand if you only raised it towards him.

But you don't. You simply clutch the knife tighter in your stronger hand, in your normal one, in your unblemished one. And you let this thought fade away the same way he disappears through the door.

Your finger is tapping against the table, impatient, waiting. But not due to the lack of visitors or orders. Rather because you're expecting Phainon to pick you up, to lead you to that Professor who supposedly could help you out with your ailment. Of course you also told Aspasia about these plans, she is your boss after all and knows about your condition, so there was no reason not to.

The only problem now was that Phainon is letting you wait too long and—the door swings open and when you speak of the devil he appears, even if he does seem a little breathless, but maybe you're just imagining things, because there is no reason for someone like him to be out of breath in any possible situation.

"You are late. Somewhat embarrassing, don't you think? Deliveries are supposed to arrive on time, duh." You wince at your own words, a miss, a bad joke to conceal your nervousness at meeting another person and revealing your state to said another person.

Luckily, for some reason, he doesn't really react to your words properly, and relief washes over you when he just brushes it off. "Yeah, I'm sorry, there were things I needed to help with and I couldn't postpone them. I hope you haven't been waiting too long?"

"As I live in the here and now, we're going to forget that happened. Let's just go," you go around the counter and walk up to him, still standing in the open door. "Also, I doubt dating is in your fate or destiny or whatever, considering your goals, but for many that would be a bad sign, so watch it, yeah?"

He simply steps to the side slightly, holding the door with his body to allow you to leave. "…Yeah, got it."

You press your lips together and begin walking down the streets with him, letting him overtake you so he can lead the way. And you're glad that he can't look you in the face because you've been spewing nothing but nonsense since the moment he walked in. Why would you say any of this in the first place, this is absolutely horrifying, you should keep your mouth shut for the rest of the way.

Which might've been an equally bad choice, as it made the whole walk awkward because none of you knew what to say. You don't even remember how any of your conversations before that started, it felt so natural that you didn't even need to think about it. And now, you're stumbling over your own tongue like an idiot. But the silence was thick and uncomfortable, so you had to try and say something after all.

"So, how do you know this Professor?"

"Oh, well, he was actually my professor and I studied under his mentorship during my days at the Grove. He's eccentric and theatrical, but a genius in his own ways. Even if I did triumph against him in multiple debates. And… he doesn't believe in the prophecies or the likes."

"Ahh, not even in fate or destiny, right? No wownder you were so eager to debate this with me. But also, is that a thing with you, like, are you into that?"

"Huh, what? What is that supposed to mean?" He tries to turn towards you, but as he's walking slightly in front of you, it proves to be a bit more difficult than he had anticipated. He immediately corrects his pace and walks in line with you. But before you open your mouth to answer, he interrupts you. "Wait, actually, I don't think I want to know."

"Aw, now you're being mean. Are you sure you're supposed to be a hero?"

"I don't see how being destined to be a hero and being mean have to exclude each other?"

You squint at him and push your lips forward. "Dang it, you're right. I can't believe you would do this to me." You groan and press your hands against your chest.

"For the record, I haven't been wrong in any conversation we've ever had—"

"Wrong! You believe in destiny and fate, whereas I, the superior one obviously, don't. So, whatever you say there isn't right and won't ever be."

"Wow. You're being very objective right now. All hard facts and no personal opinions."

"Hey! How would you know what's true and what's not anyway!"

"Considering that there's literal Golden Blood—"

"Ugh, you hero-types always have to have the last word. This is unbelievable."

At this, you hear him actually giggle. "Aren't you the one constantly interrupting me?"

"Maybe you deserve it? Think about that?"

"Woah, who's mean to who now?"

You shrug and push the tip of your tongue between your lips. "Unlike some people, I'm under no obligation to be nice. Especially after being stripped of my honorable title because you want to own it."

"Now, hold on, I didn't—"

"It's okay, I will let bygones be bygones. Especially because I assume we've arrived." You move your head to nod towards the building. "Chop chop Heroboy, show the way."

For a moment, something you think you imagine, he just looks at you with slightly raised eyebrows, but he sighs, nearly indiscernable, before once again leading the way.

After a short walk, he stops in front of a door and knocks before just entering.

"It seems as if your occupation as a so-called Hero has made you insolent," came the greeting from deeper within.

"I wouldn't say so, I came here invited by you, Professor," Phainon replies smoothly while contuining entering the room, walking towards the greenhaired person with purpose.

You assume the man with the eyepatch is Anaxa, as he's the only person around anyway. He does look eccentric and like he has some issues you wouldn't know about unless you knew his background. which you don't, so it's not your problem, is it. Even if he might be able to help you. The only other thing you're interested in is how he can be a Chrysos Heir and refuse their prophecies and their destiny. Isn't that their whole stick?

"Invitations to visit, not to barge in. But alas, what have you come to me for?"

"I told you about my partner right here, do you mind taking a closer look?"

Anaxa immediately turns to face you directly and you feel his eye drill into you as if it could see your soul and its makeup. You almost take a step back at the intensity of his stare. Instead you just swallow and begin unraveling your bandages without being asked. If only to avoid direct eye contact, if only to prove yourself in some weird way, because you don't have to, there's nothing for you to prove after all.

Once your arm is completely bare and the remnants visible, Anaxa steps closer to you and examines your arm without touching it while occasionally telling you to move it in some way or the other or asking you questions. You do your best to comply, as this serves you the most after all.

"Sure, I could concocts something for you. But you have to visit regularly so we can observe the effects in real time. Can't make a mistake lest you completely lose your arm," he tells you directly and turns to the table to write something down. "I will give you the first batch next time you come. Until then, do what you have been doing thus far."

You nod and wrap your arm once again. "Alright, thank you, Professor Anaxa."

"It's Anaxagoras to you."

"Ah, yessir, Anaxagoras Sir." You stumble over your words to recover from your mistake. And then decide to ask him another time about his thoughts on how life works, lest you incur his wrath by overstaying your visit. So, you quickly say your goodbyes and leave with Phainon.

Outside, you rub your arms as thw two of you make your way back once again. "That was intense."

"You think so? He seemed normal to me," he tilts his head slightly and purses his lips.

"Of course it seemed normal to you, you have known him for years. His eye was looking at me so intensely, I couldn't bring myself to utter even a single word. I couldn't ask him about anything!"

A small smile appears on Phainon's face and he shakes his head slightly. "You're going to get used to it. And it's not your last meeting either, you're going to come back for your remedy after all." And then he immediately adds: "I will accompany you, so you don't have to worry."

"Ohh, I didn't know that the occupation of being a hero includes mindreading."

"It doesn't. But you might need to rethink your future at the theater."

His words come to such a surprise to you, you can't help but burst out laughing. "Alright, I will ruminate about it some more. And… Thank you."

Phainon only smiles and accompanies you back home.

"You do know that I have been there a couple times already, I'm not going to get lost," you say as you open the door to leave the workshop, a taller figure immediately following at your heels.

Phainon shrugs and walks at your pace to stay by your side. "Well, one could never be sure."

"Ugh, shut up. My sense of direction isn't that bad. Mind you, I rightfully deserved my former title, alright?"

"Okay grandma, let's keep walking."

"Someday, you won't keep getting away with this. All of this will be exposed and everyone will know, mark my words," you threaten him while swinging your index finger around.

But instead of a grin or another quip, Phainon stills and his hand immediately grabs the hilt of his sword. You stop walking and just watch him, realizing that this isn't Phainon anymore, this is the Deliverer, the Hero. Someone you don't know, someone who's there to protect and defend and fight. All apparent on his stance, the tension in his body, the gritted teeth, the furrowed eyebrows, the focused eyes, looking for any movement out of the ordinary.

Everything happens faster than you could even process. Before you know it, another weapon meets Phainon's sword with a stark echo, rumbling in your ears. A masked person with a hood is standing in front of you, pushing back on Phainon. Your head feels fuzzy, your mind blank, your fingertips tingling. And nothing feels real anymore. As if you're stuck behind glass. Stuck. Too close but not far away. Everything happening in front of you, yet in another world entirely.

A hand grabbing your wrist somewhat releases you from this state. It's Phainon, dragging you as fast as possible towards the Grove, eyes always looking behind to gauge the distance between you and the attacker. You wanted a look back, too—your heart aching at the mere thought of this masked figure, and you wanted to kno wwhy—, but you were too busy trying to not stumble during your half-run-half-drag and burden Phainon even more if you were to fall. You're already slow enough, you can't slow you down even more, how would you be able to look into his face again if you brought you both into danger once again just because you got distracted by something so uncertain. It's always better to focus on the here and now and what you can do, instead of what-ifs. And you can't fight, so you at least should be able to run, right?

Your escape only came to an end when you finally arrived at the Grove and Phainon has made sure multiple times that that masked figure isn't still lurking around. And once you actually realize the feeling of safety, your legs fail you and you stumble to the ground, scraping your skin ever so slightly as you land on the ground.

"What the fuck was that…" You gasp, breath heavy in your labored lungs.

"This wasn't supposed to happen…" Phainon slowly shakes his head, disbelief evident in the tension in his body, in his faraway gaze. But once he makes eye contact with you, it seems as if he's right back to the present, and he immediately steps closer and kneels in front of you, taking a hand into his. "Are you okay? Nothing happened, right? You were far enough from him for anything to happen, right?"

The worry was evident in his voice, the slightest crack, as if the pressure he had forgotten had suddenly returned upon his shoulders, as if he was carrying the world upon his shoulders once more, and that the slightest tilt might bring everything crashing down, might bring total darkness to the everlasting light. So, you nod.

"I'm good. Just a bit dizzy, I think…" You put your other hand on top of his and squeeze his hands. "Are you okay? You were the one fighting after all."

"Yeah, yeah, everything is fine. Just a bit surprised, I suppose."

Despite the heaviness between you and the uneasy feeling in your gut—and heart—, you can't help but grin at the way your words mirror each other somewhat. "Wow, I can't believe you're once again stealing from me. You're being a bit greedy now, aren't you?"

At this he huffs and just presses the bundle of hands against his forehead. "Sometimes even heroes can be a bit greedy, don't you think?"

"Well, how about you go and be greedy for someone else's things for once?"

There is no answer, Phainon only looks up to you and there's a glimmer of something you can't understand, not quite, and he just gives you a soft smile.

Instead he just stands up and helps you back on your feet, never once letting go of your hand. And never once did you mind (it helps you ignore everything else, the squeeze on your heart, the throb of your other hand, the nausea in the back of your throat, nothing else matters in that moment but the warmth of his skin against yours; it's his kindness, his soft heart, his gentleness speaking to you that way).

The wings of an eagle fly soundlessly over your head, the winds brushing your unkempt hair, before it slowly begins to ascend higher and higher. Until it's dancing along the edges of a majestic mountain, one that existed long before anything else ever did. You hoped it would stay there forever, keeping you company, keeping everyone beyond and after you company. A steadiness nothing but the earth could grant. So, you ignore your own state, content with watching the bird fly.

Until the eagle gets shot. Falling down like it suddenly weighs more than it could ever carry. And all you can do is watch. Watch helplessly as your fingers dig into the knots of your hair, pulling at your scalp. You're helpless, you can't do anything else. You can't do anything, even as the ground rumbles and groans, even as you watch the mountain in front of you—once eternal and immortal—split before your eyes. All you can do is take it in and watch. And watch, and watch. Watch as even the earth splits open, as it opens itself under your feet and you can't save anyone, much less yourself, as you lose your foothold and fall into the enternal darkness embracing you and everything you're unable to do.

You open your eyes. And you feel the lingering heartbeat of something that now seems so far away, yet remains in the back of your mind. There's no way you could go to sleep like that, especially not when your hand has already started aching. An ache which tires you out just by itself. An ache you can't escape, just bear with it. Despite everything, it hasn't gotten better, it rather feels as if your arm is in an even worse state after that chase. Maybe the stress has caught up to you in some way. You hope it leaves you soon, you hope that the next concoction may bring you the slightest relief. Even if you don't like to be dependent on such things, but you can't give up halfway, even if you feel worse and worse. Maybe it's temporary and it will be gone sooner than you could even think about (it won't and you know that as well, but if you lose even this, you might as well give up on everything).

Besides the fact that your pain has been getting worse and that your grip has weakened just enough to be noticable, your everyday has not changed. You keep helping out wherever you're needed the most at the moment. All while feeling the void Phainon has left behind. You can't believe he made you feel as if his presence is something normal and you got used to him so quickly. Quite ironic to be missing him when you were the one who wanted to avoid him as much as possible in the first place. But now that you haven't seen him since that day, you can't feel any relief. It was more of the absurdity of it all. How could he do this to you, you feel abandoned. He's not the one who's supposed to pull away, that's not his job.

In truth, you can't really blame him. You're somewhat aware of the implications of the appearance of that masked figure, and the Chrysos Heirs are most likely on high alert, trying to get their bearings and protect everyone and the city. That is in fact their job. And how could you expect him to drop everything, especially something this important, just on your whims. Especially when he doesn't really have a reason to. It's not his fault you feel like this, particularly towards him. So, all you could do is your own work, trying to distract yourself from the tug on your heart when you think of him and his absence. And for the first time in your life do you believe in something like fate because you desperately wish to see him again despite everything.

The day ends like any other, the sun stays high above, and yet the people close their curtains to keep it away, to rest their weary eyes. And you're no different, closing the shop, stashing away everything at its place, pulling the curtains to close the windows, lighting one candle to lead your way. You're aware you could keep the curtains open and navigate with the light of the sun. Yet you don't. There's just something calming about being in utter darkness, illuminated by the small candle flickering between your fingers. Something soothing, letting you slump in your chair and let everything just drain out of you. As if the darkness will swallow your sins and the candlelight will cleanse your soul.

A sigh, interrupted by a sudden knock, so soft, barely noticable if you weren't covered in pure silence. Nothing but a whisper, making you hesitate, unsure if it were simply something your mind has conjured up, or it was real. Until it happened again.

The workshop is obviously closed, as is everything else, so it cannot be a customer. Still, you leave your candle behind as you make your way to the door. For but a moment, a mask, a hood, flashes into your head and your hand aches and trembles. And yet, you don't stop—hesitating, but not stopping—as you slowly open the door, nothing but a crack, just enough to see who's behind the wood, all while your foot is firmly pressed against it, in case the other person tries to force it open.

The sun—you almost forgot how high up she still is— blinds you for a moment and you blink rapidly to adjust to the difference of light. Until you're finally able to see the silhouette hiding under the blinding rays: Phainon.

But not as upright as he usually is. No. Slumped, lethargic, gasping. Your own gasp can't compare to the rasping of each squeeze of his lungs. And for some reason, he still manages to give you a smile, one a bit skewed ever so slightly. "Is the shop still open? I think I need something…"

His words leave you speechless and you just blink at him a couple of times before just opening the door completely and allowing him to stumble in. You quickly close the door behind him and immediately put a hand around him to support him as best as possible. And you ignore the wet warmth sticking to your fingertips.

You only speak once he's sitting securely and you're looking for a firstaid kit or something of the likes. "What happened?"

"Not much. Just a little skirmish…" he answers, halfheartedly, acting as if taking his armor off takes most of his thoughts at the moment.

Maybe this is why your heart squeezes and your throat burns, your fingertips tremble. Maybe this is why you slam down the small box onto the table. Maybe, or maybe not. But that doesn't matter, does it? Because sometimes feelings don't need to have any explanation at all.

"Why are you lying to me."

"I'm no—"

"You are! You're bleeding so much, your clothes are soaking. And you come to this place, and you won't even be honest with me." You step behind him—unable to look him in the face lest you lose your cool completely—and begin inspecting the wounds marring his skin. "And you really want to tell me, this is nothing? I could shove my fingers up these holes in your flesh."

For a moment you were tempted to, if only to see him wince and realize the gravity of his wounds. But you don't. Instead, you clean the wound as best as possible, well, with as much pressure and as much alcohol he could handle. You don't stop even when he's actually wincing, because he should not undermine his own pain like that.

He tries again, gasping ever so slightly. "It's really nothing—"

"No, no, shut up. I don't want to hear it," you interrupt him once again, grabbing the bandages and the right herbs to press against his wound.

You realize how irrational you're acting, how if the situation were just slightly different, you would be bickering with each other, you would be admiring the way his muscles felx and move, how the flickering candlelight makes him seem so soft, so ethereal, so real, someone you could actually reach and not some impossible, unimagible figure.

But you're mad, anger grown out of worry like weeds, there before you know it. And equally difficult to get rid of. All you can do is pull on the bandages and try to get off some steam there. Until you have reached a point where you had to stop and tape the bandage, lest you turn him into a weird sort of mumie. Maybe shoving some into his mouth would've been a bit more satisfying.

Instead, you turn away and to begin returning everything to the small box. "You can go now, I'm done—"

Phainon grabs your hands before you're fully turned away. "W-wait…" he rasps while tugging you carefully to make you face him again. And you follow his lead, because you want to hear him out,because this is the first time he has put some effort into his touch, the first time it seemed as if he is finally doing something for himself rather than for the Greater Good.

"I just didn't want to worry you…"

"Are you stupid? Knocking on my door bleeding and barely walking, and you think I'm not going to worry?"

"I didn't know where else to go…"

You can't even hold onto your anger, the simmering cooling down at the sight of his slumped shoulders and shadowed eyes. Grinding your teeth, your mind cursing, your hand swiping over your face.

"This isn't fair, you know? Do you know how you affect me?" you manage to croak out, your insides churning and squeezing and now you're unsure about what to feel. "I do want to give you a place to be, somewhere where you can be yourself. But I'm not even sure I know you outside of your persona. Do you even trust me?"

"Of course I do. It's just, so much has happened, and I don't want to worry you or bring you in danger—"

"Just you not being here made me worry! You burst into my life and then expect me to let you go whenever you feel like it? You're being insane, and mean."

Maybe your words broke to him, maybe it was the intensity of everything, of his fingers pressing against your pulsepoint, of your heaving chest as you glare at him, of the candlelight softening everything and making his eyes seem like the sunset you used to see back home. But none of that matters.

None of any of that matters when Phainon pulls you closer, his other hand behind around the back of your neck, a careful touch to lead you just right. Until your lips touch, until his warmth touches yours. The warmth of another human, not of the sun or an otherwordly being. Someone you can hold and cup and kiss.

It barely lasted, nothing but a peck. But enough to make you gasp. Enough to make you put your arms on his shoulders, enough to want more and more.

Only to get interrupted by the way he's gazing at you, locking your eyes with his, and you can see the way they smile before his lips even begin to curve. "Does that answer anything?"

"I didn't even ask any questions, dumbass, what are you talking about."

He shrugs. "It's the implication of question. But also, why I didn't want you to worry…"

"It's a miracle you survived this long, you can't really think, can you? This doesn't make any sense at all," you raise your hand and pinch one of his cheeks.

All anger dissipating with such ease, you can't help it. Still, the worry lingers and you sigh. "No matter what you might do, I will always worry. That's the nature of everything. This isn't something preordained, following a set of steps to ensure it. And something you can't ask me to stop doing…"

A slow nod. "I won't. But this is still my burden to carry…"

"Phainon," at this he meets your eyes once again. "You are not The Worldbearer, and while you're a Chrysos Heir, you can still be Phainon when you're with me at least. And tha means, you don't have to carry any burden alone, ever. Do you get it?"

Instead of actually answering you, Phainon grabs the wrist of your pinching hand and kisses your palm, a sweet gesture, if it weren't for his teeth digging into the soft flesh right after.

"Hey, stop that—"

With a grin, he pulls on your arm and brings you in for another kiss. This time a proper one, more than just a peck. One eliciting butterflies in your chest, one warming your soul, one making you forget everything but him and his touch. It's as if everything founds its place, your heart with his, fitting so seamlessly, your body melting against his as if that's where it has always belonged.

And you don't believe in fate, but this time you think that Phainon is your destiny.